Important Author's Note: The Haunting Place has returned censored and semi-clean. I still defend my writing; no one can convince me that I'm any worse then Danielle Steel and her stuff is available in the public library for crying outloud! (I'm ranting, I'm sorry, I know it's childish of me and don't get me wrong, I still have a lot of respect for and appreciate everything the mods do) I've decided to repost on because I have so many readers here and let's face it, the Story and Author Alert options kick ass!
Important Censor Note: However, I will not change one page of my plot line for anyone, so this is what I'm gonna do: The explicit chapters in which actual sexual contact occurs will simply consist of a brief summary of the chapter's plotline and a chapter teaser. Those who wish to read those chapters should visit www. mystifyingdreams .com or www. adultfanfiction .net (I'm not saying these sites are any better then they're just different and variety is the spice of life) Keep in mind, the Haunting Place is still rated a strong R even with the deleted chapters.
Warning: Mature themes, bad language, and drug use…why do I even bother with a warning when the people who should read it never do?
Chapter Twenty-nine: Cacho!
To Valdez's great delight, the stupid Englishman arranged his cards in order of suit rather then face value. At least he was reasonably sure it was suit over value after watching the man lose three hands in a row. Across from him, an inconspicuous scratch to the index finger alerted him that the Lieutenant thought so as well. Either way, the sorry fact that this simpleton would error so grossly as to publicly arrange his cards was like blood in the water to a card shark such as Valdez.
"Whoops," the sloshed sailor fumbled with his last card and it slipped from his grasp, dropping to the table. The withered card landed facedown, so it was still in play, but alas for the unfortunate drunkard, Valdez's sharp eyes caught the pointed corner of a Valet's cap and the black of a Cup. Seeming to fidget, he tapped his fingers upon the table in three-eighths time and signaled to the Lieutenant what he'd seen.
"R-aise," the Lieutenant spoke with one of those charming Spanish accents that teased and flattered the English language, rather then actually soiling the pallet speaking it. The Lieutenant, or 'el Teniente' in his native tongue, was not referred to by his real name while in this particular pub, patronized by foreigners and gamblers. In fact, he wasn't supposed to be there at all, especially in uniform. It wasn't that the Spanish Navy opposed the many vices housed in the 'Ole Nun', understanding that with sailors certain sins must be permitted. It was the other patrons that the Navy forbade contact with.
Since the decay of Portuguese influence in the New World, Spain had enjoyed a generation of unchallenged trade routes and profitable monopolies, a lucrative commodity that it guarded jealousy. However, that was before the modern British Navy. A century in the making, the English fleet was virtually undefeated in open waters and the Spanish had not won a single major naval battle against the British for fifty-some years. While the Spaniards were confident in the security of their territories, they were not so assured about their precious trade routes, which had already been disturbed by rampant pirating. The sack of Carcelero twelve years ago by the Black Pearl had been devastating. And as is often the case with sinking ships, the rats scurried forth; ergo, a surplus amount of corruption swelled the ranks of the Spanish Navy.
It was said that a Spanish officer would sooner accept a bribe then obey an order.
In desperation to smother the raging fire of bribery and crime, the Spanish fleet enforced a strict code of ethics upon their officers, 'Do not do business with, socialize, or otherwise sustain any sort of relationship with any foreigner, lest you be poisoned against your own countrymen.' This especially referred to Englishmen, the Portuguese, and to a lesser extent the French. It also didn't work.
Case in point; the Lieutenant's hobby of visiting the 'Ole Nun' and conning many a foreign man from his purse with the help of his civilian partner, Valdez, was overlooked by his superiors as long as he wasn't too flippant about rubbing elbows with the enemy. Currently, they were using subtle hand gestures and a partially marked deck against a blatantly homosexual Portuguese merchant who seemed to know he was being cheated, but was too enamored with the Lieutenant to care, a brutishly big Georgian man who was most definitely a fugitive of some kind, and last and most probably least, the stupid Englishman that arranged his cards according to suit.
"Ummm," the kohl eyed man picked his teeth indecisively, "I…call." Seeming to regain his inebriated confidence, he proudly produced his hand and was only swaying slightly, "Admittedly not a monumental gambit as far as the history o' strategic games o' chance go, but me high card's the Valet o', wossaname? What the hell is that thing? A bowl o' some sort?"
