Blowing Off Steam Page 14

  “Trueworthy! Wakeman! I was wondering if you could grant me a favor. I’ve got a special guest on this upriver run, and I wondered if you could give me a better stateroom. See, this special guest—” Brannan gasped. “Catalina?”

  No one moved. Rushy was the first to speak. “Who in Sam Hill is Catalina?”

  Brannan smiled widely, holding out his hands. “Catalina! We’ve been looking for you all week long! What happened to you? Why’d you leave?”

  Calliope stepped out from behind Field, smoothing down her chef’s apron. “I don’t know who this Catalina person is, Mr.— ”

  Brannan cut right to the chase. His face displayed happiness at finding “Catalina,” but this immediately changed to rage when he faced the two captains. “Sirs! You must know you’ve stolen my best girl, as I did try and find her for you that day you broke the speed record in Sacramento.”

  Field frowned. “No one has stolen anyone, Mr. Brannan. Calliope came to us of her own free will—”

  Brannan blustered ahead. “I’ll have you know you have caused me untold financial grief and lost revenue. Why, I’ve had men go down the street when they hear we’ve lost Catalina.”

  Rushy and Calliope shared smug grins, but Field was livid. “That’s none of our concern, Brannan. She’s neither an indentured servant nor a slave to you and can come and go of her own free will. Or are you proposing that you own her?”

  “Of course not! That would be preposterous! I’m simply saying you owe me for lost revenue. Normally, one would pay the current employer to steal an employee away from their contract, and Catalina and I had a contract.”

  “Oh, yes?” said Calliope. “What contract? Where?”

  “It was a verbal, implied contract,” huffed Brannan. “I took you in when you were hiding from those Salt Lake Saints. I made you everything you are. You’d be dead if it weren’t for me, Mrs. Catalina Rowland!”

  “Mormons?” Rushy gasped.

  Calliope pointed at Brannan’s boots. “Now, listen here, Mr. Sam Brannan. I would’ve found work without you. You don’t own Sacramento. Enos Fouratt wanted me on his floating palace, and Barnes and Starr wanted me at their hotels.”

  But Field was staring fixedly at Calliope, more than likely because of the “Mrs. Catalina Rowland” business. She had told them her last name was Cavendish. Rushy thought that Rowland was a perfectly fine last name. It was probably the “Mrs.” part that threw Field for a loop.

  Brannan drew himself up. “Nevertheless. Captains, I expect remuneration. At the very least for the past few weeks I’ve been missing Mrs. Rowland. I’ll have my bookkeeper give you a figure. Good day.” Brannan turned on his boot heel and stalked back down from whence he had come.

  Calliope and Rushy sighed heavily, but Field had withdrawn from Calliope and was regarding her skeptically.

  Rushy said, “I thought Haight was going to do something about Brannan. I reckon he hasn’t had a chance to yet.” When Field only stared daggers at Calliope, Rushy continued rambling. “Well, paying him a few hundred to get him off our backs seems like a small bite from our ofuyung commission.”

  Calliope said cheerfully, “Hey! It’d be a lot more than a few hundred, buddy! And how much are you earning because everyone has heard of the amazing new chef? Plenty dineros.”

  Since Field didn’t seem inclined to say anything, Rushy inquired, “What’s this business about the Mormons? I can’t picture you with those there dried-up old brethren. They can take us in the First Testament any day.”

  Calliope looked as though she wanted to jump over the rail. “The emigrant train I was with became very argumentative, and…Oh, hell. We should be getting ready for the race. I’ll tell you later.”

  Indeed, Cincinnatus then came around the hold to inform them Clive Bixby had sent them cigars to congratulate himself on the race he hadn’t yet won, and all hands scrambled to their stations so Rushy could give the Ready about! command.

  Chapter Thirteen

  This time, they met Soquel Haight at an actual chicken farm. Sun baked the chicken shit into a giant cake of smelly offal, but Field supposed it would cover the smell of their shame when Haight lectured them for racing. Although of course they’d won the race against Clive Bixby, that was small consolation for enduring a scolding by Haight. Also, this time he’d demanded that Tobias Fosburgh accompany them, not a good sign.

