Cold-Blooded, page 17
“How old was she?” Jess said. “Who was she?”
“She would have turned twenty-one in the fall. Her name was Lucia Monroe and now you know as much about her as I do.”
Jess shook his head. “How the hell did she—”
“Buy heroin? Lucia Monroe probably never set foot in the Acre, but one of her housemaids could have bought it for her. There are plenty of servants in the house.”
“She was a morphine user and then somebody introduced her to a drug she’d never used before,” Jess said.
“That would be my guess.” Dr. Bell handed a glass to Jess and then walked back to the cells with another for Luke Short.
Jess had time to build and light a cigarette before the doctor returned.
“Luke says the Jasper Dunn ranny who took over his saloon is the source of the drug in the Acre,” Dr. Bell said.
“That isn’t a stretch,” Jess said. “The trouble is that Dunn isn’t breaking any laws. I can shut him down temporarily for a city code violation, but that’s all. Even then I’m pushing it.”
“What about Dunn being the direct cause of the deaths of two people?”
Jess spoke behind a cloud of smoke. “I don’t know, Doc. I have no idea how the law stands on that. And Jethro Tull, the only lawyer I could ask, is a crook.”
Dr. Bell pointed to Jess’s bandaged side. “Do you think that was done on Dunn’s orders?”
“I’m sure of it,” Jess said. “The man who stabbed me had two double eagles in his pocket.”
“You’re in Dunn’s way, Sheriff.”
Jess dropped his cigarette butt to the floor and rubbed it into shreds with his boot. “That’s how it’s supposed to work, isn’t it?”
“Give Luke Short a gun, Sheriff Casey,” Dr. Bell said. “He’s a good man to have at your side.”
Jess smiled. “He has no love for me, Doc.”
“Maybe so, but he knows that you’re the only man in town who can help him get his White Elephant back.”
CHAPTER FORTY
“If I’d known the rube had missed with his knife I could’ve gunned the sheriff real easy,” Silas Topper said. “But by the time I realized what was happening the damned Mick had cut loose with a scattergun.”
“You did the right thing,” Jasper Dunn said. “The rube, what was his name? Well, it doesn’t matter. To save his neck he would have spilled everything he knew.”
Topper held a bar towel to his bleeding cheek. “Casey scratched me.” His eyes glittered. “He gets a bullet in the belly first chance I get.”
“Hello. What’s this?” Dunn said, staring over Topper’s shoulder.
Three men walked across the saloon floor. One was Jethro Tull, a man Dunn knew, with him a tall, distinguished-looking gent he pegged as a second lawyer. Trailing behind hurried a meek-looking man who had the pale face of a clerk. Dunn dismissed him as a nonentity.
It was the tall man who spoke. “Do I have the pleasure of addressing Mr. Jasper Dunn?” he said.
Dunn rose to his feet and said, “Yes, you do.”
The tall man stuck out his hand. “My name is Professor James Carnes. I was appointed by the governor to check up on the progress of the convicts recently released from Huntsville.” He smiled. “I consider you a shining example of how men released from prison can reenter society and make good.”
“Well, thankee and take a seat,” Dunn said. He smiled like a cobra. “Despite the persecution we face, my fellow ex-cons and I are doing our very best to rejoin society.”
“Excellent, Mr. Dunn,” Professor Carnes said. “Is it not, Mr. Tull?”
“I have many times told Mr. Dunn that very thing,” Tull said.
Carnes placed his gloved hand on Dunn’s arm. “Just one small thing, Mr. Dunn. I wish, and the governor agrees with me, to change the term ex-con to returning citizen. It’s a small thing, but I believe it will save the formerly incarcerated individual from a great deal of embarrassment and discouragement as he tries to reintegrate into society.”
Dunn nodded, grinning. “Sir, that’s a fine plan and I’m sure my fellow returning citizens, despite the terrible persecution they face, will be most pleased.”
“I was told by attorney Tull that by sheer hard work and industry you have obtained a share of this saloon,” Carnes said.
Pretending mild embarrassment, Dunn said, “A small share to be sure, but the proprietor, Mr. Luke Short, was most anxious to sign the contract.”
