The three day train ride to Chicago is relaxing, almost therapeutic. How odd that Justin went on business trips and boarded trains every month, and yet she had never been on a train in her life. Courtney leans back in her seat in first class and sips from her cola.
People cannot keep their eyes off of her. The train is mostly businessmen, and every few moments one peeks over his newspaper and glances at her long legs from under her short dress, clothed only by fishnets. She smiles with her reddened lips and watches them stare as she crosses her legs or shakes out her short bouncing curls.
But she has more important matters to handle.
She glances down to the newspaper she had been given by the man who got off on the last stop and scans for news of Duncan Clyde. No new heist. No new headline. With any luck, he was still in Chicago.
"Now arriving, Chicago Terminal."
Courtney downs the rest of her cola and grabs her suitcase. She disembarks and shivers in the gust of wind that greets her on the platform. She hadn't thought to bring a coat and possibly obscure her new outfit. She spends a few minutes walking around the station, taking in the rich city air, the magical bustling of people in all directions. There had to be some way she could get alcohol around here.
A voice booms around the station, calling out today's headlines in the paper. Courtney opens up the cigarette holder from her side and pulls out a stick and a lighter, lighting it before taking a long drag and sauntering up to the news stand.
"Where's a gal like me likely to get a whiskey 'round here?" she asks, layering on her best Southern accent.
The man is eating out of her palm the moment he gives her a once over. "Well, there's a place down fifth street, if yer looking, but," he whispers conspiratorially, "you didn't hear that from me."
"Thanks, hon," she says and saunters off, swaying her hips a little more in her heels so the beads of her dress clink against each other.
She marvels at the skyscrapers as she walks down the street. It's like the city stretches up for miles. She wants to get a taxi and take a proper tour of the city. She wants to go to a Marshall Field's department store and see if it's everything the magazines says it is.
A car almost hits her when she crosses the road, distracted, but a simple blown kiss is all it takes to calm the driver's anger. He even points her towards fifth street.
Courtney finds the speakeasy behind the grocery store without much trouble. The man guarding the peephole takes one look at her and lets her in without a word. Inside is a cloud of cigarette smoke and feathered headdresses, top hats and shined shoes with grime, swing dancers out on the floor and a jazz band playing their hearts out. Other than the suitcase she's carrying, Courtney feels like she fits right in for the first time.
She walks up to the bar, still smoking.
"What can I get ya, eh sweetheart?" the bartender asks.
"Whiskey. Neat," Courtney says, pulling the newspaper out of her case. "And some info."
The short man pours her the drink, saying, "What kinda info?"
"I'm trying to find someone. An...ex-boyfriend of mine," she says. She lays the paper flat in front of the man, tapping out some cigarette ash on the article in question. "These days he goes by Duncan Clyde."
"I love it when dames say my name."
Courtney whirls. A couple of seats to her left, grinning at her brilliantly, looking drunk as a skunk, is Duncan Clyde.
A smile slithers across her lips and a weight vanishes from her stomach. She tilts her head, taking her drink and walking over.
"Well if it isn't the man of my dreams." She shoots back the whiskey. "I've been looking for you."
"Have we met?" Duncan slurs, half-smiling, "Because it'd be a goddamn crime to forget those legs of yers. Specially if they opened for me once."
The weight in her stomach comes right back. He didn't remember her. She'd traveled all this way, left Justin, left her old life for his promise, and the son of a bitch didn't remember her.
"We've met before," Courtney says, leisurely swirling around the stir-straw in her glass. "I'm interested in the work you do."
"A fan, eh? I can live with that," he says with a grin. He tugs her onto his lap. "S'not every day a beautiful dame comes calling on me."
"Really?" she asks, skeptical as she sets the empty glass down on the bar behind her. "I pegged you to be quite the womanizer."
"I said beautiful, didn't I?" he says, his breath hot and heavy in her ear. "I get tons of dames, but none as damn damely as yourself."
"I bet you say that to all the girls," she says coyly.
