Follow The Stone, Page 4

  “Ira Glass.”

  “I’ll be in touch, then, Mr. Glass.”

  He stood aside and let me pass.

  7.

  “What’s it like,” Scarlett said. “Really.”

  When Billy Shingles found he couldn’t keep me from talkin’ to his whores, he asked if I’d pay for an hour of their time. That seemed a fair request, so I gave him six dollars, and he let me talk to Scarlett and two others in Scarlett’s bedroom. Billy knew he had no legal right to force the women to work for him, but he wasn’t above tryin’. ’Course, Billy knew he had a gold mine in Rolla, this bein’ the drop off point for every unmarried woman headin’ west by railroad. So what if he lost a few girls every now and then? He’d still have an endless supply of new ones to take their place.

  “There’s five levels of whorin’ out west,” I said, answering Scarlett’s question. “You don’t need to worry about the top one.”

  “Why not?” said Gentry.

  They were all sittin’ on the bed. Gentry was slim of body, and wide-faced, with wide-set green eyes and long brown hair. Her face was littered with pimples, and scars from pimples that had come and gone. She could pass for twenty-two, but I figured her closer to eighteen. Scarlett was a big-boned gal from New Orleans, with wide hips and a gigantic bosom. Scarlett knew enough French to communicate with the third woman, Monique, who was twenty, French, and spoke practically no English. Because French-speakin’ people were so rare in this part of the country, it was thought that wherever Scarlett went, Monique would follow.

  Of the three, Monique was the looker.

  “Well, the top whores like Lola Montez, are fine as cream gravy,” I said. “Lola bathes in champagne every day, and wipes her butt with rose petals.”

  “Rose petals?” Gentry said. “Honest? Wow! I’d love to meet her!”

  Scarlett said, “If you do, maybe she’ll let you wipe your ass with the thorns.”

  “Well anyway,” I said, “them type a’ whores are what you call courtesans. Denver, Seattle, San Francisco—that’s pretty much it. The next level is your parlor house whore, where they have a madam and professor. The professor’s a piano player. They serve you and your gentleman food and drinks and then he’ll ask if you want to go for a walk.”

  “A walk?” Gentry said.

  “That means upstairs, to your bedroom.”

  “The music, food, and drink part sounds good,” Gentry said.

  “Well, it’s somethin’ to shoot for.”

  Scarlett said, “We heard tell you’re honest, Mr. Love.”

  “I reckon I am,” I said.

  “Then be completely honest with us.”

  “Ma’am?”

  “We need to know what to expect when we get there.”

  We looked at each other a minute, and then I said, “I s’pect Monique will land in one a’ them parlor houses.”

  “But not us?”

  While I thought about how to answer her question, Scarlett whispered to Monique, and patted her knee, reassuringly. Scarlett was no beauty, but she appeared to have a good heart.

  “How old are you?” I said.

  “Twenty-six,” Scarlett said.

  To Gentry I said, “I mean no offense, but are you pimply all over?”

  “Just my face and the back of my neck.”

  “Your figure’s good.”

  She smiled.

  I said, “Any rashes, birth marks or scars?”

  “No. I can show you, if you like.”

  I held up my hand. “Not necessary. I’m just thinkin’ it through.”

  We all sat quiet a minute. Then I said, “I’ll try to get the two of you with Mama Priss.”

  “Who’s that?” said Gentry.

  “Priscilla Bright. She’s a madam, a friend of mine. She runs your next level of whorin’, what they call a brothel.”

  “Like here,” Scarlett said.

  “Not this nice,” I said. “You’ll make your own food, do your own laundry, and buy your own clothes. But you’ll make ten times the money.”

  “How’s that possible?”

  “There’s a lot of money comes through Dodge, and women are scarce. One miner rode eighty miles to get a pancake breakfast from one of Priss’s girls. Another was so homesick he walked thirty miles just to hold a woman’s baby. What I’m sayin’, if you nurture ’em, these men’ll pay you ten dollars for a poke, and twenty-five for an overnight.”

  “Jesus!” Gentry said. “How much of that do we get to keep?”

  “Half.”

