Read Online Mobley's Law, A Mobley Meadows Novel by Gerald Lane Summers - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Gerald Lane Summers
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ends of his mustache to crinkle upward. “You have whiskey ? Oh, my Lord and all the saints be praised, I’ve been saved.” He dropped the skillet and scuttled closer, reaching for the bottle.
Mobley chuckled as he stretched to hand over the leather covered flask. Juan looked at it lovingly, removed the cork with a hollow pop, and held the opening to his nose, sniffing deeply. He carefully placed the flask to his lips, tipped back his head and took a long three swallow pull. Ahhhhhhhhh . He then shook himself like a wet dog, from the head down to his waist. Ahrrrrrr . Juan’s eyes watered at the strength of the brew, his breath a ragged gasp. Mobley found himself snort-laughing as Juan tried to hand the bottle back.
“No, Juan. Go ahead. Drink your fill. There’s more where that came from.”
Juan obliged, taking another long pull and repeating his sequence of response until he had Mobley laughing and snorting so hard he could hardly talk.
As Juan set the bottle down, Mobley reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two cigars. He scratched a match along his boot, waited for the flame to settle, then lit one of the cigars.
“I’ve a spare cigar here, too, if you’d care to light up. These are fresh from Havana, soaked in red English naval rum, and rolled out on the milky thighs of beautiful Cuban virgins. At least, that’s what they told me the last time my ship dropped anchor there. Anyhow, they’re smooth and mild. I’ll vouch for that.”
For a brief moment, Mobley pictured the Cuban girls he’d known and the pleasures of his last voyage to the Caribbean. He quickly dismissed the fantasy. He’d had great fun on his trips to the islands, running blockades during the war, but in general he had difficulty with women. The loose ones were a comfort, easy to talk to and be with, but real ladies an enigma. He could never settle for the former and was unable to comprehend the latter.
Most of the fine ladies he’d met had seemed fragile, subject to sniffle at the slightest hurt. He’d had no truck with them. Others had been put off by his height, being runty little snips without the good sense to recognize the value of being able to see over a crowd. If there was a woman out there for him, he’d yet to meet her. Besides, his life was just too dangerous. It wouldn’t be fair to a good woman to subject her to such a life as his.
Mobley sucked lightly on the stogie and watched Juan light his with a glowing stick from the fire. “I’m not much of a smoker, Juan, but a fine cigar with a glass of good whiskey is supposed to be a sign of the civilized man.”
Juan paused for several minutes, savoring the whiskey and its pepper-like descent to his stomach, and waving his nose through the sweet smoke of the cigar. It had been a very long time since he’d felt this well. When he looked back at Mobley, he sensed similar thoughts. The man seemed at peace with himself. But Juan knew things were not always as they seemed. It was imperative he find out as much about his new friend as he could, before some unknown personality characteristic could put him in a dangerous situation. Knowledge was survival.
“Mobley, if you don’t mind me asking, what is a judge doing out here alone on the prairie? I thought judges had their own courthouses with fancy offices and all of the amenities. I’d never thought to see one out on the prairie dressed in leather, shooting it out with a band of Comancheros .”
Mobley glanced over to Juan and flicked the ash from his cigar. He reached for the bottle, lifted it far back and finished it off. There had been no more than one full swallow left, which he took to be a small courtesy from Juan. Never take the last cookie, that sort of thing. A nice gesture. He felt even better now, about Juan. He was indeed a gentleman, when he chose to be.
Mobley exhaled a stream of smoke, pursed his lips and blew a perfect smoke ring. He turned and smiled at Juan. “Just a teensy bit ago, Juan, I
Mobley chuckled as he stretched to hand over the leather covered flask. Juan looked at it lovingly, removed the cork with a hollow pop, and held the opening to his nose, sniffing deeply. He carefully placed the flask to his lips, tipped back his head and took a long three swallow pull. Ahhhhhhhhh . He then shook himself like a wet dog, from the head down to his waist. Ahrrrrrr . Juan’s eyes watered at the strength of the brew, his breath a ragged gasp. Mobley found himself snort-laughing as Juan tried to hand the bottle back.
“No, Juan. Go ahead. Drink your fill. There’s more where that came from.”
Juan obliged, taking another long pull and repeating his sequence of response until he had Mobley laughing and snorting so hard he could hardly talk.
As Juan set the bottle down, Mobley reached into his jacket pocket and pulled out two cigars. He scratched a match along his boot, waited for the flame to settle, then lit one of the cigars.
“I’ve a spare cigar here, too, if you’d care to light up. These are fresh from Havana, soaked in red English naval rum, and rolled out on the milky thighs of beautiful Cuban virgins. At least, that’s what they told me the last time my ship dropped anchor there. Anyhow, they’re smooth and mild. I’ll vouch for that.”
For a brief moment, Mobley pictured the Cuban girls he’d known and the pleasures of his last voyage to the Caribbean. He quickly dismissed the fantasy. He’d had great fun on his trips to the islands, running blockades during the war, but in general he had difficulty with women. The loose ones were a comfort, easy to talk to and be with, but real ladies an enigma. He could never settle for the former and was unable to comprehend the latter.
Most of the fine ladies he’d met had seemed fragile, subject to sniffle at the slightest hurt. He’d had no truck with them. Others had been put off by his height, being runty little snips without the good sense to recognize the value of being able to see over a crowd. If there was a woman out there for him, he’d yet to meet her. Besides, his life was just too dangerous. It wouldn’t be fair to a good woman to subject her to such a life as his.
Mobley sucked lightly on the stogie and watched Juan light his with a glowing stick from the fire. “I’m not much of a smoker, Juan, but a fine cigar with a glass of good whiskey is supposed to be a sign of the civilized man.”
Juan paused for several minutes, savoring the whiskey and its pepper-like descent to his stomach, and waving his nose through the sweet smoke of the cigar. It had been a very long time since he’d felt this well. When he looked back at Mobley, he sensed similar thoughts. The man seemed at peace with himself. But Juan knew things were not always as they seemed. It was imperative he find out as much about his new friend as he could, before some unknown personality characteristic could put him in a dangerous situation. Knowledge was survival.
“Mobley, if you don’t mind me asking, what is a judge doing out here alone on the prairie? I thought judges had their own courthouses with fancy offices and all of the amenities. I’d never thought to see one out on the prairie dressed in leather, shooting it out with a band of Comancheros .”
Mobley glanced over to Juan and flicked the ash from his cigar. He reached for the bottle, lifted it far back and finished it off. There had been no more than one full swallow left, which he took to be a small courtesy from Juan. Never take the last cookie, that sort of thing. A nice gesture. He felt even better now, about Juan. He was indeed a gentleman, when he chose to be.
Mobley exhaled a stream of smoke, pursed his lips and blew a perfect smoke ring. He turned and smiled at Juan. “Just a teensy bit ago, Juan, I
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