Cheaters In The West

Author's note: This story is the third in my "Cheaters in" series. The first was Cheaters in Space. Cheaters in Time was the second. My point in doing this series is to occasionally explore the concept of infidelity during different periods in time as opposed to the typical "I came home from work and there was a strange car in my driveway, so I got a PI" scenario. All of these stories have no actual historical value and are done just for fun. So if I got the years or the guns wrong, please forgive me. If you don't like it, don't worry, next week I'll have another strange car in the driveway. Also MOPAR guys I'm only joking. I respect your cars too, just not as much.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

The scenery in the windshield went by at an alarming rate, as I passed cars like they were standing still. One of the few pleasures I had left was driving my silver 08 Mustang GT at just slightly past the legal 70 mph speed limit. Just slightly meaning under 110. I heard a chirping sound that I knew wasn't the car. I knew every single throb and ping that the Mustang's engine, tires and suspension made. I also knew every crease in the "Whore Red" interior's leather. I looked over into the cup holder to my right and saw the screen of my iPhone light up. I also saw the smiling face of my just recently minted ex wife. Just recently minted meaning we had our day in court only 3 days ago. And ex meaning if the bitch was on fire, I wouldn't piss on her. But in that wonderfully naive way that only children and extremely beautiful women could manage, here she was calling me, as if it was the most normal thing in the world.

I breathed a sigh of relief as the phone stopped chirping after a few moments. I started cussing inside as it started up again after only seconds. I slowed down to a more manageable 80 mph and answered the phone in the most cheerful voice I could muster.

"What the fuck do you want, you skanky whore? You already have half of my money and my house." Okay so maybe I wasn't very polite, but I really was trying.

"Well, I'm in the emergency room, Craig beat me up. And I need someone to come and get me and a place to stay until he calms down." she said.

Craig of course being the guy she'd been screwing around on me with, and the cause of our divorce and the end of our 8 year marriage.

"So why are you calling me Carla? You clearly preferred Craig's presence, Craig's personality and Craig's dick to mine. So your right to call me and tell me about your fucking problems ended 3 days ago."

"I keep telling you the same thing over and over again Michael James Dansen. Craig was only sex, it had been almost 10 years since I'd been with anyone beside you, and I was just curious. The first time with him wasn't good at all, but I thought that maybe it was just because he was nervous or something. My body does that to boys you know. You remember how quickly you came the first time that you and I did it?"

"Carla, I was 19!" I reminded her.

"Whatever," she snapped. "Anyway he convinced me to give him one more chance at my pussy, and you caught us and threw me out. You never even gave me a chance to explain anything. Just threw me out of the house that I picked, and I decorated, and I made into a home for us like I was yesterday's garbage."

"Yeah Carla, you did everything in that house except pay for it. You sat there every day on your perfect ass, while I worked myself silly trying to provide for both of us and keep you happy. And as soon as your cut throat lawyer got that injunction allowing you to stay in the house because you were basically homeless, you moved Craig into my house. If it was only sex why did you need to move him into my fucking house?"

"Because I've never been alone in my entire life," she cried. "I moved from my parent's house into our house. I don't know how to be alone and you left me. And all Craig does is sit there and leave his mess all over the house. He messes it up faster than I can keep it clean. And his nasty friends keep coming over and they won't leave. And there's no food left in the house, so I was going to call and ask you if you could possibly send next month's alimony payment earlier."

"Fuck No!" I snapped. "I could but why would I want to do it? You already got a lump sum payment for half the balance of my savings account. I sent it to you before we even went to court since the terms had already been agreed on. There's simply no way you went through $65,000 in 10 days. It's just not possible."

"Craig bought a very expensive motorcycle," she sniffled. "He also got it customized with several one of a kind parts. I thought it might be good for us and we could take it out on little road trips. It probably wouldn't have been as fun as when you and I went out in the Mustang but I was hoping that since you no longer wanted me, that maybe Craig would start treating me better."

"In other words since you couldn't get your husband back, you wanted to make your boy toy into husband material. That didn't work though did it? Carla sell the fucking bike. Call the police and have Craig and his friends evicted, and find yourself some nice sucker that you can control," I said.