“You are making wonderful progress, Mr. Dunn,” Carnes said. “And how are our other returning citizens?”
Dunn exchanged a glance with Tull, who had a slight smile on his lips, and said, “I’m happy to say most are gainfully employed . . . but . . .” Dunn waved his hands in front of his face. “No, no, I better not say it.”
“You can say anything you wish to me,” Carnes said. “Mr. Dunn, you and I are perfect friends.”
Turning his eyes heavenward, Dunn said, “Oh dear, I am so conflicted.”
Tull said, “There is no conflict in the truth, Mr. Dunn, painful though that truth may be.”
“Very well, I’ll say what I know is true,” Dunn said. “The lawmen in this town, City Marshal Kurt Koenig and Sheriff Jess Casey, badly want me and my fellow returning citizens to fail.” Dunn buried his face in his hands, and then exclaimed, “Sweet Lord, we are being persecuted!”
“This is outrageous!” Carnes said.
Dunn, a consummate actor and con man, flung his words across the table. “Look at the face of returning citizen Topper. Show the professor what happened to you this morning.”
Topper removed the towel from his cheek. It looked as though he’d been raked by claws.
“Such an atrocity cannot stand,” Carnes said. “What happened to this poor man?”
“It happened this morning,” Dunn said. “Sheriff Casey was attacked by a knife-wielding madman and was badly wounded. His assailant was readying himself for another stroke of his murderous blade when Mr. Topper saw him.”
Dunn slowly shook his head as though the horror of what happened next was too painful for him to reveal. He tried to talk but his voice faltered and he fell silent.
Jethro Tull, quick on the uptake, glared Topper into keeping his mouth shut and continued with the story. “Mr. Topper was in a building across the street from where the attack happened.”
Dunn said, “Dear Silas was trying to find a suitable home for one of our older returned citizens who is unfortunately ailing and he happened to be looking out of the open window when the assassin tried again to impale the sheriff.”
Tull said, “Drawing his trusty revolver, Mr. Topper fired at the fiend and struck him down stone dead with one shot.”
Dunn again took up the story. “And that was when Sheriff Casey whirled around and saw that it was Mr. Topper who stood at the window. Enraged that his life had been saved by a returning citizen, the sheriff fired his bloodthirsty shotgun at the window.”
“And laid poor Mr. Topper low,” Tull said. “But thank God he recovered sufficiently to flee the building and escape with his own life,” Tull said.
With an air of finality Jasper Dunn pointed to Topper’s bloody cheek and said, “There! I say there is the result of Sheriff Casey’s homicidal savagery.”
“This persecution will end,” Professor Carnes said. “If I have to, I’ll go all the way to the president of these United States and ask for federal troops. But be assured, Mr. Dunn, one way or another, the oppression will end.”
Suddenly Dunn was alarmed. The mention of federal troops was not something he’d wanted to hear. Quickly he said, “Troops will not be necessary, Professor.” Then, in a moment of inspiration, “For a prisoner release program to succeed, it must be done at a local level. It’s not the law—hard-bitten, violent men—but the people themselves who must welcome returning citizens in their midst. The presence of soldiers would suggest that the people need to be forced into acceptance and we all know that is not happening. We are welcomed with an open door into every home. Is that not so, Mr. Tull?”
“Indeed it is,” the lawyer said. “As Mr. Dunn says, the returning citizens are met with open arms and open doors everywhere they go.”
By whores maybe, Tull thought, smiling at Carnes.
“Very well, there we will leave it for the moment,” the professor said. “Mr. Dunn, at a future date I’d like to address all the men who arrived from Huntsville. Can you arrange that?”
“Bless you, sir, of course I can. You will do us a great honor,” Dunn said.
Carnes rose to his feet. “I will now go and have harsh word with Sheriff Casey. He will rue the day he viciously assaulted poor Mr. Topper.”
* * *
After the professor left with his assistant and Tull, Jasper Dunn said to Topper, “This is our chance. With Carnes on our side we just can’t fail. Silas, Fort Worth is as good as ours.”
* * *
Luke Short, hurt and feeling like hell, was not nearly as polite as Jess Casey. He sat in the sheriff’s chair, his newly acquired Colt in his gun hand and an I’m-gonna-spit-in-your-eye expression on his drawn face.