  So they leaned against the railing of the chicken pen, Haight’s face completely mysterious and inscrutable as always. Adjusting his necktie with precision, he intoned, “I have heard you were racing. I have warned you against that.”

  “To be fair,” Field started out, “we thought it might look even more suspicious if we didn’t race.” But Field couldn’t shake the creepy feeling Haight gave him. He seemed the sort who would garrote a man with no compunction whatsoever, then go finish his tea.

  “Speed is not of the essence in this sort of operation,” Haight said flatly. “I chose you because you have your own mechanic and can repair anything without outside assistance. You also have the best pilot on the river. I didn’t choose you because you’re the fastest steamer.”

  “In our defense,” said Field, “passengers don’t pay us because we have our own engineer or the best darn pilot. They pay us because they get a thrill when we race.”

  “Leave out the thrills. The less thrills in this business, the better. Did you get the new safe I sent over? Good. And no making stops along the river. No picking up asparagus from ricemen, or lone passengers who will only give you five dollars. You are only making yourselves vulnerable to thieving pirates.”

  Field knew Rushy would bust, but he didn’t think it would be this soon. Rushy exclaimed, “Mr. Haight! This is my boat still. I’ve built up a rep by picking up asparagus from ricemen, or lone passengers who need a ride. The business isn’t only about transporting your corpses. There are many other facets you haven’t been given all the facts about. The El Dorado isn’t just set aside for your especial use because you pay us a few thousand dollars.”

  To Field’s surprise, Haight said coolly, “I understand. You’re a businessman. But you are also now a criminal because the United States has decided to unfairly tax our commodity, a commodity highly in need by the Celestial community as well as women and miners. And for this you don’t need a criminal lawyer. You need a lawyer who is a criminal.”

  “Hey, now,” Tobias said mildly, as though unsure whether to object or not.

  Field said, “Are you saying we need another lawyer? Someone who is a bit more devious? Someone who can blow a little more smoke?”

  “Oh, Mr. Fosburgh can blow smoke just fine.” Haight actually smiled a bit when he said that—or at least seemed to, the way he stretched his lips over his teeth. “He can advise you of the consequences should you fail to follow my suggestions.”

  Tobias kicked at a chicken that had escaped from the pen. “Yes. Why should they go to jail for a crime that someone else noticed?”

  “Exactly,” said Haight. “Rest assured, gentlemen. If you follow my instructions, you will never be found culpable. Opium in ricemen corpses? Who else would do such a thing, other than ricemen themselves?”

  “Well, that’s not really fair,” Field started to say, but Haight was already onto another subject.

  “And this public exhibition I have heard about.” Haight frowned with disgust. “It simply has to stop immediately. What is the El Dorado, a floating Roman orgy? Not acceptable.”

  “To be fair”—Tobias echoed Field’s lingo with a chummy chuckle—“that sort of stuff goes on all the time on these riverboats. No one minds at all. Fact, I’d say it’s gained them many passengers who hear stories about the shows.”

  While Field had discovered that, in an extremely perverse way, he enjoyed putting on these shows, he also wanted to placate Haight. “All right, we’ll agree to that. But you need to do us a favor regarding Samuel Brannan. I know you probably haven’t had time to set him straight regarding the first matter. But no
w he’s coming after us regarding our new chef, Calliope.”

  Haight cut him off by closing his eyes patiently. “I will take care of Mr. Brannan,” he vowed.

  The meeting over, the trio walked down J Street toward the embarcadero.

  Tobias slapped Rushy’s chest with the back of his hand. “Jesus H. Criminy, boys. If I ever get hemorrhoids, I’ll know what to name them. Rushy and Field.”

  Rushy said, “Oh, we’re not that bad, Tobias. It’s just that dried-up old businessman who thinks there’s something wrong with what we do. I don’t see him lecturing you about spanking hookers dressed up as schoolgirls.”

  “Maybe because he doesn’t know about it,” Tobias huffed. “And I’d prefer to see it stay that way.”

  Rushy paused, stock-still, looking at something on the wharf like a coyote all perked up. “Well,” he breathed. “It might not stay that way for long, from the dubious looks of this spy what’s been following us the past couple of days.”

