THE BLACK WIDOW RANCH Sin City Novels

Prologue

My interest in martial arts came about after a session I had with Thurman Bagley. Thurman came to work in the Pensacola harbor when I was ten. He was a dark and swarthy man with shoulder-length black hair. He never talked much. He loomed tall and spooky, and my father, a shrimp fisher, never employed him.

On a hot day without the slightest breeze my mother sent my brother, Jay, and me to catch crabs for dinner. While Jay sauntered to Mrs. Ransom's store to buy some fish heads and a Coca-Cola, I decided to check the shack on the dock for leftover fish innards.

The old door creaked as I pushed through. It slammed hard behind me and I jumped out of my skin. For a moment the dark room blinded me. My eyes adjusted to the fraction of light filtering through its one window. My skin crawled at the sickening loud, heavy breathing coming from behind me near the door. The hairs in my neck prickled as terror raced straight to my heart. I had forgotten about Thurman who often hung out there.

Have you come to visit Thurman, missy? His voice oozed between pants as the shadow of the behemoth moved toward me. I turned and backed away. The dark hulk followed.

No, I, I haven't come to visit anyone. I, I'm looking for some old fish heads to crab with.

He stood too close for me to get around him. I kept backing away.

Thurman knows your daddy. He never use me.

I gulped. Please let me go?

Thurman has a friend he wants you to meet, missy. Thurman's friend likes little girls. His voice rumbled slow and deep.

He backed me into the light from the window. The light shined on the gigantic swollen penis he held in his left hand. With his right hand he grabbed the back of my neck and with incredible strength forced my face down toward it. His grip held me like a steel vice. He rubbed my face on the head and side of his penis, moaning like the sick monster he was.

He grabbed the front of my shirt with both his hands and jerked me up onto the wooden table. I always thought I had a lot of strength for a girl my age. I flailed away at him with both fists, landing punches on his face and chest, but they had no effect whatever. He laughed at my puny effort.

This is the place where Thurman cuts the fish, missy. Thurman is gunna cut you with his friend like he cuts the fish with the knife. He reached for the front of my blue jeans and with one yank he split the zipper and had my jeans down to my knees.

A flash of light blinded me. I thought I must be passing out, but then I realized someone had flung the door open. A thump and a moan, then cold sticky Coca-Cola started to cover me. By the time I looked up, Jay had one of the fish knives in his hand and he backed Thurman out the door with it. Jay closed the door and came back to me.

Are you okay, Peggy Sue?

Relief surged into me in flurries. Oh, Jay, it was so awful. I thought he was going to kill me. I pulled up my jeans and threw myself into his arms. He felt so good. I hugged him tight, so grateful he had come. We trembled in each other's arms for some time, both afraid to leave the shack.

Jay, why don't you peek out the door and see if Thurman has gone?

No way, I can't.

We've got to see if he's gone so we can go home. We can't stay in this shack all day. When night comes he's sure to come back and kill us.

Jay went to the door. I can't open it. I'm too scared.

Okay, I'll do it. Give me the knife. He handed it to me and I slowly peeked out the door. I couldn't see Thurman anywhere. I opened the door all the way and stood in the frame holding out the knife terrified Thurman would jump me at any minute. The dock held no one. It looked like he had gone. Yet, it still took me some time to coax Jay out of the shed.

We ran off the dock, hand in hand. I brought the knife with me and held it and my jeans up in one hand. We jerked at each other in terror at every noise. We knew he still lurked out there somewhere waiting to get us. I swear, we saw him peering from behind every tree and house all the way home.

Mother called the sheriff and they put out an all-points bulletin on Thurman Bagley. They never found him.

The courage my brother displayed that day amazed me. I had never seen anything like it. In his whole life he never exhibited physical courage. His classmates used him as a punching bag. Everyone could whip him, including his little sister. I used to have to jump in and rescue him when the bullies went too far. I asked him where he found the courage. He smiled and said he didn't know. I never saw anything like that out of him again.

That near disaster began my lifelong devotion to martial arts. I learned where and how to hit people where it would hurt them. Thurman and his friend lurked out there somewhere, waiting for me. I dedicated every workout to them. I still do. If a next time ever happens, the Thurmans of the world still might win, but goddammit they would pay a heavy price.