"A cup," Valdez supplied helpfully, while the others laid down their cards.
"Aye that's what 'tis," Smith beamed, ("Or Smithy if ye like," he had stated enigmatically upon introduction), "A cup! Valet o' Cups. How clever this game, er-."
"Cacho Senor," Valdez continued, "De game is called Cacho."
"Oh did I win?" curiously, he glanced around at the other hands, "Is this not the high card?"
Valdez was hard pressed not to laugh at the Englishman's stupidity. "I am sorry, Senor," he spoke English for the benefit of the stupid man, "but in de Spanish deck, Knights are higher den Valets. It seems de officer has won."
"Muy bien," Gomcallo, the Portuguese merchant attempted to flirt with the Lieutenant and pat his shoulder, but the Lieutenant simply gave him a-very-cold-stare. Gomcallo abruptly removed his hand.
"Lucky you," the Colonial man, Reed, said as if 'good fortune' was the farthest thing from his mind. Valdez's gaze flickered to the Lieutenant and they both silently agreed to take no more money from the Georgian behemoth. After all, just because a bull is dull-witted does not make death by mauling any less painful. Besides, the ignorant Mister Smith seemed to have enough money to satisfy them and was too blissfully inebriated to realize he was being cheated, or to even be upset by it.
As the Lieutenant started shuffling the deck, Smith pouted into his mug of mead, slurring, "Ca'n seem to get the hang o' this Cacho. Damn Spanish deck, all Cups and Swords and the like. Bloody daft, if ye ask my opinion."
"How for-chu-net, we did not," the Lieutenant answered, lyrically and clipped. Absently, Gomcallo licked his lips.
The cards were dealt among the misty haze of the smoke-filled pub and the general bluster of many sailors making up for a sea's voyage worth of celibacy and sobriety. Again, the daft Englishman arranged his cards and actually stayed in the game for three raises. Such an imbecile! Reed and the Lieutenant folded and Gomcallo called. Valdez was the only player who had a hand of any substance, a modestly low cacho in the suit of Clubs. The tinkle of coins clanking together was heaven to his ears as he gathered the pot towards himself.
"King o' Swords!" Mister Smith flippantly procured his cards, not only tardy but loudly, though everyone had already caught a glimpse of them while had turned his back to absentmindedly hail down the barkeeper for another drink, "Highest card, right?"
"Si," this time Valdez let a snicker slip through, "But as you can zee, I have a cacho." He presented his three same suited cards.
"But they're low," Smith tried to protest, "and not even straight."
"Cachos always beat high cards," even Reed was tiring of Smith's antics, "Now shut your windpipe, you're slowing the game!"
"I'm sorry to be sure," humphed Smith into his mug again.
Gomcallo smiled indulgently, while taking his turn to shuffle the cards and speaking in broken Spanish and English, "El Teniente, I no catch tu name, por favor?" Apparently, the Portuguese merchant enjoyed a certain amount of romantic abuse and seemed dead-set on setting his cap on the Lieutenant. The Lieutenant ignored him, but Gomcallo kept at it, "Such a…how you say? Humid nocha, si?"
Just as the Lieutenant was about to answer with a thinly veiled threat, a terrible commotion clamored over the general hubbub. The crooked door of the Ole Nun crashed open as a busty blonde came bellowing into the tavern, her eyes flashing and chest heaving, "Jack! She was an attractive enough tart, with deep blue eyes and pretty flushing cheeks. Drunks and prostitutes alike jumped as the newcomer stormed across the pub, earning several glares from the whores who thought their customers were paying a little too much attention to the blonde. All cacho players watched as this miniature Valkyrie stormed over to their table, whining terribly, "JAA-AACK! Ye cheap bastard Jack, I've been waitin' near on two hours for ye to fetch me and what I finds! Ye playin' cards-."
"Smith," corrected Mister Smith, hissing importantly, "O' Smithy, right dove?" He abruptly made a conspicuously obvious motion with his head around the table. Now really! Valdez couldn't keep his eyes from rolling. Why did smugglers always think they were so clever? Honestly, who did he think he was fooling?