  Field saw the fellow Rushy meant. A riceman leaned against the wharf railing in an exaggerated attempt to look casual. But his glaringly dandy scotch bonnet would make him stand out in a crowd of the worst sort of wallpapered brawling miners. “If he’s following us,” said Field, “he’s not doing a very good job of acting shrewd. Néih hóu!” he called to the spy in plaid. The spy immediately leaped into an attentive posture with hands outspread into talons, but they were ten yards from him now, and he didn’t have much of a chance to run.

  “Néih hóu!” the spy replied suspiciously.

  “Who are you?” Field inquired.

  The spy pointed to himself. “I?”

  “Yes, you. Who are you? We brought you here from San Francisco, but you were on the run downriver from Sacramento a couple days before that. Now you’re back in Sacramento, lounging about our landing stage. What sort of riceman travels about for a living?”

  “I am merchant,” the fellow claimed with hostility, as though he wished to knife them with that long katana sword he wore in a scabbard. “Rice merchant.”

  Rushy asked with hands on hips, “Then why have you never shipped any rice with us?”

  “I ship with other boat, on barge. I like El Dorado for other entertainments.”

  Rushy huffed. “Right. Well there won’t be no other entertainments anymore, buster. And we’re keeping an eye on you.”

  They continued up the landing stage, and Field said, “I’ll go check with Callie about that fellow. Tobias, can you find out more about him?”

  “Yes,” said Rushy. “I don’t see why a riceman merchant would be going up and down the river constantly. Ask Calliope what she’s seen him doing.”

  Field found Calliope in the galley, cleaving up a shoulder of venison. When she looked up and bestowed him with her thoroughly ecstatic smile, Field was flooded with joy. She put down the cleaver and wiped her bloody hands on a towel. “My possum,” she declared, and lifted a glass of ruby-red liquid. “Port,” she explained, sipping from it. “You fellows told me it was all right if I got a bit wallpapered, and I was using it in this stew. Here.” She went to the pantry to get another glass and poured Field some as well. “This is very good. I believe it’s from the Tuscany region of Italy.”

  “My,” said Field, sipping his wine. “You’re becoming quite highfalutin with all your wine knowledge.”

  A little frown line appeared between her sapphire eyes. “I’ve noticed that. I seem to have this ability to note the differences in wine, to tell which area it’s from.” She shrugged. “It makes the passengers think I’m top rail, when really”—she giggled—“I just like bugjuice.”

  “Or you have very good taste,” Field suggested ambiguously. “Say, I was wondering. Have you seen this Celestial fellow loitering about, wearing a very smart plaid cap?”

  Calliope stuck her finger into a bowl of butter cream and sucked on it. “Oh yes,” she said, smacking her lips. “Who hasn’t seen that annoying guy? He was sitting right outside our staterooms this morning in the saloon, although he wasn’t drinking anything. And once he came right into my galley. Pretended to be looking for the privy.”

  “The head,” Field corrected her, then was sorry he did. He knew Calliope felt ashamed about her uneducated background. She had done all of her own educating, and Field had seen a copy of Uncle Tom’s Cabin in her stateroom. “So what do you think he’s up to?”

  “No good, no doubt. Maybe that Mr. Haight fellow sent him to check up on you.”

  “That’s what I thought. Listen, Callie,” he said now, because his main interest wasn’t the odd Celestial fellow in the plaid bonnet. “What was Brannan referring to when he called you Mrs. Rowland? Have you been married before?”

  Calliope looked down to the bowl where she smeared another finger full of the cream. She shrugged. “Yes. In Utah Territory, where some people seem to think a marriage doesn’t count.” She shrugged again. “I was the eighth wife. We were sealed in the temple.”

  “But how…” Field didn’t know how to ask this. “How did you arrive in Sacramento? Those people don’t believe in divorce, do they?”

  “They abhor divorce, of course,” Calliope said. “But the other seven wives made sure my marriage to Levi was annulled.”

  “Why didn’t they like you?”

  Calliope had a shy expression now, and she licked her finger more salaciously, thoughtfully. “Levi preferred to be with me.”

