by Rue Allyn
“Did you provide our guest with all the usual items?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“And did you include the customary stimulants to her food and drink?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Excellent. Take the tea tray away and have these two notes delivered immediately to the Chinaman and Judge Jeremiah Trahern in that order. The messenger should wait for the Chinaman’s reply then escort the Judge back here. Once you’ve seen to that send my secretary in. We have work to do.”
“Yes, ma’am.”
As she said she would, Cerise had blamed the loss of the Arrowhead’s human cargo and the death of the Chinese aide on the Trahern brothers. Thus, her tenuous partnership with the Chinaman remained intact. Through his network of informants the Tong boss would discover the information she needed. Within the week, two at the most, she would know everything there was to know about Mrs. Ebenezer Smithfeld.
While the Chinaman plotted his revenge on Dutch and Trey for the lost merchandise and the dead aide, Cerise had her own plans for the oldest Trahern brother. He was a thorn in her side and a loose end that she must control. His ne’er-do-well father was the perfect tool for the job. She’d use the old man and Dutch’s own desire for respectability to bring him to heel.
Over the years the elder Trahern brother had caused her considerable difficulty. She should have killed him the other night when she had the chance and saved herself more problems, but she’d had a rare sentimental moment. Besides, if Dutch were dead, who would take the blame for all that mayhem aboard the Arrowhead? As for that older murder, Dutch would never spill what he knew. His precious reputation would evaporate if that story got out. While seeing him brought low might be gratifying, it wouldn’t be enough. No she would not be satisfied until Dutch Trahern was so thoroughly ruined that he came crawling back and begged to do her bidding.
• • •
About the same time that Bessie was preparing a bath for the newest acquisition — Cerise always thought of the girls and women in her household as items acquired for business purposes — Cerise answered a knock on her parlor door.
Her butler stood there. Beside him a sullen, disheveled drunk leaned against the lintel. “Judge Jeremiah Trahern, as you requested, Madame.”
Cerise smiled. This was going to be fun. “Come in, Judge. Ames, would you bring us a decanter of the Dalmore single malt?”
Trahern’s expression transformed from sullen to bright. A smile replaced his pout of self-pity; his shoulders squared, and he straightened his short, lean frame. Rubbing his hands together, he wet his lips, smacking them in anticipation of the fine Scotch. “Cerise, old girl, y’ always knew how t’ treat a guest.”
Cerise shook her head. “And you always knew how to stick your foot in it, Judge. Regardless of her age no man should ever call a woman old girl. Especially when that woman provides him with some of the best Scotch whisky ever made and is about to make him a very lucrative offer.”
At the mention of lucrative, Judge Trahern perked up even more. “How lucrative? And what is it I’ll be doing for you?”
“Nothing you wouldn’t do for the cronies in Sacramento who bought you your bench seat, but we’ll get to that in a moment. Sit down.” She gestured to a slipper chair then took the chair opposite. “While we wait for Ames to bring the whisky, why don’t you tell me how your sons are?”
The judge sat, but his expression soured. “Why’d you wanna go and bring them up for? You know I avoid Dutch as much as he avoids me, and he’s poisoning Trey’s mind against me. I swear my oldest boy is an unnatural child. Last time I saw him he swore he’d shoot me if I came near Trey again. Said his brother didn’t need a father who abandoned the two of them. You’ve known me longer than those boys have been alive, Cerise. I never abandoned them, did I? I left them and their ma with you when those vigilantes ran me out of town in ’51 on trumped up pandering charges. My sons were always cared for. Not that their whore of a mother did much for them. Why I remember … ”
Cerise listened with half an ear to the man’s whining. His twisted, defensive, and conveniently inaccurate view of reality wasn’t anything she hadn’t heard dozens of times before. She often wondered how this man so small in stature and mind could have fathered two magnificent specimens like Dutch and Trey. She wouldn’t complain. The senior Trahern’s neglect had given her the pleasure of Dutch’s young services for a number of years. It was the loss of those services that galled her. The judge was largely to blame for the loss, though often as not he chose to forget that detail, especially when he wanted something.