The fuming woman was temporarily confused, blue eyes darting at the tables occupants and finally settling on the uniform of the Lieutenant in delayed realization, before quickly regaining some of her previous temper, "Er, right Smith. Where were ye, eh? Ye promis'd to buy me some satin knickers, but ye ne'er show'd. Ye be a despicable miser, that's what ye be!"
Valdez and the Lieutenant raised curious eyebrows at each other before immediately imagining what this attractive tart would look like in satin underthings. It was a promising fantasy. Reed wiped at his mouth and chortled in a less-then-friendly manner. And of course, Gomcallo flustered a bit when he noticed the Lieutenant was showing an interest in the new arrival.
"Gentlemen, may I present," Mister Smith's voice lilted in some private mirth, "Missus Smith." He chuckled to the blonde woman and winked in an all too evident way.
But the lass's tirade wouldn't be swayed so cheaply, "Jack, ye son o' a bitch. See ifen ye can suck yer own cock tonight, 'cause I-."
No sooner had she made her threat, then a gold chain suddenly appeared in Smithy's decorated hand and he immediately surrendered it to Missus Smith.
The woman shut her mouth, eyeing the dangling trinket critically.
"Oh, I love it!" the necklace seemed to have the desired effect, when the curvaceous beauty abruptly threw her arms round the Englishman's neck and squeezed and squealed with all her might, "Ye spoil me so, Jack! It be so pretty, I shall ne'er take it off! Ooo, just waits tils I get ye 'tween me sheets. Ye're not gonna walk straight for a month, I swears it! Jack, ye makes me so happy!"
"-sm-ith-," the man muttered between the smothering pillows of her cleavage, his face turning blue.
'What a way to go,' was the shared thought of every man at the table, save maybe Gomcallo who was now trying to bat his eyes at the Lieutenant.
At last, Smith pried himself away from the chocking grasp of his enthusiastic 'wife', tugging her eagerly onto his lap instead, "Come have a sit, pretty bird. Me luck's to shite and I could use some 'cheerin' up', ifen ye get me meanin'." A small thrust of his hips almost de-seated the bonnie occupant. As if suddenly feeling the burning stares of his fellow Cacho players and being quite annoyed with them, Smith absentmindedly turned and smirked at the table, "Who's up to deal?"
Reed blindly reached for the cards, shuffling and dealing, but never taking his sights off the pretty strumpet as she slipped the trinket on over her head. The golden necklace draped like sweet honey around her slim neck and four pairs of eyes drifted down to where the chain delightfully pressed between her presented breasts. She seemed pleased by this effect and dropped her lids to half-mast, very slowly kissing Smith in sensual appreciation.
"Ye are truly beautiful. Exceptionally, hauntingly, all-consuming-ly beautiful," the Smiths were enraptured in each other, hands stroking and petting immodestly even though they had an audience to their amorous liaison and Smith's cards lay forgotten upon the table.
"How ye flatter me, sir."
"I want ye, I want ye so badly it hurts."
"Then ye shall be havin' me."
"Ye wearin' yer red stockings? My favorites?"
"Only one way to finds out."
"Have I communicat'd the urgency to which I desire to fuck ye?"
"Senor!" Valdez exclaimed in shock. It wasn't that Valdez was prudent by any stretch of the imagination, in fact he was rather fond of impropriety, but the English couple foundling each other so publicly right in the middle of one of his fixed card games was too much even for his risqué taste. How was a man to properly cheat another drunken, stupid man under such circumstances? Forcing himself to speak in a quiet and calm manner, Valdez motioned to Smith's cards, "De game, if yu please?"
"Aye, o' course the game," as if only remembering their persistent presence and as if being incredibly inconvenienced by it, Mister Smith picked up his three cards, sighing in his smoky drawl, "Let's have a look-see, shall we?" However, Missus Smith seemed un-persuaded, since she was still nuzzling his neck and nibbling in a teasingly flirtatious manner.
Two tugs on the gold hoop, one lick along the shell of his ear…
"I raise, half a crown."
This time Valdez couldn't hide his smirk. The stupid Englishman stayed in the game for two more raises and he barely was paying any attention, having been totally preoccupied with his groping, little strumpet. Perhaps this situation was working out to Valdez's and the Lieutenant's advantage. The Lieutenant started fiddling with the badges across his uniform, signaling to Valdez that he had nothing and neither did Gomcallo, who had been 'accidentally' showing his cards to the Lieutenant in a pathetic hope to woo the officer. 'How sad these Portuguese men,' Valdez thought with no real sympathy.