* * * * *

I saw Jay for the last time right after Mother's funeral. We both got a fifteen thousand-dollar inheritance check from Mr. Lindsey, the lawyer who handled Mother's will.

We pushed through the door out of the building and onto Cervantes Boulevard. A rare blast of northerly wind blew up my skirt and stung my legs and face. I hurried to get to Daddy's car, but Jay tugged at my sleeve and made me wait. We took shelter from the wind against the side of the building.

Peggy Sue, I'm not going back to the house, said Jay from underneath his flaming shock of red hair. His light blue eyes bore into me like shafts of steel. The two of us looked so much alike many took us for twins.

What do you mean you're not going back to the house? What am I supposed to tell Daddy?

Tell him that I love him, but I'm leaving. The words Jay spoke suspended in the cold air. His thin oval face hung ghostlike behind the mist.

You're leaving and going back to school? You're going to catch the bus back and leave me here? I knew he meant more than this, but I hoped beyond hope that he did not.

I'm not going back to school. I felt a thud in my stomach. I want you to take me by the bank so I can cash this check and then drop me at the airport. I'm taking the next plane to New Orleans. From there, it's on to Las Vegas. Jay's ashen complexion dominated underneath his generous supply of freckles.

I don't believe my ears, Jay. You have only a few months to go before graduating from Florida State and you're going to throw all that away and haul-ass for Las Vegas, Nevada?

What I don't need is an argument. That's why I'm not going to tell Daddy. He'll have a shit hemorrhage.

And with good fucking reason.

Look, I've thought it all through. Nothing anyone can say can change my mind. Will you take me, Sis? Or do I have to take a taxi?

After I let him off at the airport, I went straight home. Daddy wasn't there. I found him across the street at Razor's. We dashed back to the airport but Jay had already left.

* * * * *

The second week of April rolled in and nostalgia tugged at my feelings as I closed in on my last days at Florida State University. In June, I would graduate with honors with a degree in criminal justice. In September, I would start classes at Tulane Law School. I looked forward to Tulane but knew already that I would miss Tallahassee.

I had on my running gear, shorts, a halter top, ankle socks, and an old pair of running shoes. I pulled on my old Florida State sweatshirt so I could get good and wet. No use in running if you ain't gunna sweat. One of the many jewels offered by the great Razor Raddock, my father's longtime friend and drinking companion.

Come on, Vicky, let's hit it, I called out to Vicky Rogers, my roommate, as I started into my stretches.

I've run mine, Peggy Sue. I've got an early date with Alfred, Vicky said as she came out of the bathroom. Her large brown bovine eyes leered at me and she wore that mischievous grin she always wore whenever she thought of sex.

Alfred? I, uh, swear I can't see what you see, uh, in that boy, I said between stretches.

Well, number one, he's male, and number two, he's breathing. Want to hear three and four?

Why not? I grunted, leaning forward and stretching the muscles in the back of my thigh.

Three, he's male. Four, he's breathing. Want to hear five and six?

I think I get your drift. I stretched my other leg.

As long as I have your attention, Ms. Peggy Sue Poss, I've been wanting to ask you something.

Fire away, young lady. I grunted again, bending down and straining the muscles in the back of both legs.

What are your plans for the summer?

I don't know. I straightened up, finished with my pre-run stretches. More than likely I'll work on my father's shrimp boat. Between trips maybe I'll do a couple of jobs for Razor Raddock. Razor, a private investigator, used me now and then to follow people. Why? I asked.

They're having this two-woman beach volleyball tournament over in Jacksonville in August. The first prize is twenty-five thousand dollars. I'll bet you can't make that on your daddy's stinking old shrimp boat.

Probably not. But I am guaranteed some money when I work for him. That is if the Gulf of Mexico doesn't dry up between now and then. Who's guaranteeing me first prize in this tournament?

You're looking at her, young-un. Vicky's eyes beamed. She smiled ear to ear.

Vicky Rogers, you've plain gone out and lost every bit of sense you carry around in that bovine brain of yours, I said while jogging in place. Do you know that legions of professional talent are out there drooling to make mincemeat out of two novices like you and me? We'd be lucky to win one match.

