Don’t Want To Die In Jersey

It was an unusually hot day for November in Boston. Father Murphy had just finished mass and was on the church steps bidding a good day to members of the congregation as they left.

Just then, Sean McLaughlin came running up the steps in a frenzy, asking Father Murphy for his help with a serious matter. Without pause, he escorted Sean inside to the safety of the church.

“What is it my son? What has got you so terrified? You’re trembling.”

“Father, I was at the Farmer’s Market, and there I saw the Grim Reaper searching for a soul to take. He looked directly at me. I’m sure he’s here to take me. I ignored his stare, turned and ran away. What should I do Father? Please help me, I’m not ready to die.”

“I think you should probably get out of town. Find a place to lie low for a while and let this incident blow over.”

“Where do I go so the Reaper won’t find me? I can’t think of anywhere.”

“I’ve got it! New Jersey! Yep that’s it, New Jersey is where you’ll find refuge.”

“Are you sure Father? New Jersey? Maybe I should stay here in Boston and find a place to hide. New Jersey seems a bit extreme.”

“No Sean, Jersey. Not even God would set foot in there. I feel certain the Grim Reaper won’t follow you into Jersey. I have a close friend at Saint Francis Church in Hackensack, Father Thompson. I’ll give him a call and fill him in on your situation. He’s a good man and will take care of you.” 

“Yes but New Jersey is a fate I consider worse than death.”

“Well that’s all I’ve got. You should take a bus, don’t drive your car and stay out of Atlantic City. The casinos breed an atmosphere of sin and you don’t want to give him an excuse to confront you. Now hurry to the Bus station and get outta Boston . I’ll pray for you my son.” 

“Thanks Father, I’ll leave right away.”

Sean caught the next bus to New Jersey and seemed to have eluded the Grim Reaper. Meanwhile, Father Murphy took it upon himself to investigate Sean’s claim of the Reaper in the neighborhood and proceeded to the Farmer’s Market. 

The outdoor event was crowded with Sunday afternoon shoppers enjoying the warm weather. Standing next to the organic vegetable booth Father Murphy saw the figure draped in black with his trademark scythe. Clutching his Rosary in  hand he walked toward the ominous creature to confront him about stalking Sean.

“Good afternoon Mr. Grim Reaper, I’m Father Murphy from Saint Peter’s Church and would like to ask you a question.”

‘Yes Father Murphy I’m familiar with your work. I’ve attended some of your funeral services. You’ve got a nice touch in your eulogies, very sincere. Go ahead fire away, what do you want to ask?”

“Earlier today one of my congregation was here at the Farmer’s Market and noticed you on the prowl to collect his soul. He was naturally upset about his impending death and ran to the church to escape your wrath.”

“Really? I don’t remember confronting anyone earlier. I am here to collect the soul of Catherine Mcbride, she’s about to suffer a massive aneurysm.  Let me check my schedule. What is his name?”

“Sean McLaughlin, he’s maybe thirty-five years old and a good Catholic.”

“No, no, no, I don’t see him on the schedule. Wait, here he is…” The Reaper chuckles while turning pages. “Listen to this. He’s not scheduled for Soul Collection until tomorrow night in of all places, Hackensack, New Jersey.  New Jersey, now that’s some bad luck. Damn, I hate having to visit New Jersey!”

Hog City Needs You

It was a slow day in Hog City, at least it was until Mickey Finster ran into the Sheriff’s office. 

“Sheriff Clapp. Come quick! There’s trouble over at the whorehouse!”

Fortunately, Sheriff Clapp had already finished butt fucking his deputy and had already been in the process of zipping up his fly.

“What’s wrong?” He asked.

“There’s been a major burglary,” shouted Finster. “And the crook’s done been seen making off with the goods.”

Clapp hustled across the street to McMurty’s Saloon and Pleasure House. It was the only house of ill repute around for over fifty miles. It and the railway emergency coaling station were the only things that kept Hog City going.

Sheriff Clapp entered through the swinging doors. He eyed the bar. There was the usual selection of drunk cowboys and professional gamblers. He went over to Sam, the bartender, who told him to go upstairs to see Miss Felicia.

As he climbed the stairs, he could hear Miss Felicia crying, “A three hunert dollar investment gone, just like that.”