  Monique whispered somethin’ to Scarlett. Scarlett said, “How much will Monique get?”

  “Monique’s high end,” I said. “She’ll fetch a hundred a night.”

  Scarlett’s eyes went big as saucers. She whispered it to Monique, and the pretty girl’s face broke into a wide grin. She patted her crotch and then kissed the hand that did the pattin’. I kept watchin’, waitin’ to see what might happen next. But Gentry touched my leg to get my attention.

  “If we don’t land with Mama Priss, what’s left?” said Gentry.

  “Well, I’ll get you on with Priss,” I said.

  “How old can we be to work there?” said Scarlett.

  “If you take care of yourself, you’ve got ’til thirty-five at the brothel.”

  “Then what?”

  “If you saved enough money, you can move somewhere else, become a proper woman, and start a restaurant, laundry or boardin’ house.”

  “And if not?”

  “Well, if you ain’t saved your money or got married by then, you’ll be hat-snatchers.”

  “What’s that mean?”

  “You’ll live in a one-room shack or a tent in a minin’ camp. When a prosperous-lookin’ man walks by, you’ll jump out and snatch his hat. He’ll chase you to your place, and you’ll try to coax him into a poke for whatever he’ll pay. You can make a decent wage, but it’s dangerous, ’cause you’re on your own.”

  “And after that?”

  “I won’t lie to you, it ain’t no easy life. Even with Mama Priss, you’re gonna have no proper friends, and you won’t be allowed in any of the better places, includin’ most stores. You’ll be shunned by proper women and served by no one. You’ll hope to marry one a’ your regulars or save enough money to open your own brothel.”

  “And if we don’t?”

  “Well, if you lose your looks, your health, and your money, the last stop is a hog ranch. That’s a roadside buildin’ on a stage coach route or cattle trail in the middle of nowhere that you’ll share with a dozen broke down alcoholic, drugged-out whores. If you wind up there, that’s where you’ll die.”

  “Wow!” Gentry said, pretendin’ to be excited. “Sounds great! Won’t Mum and Papa be proud when I introduce them to my friends at the hog ranch!”

  I took another look at this gal, Gentry, and liked what I saw.

  “You’re fun,” I said.

  She flashed a pretty smile, then winked.

  “You know it,” she said.

  8.

  My next stop was Lick and Casey’s Dance Hall, where I met a feisty one-eyed whore named Mary Burns, and three others, Hester, Emma, and Leah. Unlike Mary, Hester had two eyes, but they were different colors, black and brown. Emma wore a pink ribbon in her hair, and had a distractin’ way of fondlin’ her breasts whenever she spoke. It took me no time at all to realize that while she had ten fingers all together, six of ’em were on one hand. Leah was thin as a rail and had a scar that ran from the corner of her eye to the side of her nose. It appeared to be a knife wound that had been poorly stitched. This was a ragged bunch of whores, whose ages ranged from south of eighteen to north of thirty. Most of their questions centered on the trip.

  “We’ll ride on horseback to Springfield,” I said, “and take buckboards the rest of the way.”

  The women looked at each other.

  Emma said, “We ain’t got horses.”

  “You’ll get some,” I said.

  “Where?
”

  “You’ll buy’em.”

  “How?”

  “With whatever money you’ve got, or by sellin’ your possessions.”

  “How much luggage can we take?” Mary said.

  “No more than a kit and saddle bags.”

  “What about our dresses?”

  “If you can fit one in your kit, fine. Otherwise, no.”

  “How should we dress for the trip?” Leah said.

  “Like men. And you’ll be carryin’ rifles and shotguns, even if you don’t know how to use ’em.”

  “Are you insane?”

  “My job is to get you to Dodge City, unless you decide to settle somewhere else along the way. But if you’re in open country, wearin’ women’s clothin’, your chances of gettin’ to Dodge are poor. Between Indians, outlaws, soldiers, cowboys and renegades, you’re pretty much bug meat. There’ll be no perfume or powder in the Ozarks ’cause of bears, or on the Kansas plains, ’cause of Indians. I’ll make you roll around in mud a few times, and rub dirt in your hair a time or two to keep the scent down.”