"Well I can't sell the bike, because he wrecked it. And the rest of my money went to pay for part of the damages he caused in the crash. I still owe about $8000. The police won't come, because the neighbors have called them so many times already that I don't think they'll listen to me. Basically I'm just begging you to come back. You're the only man I love. I keep telling you Craig was only a diversion, just an experiment that went terribly bad. None of our friends want to have anything to do with me. They treat me like I'm some stupid whore with the plague. Even my parents look at me like I'm stupid for letting you go. I just want for us...,"

"Carla, I think I'm getting out of range, I'm going through a tunnel, you're breaking up," I said as I laughed and ended the call. For the first time in weeks I felt really good. A lot of my tension seemed to vanish as I laughed.

After 5 more minutes of laughing so hard I could barely steer the car, I left the freeway and slowed down to a nearly pedestrian 30 mph for the drive through the streets. My Mustang tended to get a lot of attention from the cops and my insurance premiums were high enough. My premiums went up when I got the supercharger even though I hadn't reported it to the insurance company. I think they have psychics working for them. One smart cop had also busted me when he looked under the car and discovered my illegal off road X-pipe. Leave it to me to find the one cop in Michigan who was also a hot rod fan. There was also the fact that certain cars like my Mustang and the Camaro actually looked like they were moving when they were standing still. It was a problem the Chrysler Muscle cars didn't have. The Charger and the Challenger were severely horse power challenged, and so heavy and boat like, that they simply weren't competitive. MOPAR did after all stand for Mostly Old People And Rednecks.

I went into a large office building and stopped at the information desk. The building was huge and I didn't want to get lost. The first meeting I had with Stephen Atherton had been in my condo. The guard at the desk pointed me to a bank of elevators in the rear of the building, and I made my way towards them. I stepped into a waiting elevator car and pushed the button for the 7th floor. Just as the doors started to close I heard a voice asking me to hold the elevator.

The elevators doors stopped closing as I thrust my arm between them. What happened next was one of those moments that you have to be there to truly appreciate. The first thing I saw was a tiny foot in an open toed shoe. The nails on that foot were painted that same shade of red as my Mustang's Interior. If that wasn't a sign I don't know what was. Just seeing that foot, got a rise out of me, though I don't remember ever having a foot fetish. I was already imagining myself massaging that foot and possibly kissing it, when it was followed by the most beautiful leg I'd ever seen. It wasn't thin and angular like my ex wife's legs it was shapely and rounded with a good sized calf. That leg was followed up by an even sexier thigh that was unfortunately cut off by a skirt that ended about 2 inches above her knees. At that moment my concept of heaven had a lot to do with being squeezed between those thighs.

Well rounded hips led to a slightly rounded tummy which itself supported two massive breasts. She was wearing a short suit coat that matched the skirt to form some kind of women's version of a business suit, but I could only imagine the kind of business she'd conduct in that suit. Long, foamy Black hair with just a touch of a wave to it, turned under at the ends, framed a face that while not classically beautiful, was awe inspiring. Her complexion while tan showed a smattering of freckles around her nose. I instantly wanted to kiss those full red lips and probably never stop. Her eyes were a deep shade of brown and I was imagining myself getting lost in them until I realized that she was calmly watching me stare at her. She didn't appear to be put out by my attention at all. In fact she looked at me with a bemused expression on her face.

"So did I pass?" she asked.

"Uhm...Uh...what?" I managed to sputter out. My shock at being caught only seemed to amuse her more. My face had to have gotten at least a couple of shades redder, which only made her smile deeper.

"I'm really sorry," I finally managed to get out. "But you're so pretty..."

"For a fat girl, you mean," she interjected.

"No, I meant period," I said seriously. "No asterisk needed. And you're not fat. At least, I don't think you are." At that point I was becoming even more embarrassed. I think she sensed it, because she let me off the hook.

"Well it's nice to be admired," she said smiling, and then turned towards the front as the elevator got to my floor. She got off there too, but thankfully she went in the opposite direction from the one I took. I couldn't help it. Even though I'd already been caught staring at her once, I turned and watched her walk away. I found that her ass was just as incredible as her breasts. As I watched her walk away all of my blood quickly switched from one head to the other. Unfortunately she turned back when I wasn't expecting it and caught me looking again. I just waved goodbye to her and headed for Atherton's office.