Valdez only had the Knight of Swords, but decided to call anyway. After all, Mister Smith barely even knew the rules of the game. What were the chances of-
"King of Coins," Mister Smith raised his face up from his woman's neck, where he had been thoroughly licking her pretty collarbone, to present his hand, "Highest card right?"
"Si," the Lieutenant glared at Valdez for making such a foolish mistake as expecting a lone Knight to take the pot.
"So I win, savvy?"
"Si."
Well, it was probably for the better anyway, since allowing the Englishman to win one small pot would make the duo seem less suspicious.
"Congra-chu-la-sh-ions," attempting his best 'good-for-you' face, Valdez patted Smith upon the shoulder, mindful to avoid touching the whore in his lap. Not that he didn't want to tough her of course, but Valdez was a smart enough fellow to know that when a man is that in love with a woman as to ignore a card game and a mug of mead, that man is most definitely just as violent in protection of her. Best not tempt the devil. Gathering the worn cards, Valdez smiled and shuffled, "See Senor? Very easy, dis cacho is."
"I feel me luck's finally blessin' me with her fine presence," Smith's blurry vision landed right back on Missus Smith like a weathervane in the wind, "Thanks to me lucky charm here. Ain't that right, sweet lovely?" Abruptly, he kissed her in a sudden frenzy that stunned the onlookers, pulling back her head to subjugate her and reveling in the sounds of her surrendering mewls.
Reed snickered again and leered in lusty approval as Smith's hand squeezed the right cheek of the whore's backside.
"Very well," shrugging and sharing an astonished laugh with the Lieutenant, Valdez decided it best to ignore them and continued dealing the cards. If the Englishman wished to fornicate at the table, well so be it. As long as Valdez could cheat the man, what did he care?
His present hand had potential. Valdez examined his cards, giving one up in hopes of drawing a card in the suit of Swords, which sadly turned out to be the Two of Cups. Luckily, the Lieutenant itched his pinkie three times, signing that he had been dealt a cacho, so all was well. Valdez remained in the game for two raises for the soul, villainous purpose of driving up the pot, before folding in the last round.
Meanwhile, the two lovers were relentlessly 'involved' with each other, arms stroking and tongues tasting. The smell of expensive perfume and cheap rum wafted off the couple and Valdez couldn't help but to concede that it was a very erotic smell indeed. Every now and then, they'd stop to whisper some steamy declaration into the other's ear.
"Me darlin', me darlin', please do'n stop," she cooed in a wispy alto that made Smith shiver in ecstasy. Flashing her fantastically white teeth, she bent her head to kiss him once more.
A wet kiss pressed against his Adam's apple, a nip at his whiskered chin…
"What the hell? Count me in for one crown!" Smith's voice lilted in his hoarse, yet musical manner.
"Call," Reed tossed his cards into the table, having received nothing for an admirable attempt at bluffing.
"Ca-," the Lieutenant had barely uttered this syllable, while procuring his hand before-
"Cacho!" Smith cut him off, laying his cards down coyly and trying his damnedest to keep his eyes from crossing when Missus Smith slipped her hand under his linen shirt and started toying with his abused nipple. "And I believe my cacho arrives at the sum of eleven. That's how it's decid'd, right? Aah! Sweet Jeh-sus luv, I sees ye, ye naughty gel. Daddy Smith's playin' a card game. Wo'n ye be a good lass and settle down for a moment?" Smith had to interrupt himself when Missus Smith latched onto his chest and sucked upon breastbone until she marked him with a purple lovebite. She giggled playfully, relenting for the moment. Smith cleared his throat in a no nonsense manner, "When two cachos are present'd, the highest sum of cards is the victor? I thought so. So what do you have there Mister Lieutenant?"
"Ocho," the Lieutenant was losing temper. Letting the oaf win once was bad enough, but the indignity of permitting this tramp a second hand was intolerable. He could feel himself itching under his uniform.