  “My friends went west,” Mary said. “And they didn’t have to do all that. They wore their finest clothes and perfumes the whole way.”

  “You should a’ gone with your friends,” I said, “or wait ’til the next bunch goes. ’Cause right now there’s a major draught in Kansas. Thirty thousand men are on the trails, lookin’ for water. Dodge City’s still wet, but most of central and east Kansas is dry, and some men there’ll kill you for your canteen. By dressin’ like men, carryin’ guns, we’ll have a show of force. At least we’ll appear to, from a distance.”

  “I heard you’re bringing a mail-order bride,” Emma said.

  “Word travels fast.”

  She shrugged. “It’s Rolla.”

  “She gonna ride in the buckboard with us?” Hester asked.

  “At some point she probably will.”

  “Does she know it?”

  “Not yet.”

  “Can I be there when you tell her?”

  I grinned. “Nope.”

  9.

  I had a drink at Lick and Casey’s, then got a room on the second floor of the Mountain View Hotel, overlookin’ Main Street. After stowin’ my gear, I chose a corner table in the hotel restaurant and ordered a beefsteak. It was early yet, and the other customers were seated on the far side of the room, at the bar, with their backs to me. The waiter left to place my order, and I settled into my seat, thinkin’, this is how life ought to be! No gun hands, no drunken cowboys spoilin’ for a fight, no quick-draw kids tryin’ to make their reps off me. I’d enjoy a good steak, some beans and taters, a couple drinks, and get a good night’s sleep in a real bed with clean sheets. No ticks, spiders, snakes or scorpions to worry over. In the mornin’ I’d have a hot bath, shave, and haircut while they wash my laundry. Then what, maybe ask Phoebe Thayer to lunch? That was a happy thought.

  A young lady entered the restaurant, looked in my direction, hesitated, then approached my table. She seemed nervous.

  “Mr. Love?”

  “Yes?”

  “I’m Jenny Palmer. May I sit with you a moment?”

  “You may. Can I buy you dinner?”

  “That’s very kind of you, but no. I have business to discuss.”

  I nodded at the chair across from me. She looked around the room before takin’ it, and when she sat, she scooted as close to the table as she could get.

  “How can I help you, Miss Palmer?”

  She placed an envelope on the table between us, and said, “Are you familiar with a town called Grand Junction?”

  “Never been there, but I heard of it,” I said. “Heard they got a new stage coach.”

  “That’s right.”

  There was no one within hearin’ distance, but she lowered her voice anyway. “Last year I began corresponding with a man named Roy Ellsworth, who has a ranch four miles south of there. In April, my friend Sophie and I took the first stage from Kansas City to Grand Junction.”

  “How’d you get to Kansas City?”

  “We took the train from St. Louis.”

  “That weren’t cheap.”

  “My father paid our fare.”

  She went quiet a minute.

  I said, “Then what happened?”

  “The purpose of my trip was to meet Mr. Ellsworth, to see if there might be a marital connection between us.”

  “Your friend went with you?”

  Jenny nodded. “Sophie felt if I could find love there, perhaps she could, too. We’ve always been best friends, and thought it would be grand if the two of us could marry men who lived close to each other. We had dreams of raising our children on neighboring ranches. I suppose that sounds silly to you.”

  “Not at all. Sounds like a well-thought plan.”

  She looked at the envelope on the table.

  I said, “How’d you hear about this man, Ellsworth?”

  “He bought space in the St. Louis Daily Herald, and advertised himself as a lonely rancher who wanted a wife with whom to share his ranch and the dreams of his heart.”

  “You trusted a flannel-mouth man like that?”

  “In retrospect, I concede I was terribly gullible.”

  I only understood half the words she used, but figured something bad must a’ took place. I said, “What happened when you got there?”

  She paused. “If I speak frankly, will you agree to keep my confidence?”

  “If you’re askin’ will I repeat what you tell me, the answer is no. You have my word on that.”

