Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel (22 page)

No, there’s no way I can use the state police except to carry out official sweeps on rebel strongholds. They’ve got to look like the ones trying to resist terrorism, not committing it.”

Davis threw his glass across the room. It bounced off the carpet, but did not break.
“Damn it all!”
He turned back to Ferdie. “How long will it take to bring more men up from the border?”

“A few weeks.”

“Well,
damn!
” He paced back and forth, head down. “How about those two marshals? You can’t let yourself be seen in public now that they’re out looking for you. They’ve got a warrant for your arrest.”

“What? A warrant? Why have they got a warrant out for me?” The color dropped out of Ferdie’s face, his eyes wide. He had a scared look on his face, close to panic.

Davis felt a rush of satisfaction. It was the first time he’d ever seen Ferdie show fear. He shook his head as if disappointed in the behavior of a small child. “We don’t know.”

Ferdie walked to the door, his face a blank. He said nothing as he started to leave the room. Davis yelled after him. “It’s them or you, Ferdie. You’d better stay on your toes.” Ferdie did not turn, but continued out the door as if in a trance.

Davis walked back to his desk, sat down and put his feet up on the ottoman. All things considered, it hadn’t been a bad day. Grant had stabbed them in the back, but they had a good plan. They’d have to slow down the raids for a while, but now Ferdie Lance knew how it felt to have the wolves at
his
door. It would be a long time before Davis would forget the look on Ferdie’s face, or the intense satisfaction he’d felt in being the one to give Ferdie the information.

CHAPTER 32

Mary Sue Doss lay on her bed, staring first at the flowered print of the wallpaper, then the stamped metal ceiling. Ferdie Lance snuggled against the swell of her breast, snoring lightly. He’d slept more than twelve hours, and she’d dutifully lain with him the entire time.

Mary Sue knew something was terribly wrong with Ferdie Lance. He was afraid to go to sleep. Days would go by, still he would fight going to bed. Finally, about to collapse, he would come to her. She knew what he needed. If he was capable, she had to make love to him. If not, she must lay naked in her bed while he snuggled, nursed her breast, and held on as if terrified. Finally, he would fall asleep.

Often, he would thrash and mumble. Sometimes he yelled out. Occasionally he would say wild things, occasionally, something coherent. Like last night.

Mary Sue had helped Ferdie Lance in this manner for six months, since Kinch West delivered her to Austin. It had been the end of one nightmare, the beginning of another. She’d cried as Kinch West had left, tears not of sorrow, but of relief. She’d been abandoned on the prairie by the man she’d loved, Foss Scroggs. He’d taken her money, everything of any value, and left her to die. Kinch West found her and took her into his gang. If she had resisted, he would have killed her.

From the start, Mary Sue had known what she faced. She’d also known how to survive, what she had to do. It had been difficult, but she’d worked through the pain. The endless days and nights, servicing the smelly, evil men. She’d known instinctively if she ever gave up, complained, or let on she was not enjoying every encounter, they would have killed her. She’d done it well. So well, in fact, Kinch West eventually agreed to let her go.

Now, she was a business woman, running her own boutique, thanks to Ferdie Lance. He was the last vestige of her experience with Kinch West. Ferdie had come to the gang several days before they’d arrived in Austin and had taken an immediate interest in her. He’d offered to buy her from Kinch. But Kinch would have none of it. If Ferdie wanted Mary Sue, he’d have to win her over. He did. By offering her enough money to start her own business. For the first time in her life, she’d felt reasonably free. Business had been good, and Ferdie had not been a bother. He was gone most of the time.

Mary Sue shook her head as she considered the quality of men she’d hooked up with over the years. She’d been unable to resist any number of sweet talking gamblers, drunks and high-falutin’ pretenders; for in a way, they were just like her. Trying to be free, to do exactly as they pleased. But sooner or later they’d turned out mean and deceitful.

Ferdie Lance was different. He was not good looking, being skinny boned, pock faced and shifty eyed, but he knew how to make her feel good. She had agreed to the sleeping arrangement, first out of fear he might kill her if she refused, then because she’d felt sorry for him. There was something scary about Ferdie, but he’d never been mean to her.

Several times he’d talked in his sleep, mumbling of his early childhood. She deduced he’d been terribly misused as a child. Once at the peak of his pleasure, he’d even called out for his
mother
. Last night, he’d confessed to murder, like a small boy admitting he’d stolen candy from a store. Then he’d babbled about the governor, and a plot to kill someone named Meadows. It didn’t make sense.

Ferdie jerked and rose from Mary Sue’s warm breast, heart pounding with panic as he struggled to clear his brain. He hated sleep, for the dreams always came. The process of waking scared him even more. There was always a brief period of vulnerability. He feared it would one day cost him his life. Sleep itself was the one battle he always lost.

Ferdie Lance knew he was crazy. He’d read once about crazy people;
lunatics
they were called. Crazy as a bed bug, his mother had said. But he’d shown her. She shouldn’t have said that. She shouldn’t have used him like one of her customers. She shouldn’t have thrown him out of her bed.