Ah, but I know a catch to this that you don't know, O ignorant one. Vicky came up to my face and put her forehead against mine.

And what might that be, O exalted genius? Our heads moved from side to side as we exerted pressure. It was our occasional goofy custom.

Professionals are barred from competing in this tournament. It's for amateurs only. Last year's champions can't even compete. Vicky backed away from me and pirouetted across the room, her arms held together high in the air.

Why didn't you say that, Ms. Fancy Pants? I followed her across the room and yanked at the hideous baggy red, white, and blue striped pants she wore.

I did, Ms. Grungy Sweatshirt. Vicky returned the favor by pulling my sweatshirt down off my shoulder. What do you say we take a crack at it?

I sighed. It sure sounds tempting. Twelve and a half grand would do wonders for my depleted bank account. Let me think on it. I started for the door, impatient to get on with my run.

The way I've got it figured, you can stay with me on the beach for the summer. We'll hone our bodies and get our game into top fighting condition. What do you say, Wonder Woman? Vicky's big brown eyes were intent on an answer.

I said I would think on it. Out of my way, O girl who has date with Alfred the Great. Wonder Woman has her mountain to climb.

Pushing by Vicky, I started down the hallway of our dorm, thinking her offer would be hard to turn down. Vicky's folks were rich and they had a big house out at Pensacola Beach. They had a boathouse with an apartment above it and that's where we would be staying. And besides, the two of us could play a pretty fair game of volleyball. That twelve and a half grand would set me up perfectly for law school.

Vicky Rogers and I played and won many games. For most of our lives, we faced the world as real pals. In school, Vicky lagged a year behind me. We both came from Pensacola, Florida. Vicky stood a couple inches shorter than my five feet nine inches. We both carried the same weight of a hundred and forty pounds. We both pumped iron and fat took up little of that one-forty.

Since our preteens, we both took extensive martial arts classes. We knew how to protect ourselves against the elements. We both played on the Florida State women's volleyball team that lost this year in the semi-finals of the NCAA Championship. We lost on what I thought was a horrible call.

Them's the breaks, young lady, Razor Raddock had said.

I upped my three-mile-run to five. The extra miles run took its toll on me. In agony and pain, I panted, trying hard to satisfy the demand of my deprived lungs for more air. My body screamed at me. Peggy Sue Poss, you've lost your compass. That three-mile nonsense you've been forcing on us is the limit of our endurance. The absolute limit! Are you listening, Peggy Sue? We can't take any more. Not one mile. Not even a measly half-mile. Much less, this five, ten, and twenty-six miles you keep dreaming of.

Deep down I realized my body told it like it was. To try to increase the distance meant more suffering than I wanted to undergo.

Peggy Sue, Vicky called from the second story window of the dormitory, bringing me back to life.

Yeah? I leaned exhausted against the wrought-iron handrail on the dorm steps.

Razor Raddock called while you were running. He said it was urgent that you call him right back as soon as you can.

Razor Raddock? Urgent? Not once since I've been here had Razor Raddock ever called me, much less called urgently. My agony from running disappeared in a flash. My heartbeat raced again, this time not from exercise but from anxiety. I bounded up the stairs and down the hall to my room in a flash.

Hello, came Razor's scratchy voice over the telephone.

Razor, this is Peggy Sue. My temples boomed. Vicky said you'd called.

I hate to call you like this, girl, but I figured you should know as soon as possible. He sounded dead serious and it scared me.

What is it? Has something happened to Daddy?

No.

Well, what is it? I knew I wasn't going to like the reply.

It's Jay, Peggy Sue.

Well, what's happened to him? Tears appeared in my eyes. I knew something horrible was coming.

He's dead.

Dead? I cried out in anguish. I grew weak and felt faint. Not Jay! Not dead! Oh, Razor, no. How?

He was murdered. Murdered out there in Vegas.

Murdered? How could my brother have been murdered?

Your daddy didn't have the heart to call you. He said it liked to have kilt him when he had to tell you when your mother died. He begged me to do it. He's flown out to identify the body and bring home the remains.