I went in and Atherton's secretary pointed towards a chair. She was a slim older woman whose facial expression gave me the impression that being a secretary was just a sideline for her. From the look on her face I was sure that she made her living as a professional lemon sucker. She spoke into a phone on her desk and then looked at me. She made an extreme effort and the outside corners of her mouth lifted a fraction of an inch for a millisecond, it was obviously an attempt at smiling. She wasn't very good at that smiling thing though, and it just made her seem even more creepy. Then her mouth opened and in a voice like fingernails on a chalk board told me that Mr. Atherton would see me now.

Atherton on the other hand was friendly, animated and outgoing. He got up as I came into the room and shook my hand vigorously as if he expected me to rescue him from his secretary, or take her with me when I left.

"Mike Dansen," he said to me, as if I either didn't know my own name, or he needed to recite it to jog his own memory. "Do you want anything to drink? How about some coffee?" he offered. I told him I was fine and just wanted to find out what information he had for me.

"Well like you thought, it is a very valuable piece. I believe that we can make a great deal of money from it at a Firearms Fair or a Gun/Knife show. But there might be a way for us to make even more money, if you're willing to look at other opportunities," he looked at me as he said this. I got the impression that he was trying to read me, and would tailor his pitch to what he thought I wanted to hear. I didn't know if he was trying to come up with the best possible plan for my interests or his own, but either way I wanted to hear both versions and make my own choice of action.

"I'm open to all possibilities, so let's hear both plans," I said.

"Well we need to wait for...," he began before he was cut off by a chirping from his intercom.

"Mr. Atherton, your second client has arrived," shrieked the secretary through a speaker on Atherton's desk. I wondered how he could stand that woman. Working with her would drive me crazy.

"Send her in," he said sharply into the speaker.

The office door opened and Atherton again rose to meet the new entry. I was sure that the look on my face and the sound of my jaw dropping to the floor was noticeable. The woman from the elevator walked into the room and sat down in the chair next to me. She looked over at me with that same mirthful expression, before turning her eyes towards Atherton and shaking his hand.

"Mike Dansen, allow me to introduce Ms. Samantha Chavaria," said Atherton. It was an extremely formal introduction. Atherton was obviously very old school.

"We've met, briefly," I said extending my hand. She took my hand and shook it gently, leaving me to marvel at the softness of her skin, and the warmth of her body as she looked into my eyes. I found myself wondering if the rest of her body was as warm, because if it was I'd never be able to let her out of bed. Suddenly, I realized that she was talking to me.

"I was just saying that you can let go of my hand any time you'd like to," she said smiling at me.

"Sorry," I said. I was glad that at least she hadn't caught me staring at her breasts again.

"Okay, let's get to it then shall we," said Atherton. "Mr. Dansen, the piece that you'd like me to liquidate for you has drawn a lot of interest from many different quarters. You Have many different possibilities of what you could do with it. Ms. Chavaria represents one such interest, and has a healthy stake in it herself. She has decided to withhold her preference until you've heard the other offers."

As Atherton spoke I heard cash registers ringing in the background. Having to give my skanky cheating whore of an ex, half of my net worth and my house had left me feeling like I needed a quick infusion of cash to start building my retirement nest egg all over again.

"One of the guns you found in your attic has been authenticated, and did as you've claimed belong to your great, great grandfather Samuel Dansen, he was the one time sheriff of a small town in Texas. That was the 1874 SCHOFIELD .44 CALIBER REVOLVER with the ivory grip. It would normally bring perhaps 40 to 50 thousand dollars on the open market."

My heart sank, it was good money especially since I wasn't into guns and it would nearly recoup the amount I'd lost to Carla, but not quite. Also the fact that only one of the guns was valuable hurt a bit. I'd believed that one of the guns was Great Great Grand Dad's working pistol and the other was his special occasion gun.