Without a woman to snuggle, Ferdie could not sleep. He’d been that way most of his life. He carried himself with an air of toughness, but deep in his soul, he knew he was a weakling. He could fight and win battles, spread terror with his blade, but fear—
monstrous and deadly
—lurked in the folds of sleep; never more than a few hours away.

He was most fearful of losing control. In his dreams he never had control. This morning, before awakening, his mind had relived that worst of deeds, the murder of his mother. Mary Sue’s warm breast undoubtedly triggered the dream, but strangely enough, he’d felt no anger. In fact, he felt a surge of passion. This time the dream had actually been pleasant.

Ferdie sat up, swung his skinny white legs over the edge of the bed. He looked back at Mary Sue, found her smiling warmly at him, large perfectly shaped breasts exposed and inviting, long yellow hair hanging loosely, sensuously, around her left nipple.

“Thank you, Ferdie,” she said softly. “I had a wonderful time last night. You were so tender, I wondered if it was really you.”

“Yeah, well—you were good too.” He stood up and looked down at her. “Maybe we ought to try it again, just to make sure we’re doing it right.”

Mary Sue giggled. “My God, Ferdie. Don’t you ever get enough?” She reached around his narrow waist with both arms, slid her left hand to his crotch. Sure enough, he was ready, but as she stroked him he pulled away sharply and walked to the dresser.

“We’ll have to finish this later, Mary Sue. I’ve got things to do. Important things with important people. I’m late already.”

Mary Sue straightened and pulled a pillow across her chest. “Important people? What important people, Ferdie?” She smiled wickedly, picked up a small red satin sham and threw it at him. “I’ve never known you to associate with important people. Have you found another girl?”

Mary Sue’s sixth sense told her Ferdie was hiding something from her. She could not resist a secret. “Come on Ferdie, ‘fess up. You’ve got a secret, don’t you? Come on; tell me what’s going on. You know I can’t stand secrets.”

Ferdie laughed, turned and pulled on his pants. Bending to the wash basin, he splashed water on his face and arms. He reached for a towel, and Mary Sue slipped up behind him. She pressed her naked body against his, rubbing her hands sensuously across his chest, grinding her hips lewdly into his buttocks. He was so short and thin, she so tall and wide, her breasts pressed out on each side of his face. He could see them both in the mirror. She moved her right hand around in his pants, and he knew he would bend to her will. He would just have to be late for his meeting.

Mary Sue maneuvered Ferdie to a side chair by the window in her oversized room, sat him down and kneeled. “Tell me a secret,” she whispered as she opened his pants. “Tell me a secret, and I’ll make you feel so good you’ll never want to leave.”

Ferdie looked down at her, felt the heat of desire pulse through his groin. There was no way he could stop her now. She snuggled in his thighs, played circles with her tongue, finally eased down on him, all the while looking up to watch the expression on his face. Between breaths, she whispered, “Tell me a secret.”

When able to breath normally again, he told her everything. He told her everything as if it were all perfectly normal—just business as usual on the frontier and the grand tableau of Texas politics.

* * *

Mary Sue rarely took stock of her life, for what was done was done. Don’t fret, she told herself. Tomorrow will be totally new. But she did fret. Now, Ferdie Lance had just thrashed her lazy conscience and walked away as easily as one might take a breath. His casual depiction of Kinch West’s attack on the train, the mortal wounding of a federal judge, his plan to kill the two federal marshals who were searching for him, had left her feeling empty. Ferdie told the story in such a matter-of-fact manner, she was sure he had no comprehension of how vile it all was. There was no question now, of the meaning of his words during the night.

You’ve done it again, Mary Sue. Hooked up with a no good murderin’ rat. He’d just as soon kill women and children or fine men as breathe. It means nothing to him, absolutely nothing. Sooner or later, you’ll mean nothing to him either, just like Foss Scroggs.

Mary Sue stood before the dresser mirror, wiped her tears away and stared. Mercifully, Ferdie had left before she’d lost control.

She reached to her waist and pinched a fold of skin.

Still firm. She lifted her breasts. Also, still firm. She knew she had the body of a classic nude model. Not thin, not fat.
Fecund
, someone once said. Ripe and fertile, ready for motherhood. But she knew she would never be a mother. Years of trying with any number of men had convinced her. She was barren. But she was capable of love, tender, beautiful and passionate. She just needed to find the right man.

One day he would appear, and she would know it instantly. In the meantime, there was Dixie Lee Potts. The only person with whom she had ever been able to express tenderness and passion and have it returned in full. It was Friday. Dixie always came in on Friday. Mary Sue felt a thrill as she thought of her first encounter with Dixie, the way the woman had looked at her, the subtle way further meetings were engineered, finally the dressing room. Her careless touch, feather light on Dixie’s breasts as they discussed fittings and tried on different delicate things. The end of the beginning, the desperate embrace when pretense gave way to passion. They met regularly now, always careful and always in Mary Sue’s room above the boutique. No one knew of this, not Ferdie Lance, and not Dixie’s husband, Yancy. That was the way they intended to keep it.