"Eight, eh?" Smith let his head fall back as his woman started sucking at his throat, but never strayed his eyes from the Lieutenant's flashing ones, "Tough luck mate. Ye need to find yerself a lucky charm of yer own. Nice littl' senorita with long lashes and quick hands." To which Mister Smith snatched the deck and quickly began shuffling, his hands moving suspiciously fast for a drunken man. The strumpet in his lap seemed unmoved by the preoccupation of her 'husband' and continued to wiggle her hips in an incredibly distracting way.
Something wasn't right and the Lieutenant was willing to bet his left nut that it had something to do with that woman in Smith's lap. Very convenient how Smith managed to win twice after her arrival, but how was she cheating? If she was indeed cheating then she was damn good at it. There were no obvious tricks that he could see and the Lieutenant knew every trick in the book. It was their marked deck for crying out loud and the woman wasn't even playing a hand of her own, so they weren't playing doubles like Valdez and the Lieutenant were. So maybe…
Decisively, the Lieutenant knocked over his mug with his elbow.
"Oops," allowing the mead to splash upon the floor and the tankard to follow with a clatter, the Lieutenant shrugged in his stiff uniform as if to say, 'aren't I the butterfingers?' and knelt upon the ground to retrieve his fallen mug. Overhead, Smith made some obnoxious joke about the Lieutenant 'not being able to hold his drink', like that stupid lush was one to talk about holding liqueur! For the first five minutes of the game, the idiot kept laying down his cards and shouting, 'Bingo!'
The Lieutenant glared in the dim light under the table at the twisting legs of the Smiths. He noticed with some interest that the Englishman was working his thigh between the whore's legs and that she was wearing black stockings, not red. However, what the Lieutenant really needed to see were her boots, but she kept rubbing her calves and ankles along Smith's and her many skirts kept hiding them within their folds. How annoyingly inconvenient! In frustration, he grabbed her right ankle, ignoring her cry of indignation, and searched her boots for mirrors. He was positive they were using mirrors, it had to be!
There were none.
But now there was a very prominent pistol in his face and Mister Smith, bent over and glaring at the Lieutenant.
"That leg," and Smith paused to cock his weapon, "is mine."
Wordlessly, the Lieutenant released his hold on Missus Smith's ankle and slowly removed himself from under the table. This immediately appeased Mister Smith who abruptly disarmed his gun and tucked it away, returning his attentions to his 'wife'.
Valdez glowered at the Lieutenant, wondering what in hell had made his partner decide to grope another man's woman while she was in the embrace of said man. Resolutely, he snatched up his cards. His nerves were starting to fray. Not only was Mister Smith totally insane, but now it seemed his lunacy was rubbing off on his partner. What should have been an easy con was becoming annoyingly difficult. Still, after checking his hand, Valdez realized the night was still salvageable. He had been dealt a cacho to the sum of twelve right off the deck and Mister Smith had even been the one dealing! Who could accuse him of cheating now? Careful to keep a stone face, Valdez chewed on the cuticle from his left hand's index finger, signaling to the Lieutenant to raise the pot as much as possible, because he was pretty certain he had this game sacked!
Speaking of sacked, Missus Smith was pushing the boundaries of not only decency, but also indecency, by straddling Mister Smith in wanton abandonment. The Englishman could barely see the table over her shoulder, but he didn't seem particularly bothered since his face was buried in her awesome cleavage anyway. Her hands were scratching at his back, while he did wonderful things to her bosom.
Let them do as they will, Vadez decided. This lucky hand was going to win back the two pots he had lost form that stupid, drunken git-
A finger traced the fine curve to his spine and a hand clasped and pulled the bone in his hair…
"I fold," Smith proclaimed cheerfully and discarded his hand, in favor of grabbing the bottom of his whore with two fists.
Fold!
"Que?" Valdez shouted, perhaps louder then originally intended, then quickly darted his head under the table, checking their shoes for mirrors and belatedly realizing what the Lieutenant had been up to while grabbing the woman's ankle. "But yu did not even draw a card," raising himself up to the table again, he said half-accusingly, "Yu can draw a card, remember Senor? Yu can draw a card before de first raise, den fold on de second. For Santa Maria's sake, it is not dat damn difficult to play Cacho!"
Nevertheless, Mister Smith was ignoring Valdez's whines, finding the gentle squeeze of his lover's thighs much more distracting. "I'm sorry, but I shall have to pass upon this game and partake in the next," to which, Smith immediately set to work sneaking his hand up Missus Smith's petticoats.
