by J. T. Edson
“Let’s hope the plan works,” Jacqueline said.
“And quick,” augmented Calamity. “I hate that coloured water they serve the gals instead of whisky.”
During her tour of the seamier side of the city, Calamity had discovered that the street-girls, while expected to drink something as they sat in a saloon waiting for trade, did not consume real intoxicating liquor. Instead, if they so requested, the girls were served with coloured water masquerading as real drinks, but costing much less than the genuine article. That way a girl could appear to be drinking steadily, had an excuse to be in the place, and still stay sober enough to handle the financial side of the business. In return for the service, they were expected to persuade any customer to buy at least one round of drinks before taking him to their business premises.
The waiter returned, placing the glasses before the girls. Dropping his voice confidentially, he said, “If you ladies wants any introductions—.”
“We’ll keep it in mind,” Calamity answered.
Turning, the waiter walked away and the girls exchanged glances. Then Jacqueline stiffened slightly in her seat, staring at the door.
“Just coming in, Calam!” she whispered, although the new arrival could not possibly have heard her at that distance.
Calamity turned her head in a casual manner to look towards the door and at the man who just entered. For his dress, he appeared to be a seaman of some kind—ocean-going vessels used the New Orleans waterfront to discharge their cargoes—and he stood around five foot ten, a slim, wiry young man with a sallow complexion. For a moment he stood at the door, his eyes roaming around the room and studying the various customers at the tables. Finally his gaze came to rest on Calamity and he started to walk across the room.
Coming to her feet, a buxom brunette caught the man’s arm and she made the usual suggestion. With an almost angry gesture, he jerked his arm free and continued his way towards Calamity’s table. The brunette scowled, but her companion snapped out a reminder about the police’s no-trouble order, so she took her seat again.
On reaching Calamity’s table, for a moment he did not speak, his eyes on her face. Not by as much as a glance did he even show he knew of Jacqueline’s presence. There was something unnerving about his fixed gaze and blank expression.
“Hi,” Calamity greeted, looking up as if suddenly aware of the man’s presence. You look lonely.”
Calamity reckoned to be a better than fair poker player and capable of reading facial emotions. Never had she seen such a look of hatred as passed briefly over the seaman’s face, then was replaced by a smile which stopped long clear of his eyes.
“Reckon I could offer you a drink?” he replied.
“I thought you’d never ask. Pull up a chair and take the weight off your feet.”
Even as the slim man sat down, the coloured waiter came gliding over to the table and grinned knowingly at Calamity.
“Is you-all wanting wine for the ladies, sah?”
For a moment the sailor did not reply. Instead he sat staring at Calamity with a fixed, unwinking gaze. Jerking his eyes from the girl, the sailor looked at the waiter and answered, “Bring me a beer.”
“And the ladies, sah?”
“Go to hell, coon!” the sailor spat out.
“Take it easy, friend,” Calamity put in gently. “He’s only doing his job.”
“Who asked you—!” the sailor began.
“If that’s how you feel!“ Calamity interrupted. “I’m going.”
Shoving back her chair, she started to rise. The angry, hostile eyes followed her, then various emotions warred on the sailor’s face. At last he forced a smile to his lips again.
“I’m sorry, M—. I’m real sorry. Only the mate gave me a bad time afore I left the ship and I’ve been looking to take it out on somebody. Bring wine for the ladies, feller, and buy yourself something.”
Yet after the waiter left, the sailor dropped into a moody silence once more. He answered Calamity’s comments on the saloon and its crowd with grunts of silence.
“I reckon we’d best be going, Jackie,” Calamity remarked.
Once again the threat of departure brought a change to the man. “I’m sorry, Mavis,” he said. “I was thinking.”
“I like a thinking man,” Calamity replied. “Only the name’s not Mavis.”
The sailor jerked his eyes to Calamity’s face, scowling at her. Then a sly grin twisted his lips. “No, it wouldn’t be. Where’s that feller with the drinks?”