  Jenny bit her lip. “Mr. Ellsworth met our stage on Thursday, April twelfth, and offered to take us to his ranch in a mule-drawn wagon. He must have imbibed a portion of whiskey while waiting for us at the depot, because we smelled it on his breath. But he seemed in control of his faculties, and Sophie and I had been traveling three days, and were eager to see the ranch, so we agreed to accompany him there. It was early afternoon and we figured to see the place, inspect the kitchen, bedrooms, outhouse and livestock, and hoped for a nice chat. Then, if he had the fixings, I’d cook him a nice dinner. Afterward, he’d take us back to town where Sophie and I planned to spend the night at the Holland House on Main Street.”

  “But that didn’t work out, did it?”

  She sighed. “Unfortunately, Mr. Ellsworth consumed an additional quantity of whiskey enroute to his ranch. By the time we arrived, he was in a vile state. He cursed us, cuffed us about with his fists, and took our money.”

  Jenny had a pleasant mouth that moved more than it needed to when formin’ words, and my eyes were drawn to it as she spoke. But when her lower lip quivered slightly, I asked, “Anythin’ else happen?”

  She lowered her eyes. “He…attempted to despoil us.”

  I waited a few seconds. Then said, “And did he?”

  Jenny’s voice wavered as she spoke her story.

  “Thanks to Sophie’s presence and the grace of God, Mr. Ellsworth failed to sully our virtue, though he made every attempt to do so. He finally passed out drunk, and we took that opportunity to escape.”

  I nodded. “When he passed out, why didn’t you take back the money he stole?”

  “We wanted to, but it was in his pockets, and we were afraid he might stir.”

  “Did you tell all this to the sheriff?”

  “On our way back to town we came upon a ranch. The woman who lived there drove us to the depot in her buggy. We implored her to take us to the sheriff, but she claimed there was no sheriff in Grand Junction, and the Marshall was fifty miles away. Upon hearing our story, the stage coach proprietor refunded our money and gave us a courtesy ride back to Kansas City.”

  “Probably didn’t want any bad publicity for his new business,” I said.

  The waiter approached and asked Jenny if she’d care for a drink. She declined, and he left after tellin’ me my steak would be ready soon.

  “What’s in the envelope?” I said.

  “Sixty-eight dollars.”r />
  “What’s it for?”

  “I want you to kill Roy Ellsworth.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Sophie and I would be obliged if you’d send that drunken reprobate to Hell. Pardon my language.”

  “Why come to me with this?”

  “Most everyone in town knows your reputation.”

  “You think I kill people for money?”

  “I can only hope so.”

  “Grand Junction is forty miles outta my way. Makin’ it an eighty mile trip.”

  “I have reason to believe Mr. Ellsworth has a considerable sum of money in a large trunk under his bed.”

  “And you want me to share it with you?”

  “Of course not! How could you even suggest such a thing?”

  “My apologies, Miss.”

  She stared at me a minute, then said, “I only meant there could be a larger financial benefit for you than the contents of this envelope.”

  “I meant no insult, Miss.”

  “That’s all right,” she said. “I understand why you asked the question.”

  “I have another, if it won’t offend you,” I said.

  “Please feel free to ask it.”

  “How did you come by this knowledge of a trunk full of money under his bed?”

  “While drunk, Mr. Ellsworth shouted, ‘you’re only here for my money!’ We protested, but he told us never to enter his bedroom, or he’d cut off our heads and put them in the trunk under his bed.”

  “That must have scared the shit outta you!”

  She raised an eyebrow.

  “Sorry, Miss. I don’t have town manners. That’s probably no secret.”

  “In truth,” she said, “I’m quite impressed with your manners. You haven’t spit or broken wind in my presence and this is the first hint of a curse. If you remember, I cursed too, just a moment ago.”

  I nodded and looked her over. Jenny wasn’t a short girl, but she sat short. Her posture was good, so I figured she had uncommon long legs. Her face was bland and mostly clear-complected, and her nose was straight. Aside from bein’ the type of woman who’d pay to have a man killed, I didn’t see anythin’ in Jenny’s looks or manner that’d lead Mr. Ellsworth to attack and rob her and Sophie. As a former shootist, I learned early on to watch a man’s eyes when he spoke, ’less he was playin’ cards, and if he was, I’d study his mouth. A gambler will control his eyes, but it’s hard to guard your eyes and mouth at the same time.