He’d been listening for fifteen minutes now to Professor James Carnes’s tirade about police brutality and how he would not stand idly by and let prejudiced lawmen interfere with the excellent progress being made by Jasper Dunn and the other returned citizens.
When the professor halted to take a breath, Luke thumbed back the hammer of his Colt and said, “Mister, your chances of making it to the door alive are slim to none, but I want you to try it anyway.”
“This is an outrage!” Carnes said. “The governor will hear of this.”
Luke was primed to shoot and Jess quickly stepped in front of Carnes. “I’m only going to say one thing, Carnes—”
“Professor Carnes to you, Sheriff.”
“And it is that Jasper Dunn took the White Elephant by force and I intend to close the place down,” Jess said. “Now my talking is done because no matter what I say you won’t listen.”
Carnes’s face purpled with anger. “Lies, a pack of lies put out by yon killer you harbor in your office. My entire reputation rests on this grand experiment and I do not intend to fail.”
“Is that all?” Jess said.
“No, it’s not all. I have much more to say, but I won’t cast pearls before swine,” Carnes said. “I do assure you, Sheriff, you won’t wear that star for much longer. Now good-day to you, sir.”
* * *
“You should’ve let me plug him, Casey,” Luke Short said.
Sam Waters, who was now living with a widow woman and making only rare appearances at the sheriff’s office, said, “You’d get hung fer sure, Luke. Carnes is a big man, important, friend of the governor an’ all, and if what he’s trying in this town works, it will be used by penitentiaries all over the country. Hell, he’d be so famous he could run for president.” Sam shook his head. “Gun anybody you like, Luke, but not the perfesser.”
“What the hell did he call them rapists and murderers?” Luke said.
“Returned citizens,” Jess said. “And you heard what he told me—he doesn’t want to hear the word ex-con being used in the Acre or anywhere else.”
Luke shook his head. “I reckon I’ll take my chances and shoot him in the belly anyway.”
CHAPTER FORTY-ONE
It was Destiny Durand’s idea to take Joselita Juarez out of the Acre for a while and away from the confining four walls of the Silver Garter saloon.
“We’re going only as far as the sweetshop on 11th Street for cake and ice cream,” Destiny told Kurt Koenig. “Joselita needs an outing to be around normal people.”
Koenig smiled. “The people who patronize the Silver Garter aren’t normal?”
“Far from it,” Destiny said.
Koenig looked up from the ledger he was studying. Almost absently he said, “I’ll send Tim Tyrone with you.”
“No, Kurt,” Destiny said. “We don’t need a Panther City Boy and his gun in a sweetshop. And it’s the middle of the day.”
“You sure?”
“Yes, I’m sure. We’ll only be gone for an hour or two and we’ll be perfectly fine.”
Koenig dipped his pen into the inkwell, his eyes scanning columns of figures. “Just be careful.”
“We will, and I have my derringer,” Destiny said.
* * *
To say the least, Joselita was excited. “I’ve had cake before, but I’ve never tasted ice cream,” she said. She lifted her skirts to avoid a patch of mud on the boardwalk. “What is it like?”
Destiny smiled. “You’ll find out.”
After a while Joselita said, “Destiny, why do the older ladies look away when they see you? It seems none of them want to pass the time of day.”
“I suppose it’s because they think I’m a kept woman,” Destiny said.
“And are you?”
“No. I’m my own woman. Nobody keeps me or owns me.”
“Not even Mr. Koenig?”
“Especially Mr. Koenig.”
Joselita thought for a spell, then said, “I suppose I was a kept woman once.”
“You were an enslaved woman,” Destiny said. “There is a difference between kept and enslaved, not much of one, but a difference nonetheless.” She smiled. “Enough of this talk. We’re going for ice cream and you’re wearing your new dress. It’s a time to be happy. Who knows, maybe we’ll meet Red Stark.”
Joselita laughed. “In a sweetshop? I doubt it.”
* * *
“That,” Joselita Juarez said, “was the best thing I’ve ever eaten in my whole life.”
“I should think so,” Destiny Durand said. “Three scoops of ice cream and two pieces of cake. I was afraid you might burst.”