Jeremiah Trahern owed her for a lot more than the silence she kept about the murder that would always link her with him and Dutch, and she fully intended to collect on those debts as often as possible. It didn’t hurt that the judge was so addicted to drink that he would do nearly anything for alcohol or the money to purchase more. Betraying his oldest son was a minor act in the litany of crimes and sins that she knew lay at Judge Trahern’s door.
The butler’s knock silenced Trahern.
“Come in,” called Cerise. “Put the tray on the table and leave us.”
The butler complied.
“Help yourself,” she indicated that the judge should pour.
His hands trembled slightly as he tilted the decanter above a pair of crystal tumblers on the silver tray and filled one to the top.
He downed the entire glass in a single gulp then poured a second. This he sipped.
Cerise tipped a finger of whisky into the other tumbler and brought the glass to the edge of the table but didn’t drink. She’d wait until the deal was firm and she knew the judge understood the consequences of failure to perform his part.
“So what’s this offer you have for me?”
“I’ll pay you twenty-five dollars if you get Dutch here tomorrow night by eight o’clock and another twenty-five if you get him to bid on a virgin I’m putting up for auction then.”
The judge snorted and nearly spilled his drink. “You’re kidding. Dutch hates whores almost as much as he hates you and me. Don’t know what I could say that he’d listen to.”
“Tell him you have information about how kidnapped women are taken aboard his ships and transported for sale.”
“But I don’t know … ”
“Lie. You’re good at that.”
“Dutch knows I lie. Fact is he won’t believe me no matter what I say.”
“Imply that Trey is involved. Dutch will do almost anything to protect his business and everything to protect his brother.”
“S’pose I do. S’pose I even manage to get Dutch to come here. He’d never bid in that auction, and he wouldn’t be stupid enough to believe claims of a virgin whore. ’Sides bidding in your auction would ruin the lily white reputation he’s been building as a respectable business man.”
“Ruining that reputation and his business along with it is exactly the point. You will get him to come here tomorrow night. If you don’t, the consequences will be unpleasant and potentially fatal. If Dutch doesn’t actually bid in the auction that’s fine, but it must look like he’s bidding. You manage that; I’ll manage the rest.”
Trahern took a swift drink that emptied his glass then poured another. “Consequences?”
“Need I remind you that I still hold the evidence that you murdered Father Lucas Conroy’s sister?”
The judge’s glance turned hard. “No one has to remind me of my part in her death. But nobody cares about that old accident.”
“They’ll care fast enough when I show them where the body is buried and prove the dead woman’s identity. You and I may despise that crusading priest, but most of San Francisco loves him. They think he’s a saint, and anyone known to harm him or his would suffer the wrath of the entire city.”
With each word, Trahern grew paler. “You wo
uldn’t.”
“I would, and you know it. Now are you going to do what I ask?”
“Don’t seem to have much choice, but twenty-five dollars isn’t enough.”
“Twenty-five dollars is more than you’ve had in your pocket in years.”
His color returned, and his mouth firmed. “Don’t matter. I want a hundred for getting Dutch here and two hundred for making it look like he’s bidding on your virgin whore.”
Cerise lifted her glass to the judge then bent her head to hide her smile before she drank. Three hundred was a pittance compared to the satisfaction of ruining Dutch Trahern and the profit she’d make from auctioning off the supposed Mrs. Smithfeld’s virginity.
Cerise set down her empty glass and leaned in toward the judge. “Excellent. Now here’s how we’ll work the auction.”
Shortly after Judge Trahern’s departure, Cerise once again admitted Bessie into the parlor. “Did Mrs. Smithfeld examine the dildo and ben wah balls?”
“No, ma’am. I gave her the box, but she didn’t open it while I was present.”