"The other is actually more valuable because it belonged to your Great Great Grand uncle Jack Dansen. Smiling Jack was an Outlaw who eventually became sheriff of the same small town. That is the matching 1874 SCHOFIELD .44 CALIBER REVOLVER with the polished ebony grips. Together though the guns are nearly twice as valuable. because of the odd circumstances of the brothers lives. And the rarity of their situation. If we sold them to a private collector, we might get as much as 200 thousand dollars. I feel strongly that our best advantage though would take a bit longer. We could wait until the militaria and firearms auction next month and put the pieces up for auction. That does carry a considerable risk but on the other hand, in a full out bidding war you could walk away a very wealthy man." Again his eyes followed me and I wondered whether he worried more about me getting rich or himself. His cut would be substantial either way.

"How much do you know about the history of your ancestors?" he asked.

"Well not very much at all," I said.

"And that is one of the ways that Ms. Chavaria can help us because you see she, like the fourth partner in our little syndicate is sort of related to you." He shook his head at the shocked looks on both of our faces. "If you go back far enough in time I suppose everyone on the planet is vaguely related to someone else," he added. "We have just enough time before our dinner meeting to begin this story, we'll probably have to finish this up next time." He went to a cabinet and extracted three old books. Though the leather on them was faded and cracked, they seemed to be in very good condition."

"I've marked certain passages in each book, so that when read sequentially you'll get the entire story without having to hear all of the events from different and confusing viewpoints," he said. And then he began to read.

# # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # # #

Samuel Dansen's Journal excerpt. May 4, 1875. I arrived in Navarro Texas this morning, tired and hungry from the long ride. It seems to be a pretty good town, but I'm not too sure I'll stay here for long. It doesn't seem to be the kind of place I can settle down and make a life for myself. The misunderstanding this morning in the town square only served to prove to me that I have more to run away from than just Arabella's refusal to marry me. Jack's reputation has extended this far into Texas and several of the townspeople thought that I was him and were immediately fearful of me.

The Sheriff in the town came right up to me and tried to arrest me. I had to show him the letter I got from the US Marshall's office, and signed by the local Judge explaining that Jack and I were twins, and that I had never robbed anything or stolen anything. I don't think he really believed me but he recognized the Judge's signature and decided to take it at face value. That was, provided I didn't make a fool out of myself or cause any ruckus in his town while I'm here. He emphasized "While I'm here."

The countryside around the town seems pretty enough, and there don't seem to be any problems. This might be a nice place to settle down if Jack hadn't gotten to the region before I did. The biggest problem for me is that I'm running low on cash and there don't seem to be very many jobs around, unless you fancy working in the Whorehouse or the Saloon. I wouldn't want to do either. None of the bigger ranches in the area are hiring right now so I'll probably be moving on tomorrow.

Samuel Dansen's Journal May 6, I might be staying here for awhile after all. Yesterday I was coming out of the boarding house I've been staying at when I saw the sheriff talking to a bunch of shady looking hombres. I started walking in that direction in time to see one of them try to circle around behind the sheriff. The one in front of the sheriff started mouthing off and went for his gun. The sheriff plugged him in the shoulder, but the one behind him was going to shoot the sheriff in the back. I had no choice so I pulled my piece and shot him first. It was a good clean shot and a difficult one from that distance. I managed to just shoot the galoot in his hand. He'll live, but he's never going to be able to use that hand for too much anymore. I truly regret maiming the man, but I didn't have a choice. It was either that or let him shoot the sheriff in the back and in cold blood. I guess that's the biggest difference between me and Jack. Jack just does whatever it takes to get what he wants no matter who it hurts. I'm just not strong enough or focused enough to hurt someone just to make myself happy.

Anyway I expected to get thrown in jail or at least run out of town, seeing as how it is unlawful to discharge a firearm inside of the town limits, but the people in the town seemed to think I'd done a good thing and the Sheriff agreed with them. I offered to surrender my pistol until I left town, but he told me that if I hadn't been wearing my piece when it happened, that he'd probably be dead. And he asked me if I'd be interested in helping him out as his deputy. When I agreed, he gave me a shiny new badge and a big thick law book. The money's not great but it'll keep me here, and also let me save a little until I can afford a spread of my own.