The sheriff found Miss Felicia in a small room containing not much more than a bed and a stand for a wash basin. Miss Felicia had been put out to pasture as a whore after a thirty years in the sporting life. She had taken what little she had, turning tricks where and when she could until she scraped up enough money to buy into the saloon as a partner. Her role was finding and managing the whores. Now, Miss Felicia sat on the bed, all three hundred pounds of her. Tears had made her make up run in blue streaks down her face. Her gray hair, tinged with henna, seemed to have collapsed from its normal tower on her head into a tangle running down her back.

“What’s wrong Miss Felicia?” Sheriff Clapp asked.

Miss Felicia’s eyes brightened. “Thank goodness you are here. Billy Hodges done stole Nancy Jenkins right out the window. The two of them climbed down bed sheets and rode off on Billy’s horse.”

Sheriff Clapp was thunderstruck. “He did what?” 

He knew Billy Hodges. He was a young layabout, a sometime cow puncher and farmhand, would be gambler, and outlaw wannabe. He’d expected Billy to wind up more or less on the right side of the law most of the time, and finish his days respectfully, drunk in the gutter just like his father. This was a big step for Billy Hodges, and Sheriff Clapp wasn’t sure he liked it. Nancy Jenkins was the youngest and best looking whore at McMurty’s, making her the youngest and best looking whore around for more than fifty miles around. This did not set well with Sheriff Clapp. Without Nancy Jenkins around, how would he while away his Sunday afternoons? He had just gotten her to the point where the last bit of girlish squeamishness was gone, and she would let him indulge in any activity he fancied with her, even three ways with his horse or deputy. Without her, the next best whore was Wallpaper Sally, but Sheriff Clapp didn’t like the scabs on Sally’s cunt. They scratched his cock when he slid it in to her. She’d pick’em if a customer complained, to make things slide in easier, but that didn’t make the ride any more appealing to some folks, Sheriff Clapp included. But, Clapp couldn’t let his own feelings affect the way he did his job. At least not now, while he was in town. Anyone could be listening.

“How do you know,” Clapp asked. “that Nancy was stolen? Er, kidnapped. Sounds like she might have gone with Billy of her own accord.”

“It’s all the same,” Miss Felicia said. “Either Billy stole her or she stole herself. Either way my property is gone and so is my livelihood.”

“You can’t own a person,” Clapp said. “We fought a war about that.”

“Don’t give me that crap,” Miss Felicia shouted. “This ain’t no person. This is a whore. I know whores. I’ve been one near all my life. Whores just can’t up and go as they please. They is owned by the madam or the whore master. They can kiss the cock or kiss the whip, but they ain’t going nowhere unless their pimp or madam says so. Nancy has three more years on her contract with me, and it says right in there time is added on to work off her food, clothing, and medical expenses, plus and extra two years for every time she tries to run off.”

“Nancy signed a contract?”

“I’ve got a paper with her X on it.”

“Sounds like breach of contract. I don’t know if that is for me to look into, but I’ll find her to see if she went off on her own or was kidnapped.”

“Stolen,” Miss Felicia corrected him.

Sheriff Clapp left the saloon. He knew well enough what Nancy and Billy looked like, and had a fair idea where they’d be heading. He figured they would be looking for a preacher or a way out of the county, or possibly going to hole up together in the old Hodges’ cabin. That was if Nancy had gone away on her own. If not, Billy might be off raping and killing her if he’d lost his mind. If he was smart, Billy might be taking her to sell to another whorehouse or to work the streets for him in a city. But, Sheriff Clapp didn’t think Billy was that crazy or that smart. He was just dumb enough to fall in love with a whore, or think he could save her.

On the street Old Man Fletcher ran up to Clapp. “I just heard about Nancy,” Fletcher said. “You gotta get her back. She has these lips, they’re almost prehensile. She wraps them around your cock and…” Fletcher stopped himself, as if suddenly thinking this wasn’t the right thing to say. “Listen,” he continued. “You have to get her back. The economy of this whole town is dependent on that whorehouse, and without Nancy, there are really no whores there worth having. No Nancy, no whorehouse. No whorehouse, no town. You gotta bring her back.”

