Gabe's voice slashed at her. "No way, puss. We do this my way, dig?"
Her eyes bored into his. "By waiting two or three weeks?"
"Right on."
Trish smiled sourly. "I don't know if this aching ass of mine can stand it that long."
Gabe cupped her chin in his hand and turned her face toward his. "Not even for half of five hundred thousand slices of bread?"
"You're a good doctor," Trish said, brightening immediately. Her eyes twinkled. "Know some- thing, chum? All of a sudden my fanny has stopped hurting."
Gabe threw back his head and laughed. He sobered abruptly. Then he stopped, cupping her chin, and said, "You'll make it, puss. Just keep thinking about the money, and you'll make it just fine."
She pursed her lips. "Speaking of making it, when do I meet this idiot I'm supposed to seduce?"
"Tonight. He keeps a ringside table reserved." Gabe pointed. "That one over there. I'll wait until you come on stage before I tap him for a job on his lousy ranch. That way you'll be sure he's the pigeon whose feathers you're suppose to pluck." He slid from the stool to his feet and added the warning, "Look him over, but don't touch until I give you the green light. Blow your chances with him and I'll break your pretty neck."
"I'll cool it."
"Good. One more bit of advice."
"Fire away."
Gabe watched as she crossed her legs, revealing a lush expanse of thigh. His voice softened. "There's a starving attorney named Felix Wellman in this town who sometimes tries his luck with the peelers who toil here. Treat him nice, but don't get reckless and drop your panties for the bastard, even if he offers you the hundred bucks he's usually willing to shell out for a strange piece of tail."
"That hundred bucks sounds good, lover. We could use it."
"Not from Wellman."
"Why not?"
"Because he's a friend of Bruce Cord."
"Gotcha." Trish frowned for a moment. "Is there anyone else I should avoid?"
"Yeah. An unemployed hunting guide named Joe Dooley. I'll point the prick out to you when he staggers in here tonight."
Trish nodded. "Anyone else?"
"Just me," Gabe replied as he dropped a hand to her nearest thigh and gave it a quick hug with his horny fingers. "Starting right now."
Trish smiled coldly as she watched Gabe walk out into the street and thought, Thank God for small favors.
Chapter 5
Bruce Cord finished his third drink and ordered a fourth as he sat at his ringside table at the Atomic Club and waited for Trish Asher to appear on stage and do her thing. Mere thought of the curvaceous stripper caused him to break into a sweat. There were girls and there were girls, but this exotic dancer and peeler was something else. His mind smacked its lips. Those overripe breasts that were completely without sag… that beautiful face framed by long, flame-colored hair… those fantastic legs and swinging hips… those crazy gyrations… especially those crazy gyrations! Damn, if he could get a date with this kitten and make her grind those hips like that when he filled her snatch with his cock.
He wondered fleetingly why she was playing hard to get, and he was still wondering when a mocking voice cut into his erotic reverie by saying, "You shouldn't let your mind wander like that, Bruce. It's too small to be out by itself." He looked up to find a statuesque honey-blonde smiling at him. He showed some teeth of his own to the owner of the Covered Wagon, who doubled in harness as madam of the county's most exclusive whorehouse, then drawled, "You here to catch the floor show, or have you gone back to hustling drunks again?"
Stella Roller laughed softly. "No to the first question and yes to the second, but only if the drunk is yourself."
"Sorry, I'm not available."
Stella Roller's blue eyes twinkled. She wet her lips. Her voice turned teasing. "You used to be, but that was before you developed a bad case of the hots for Manny Black's new bump-and-grind doll."
"Bite your tongue, you vicious broad."
"I'd rather bite your cock." She watched him closely. "Have you scored yet?"
"Nope. Not even a sniff. But I have a hunch that tonight's my night."
"Well, to quote my Chinese towel girl, 'rotsa ruck.'"
"Gracias. How about parking that sexy tail of yours and having a belt with me?" She shook her head. "Another time, my pussy-whipped friend. I only dropped in to see if Felix Wellman was here. Have you seen him this evening?"
"Nope." He squinted at her. "What the hell do you want with that ambulance chaser at this hour of the night?"
She wrinkled her nose. "I'll give you one guess."
"Joe Dooley, right?"
Stella nodded. "Our mutual friend took advantage of his one phone call to buzz me from Timber City. Seems he got his ass busted for trying to wreck a saloon. I promised to send Whiplash over to bail him out of the bucket. Any idea as to where I might find the bastard?"
"Have you tried his office?"
"That was the first place I checked. He wasn't there."
Bruce frowned thoughtfully for a moment, then said, "There's one other place you might try."
"Where?"
"The Lockridge house. If Felix knows that Dooley isn't in town, he's probably over there, doing his damndest to get into Elke's tight little pussy."
Stella Roller's smile mushroomed into musical laughter. "You're probably right, my big-peckered friend." She stopped laughing, and now a weary sigh disturbed her firm, large breasts. "Well, I'd better get on my pony and run old Whiplash down before Joe loses his cool and tries to wreck that damn clink he's in." She winked at him. "Good luck with the tassel tosser."
"Thanks. Sure you won't have that drink?"
"Some other time, doll." She patted him on the cheek and walked away.
Bruce went to work on his fourth drink. Erotic thoughts returned to haunt him. He couldn't stop them. He didn't bother to try. He pictured Trish Asher in a bedroom. His bedroom. Moments later his mind went berserk as he envisioned himself fucking the exotic doll. He smiled tightly. Hard to get or not, he had to have the perfumed pussycat. Seeing her on stage wasn't enough. Not anymore. He needed her sexually,, and he intended to get her. He still had the feeling that he would luck out tonight. He hoped so.
During these past three weekends that Trish Asher had been appearing at the Atomic Club, he had spent so much of his time trying to entice her into his bed that his cock was suffering from neglect. If he didn't score tonight, he would either have to play with his prick to ease the tension, or take it to Stella Roller. One way or the other he was going to get relief, before the ache in his balls drove him crazy.
He exhaled loudly and glanced at his watch. A smile crumpled his ruggedly handsome face. It was nearly time for Trish Asher to come on stage. He pictured her magnificent breasts and licked his lips. A hint of saliva formed in one corner of his expressive mouth; he tongued it away.
Soon, he told himself. Soon I'll see those big beauties jiggling before my eyes again!
Soon came a moment later. Down in the orchestra pit, the haunting roll of drums served as the beginning of Trish's introduction. Then the curtains parted on the postage stamp-sized stage, and the emcee minced out of the wings to tell a few dirty jokes. He stepped forward, mike in hand, and the curtains closed behind him. Two bad gags later Bruce leaned toward the bombing fairy and heckled, "Why don't you put an egg in your show and beat it?"
The pansy took his advice. He waved toward the closed curtains behind him and shouted excitedly, "And now, presenting that passionate plaything you've all been waiting for… the sexciting and deliciously delectable darling from desireville… Trish Asher!"
Bruce Cord held his breath as the curtains proceeded to yawn. A baby spot picked a pale-blue hole in the center of the darkened stage and caught Trish Asher as she floated into it, attired in something that swirled about her body like sequined cobwebs. She stood poised like a ballerina for a few seconds. Then her arms lifted toward the ceiling like a pair of lazy cobras coming out of a snake charmer's basket as she started her routine.