Sensing that Smith just might know something they didn't know, Reed and Gomcallo folded as well. Apparently, no money was to be had and an excellent hand was completely wasted.
The Lieutenant made a mental note to locate this bastard smuggler's ship and personally make his stay in el Carcerlero a-living-hell. After all, a Spanish officer could be a very expensive and time-consuming problem for a merchant ship with questionable cargo.
Valdez wanted to shoot that self-assured smirk off that son of a bitch's face. "El Teniente, deal," he growled. The mockery of losing two hands and wasting a twelve cacho on some fornicating buffoon was infuriating. And the sorry fact that the prickless dog had the nerve to sit there and sport with his strumpet only rubbed salt into the wound. Valdez-Would-Not-Be-Ignored! Somehow, somewhere, someway he was going to tear this Englishman a new one and-
and that 'somewhere, somewhere, someway' was just dealt to Valdez.
Providence was kind! Christ was merciful! And thank the God of Scandals!
Because in his manicured hand were three cards, the Valet of Cups, the Knight of Cups, and (Valdez's hand actually shook as he revealed his last card) the King of Cups! A straight cacho, all face cards, was the highest cacho possible. This was the type of hand that men prayed for!
Unfortunately, that tell-tale shake of Valdez's hand hadn't gone unnoticed by the other players. Reed vehemently swore and threw his cards down, "Fold and bugger this damn game. Fucking Spanish bullshite!"
Gomcallo looked apologetically at the Lieutenant before quietly calling, "Fold."
The Lieutenant seriously considered putting a bullet through his partner's head for making such an amateur mistake. There was no way the Englishman was going to stick with this hand now.
Meanwhile, the Smiths were quickly on their way to all out fornication, only with more clothes then was usual. Mister Smith had arisen to his feet, setting his squirming woman upon the table and upsetting everyone's drinks and coins. He bent over her, mouth sealed over her searching lips and squeezing her backside and bust at leisure.
"Senor Smi-t," listlessly and already dreading the inevitable 'fold', the Lieutenant asked, "Are yu in?"
One fair hand glided down to his stiffening member and squeezed…
"Raise five crowns!" the Englishman shouted in a raspy cry, grabbing her hand to still her assault and staring at her with such an intense heat, that even Gomcallo had to wave himself off with his hand to cool his collar.
Raise! Five crowns?
Suddenly, both Valdez and the Lieutenant were extremely grateful that Smith's whore had come along. Smith had been too distracted to notice the lapse in Valdez's stone face. Not only that, but apparently he was too distracted to even look at his cards! Valdez would've kissed her had he not been certain that the stupid smuggler would've shot him for it.
"I will see dat and raise ten crowns."
"As will I," the Lieutenant had every intention of bankrupting the fool.
"Oh what the hell? I've got a bed to hurry off to anyways," as if deciding he had more pleasurable pursuits then gambling, Mister Smith pushed all his gold pilings into the middle of the table, after setting Missus Smith down of course. "Shall we finish this," his eyes danced with some dark merriment and Valdez had the sudden foreboding feeling to forfeit.
But that was crazy! He had a thirty-sum cacho and Mister Smith hadn't even looked at his cards yet. By why the devil did this man look so confident?
"Agreed," Valdez forced himself to say, glaring at Missus Smith who was smirking at him over Mister Smith's shoulder, while she pawed at Smith's sleeves.
"Agreed," the Lieutenant grinned, not picking up on the bad vibe that Valdez was. Knowing full well that Valdez's gambling's didn't equal that of the Englishman's, the Lieutenant added his stock to his partner's. Now they were ready to call.
Then the Lieutenant noticed something that made his stomach turn to bitter lead.
The whore, in her wanton petting of Mister Smith, had tugged upon his sleeve and revealed a tattoo of a bird above ocean waters.
Sparrow…
"Madre de Christo," he gasped under his breath.
The sharp ears of the supposed Mister Smith caught the curse and his swift and suddenly sober eyes followed the stare of the Lieutenant down to his coppery forearm. A wicked smile graced his lips and he resolutely tugged his sleeve down and winked at the Spanish officer.