"Nope," he hiccups, "Just you, babydoll." He shifts her on his lap and she feels his revolver dig into her side. At least, she thinks its his revolver.
Courtney's cheeks flush red. She giggles involuntarily.
"What's yer name, gorgeous?" he asks, kissing up her neck.
"What say you forget the name, buy me a drink, and dance with me. If you're good, we'll have a little fun after," she purrs.
Duncan grabs her by the hips and moves her around so that she's straddling him. He bites her collarbone, hard. "What say you forget my name too and we just skip to that last part?"
Courtney gasps as he rubs against her. Through gritted teeth, she does her best to sound seductive. "Your place better be close."
Duncan bangs a hand on the counter. "Zeke! Key to the upstairs room!"
The bartender slides the key across the counter into Duncan's palm, saying, "Need it back before the boss gets back, eh?"
Duncan doesn't hear. He holds up the key to Courtney, the other hand on her lower back. "Close enough for ya?"
Courtney grabs him by his lapels and kisses him. "No," she pants. "Closer."
Duncan staggers upright. His hand keeps her from falling on her rear. He kisses her sloppily, almost falling over. Then he's grabbing her by the wrist and pulling her towards a staircase.
Courtney has a final moment of clarity and scoops up her suitcase before she forgets everything except that she's finally with Duncan Clyde and she has no idea exactly who is eating out of whose hands.
The room he takes her to is nothing special, just a bed with a wrought iron headboard, a fleece blanket, and sheets that look like they haven't been washed since they were bought. She swallows thickly. He shuts the door as she sets down her suitcase then immediately he's on her again. It's a thousand times better than any kiss from Justin and Courtney kisses him back ecstatically.
Duncan pushes her against the wall, sliding her dress up her thighs, his hands cold against her legs. She shivers and blesses every penny she spent on the fishnets. He tries to lower down the straps on her dress but she tenses, glancing at the bed.
"What?" he mutters against her lips, stopping. "Don't tell me yer a virgin or sumthin'."
"I have had...plenty of experience," she lies.
"Then stop hesitating and get to it. I'm getting bored, and if I'm bored, I ain't staying," he says, placing his hands against the wall on either side of her, staring her down.
"Well," Courtney says, still glancing behind him at the mattress, "shouldn't we move to the bed then and get started?"
"Bed is boring," he says, moving his hands to her breasts and pushing her hard against the wall. "Any old fart with a penis can fuck on a bed. Figured a gal like you could use a bit more imagination."
"Yes, well I didn't come up here to see your imagination now did I?" she says, placing her hands over his. "You promised me something about a 'trigger finger' and I expect you to deliver."
Duncan smirks then kisses her sharply, knocking her against the wall. She pushes off his jacket and starts undoing his shirt. At least both Justin and Duncan undressed the same. Courtney has some trouble with his belt, however, and he takes a clumsy step back, fumbling to do it himself.
"Lose the dress," he instructs. "Keep the fishnets on."
Was that a thing unmarried women did? "Why?"
"Because I said so."
Courtney takes off the dress. It's only when she's standing in front of him in just her bra and fishnets because she hadn't bothered buying panties that she remembers she's no one's to boss around, not even Duncan Clyde.
"If you want me to keep the fishnets on then you have to, um, keep the fedora on."
Duncan ungracefully falls out of his pants and underwear. When he picks himself up, panting, hard, and eyeing her hungrily, she puts her hands on her hips and adds, teasingly, "Because I say so."
He smirks, picks up his fedora from where it had fallen and puts it back on. "Kinky."
She doesn't get the chance to appreciate how truly sexy Duncan Clyde looks in just a fedora and socks when he flattens her against the wall. He pulls her bra down to her stomach, not bothering to unclasp it, and kisses his way down her succulently exposed skin. Courtney moans in delight, tipping her head back as he grabs her knee and hooks it around his waist. His trigger finger dips into the space between and her breath hitches.
Courtney digs her nails hard into his shoulder blades and doesn't let him stop.