On his return, the waiter put the drinks on the table and in doing so bent so his mouth was close to Calamity’s ear. In a low tone, the waiter issued a warning.
“You-all watch that feller, he’s got meanness in him.”
“I’ll mind it,” Calamity replied.
While finishing his drink, the sailor managed to sound more friendly. He laughed at a joke Calamity made and she decided that she might as well get down to business. Finishing her drink, she looked at Jacqueline.
“Reckon we’d better be going,” she said, then glanced at the sailor. “Unless you’ve anything in mind.”
“How’d you like to take a walk?”
“I never walk with fellers I don’t know,” Calamity countered. “‘Course, if you told me your name, I’d know you.”
“Ben Cope.”
From the way the sailor spoke, he thought Calamity should know his name. It meant nothing to her and she smiled.
“Hi, Ben. I’m Jane. Let’s take our walk now I know you.”
“I’ve got something to do myself,” Jacqueline put in. “See you around, Ben.”
Cope did not reply, his cold eyes never left Calamity’s face as he rose and took her offered arm. Together they left the saloon and Jacqueline looked around for her escort, wanting to tell them that Calamity had a possible taker.
Outside the saloon, Calamity and Cope turned down Latour Street. Cope said little as they walked, but at last they reached the edge of City Park.
“Let’s go in here.” he said.
“I’d rather go back for a drink,” she answered.
Gripping Calamity’s arm tighter, Cope growled, “We’re going in there, and if you make a squeak, I’ll bust your arm.”
From the strength in the slim man’s fingers, Calamity decided he could make good his threat. So she allowed herself to be steered into the Park and hoped that St. Andre’s men were on hand to come to her rescue.
CHAPTER TEN
An Attempt On Miss Canary’s Life
COLD fear gripped Jacqueline as she watched Calamity leave the room with Cope. Despite the hectic and violent nature of their first meeting, a strong liking had developed between the girls during the afternoon and evening, and the dancer did not want anything to happen to her new friend. Something about Cope scared Jacqueline. It might have been Cope’s moody manner, the way he stared at Calamity, or how his smile never reached his eyes. Jacqueline’s every instinct warned her that Cope did not go with Calamity for the usual reasons.
Glancing around the room, Jacqueline suddenly became aware that, due to the coming and going of the customers, none of the escort had seen Calamity and Cope leave and did not know that they should be following the couple.
In later years such decoy work would be organised and mistakes avoided by careful planning. But this was probably the first time any police department employed such tactics to trap a criminal, so, having no precedent to guide them, they made mistakes. If the man with Calamity should be the Strangler, the poor positioning of the escort might cost her dearly.
Rising, Jacqueline started across the room in the direction of Redon who stood at the bar. The stocky detective glanced at Jacqueline, then towards Calamity’s empty chair. A look of shocked concern came to his face, and he moved forward meaning to contact Jacqueline in the manner of a customer meeting one of the street-girls. From their places around the room, the other members of the escort read the signs and headed for the door.
A hand caught Jacquel
ine’s arm as she walked towards Redon. Swinging around, and trying to pull herself free, she found herself facing a tall, burly riverboat man.
“Hey there, honey-chile,” greeted the man. “How’s about you ‘n’ me having a few lil drinks, then going to your place?”
“I—I’ve already got a man,” she replied.
“Forget him—,” the man began.
“She doesn’t want to forget him,” a voice cut in from the side, “so just take your cotton-picking hands offen her.”
Redon did not want trouble, but he could not leave Jacqueline in such a position and the girl might know where Calamity and the sailor were headed. So the detective cut in and one glance told him the riverboat man did not like the interruption one little bit.
A grin creased the burly man’s face as he studied Redon’s clothes and appearance. All the man saw was a typical tinhorn gambler and not a big one at that. He certainly did not intend to surrender the girl to such a man without the other put up a right convincing argument. Reaching out, the riverboat man laid the palm of his big hand on Redon’s fancy vest, meaning to thrust the detective aside.