Unfortunately, Valdez hadn't noticed the exchange and probably wouldn't have recognized the tattoo even if he did, but alas, he was too absorbed in his impending victory over the very-stupid-Englishman. "Call," Valdez permitted himself a terribly self-satisfying laugh at Smith's expense, "Face cacho. Such sad luck yu have my friend. Better for-chune next time-."
"Three sixes," Smith drawled, enjoying the woman nibbling his finger and sliding his thumb over her lips. He stated plainly, "I win."
For a moment, there was an eerie silence around the table. Even the smoke cleared a little as if to make room for trouble.
In his temper, Valdez jumped from his seat and probably would've launched himself at the bastard had the Lieutenant not leapt forward to restrain him and, in doing so, most likely saved his partner's life.
"Why," Gomcallo spoke up, in admirable awe, "I du believe yu won, sir."
"Damn," was Reed's educated response.
"Indeed," gathering the gold to him and reveling in the delicious chorus of coins clinking together, Mister Smith slurred, "Three sixes be the highest hand, beats everythin' else. All good Cacho players know that, they do. After all, easiest fuckin' game there is. Would'n ye agrees, senors?"
Enraged and in dumb denial, Valdez stared at the three sixes on the table to the strange man, back to the three sixes and to the man again. He finally glared suspiciously at the woman hanging off of 'Smith's' arm and running her fingers through the gold coins in a seductive caress.
Three sixes, the sign of the devil, three sixes.
And for some inexplicable reason, Valdez just knew that the devil in this scenario was her.
0000000
"Did ye see the look on that bastard's face!" Jack guffawed down the street, arm wrapped around Maren's waist. He enjoyed the warm breath of her infectious laughter against his shoulder and the way the night air pinked her cheeks, "When ye 'accidentally' expos'd me tattoo? Christ, that was priceless! Almost piss'd his trousers!" A quick nip from his rum bottle and the Captain was laughing hysterically again. One or two tears of pure mirth fell from his eyes.
An average night in the slums of the port city of El Carcelero was always an active one. Sailors and merchants were busy and about, searching for fun and sinful ways to spend their earnings. Prostitutes and salesmen were also on the move, searching for easier ways to take those earnings. The street was a bustle of moving bodies that smelled of drink, sex, and greasy food. It was no Tortuga by any stretch of the word, but Carcelero had enough vice to stand on its own.
"And when he grabb'd me leg and ye pull'd that pistol on 'em, I almost cav'd, Jack, I really did!" she giggled so hard, she couldn't breathe and it honestly started to hurt her stomach; but she couldn't stop, not when Jack was laughing so hard it bordered on lunacy. "By the way, ye randy prick! Ye went a littl' o'erboard, when I was givin' ye the signals. I do'n cares to be done o'er in the middle o' a card game, savvy? I be so embarrass'd, I shan't e'er return to the Ole Nun as longs as I lives."
"But they were such delightful signals," Jack guffaws settled down into smoky chuckles, "A kiss there, raise. A scratch there, fold. A grab for me sociables, go for broke. How was I to resist? Especially the latter, ye ca'n expect a man to keep his head when a bonnie lass is keepin' his other head in her equally bonnie hand."
"I still ca'n believe I strok'd yer whatnots in the middle o' a pub," Maren added, accusingly, "And ye be hard too. Ye were gettin' off, Jack."
"Could'n help meself," he swayed as he walked, forcing Maren to tilt as well.
"Kristy says," Maren hushed her voice, but the whisper threatened to pool into hysterical laughter again, "that the Yank was sportin' a stiffer too. Ain't that positively vile? Imagine that giant gettin' all itchy watchin' our wee show. Yuck!"
"I noticed yer delightful blush ne'er crest'd yer delightful cheeks," Jack teased, "Could'n have been too embarrassed."
As if on cue, Maren's skin turned a coy pink and she snatched the rum bottle, hiding her discomfiture behind a drink. "I be actin'," she defended her modesty, "Would'n do to have a 'whore' blushin' o'er a littl' public display o' affection."
"Promise me you'll ne'er lose that blush, sweetheart," noticing a tipsy passerby on the busy street, Jack's quick hands snatched a pipe he had been admiring from the man's pocket and quickly popped it into his mouth. He patted his pockets for his tobacco and tinderbox, "I adore that blush too much to e'er see it gone. Promise me no matter how debauched I make ye, no matter what sick vile things I talk ye into, that you'll ne'er stop blushin'."