Devastated by Razor's phone call, I can't remember much of what I did next. In a daze, I stumbled out and found my Jeep, Old Stud. I bought him a couple of years before with part of the inheritance I got when my mother died of cancer. I maneuvered Old Stud out onto I-10 headed west and left the rest to him. He knew the way home to Pensacola.

* * * * *

My hometown is known for its Navy base and, to a lesser degree, its beach. Few people outside the Gulf region have heard of it. Its white sand looks like snow. It stretches for ten beautiful and wonderful miles. It sits right in the middle of what is called the Redneck Riviera, which runs all the way along the Gulf of Mexico from Panama City, Florida, to Gulfport, Mississippi.

Jay Branson Poss consumed my senses as I drove across the flat road of the panhandle of northwest Florida. Pine trees engulfed both sides of the interstate and the long drive always bored me. How could my precious, darling brother have died? Murdered, Razor said.

At 1020 East Jackson Street, not far from downtown Pensacola, I pulled Old Stud into the driveway of my home and shut off the engine. Before my foot hit the ground, I heard Razor Raddock's screen door slam across the street. I let out an ear-piercing shriek that could be heard up and down East Jackson Street. Tears streamed down my cheeks. I ran to him in the middle of the street and threw myself into his long hairy arms. Razor wrapped me up and drew me into his hairy gray chest. I cried into his chest. He held me and patted me on the head, saying, There, there. I hugged him hard and he held me tight while I cried unrestrained. I thought I saw Razor crying also. In fact, I know I did.

Razor sat up with me in the kitchen all night. Daddy flew back the next day from Las Vegas with Jay's cremated remains.

In Daddy's shrimp boat, we took Jay's ashes out deep into the Gulf of Mexico and scattered them. Daddy, Razor Raddock, the original Old Stud and the Widow Purdy attended the ceremony, along with me. The original Old Stud worked as Daddy's deck hand for as long as I could remember. I named my Jeep after him. The Widow Purdy, Mother's best friend, always had a special relationship with our family. She lived across the street and next door to Razor Raddock on East Jackson Street.

Daddy wanted to put Jay to rest out in the Gulf of Mexico. He said the Gulf was beautiful. He wanted him in the Gulf because he earned his living there. Most of the days of his life he spent there. Every time Daddy went back out there or even just looked at the Gulf of Mexico, he could think of Jay and remember the joy and the good times with his only son. They had not all been good times. The two of them disagreed strongly at times. But Daddy loved Jay with all his heart and Jay had loved him back.

We scattered Jay's ashes over a large area. Each mourner in turn took a handful of Jay's ashes and told of a favorite experience he or she had with Jay, and then released his ashes into the water. I told of the time Jay saved me from being raped and possibly murdered.

* * * * *

Two boys and a woman lounged against the metal handrail in front of the office. The boys were both in their late teens or early twenties, the woman, maybe thirty. The boys wore tank tops, cut-off shorts, and cheap tennis shoes without socks. Both stood at about my height with medium builds.

The woman's appearance made me uncomfortable. She had a hard-edged, masculine look: flattop blonde hair, and large breasts strained against a black leather vest, black spandex shorts with a red stripe ran down each side.

Toward the entrance to the motel I walked shaking the cobwebs from my legs caused by the trip. Perspiration ran down my forehead and I must have stunk something awful. I felt miserable and unattractive. But from force of habit, I expected the eyes to light up on the boys as I neared the doorway. They did not. They cast their eyes down, avoiding mine. I sensed they were observing everything out of the corners of their eyes.

I followed the woman inside to the check-in counter. She moved her stocky, muscular frame with a swagger. Her arms swung with force as she walked, violating the air, punishing it for being in her way.

Lifting the countertop she moved behind the desk saying, Whaddaya need, missy? It was a stay-the-fuck-away-from-me-or-else look

This is my brother. I fished a picture out of my billfold. A couple of months ago he stayed at this motel. Do you recognize him?

Flattop stared at the photograph for a while, looked back up, face emotionless, eyes remote. It looks like the dude who got wasted up on Sunrise Mountain.

It is, I said, through clenched teeth.

This is Jay. He worked here for a couple of weeks, but I can only tell you what I told the pigs. She gazed out