Clapp said he’d do what he could do. He had a lot of respect for Fletcher. After the war, Clapp had come west. He’d tried work as a cowboy and as a rustler. He’d worked laying track, and robbing trains. There had been no job he really liked or was good at. The only talent he had was with a gun. Fletcher saw something in him. He had given him a chance as a hired gun guarding his small bank. And later, with Fletcher’s influence, Clapp had been made sheriff of Hog City. The job had got him respect, and a home. Without it, he’d have never met his wife Hilda, or gotten the chance to start a family. Law or no law, Clapp had a lasting debt to Fletcher that he meant to pay back. He would bring back Nancy. He saddled his horse.

He called to his deputy, “If I’m not back with her by sundown tomorrow, get a pussy, er, posse, and come lookin’.”

Sheriff Clapp road out of town. Both his pistols were loaded. A rifle lay across the pommel of his horse. Billy’d probably put up a fight, which was okay by him. Likely the boy would be lynched if Clapp brought him back to town alive. He never liked selfish folk. Nancy was the best lookin’ and best fuckin’ woman in these parts, There weren’t a man or boy around who wouldn’t kill to get his share of her. The nerve of that boy. He checked Hodges’ place. They weren’t there. So he road off towards Johnny Blog’s homestead. Blog had been a preacher in his younger days, before he discovered the joys of whiskey and fucking sheep. Might be that Billy and Nancy had sought out Blog for a quick wedding.

Blog was in the barn with his pants down when Clapp rode up. Blog’s hands were full with the back legs of a ewe. Clapp called to him.

“Just a minute,” Blog shouted. “I’m almost done.”

Clapp waited patiently for the man to finish. Blog came out of the barn, his overalls were back on. He was wiping his hands on a rag. “Thanks for waiting. Had to tenderize some meat before it goes to market. What can I do for you Sheriff? Been a long while since you been out these parts.”

“Lookin’ for a thief. Billy Hodges done run off with Nancy Jenkins.”

“Why that lying bastard. He was here not an hour ago. Said he bought her fair and square. I didn’t think he had that kind of money, but he said he had a real good hand at poker.”

“He was here? An hour ago? What did he want?”

“What ya think? He wanted me to hitch him to Nancy. I said sure, for five dollars. He didn’t have five dollars. So I said, okay, how’s two. He didn’t have two. So I said, Nancy’s a hard working girl who knows a lot of tricks. Why don’t the two of you get naked with me and some of the sheep and y’all can work it off. He cursed me out somethin’ fierce and told me they’d ride down to the old Spanish mission and look up the old priest there who works with the injuns.”

“Thanks for the information.” Clapp tipped his hat and spurred his horse.

Blog shouted after him, “Bring her back! We need a piece of ass like that around here.”

It was dark when Sheriff Clapp reached the mission. He could see candle light in the church. He rode straight up to the door and burst through on his horse. The priest looked up in surprise. His cassock was up around his waist exposing his hairy legs and long thin cock. He was standing over Nancy who was naked on all fours giving him head while Billy did her ass.

“Madre Dios!” the priest screamed and pulled down his cassock.

“You done already?” Nancy growled. 

Billy whirled around reaching for his gun, but Sheriff Clapp drilled a hole in his chest.

“Now why’d you do that?” Nancy screamed. “You coulda had some if you just waited.”

“Murderer!” the priest said pointing at Clapp, so the sheriff plugged him too. He never liked papists. 

“You’re comin’ with me Nancy. Hog City needs you.”

He pulled the naked girl onto his horse and road back out of the church. He fucked her three times on the way back to town, once while they were still riding.

Clapp apologized to Nancy for ruining her wedding. She didn’t seem too upset. 

“I didn’t know how boring he was until I had to spend all day with him,” she explained. “Guess its for the best. I’d probably have run off on him in a week or two anyway.”

“Well, I’ll see that you get back safe where you belong, at McMurty’s, where we all love and care about you.”

“That’s sweet,” she said and gave him a hug. 

Clapp felt another hard-on coming on, but it would have to wait. His cock was feeling sore now, it burned when he peed and a milky substance was leaking out from the tip. He dropped Nancy off at McMurty’s. Miss Felicia gave her a good whipping and let him watch. It made his heart feel good. When he got home, he poured himself a tall glass of whiskey and soaked his cock in it. Later, he drained the glass and was ready to meet the world again.