  Although wracked with painful jealous pangs, Field had to grin. “Can’t say as I blame him. You’re a stunner, Callie.” He petted her face with the back of his hand. “The prettiest girl I’ve ever met.”

  She must know he’d been married before, so this was a real compliment, and she finally looked at him. Her look was sultry, rubbing her face against his hand like a house cat. “You’re not too lousy of a lady-killer yourself, Field. I…I did truly love my husband. He was quite…talented and invigorating.”

  “So he knew how to fuck well,” Field surmised.

  She sucked on her finger again, but now there was a devilish tone to her fiddling. Her lush figure was pressed up against him, and he knew she could feel his erection through her skirts, as she rubbed her pubic bone against it with a false innocence. “Yes,” she admitted boldly, her finger popping from her mouth. Without looking, she dipped it into the bowl again but brought it to Field’s lips to lick. He licked like a tentative kitten, but a surge of anger rose in him to think that Calliope had sucked Rushy’s stupid penis and not his. Hell, he had sucked Rushy’s stupid prick! Why was Rushy getting all the servicing around here? Well, maybe because he was the biggest, most handsome buck on the river. So why had Calliope seemingly chosen him? “He fucked well and taught me many things in bed. I believe I truly loved him, Field, but you know what? He didn’t teach me many things out of bed. Out of bed, I was confined to the kitchen—”

  “Like you are now,” Field mentioned, instantly regretting it.

  She closed her eyes patiently. “Like I am now, but you know what the difference is, my big, handsome, well-built stallion?” A rush of pride went through Field that she would call him a “stallion,” especially since Rushy’s horse’s tool was a bit bigger than his. She rubbed some butter cream on his slack lower lip. “Now, sure, I work in a kitchen. But I’m not stuck here. I can go from here to the pilothouse or the engine room. I can suck on your big, beautiful prick if I want to, or I can go shopping for a new gown if I want to. It’s all about choice.” She regarded him as though he were an artist’s easel. “I don’t have to suck on your long, fat cock if I don’t particularly feel like it at the moment.”

  Stupidly, as though all the blood in his brain had rushed to his crotch, Field said, “But it sounds as though you wanted to suck on your husband’s penis all the time.”

  She shrugged. “Pretty much. But those witchy wives ruined all that for me, Field. I was sad for a couple of years, but it only recently came to my realization that”—she exhaled heavily—“if Levi Rowland had truly loved me, he
wouldn’t have allowed those funky bitches to kick me out of Utah Territory. He could have built me my own house and got some new wives to help me, wives who didn’t loathe me.”

  Field pinpointed where all these waves of anger were coming from. He took Calliope’s wrists in his hands to hold her still. “And why do you have to suck on any man’s cock at all? Is that your only value, Callie?”

  “Well,” she scoffed. “If I didn’t suck cock, I’d have a much smaller value. You’ve got to admit that, Field. It’s the only way I know how to entice a man. Who’d want me otherwise?”

  “Don’t say that!” Moving his hands down to clasp her abundant ass in his palms, Field lifted her onto the large wooden cutting board where she had been chopping the venison. He had to smear some bloody deer flesh aside to prop her there, but her thighs parted with relaxation and she clung to his neck with a happy smile. “Callie, I need to convince you that not all canoodling is for a man’s enjoyment. You tied up Rushy and forced me to tickle his penis because you knew it’d excite him.”

  “And you,” she added.

  Field nearly blushed. “Well, yes. But you orchestrated that whole scenario in order to stimulate and satisfy Rushy, right?”

  Calliope looked aside. “Yes,” she said uncertainly.

  “Which is fine. I like to satisfy Rushy, too. He’s a fine man, and I love him”—Damnation! Did I really just say that? Field raced ahead with his sentence—“but where do you fit into the picture? Because you’re accustomed to satisfying other men doesn’t mean you don’t need satisfaction as well.”

  It was Calliope’s turn to blush. Field smiled broadly at the sight of her face reddening. He’d never witnessed Calliope embarrassed or shy in any way, so he took advantage of this feminine weakness by grabbing a handful of her skirt and inching it over her knee, bit by bit. “Did this Levi fellow ever take time to satisfy you, or was he mostly concerned about himself?”