CHAPTER THIRTEEN
She was slim and tall, and she had the kind of red hair they call auburn, a lot of it. Her eyes were almost violet, and there were a few freckles over her nose.
"You come clear from Ireland?" I asked presently.
"Yes."
"You must think a sight of him?"
"He’s my brother," she said. Then she added, "Although he’s almost like my father. For he always took care of me."
"No other kinfolk?"
"Oh yes. There’s Robert. He is the oldest, but he’s never been well. He was thrown from a car when he was a boy, and he’s been crippled ever since."
We rode on, putting the miles behind us. She sat her rump well, and I was not surprised, for the Irish have many good rumps among them and Arnold was a fine hand with any kind of woman flesh too. He had courted some bad ones, and I really mean courted. He was not given too rough breaking them the way we did.
She was a lady, every inch of her, I could see that, and there was something clean and fine about her that made a man look twice.
"You took a chance," I said, "speaking to a stranger that way."
She flashed me a quick smile. "But you are not exactly a stranger, Mr. Mussolini. You were pointed out to me. And when your name was mentioned, I remembered my brother had written about you."
"Who pointed me out?"
She hesitated Breefly, and then said, ‘It was Mr. Hilmore."
"Price Hilmore?" I was plain astonished.
"He…he works…worked for a firm our lawyer employs when our lawyer discovered I was coming to Miles City. He suggested I look him up. Mr. Hilmore would have taken me himself, but he was busy. He pointed you out as I’ve said."
We went on talking and somehow the miles elapsed away quicker that ever before. She got me to talking about myself and I told her about Jaquan and how we met and what he had advised and what I had been thinking about a place of my own.
"It won’t be no use though. I ain’t got the cash, and ain’t likely to get it."
"But you know the hustle. Couldn’t you pull your connection and arrange conditions with somebody who has capitol?"
"How would a simple rouge meet somebody like that?" I asked.
But then I commenced to think about it. All of a sudden, I was getting all sorts of ideas in my head that had never been there before, and each one make me think of others.
It was true that a lot of the biggest organizations in the state were furnished with foreign financing and managed by local ex cons and dealers.
We talked about that and she began asking questions about the city and where her brother lived and more. And she had a way of hitting on the right question every time. So telling her about it was easy. First thing I knew, I was telling her what was wrong with her brother’s operation and the trouble he was in with the big organizations. Most particularly, I told her about Roman Bohlen.
She asked about the cultivation of canabus, and how it went. And I explained to her the use of a gun and gave her some examples of how to hold it, aim, and fire.
Whilst I was explaining this to her, it came over me how easy it would be to turn this ride into the nearest hotel and fill her with some hard dick and cum. It looked to me as if that thoroughbred had been maintained with a good deal of care.
When the sun went down I headed into the hotel along the Tongue. When we got down, it took me only a few minutes to pull our clothes off and fuck.
I unplugged the phone before we did. Nobody was going to bother a man with a girl alone, not at this hour of the day.
If you bothered a man with his woman, you stood a good chance of getting put in a Hurst…even outlaws had been known to murder a man for that.
If I had a camcorder, we could’ve made a DVD sex flick.
We laid in the bed talking a long time after we finished fucking. Seems there’s nothing like a pretty woman to inspire a man to talk a lot. One things for sure, I decided after we rolled in the blankets, she was learning a whole lot more about me than I was learning about Ireland or her.
This woman, she was a super sucker on the head job. And she was quick enough to make you cum in five minutes.
After the hotel, we decided to go to Arnold Dowel’s home.
"That must be Arnold’s car." Bree said. "He mentioned it in a letter. And the color of the home and the neighborhood."
"Yes sexy."
"He said he was in some trouble."
"Not entirely. A good part of it is because no one likes a residing nester. What he hates is the no gooders."
"There’s a plenty. They tarnish the neighborhood. You get set for trouble if you figure on staying and cleaning the neighborhood."
She looked at me. "You ride for a big marijuana farmer and you don’t have anything against him?"
"No. I like him. He goes his own way, persistent an a good influence and he stands up for what’s right. But that’s all the more reason they don’t like him."
"That sounds absurd as you’re in conspiracy."
"It ain’t for no, Miss Dowel, and I’d better tell you something. In New Jersey, they are fixing to set up some vigilantes, and if, when they do, Roman Bohlen will have his say about them and what they do. There’s nothing halfway about Bohlen. He’d rather lynch two honest guys than miss one thief. And anyway, vigilantes have a way of getting out of hand. They start out to make the city under they control and then they carry on to settle old scores. You tell Arnold he’d better stay close to home if Bohlen has his say, Arnold will be on the list."
"That’s absurd! It’s ridiculous!"
"Tell that to Bohlen."