There was no time to argue with the man. Every second wasted put Calamity’s life into greater danger. So Redon knew he must act and act fast. Also that he must finish the bigly man first go; and he knew how tough a riverboat worker could be. Such a man needed firm handling and stern measures if he was to be stopped without a hell of a fight.
Fortunately, despite his comparative lack of inches, Redon was a very tough lawman and knew a thing or three about the noble art hand-to-hand combat.
Up came Redon’s hands, the left securing the man’s wrist from the underside, the right slapping on to the man’s fingers and pressing them against the fancy gambler’s vest. When Redon bent forward at the hips, pain and the danger of broken bones brought the other man to his knees. Releasing his hold, Redon stepped back fast and lashed up his left foot, the toe catching the man full under his jaw. Back snapped the man’s head and he sprawled to the floor, limp and unmoving.
“Some folks just don’t know when to get tough!” Redon growled, looking around him and waiting for the unconscious man’s friends to make a move.
However, the entire business happened so quickly that few if any of the crowd, appeared to realise what had been done. Redon did not give them a chance to find out, but took Jacqueline’s arm and headed across the room.
“Calam’s gone out with a man!” Jacqueline gasped as they hurried between the tables. “Raoul, I think he’s the Stran—.”
“Keep your voice down, Jackie!” the detective interrupted. “We don’t want everybody to know.”
Normally the owner of the saloon would have objected to a stranger mishandling a good customer, especially when the stranger only bought a couple of beers at the bar. However, the police warning about no trouble caused the man to hold his hand especially as the stranger was leaving, and looked like he might take violent objection to any attempt at showing him the error of his ways.
On the street Jacqueline and Redon came to a halt and looked around them. They could see no sign of Calamity and Cope among the crowd using the sidewalk. The remainder of the escort loomed up around Redon and the girl, all showing concern at their failure to adequately cover Calamity.
“He’s killed the others in the Park,” one man whispered, trying to avoid attracting attention to them.
“Could get to the Park several ways from here,” Redon replied. “Split up, take a different way each. Jackie and I’ll go down the street. I hope to God we’re in time.”
“Hurry, Raoul!” Jacqueline gasped, trying to increase her speed as they left the other members of the party. “We must run—.”
“No, Jackie!” Redon answered.
For all the urgency of the situation, Redon knew he dare not run along the street. He had no wish to draw attention to himself and running would cause folks to take notice, might even invite pursuit. If the man with Calamity should be the Strangler, and they captured him, Redon did not want the people of the Latour Street district to know of it. Some of the folk in that area either knew or suspected that a missing friend must be a Strangler victim, even if they would not help the police by identifying the bodies, and would have no mercy on the killer. Should word get out that the Strangler had been captured, Redon doubted if he and his men would take in a living prisoner.
Explaining his reasons for not running, Redon held Jacqueline to a steady walk until they left Latour Street and came towards the entrance to City Park. Sick with worry for her friend’s safety, Jacqueline stared ahead along the shadowy paths and wondered if they would be in time to prevent Calamity’s death.
Calamity allowed the man to steer her along a path through the Park, trying to catch the sound of her escort’s footsteps. Nothing but the normal night noises came to her ears, however, as yet she did not worry for she knew the men would not chance coming too close in case they scared off Cope before he made a move.
“Look, friend,” she said, realising she ought to do something. “If you’re after a free—.”
“I’m only after one thing, Mavis,” Cope answered.
“Mavis?” Calamity gasped. “Who is she?”
The grip on her arm tightened and Cope’s breath came heavier he snarled, “Don’t try to fool me, Mavis. I recognised you as soon as I came into that place. That big hat, the blonde hair.”
Suddenly the man swung Calamity around before him. Hatred and worse glowed on his face, and his hands rose towards her throat. Calamity hesitated a vital instant too long. Nothing had ever frightened her so much as did the sight of the man’s face. Before she could take positive action, or even scream, the man’s fingers clamped on her throat, the thumbs digging into the sides of her adam’s apple and cutting off her breath. Panic hit Calamity for a moment as her hands grabbed instinctively at the man’s wrists. Her head seemed to be filled with a roaring and throbbing and all she could see was that hideous, twisted, hate-filled mask of a face before her eyes.