“Or end up looking like Mayor Stout,” Joselita said.
That made Destiny laugh but then two men stepped into their path and the laughter stopped.
“Howdy, pretty ladies,” Loco Looper said. “You out for a stroll?”
“Let us pass,” Destiny said.
“Can’t do that,” Jim Turner said. “Y’all got to come with us.”
Around this scene the Acre’s busy life went on and if people in the crowded street noticed anything at all, they saw a woman in a yellow dress and a younger one in blue talking to two rough-looking men on the boardwalk and thought nothing of it. Hell’s Half Acre was full of rough-looking men and women who wore colorful dresses.
Destiny tried to reach into her purse, but Loco Looper took it away from her. He removed the derringer and passed the purse back. Then Dark Alley Jim Turner made his move.
The man moved closer to Joselita and stuck the point of a dirk into the girl’s ribs. “Miss Durand, you and the Mex come with us real quiet or I’ll cut her liver out.”
“Kurt Koenig will kill you for this,” Destiny said.
“Don’t count on it,” Turner said. “Now let’s move along the boardwalk like we were kissin’ kin. This little gal cries out, tries to run away or any other sich, I’ll gut her.”
“Where are you taking us?” Destiny said.
“To a nice, comfortable warehouse,” Turner said.
“They hang men for rape in this town,” Destiny said.
“Rape? Did you hear that, Loco? She thinks we’re gonna have our way with her. Why do women always think that?”
“I don’t know, Jim.” Looper pushed Destiny’s back and made her stumble forward. “We got bigger plans than rape for you, little lady. Come this time tomorrow, you’ll be the talk of the town.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Nate, you’re gonna love this guy,” Dirty Dick O’Rourke said. “He can dance like a bobber on a line and he’s got a twenty-pound sledgehammer for a right hand.”
“So you say, Dick,” Nate Levy said.
“I ain’t kiddin,” O’Rourke said. He was an untidy, unshaven, odorous man who chose his cigars according to their stink. “His name is Kid Nevada and if you know of a fighter out there who thinks he can beat him he better bring his lunch because it’s gonna take him all day.”
“I’m looking for a new boy,” Nate said. “You heard what happened to Zeus.”
“I surely did, Nate. And I was broken up about it. You see this eye, this one here? Well, for the first time in its life it shed a tear. That’s how I felt about things after Zeus was killed.”
“A good boy,” Nate said.
“Pound for pound one of the best I ever seen,” O’Rourke said.
A young black kid who was laying into a punching bag, showing incredible hand speed, attracted Nate’s attention. He smiled. “I need somebody like him, if he was twenty years older.”
O’Rourke turned and followed Nate’s gaze. “Oh, him. He reckons he’s about ten years old, come up from Galveston, and I let him do odd jobs around the gym in return for his grub and a place to sleep.”
“He looks good,” Nate said. “Punches well.”
“His name’s Jack Johnson and he’s game, but he’ll never make it as a fighter,” O’Rourke said. “He ain’t got the smarts. You take Kid Nevada now, he’s smart as a whip and as game as they come.”
“Trot him out, Dick,” Nate said. “I’ll take a look at him.”
Dirty Dick’s gym smelled of ancient sweat, vomit and liniment. A ring was set up in the middle of the floor, some changing rooms to the rear, and the place was crammed with iron weights, Indian clubs and slop buckets.
“Ned Shoemaker here is the Kid’s sparring partner,” O’Rourke said. “You met him before?”
“Oh sure,” Nate said. He stuck out his hand. “How’s it going, Ned? How’s the missus and the two young ’uns?”
“Doin’ just fine, Mr. Levy,” Shoemaker said. He was a shy young man with the build of a heavyweight but he’d never developed the boxing ability to elevate himself from the lowest rung of professional pugilists. “I was sorry to hear about Zeus. He hit harder than any man I ever sparred with.”
Nate smiled. “Funny thing, he said the very same thing about you.”
Ned smiled. “He was joshing you, I think. Ah, there’s the Kid. I better not keep him waiting.”
Kid Nevada was a tall young man, heavy in the arms and shoulders, his blond hair cropped short. He touched gloves with Shoemaker . . . and then disaster struck.