For both of them, Friday was a day of release. Release from the pressures of unhappy relationships, release from the pressures of work, release from the fear of an uncertain future.

CHAPTER 33

Mary Sue had to admit, Dixie Lee Potts was an amazing woman. Her family had owned a small ranch several miles from Fredericksburg, but little else. They’d eked out a living raising peaches they sold in Austin, and fodder they sold to cattle ranchers along the Pedernales River. Her father was a self styled minister without congregation.
Hell and damnation
had been Dixie’s daily bread.

Dixie Lee had known from an early age she had little hope of improving her life or station in the stuffy community of Fredericksburg. The people, especially the orthodox Lutheran ministers, had no use for her or her family. The cliquish German social world was closed to outsiders, secure within its own artificial barriers.

Although Dixie had been snubbed at school, treated shabbily by teachers who refused to speak English to her, she was loved by the boys. By her own admission, she’d been free and easy with her favors, to spite the other snobs. She’d probably still be doing it if Yancy Potts had not come along. He wasn’t much of a catch, she’d told Mary Sue, but he had money and a powerful position. Best of all, he’d promised her freedom. Freedom to do anything she might want, as long as she did it with discretion. She hadn’t understood at first, but as time went by, she came to realize she was his front; someone to deflect attention away from his own activities.

Both of them were satisfied with the relationship, and since Dixie was in charge of the family’s considerable finances, she answered to no one when it came to spending money. And spend it she did. On one occasion, she gave Mary Sue a tip of one hundred dollars, in addition to the sizable sum she’d paid for the dress she’d bought. The money made Mary Sue feel strange, like she was nothing more than a whore, but she’d accepted it. In a way, it had eased her mind. When the time came to break up, which must happen sooner or later, the exchange of money would make it easier for both of them.

* * *

Mary Sue was arranging a mannequin for display in her small shop when a tall man walked in the door. He looked around sheepishly. Men did not usually come into the boutique, and as Mary Sue looked up, she was utterly stunned. This man was the most beautiful person she had ever seen. He was tall, with a medium to dark complexion, short jet black hair, a classic Roman nose, and deep black piercing eyes. His perfectly tailored black suit was obviously new, as were his polished calf-high boots. A silver studded cartridge belt worn high at his waist held a single pearl handled revolver just obvious behind the left cut of the waist coat. The man did not appear comfortable.

Gathering her wits, Mary Sue addressed the man in a somewhat shaky voice. “Yes, sir? May I help you?”

Edson did not reply. His tongue was tied. He gazed around at the various mannequins, bolts of lacy material and displays of lingerie and formal dresses. For a moment, he considered a quick exit. This was no place for a United States Deputy Marshal, but he had agreed with Jack’s suggestion, they should buy something nice for Lydia.

They had searched Austin for several days, looking everywhere for a trace of Ferdie Lance. Now, they’d decided to lay back. To see if any of their contacts could alert them to Ferdie’s presence. Edson had found himself with time to shop, and upon the advice of the hotel bellman, he had come to
Le Boutique de Paris
. Edson looked down, shifted nervously, and then looked directly at the saleslady. His voice felt weak and shaky. “I’d like to, uh—buy a nice—nightdress, as a present for a lady.”

Mary Sue considered his response for a moment. She slowly removed the cloth measuring tape from around her neck and tossed it onto the sales counter. “Do you think that wise, sir? Items of lingerie are usually purchased by the woman herself. As a present, I don’t think it would be appropriate, unless of course the person is to be your wife. Even then you run a chance of embarrassing her.”

Edson turned half away, glanced out the window, and then turned back. “Well, I never thought of that, but somehow I don’t think she would be embarrassed. She seems the type to face everything head on.”

“Seems? If I may be so bold, sir, how long have you known the lady in question? Is she your fiancée?”

“My what?”

“Your fiancée, the lady you intend to marry?”

“Oh—well, no—she’s the friend of a friend of mine. He’s not able to shop for her himself.”

Edson moved from foot to foot. He looked down, put his boot toe on a mannequin stand, as if testing its structural integrity. It fell over. He grasped at it but missed.

He looked up sheepishly. “I’m sorry.”

Mary Sue smiled. She righted the mannequin and waved for him to continue.

“I’ve only known her a few weeks, actually. But, we, uh—anyway—they seem to have been hit by the—uh,
thunderbolt

,

“Oh, the
thunderbolt!
I see, well, I guess that’s it then. The thunderbolt never fails.”

She had not heard the expression,
thunderbolt
, for many years, and to hear it now from this lovely man, as if it explained everything, tickled her. She came close to laughing, but quickly decided that would not be profitable. The more she talked to him the more determined she became. She would have this man one way or another, maybe sooner, maybe later, or—maybe right
now
. She stepped closer and looked up, smiling.

“Well, good looking. This might take some time. My name is Mary Sue, what’s yours?”