Read Online The Red Ripper by Kerry Newcomb - Free Book Online Page B

vida!” Obregon blurted, holding his
hands out before him and trailing blood in his wake. “Spare my life.”
    Wallace slowly advanced, breathing hard, limbs trembling with blood lust, the blades of his knives stained with the crimson residue of battle. The two horses he had saddled waited near a trough a few yards from the barn. The animals whinnied and pawed the earth. A nighthawk soared past on its nightly foray, the rush of its wings in kinship with the beating of a warrior’s heart. Wallace lifted the knives in his hands, glanced down at the sergeant, then slowly exhaled, cooling the fire within.
    â€œDo as I say and you might live to see the sunrise,” he calmly advised.
    Obregon nodded. He had no problem with that.
    Â 
    Dolores Medina, the camp laundress, waited while the two men gambled for her favors. She did not care which went first, just so long as both were quick. The woman was tired, her gums hurt, there was a nagging ache in the small of her back that no amount of pulque seemed to deaden, and she wanted to be on her way. But the jailers continued to argue over each other’s seniority. The men were almost as drunk as the soldiers asleep throughout the barracks. The whole powder magazine could explode in a ball of fire and Dolores doubted any of the troops in the compound would rouse from their stupor to investigate.
    But here in the guardroom her paramours were still on their feet. She was so tired of their quarreling yet knew better than to interfere. All the yelling had given her a headache. The laundress drained the last of the milky white pulque from her jug and set it on a shelf above her head. The cot creaked as the woman shifted her weight. She yawned, stretched a moment, and closed her eyes. Sweat trickled down the roll of fat under her neck as she turned her face to the wall. Moisture beaded
the inside of her thighs. She fluffed her cotton dress to fan her lower limbs, then left her clothing bunched at the waist and exposed the ample delights of her brown derriere to the lamplight while she tried to catch some rest. A few minutes later she began to snore and dream of being a young girl again, wild and fresh and dancing on the fringes of the sea.
    â€œMás tequila, mi amigo,” said Felix Salcedo, older by a fortnight, a wiry little man with bloodshot eyes. “More tequila, my friend.” He stabbed a thumb in the direction of the woman on the cot. “Another glass of tequila and she’ll be pretty enough to lie with, eh?”
    Carlos Pilar came from the same village as his friend. They had run whores from Tampico to Yucatan and chased Apaches until they learned better. There was no man Carlos trusted more than Felix, but there was no way he was going to bed a woman still wet from another man’s juices.
    â€œAnother glass of tequila and it won’t matter what she looks like. I’ll not be able to find my pole.”
    â€œThen I’d better hurry up and tend to her while you still can manage,” Felix said, attempting to rise from the table.
    Carlos reached across and caught him by the arm and forced him back into his chair. “I’ll be the first to plow that field.”
    â€œThe hell you say,” Felix replied, frowning.
    Silence filled the guardroom as the two men tried to stare each other down. Frijoles hardened in the skillet atop a wood-burning stove. Coffee and a stack of tamales wrapped in corn husks had yet to be distributed to the prisoners in the cells beyond the heavy oaken door at the rear of the guardroom. Tobacco smoke drifted between the two friends as Felix reached over and tapped a stack of cards on the tabletop.

    â€œI guess this is the only fair way, old friend. High card takes first poke.”
    Carlos stared at the deck before him. He mopped the perspiration from his features on the wrinkled sleeve of his uniform. It was either cards or pistols at close range and a trip to the local sawbones. “Why