"Ca'n hardly help it anyways," Maren of course blushed more and Jack groaned in appreciation. In her graceful arms, Maren clasped a large purse with the winning pot jiggling merrily as they walked. She held it tightly within her white fists, glaring suspiciously about for pickpockets. Of course, she needn't of worried. Any wandering eyes of a passing thief first noticed the winking grin of Captian Jack Sparrow as he pointedly flashed them his pistol.
"Normally," puffing up importantly, Jack lit his new pipe, "I'd take a sixty percent cut seein' how I'm yer Cap'n and all, plus I had to instruct ye on how to cheat proper. But as a sign o' good faith 'tween the two o' us, we shall split the take fifty-fifty, savvy?"
"Ye means in threes, Cap'n," Maren corrected, drawing his title out in a seducing tease that always stirred Jack up.
"To hell I do-," Jack's tirade was cut off.
"Kristy be wantin' her even share too."
"Poseidon's prick, what ye mean Kristy!"
"Aye," sticking her nose high in the air, Maren snorted, "She had an equal part in the con, an essential part really, and she wants her share o' the profits."
Dumbly, Jack glared at the empty air around him, as if he could spot Kristy and ask her himself if she was daft or drunk. "She's bloody well dead," exasperated, Jack flailed his hands about, "What's a bleedin' ghost gonna do with a third cut!"
The look fleeted briefly over Maren's features, while she listened to the dead woman. "I'm to find two rentboys," Maren recited, "one pretty and the other handsome and hire them to bugger each other at great length."
Not being able to help his juvenile sense of humor, Jack snickered at the pun, "Huh, length," before clearing his throat and gaining some control over himself. "Why would Kristy want ye to do that, eh?" he asked, interested in spite of the fact it was going to cost him part of his cut.
"Kristy likes to watch, especially beautiful men at it."
A very, forbidden and not altogether unpleasant thought arrived in Jack's quicksilver mind. "Does," and Jack's voice rose in sheer mock-innocence, his eyes blinking big and brown, "she e'er watch us?"
"Eew!" the medium grimaced, "Ne'er! That be repulsive, she's like me kin."
"Pity," Jack muttered under his breath, "would've been a hell o' a turn on."
"What?" snapped Maren.
"Said, 'Was'n that fellow a moron?" not missing a beat, Jack covered his tattooed arse, "That Spanish card shark, what a twerp! Thinkin' he can cheat Captain Jack Sparrow with a partially mark'd deck and a couple hand signals? Pah, what a fool."
A commotion of some kind was barely visible at the east gate of town, yet it still caught the corner of Maren's eye. Slowly, the entire mass of pedestrians noticed some sort of foray in the hidden darkness outside the town limits.
Suddenly, a universal and eerie quiet fell over the entire slum section of Carcelero, something was happening on the far side of the port. It was the queerest effect, the rising swell of panic that spilled from one end of the street to the other, like some invisible tidal wave spreading foreboding. At the far end, shouts were heard and ringing bells and sounds of various alarm rang out, and as one, the entire occupants of the busy street started pushing forward as the shouts were becoming audible. They were beginning to hear, in their native Spanish:
"Run to your homes!"
"Head for the hills!"
"The Black Pearl!"
"Pirates!"
"Leave the city! Run!"
"The Black Pearl! The Black Pearl is in the bay! Sparrow has returned!"
"Capitan!" Sparrow bellowed over the growing hubbub, but no one was paying him any attention, "That's Capitan Gorrion, ye daft bunch o' peasants!"
"So what now?" having to shout over the rambunctious mob, Maren stood on her tiptoes and thought she glanced the face of Morty Muerto on the far end of the crowd, the largest, at six feet nine inches, (but also surprisingly gentle) pirate of the Black Pearl's crew.
"Now we pillage and plunder and don't give a hoot," Jack sang happily.
"Oh," Maren was jostled by the crowd and Jack had to keep his arms about her to keep her close, "Suspect'd it'd be somethin' like that. So what shall we pillage and plunder first then?"
Jack smiled and because no pirate could've resisted such an obvious invitation, lowered his lips to hers and claimed her mouth for himself.
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Translation: Capitan Gorrion- Captain Sparrow