“What about the Kama Sutra and the kerisu?”
“She opened the books and tried hard not to look surprised at the drawings and photographs.”
“Did you offer to help her learn more?”
“She declined my help, Madame.”
“Did Mrs. Smithfeld ask any questions at all?”
“She read some of the Kama Sutra book you like so much, but she seemed more interested in the photographs at the back of the kerisu book. The ones you had that photographer woman take to match the drawings in the front.”
“How did Mrs. Smithfeld react? Was she shocked or afraid?”
“Oh no, Madame,” Bessie shook her head. “Miz Smithfeld was real curious and friendly like, even wanted to know about the photographer. Didn’t seem scared at all.”
“Fascinating.” Cerise filed the information for examination with the report the Chinaman would deliver. “How long ago did you leave her?”
“Ten minutes. She was about to step into the bath you told me to provide.”
“You’ve done a good job, Bessie. I want you to continue to encourage Mrs. Smithfeld’s friendship and report your conversations to me. I’ll make certain you receive a reward in your pay.”
“Thank you, Madame.”
“You may go now.”
The maid left, and Cerise turned to the wall that adjoined the chamber where Mrs. Smithfeld now bathed. Duval quietly removed a picture from the wall revealing a peephole. Leaning forward, she set her eye to the hole.
CHAPTER FIVE
Dutch slipped a piece of chocolate into his mouth, opened the door then crossed the threshold of the one establishment on earth he’d sworn never to enter again. The building was new but constructed on the ashes of a past as sordid as any in San Francisco.
With his first breath of smoky, perfume laden air, memories threatened of soft skin and a honey on steel voice ordering him to suck harder, boy. He nearly turned tail. But his lying, drunken, pandering father claimed to have information about how the Tong gained access to Trahern-Smiley ships. The note even implied that Trey might be involved. Dutch recognized a lure when he saw one and thought Trey’s complicity unlikely but couldn’t discount any threat even vaguely connected to Duval.
She knew that he despised whores in general and her in particular. She knew that coming here endangered his reputation and his business, so the lure had to be strong. She also knew he would cross hell to eliminate any threat to his brother. Trey’s well-being was the only thing that could induce Dutch to pay heed to his father’s note. If Dutch wanted to know what the madam was up to, he would have to meet his parent here and now.
So he would locate the judge as quickly as possible. Then he would persuade His dis-Honor to leave town before the man and his association with Cerise could drag Trey back into the gutters.
Dutch passed the stairs leading to the upper floor and halted in the entrance to the front parlor. Beyond that lay the saloon and card parlor with French doors opening into a third large room used for events and private parties. A long, mahogany bar formed the rear wall of the front room. A piano filled a near corner. The pianist was losing the battle to be heard over voices and the chink of coins. Beneath the perfume, the scents of sweat, whisky, and cigars churned Dutch’s gut. He bit into the chocolate, letting its dusty sweetness soothe him. A smoky haze obscured his vision. He concentrated on finding his quarry.
Conversation thronged the large room as Dutch wove between obstacles. Man-sized settees trampled Turkish rugs and competed with over-stuffed chairs for the floor space that wasn’t occupied by patrons ogling the girls who served drinks. Scattered on the various seats, men bent singly or in pairs over the picture books from which they might choose a companion, or two, for the evening.
As he searched for the blond hair, so like his own, Dutch savored the chocolate. He had to give Cerise credit. She struck just the right note to attract most of San Francisco’s upper crust — halfway between high-class and risqué.
“Whoo-eee. Will ya look at that pair a tits.” A well known bonanza king stared at a picture album. “Wonder if that Boston virgin up for auction t’night has teats like that?”
Dutch might dislike whores, but he was man enough to appreciate a shapely female. As he stepped further into the room he couldn’t resist glancing at the image that garnered so much appreciation.