Then Calamity regained control of herself. Something screamed a warning to her senses and she knew she must break the hold on her throat. She wasted no time in wondering where the escort might be. All her life Calamity had been self-reliant and that factor saved her life.
Discarding the futile pulling at the man’s wrists, for his arms were too strong for her to drag them off by brute force, Calamity prepared to defend herself with a trick Killem taught her.
“You cheap whore, Mavis!” Cope was yelling and Calamity realised he must have been shouting all the time. “You led my wife astray. Now you’re going to—.”
At which point Calamity acted in her defence. Simultaneously she launched a kick against his shin and placed the palms of her hands on his elbows. For the first time in her life Calamity blessed wearing women’s shoes instead of her comfortable moccasins. All that evening she had cursed the shoes which made her unaccustomed feet ache, but at that moment the shoes saved her. A kick delivered when wearing her moccasins would not have hurt anywhere near as much as did those reviled city shoes.
Pain caused Cope to relax his hold slightly, but it proved to be enough. Desperation added strength to Calamity’s naturally strong arms. The sudden, unexpected attack on his shin caused Cope to loosen his grip on Calamity’s throat and before he could tighten the fingers again, the girl’s hands shoved inwards on his elbows. Cope’s hands slipped from Calamity’s throat and she thrust him backwards a couple of steps. Sucking in air, Calamity stumbled away from Cope. Before she could start to scream for help, as St. Andre warned her to do, Calamity saw Cope leaping at her, his hands reaching towards her throat, that same mad glare in his eyes.
Footsteps pounded on the path behind Cope. Even in his crazy rage, the sound rang a warning note in the man’s head. Glancing over his shoulder, Cope saw a man in gambler’s clothes and a slim, flashily-dressed girl running towards him. Gasping for breath, Calamity caught her balance and came forward, whipping around her right
fist. Cope turned full into the blow, it caught him on the side of the jaw, coming with Calamity’s weight behind it.
Staggering backwards under the impact of the blow, Cope clawed up a hand towards his jacket pocket. Redon sprang forward, the short leather-wrapped, lead-weighted police billie he had drawn on entering the park rose in his right hand and came down. Having seen the man reaching for a pocket and possibly a weapon, Redon took no chances. The billie landed on Cope’s head and the sailor’s hat gave him no protection. With a low moan, Cope crumpled and went down in a limp pile.
Hurdling the fallen body, Redon caught Calamity by the arms as the girl stood swaying.
“Are you all right, Calam?” he asked.
“Sure,” replied Calamity—and fainted for the first time in her life.
Redon lowered the girl to the ground. Jacqueline arrived and shoved by the detective to drop at Calamity’s side. Gently the dancer raised Calamity’s head and rested it on her knees.
“Is she—!” Jacqueline gasped.
“Just a swoon,” Redon replied. “She’ll be all right in a couple of minutes.”
Leaving Jacqueline to tend to Calamity, Redon drew the Bean Giant handcuffs from the inside pocket of his jacket. Even as he bent down to clip the irons on the unconscious sailor’s wrists, he heard feet thudding on a path, coming towards him. Looking up, he saw a burly shape approaching and relief hit him as he recognised the newcomer as another member of the escort.
“Heard him yelling,” the newcomer announced. “See you— God! He hasn’t—.”
“No. She’s just fainted.”
Voices swirled through the mists which clouded Calamity’s head, distant yet clear although she could not make any sense of the words.
“Is she all right?” asked one.
“She’d best be,” came another. “If anything happened to her, St. Andre’d have my badge at the least.”
Shaking her head to clear it, Calamity tried to force herself into a sitting position. Hands gripped her shoulders and held her down. For a moment panic hit her as memory flooded back. Grabbing up, she gripped the wrists of the hands which held her. Then she saw a face above her. A pale, scared face, but not he hate-crazed features of the sailor.