“I’d sure like to stir me some of that fresh honey,” said the king’s young companion. The voice belonged to the son of a business associate. Dutch gave a moment’s thought to sending the young man home, but the safety of his own lamb took priority.
“Saw you gambling last night. Lost half o’ that money your daddy gives you every month,” the king remarked. “You’d need all of it just to make the first round of biddin’ on that there hoity-toity virgin Madame says came to Frisco jest to get her a real man.”
Dutch had to admit that the woman in the photograph was magnificent, and he wondered how any prostitute posing as a hoity toity virgin could be better. He swallowed then wished he hadn’t. He’d just consumed his last bit of chocolate.
He coughed to clear smoke from his throat and shook his head over the folly of anyone who would believe claims of a virgin whore. It didn’t take a childhood in a brothel to know that virginity could be faked and very easily if the man taking that virginity was drunk enough. False virgins aside, his bordello childhood had given him a wealth of information to which the majority of Duval’s clientele weren’t privy.
He caught a glimpse of the judge at the far end of the bar and headed in that direction.
A gong sounded over the din of voices and music.
“That’s the start of the auction. We better git goin’ if we want us good seats.” The king’s words carried as he passed by Dutch.
Forcing him along, the crowd of men pushed toward the open French doors near the far end of the bar then through to the next room where velvet covered chairs stood in rows facing a table. He managed to snag the door molding near the bar with one hand and drew himself to a halt next to his parent.
Nodding to those men he knew personally, Dutch turned his back to the open entry of the auction room. He did not want to answer questions about why he was here when his disdain for whorehouses was well known. He tapped the judge on the shoulder.
An envelope in one hand, full glass in the other, the older man swung unsteadily toward his son.
Dutch took the sloshing drink. Bad enough to leave here smelling like a whorehouse, he didn’t want to smell like a drunk, too.
The noise in the auction room quieted at a loud clap of wood on wood.
“All right gentlemen,” said Cerise Duval’s dusky voice, “Tonight’s auction is for the privilege of introducing an eager young lady to the pleasures of the
flesh. Bidding opens at five hundred dollars. Who wants to start?”
“That’s mighty expensive. Don’cha think we should see the gal first?” A gruff voice spoke in response to Duval’s announcement.
“Hey, give that back.” Judge Jeremiah Trahern, errand boy for the bosses in Sacramento, lunged for the glass.
Dutch raised his arm, taking the glass out of the shorter man’s reach.
“I see we have an opening bid from the tall fellow at the bar.”
He heard Duval chuckle and wondered which fool nearby was stupid enough to pay a cool half grand for a whore sight unseen.
An odd smile lit the judge’s face, and he turned his back on Dutch. “Barkeep, I want another whisky.”
A chorus of drunken shouts came from the auction room. “Where’s the whore?”
“Yeah, bring ‘er out.”
The bartender looked from the judge to Dutch.
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” menaced Dutch.
“Mebbe later,Yer Honor.” The barkeep backed away.
In the auction room Cerise pitched her voice to sooth the audience of bidders. “The young lady has asked to remain anonymous, but my reputation for the finest quality should assure you that she is beautiful.”
“Good lookin’ or not. I want a piece o’ that fancy tail o’ hers,” said one man. “I’ll bid seven-fifty for it. You say she’s from a convent?”
“Word has it that she is,” came the cool reply from the auction room. “The bid is seven hundred and fifty American dollars. Do I hear one thousand?”
Closer to hand the judge grumbled, “Is that any way to treat your father?”
He strolled past Dutch to a table with a clear view of the auction room, tossed down the envelope, and picked up the deck of cards laying there. “Sit down, son. Act as if you’re happy to see me.”
Dutch considered walking out. And he would, just as soon as he got what he wanted. He shifted his stance and watched shaking hands clutch the pasteboards. Was the judge afraid or just too drunk to be steady? “You haven’t come back to San Francisco openly since the vigilantes ran you out in ’51. I’m surprised you found the guts to show your face.”
