by Logan, Jake
“I’ll be right back, John. Don’t go anywhere.”
“I won’t.”
“He ain’t gettin’ outta my jail alive,” Willingham said.
Mirabelle left. The marshal moved to a few feet just outside the cell door, the six-shooter still in his hand. The way he balanced it made Slocum wonder if he wasn’t going to kill him inside the cell and then toss in a pistol after the murder to justify his actions.
“You got a big mouth, Slocum. You ain’t got no call mixin’ that sweet little thing up in your crimes.”
“I tried to stop a robbery, Marshal. Ask the woman in the house.”
“Madam Madeleine? That bitch would always lie.” He laughed harshly. “Hell, that’s her business. Layin’ drunk cowboys and other degenerates makes her more prone to lie.”
Willingham lifted his pistol. Slocum understood the term “shooting fish in a barrel.” The small cell gave no place to hide. The marshal could kill him without even being a good shot.
“I am so glad you hold me in such high esteem, Marshal,” came a soft voice from behind the lawman. It might have been velvet toned but it carried a knife’s edge of sarcasm.
Willingham swung around.
“Oh, do put that silly gun down. You might shoot yourself again. You do remember, don’t you, Marshal? How you were showing one of my girls how to do a fast draw and shot yourself in the foot? Who was that? Oh, yes, Jezebel. She’s still talking about it. To everyone.”
The tall redhead from the whorehouse closed the jailhouse door behind her, took out a dainty handkerchief, and brushed off the marshal’s chair before sitting. Slocum ought to have been paying attention to the marshal, but he couldn’t take his eyes off the madam. She wore a scoop-neck lime green dress that let her ample bosoms push up in delightful white mounds, almost spilling out. Her coppery hair had been arranged since Slocum saw her last, making her look as if she were ready for a night at the theater, escorted by some wealthy railroad magnate.
Her gloved hands carefully rearranged her long skirts, flashing just a hint of ankle to be wicked. If Willingham had been a couple steps closer, Slocum could have grabbed the pistol from his hands, but Slocum was as engrossed in the hint of trim ankle and the shapely calf above as the lawman.
“He’s my prisoner,” Willingham said, as if she argued the point with him.
“I see that. What are the trumped-up charges, Marshal?”
“I got plenty on him.”
For a moment Slocum worried the marshal had seen one of the wanted posters on him for killing that carpetbagger judge back in Georgia.
“Oh, tell me one. Just one.”
“He . . .”
“As I thought. You came running when you found that my house was being robbed. You became confused when this gentleman—Mr. Slocum, isn’t it?—so gallantly came to my defense and ran off the two scalawags intent on their criminal ways. I can see how it might happen, it being dark and you seeing Mr. Slocum with his six-shooter drawn and me in my kitchen all . . . in dishevelment after being roused from my bed.”
“Your bed?”
“Where I was alone, Marshal Willingham, quite alone. A poor lil’ ole thang like me, alone. Imagine that.”
Slocum held back his laughter. Madam Madeleine fed the marshal a fantasy that diverted him from wanting to murder his prisoner. Her put-on Southern accent hardly went with her appearance. As if to seal the deal, she lifted her skirts just enough to show her ankles again and crossed her legs in a most unladylike way.
“I caught him red-handed.”
“In the act of saving my life! I owe him so much. I am sure this confusion can be squared. Is there any fine he must pay? Bail until the judge arrives? I think Judge Holbein is making the circuit this month. He and I are such good friends.”
“I heard that,” Willingham said.
“Excellent. Do let Mr. Slocum out of that terrible cage.” She stood and smiled winningly. Then she said in that razor-edged voice of hers, “Now.”
The marshal jumped like he’d stepped in a fire. He dropped the six-shooter on the desk and fumbled for the keys in the top drawer. As he came to let Slocum out, Madeleine scooped up Slocum’s holster and six-gun.
“You ain’t gonna get away with this,” Willingham mumbled under his breath.
“Oh, Marshal,” said Madam Madeleine, “he’s not going to get away with anything. I assure you of that.” She silently handed Slocum his pistol.
It felt good, cold, substantial in his grip. For two cents he would have drilled Willingham and the devil take the hindmost. Madam Madeleine shook her head just enough to dissuade him. Instead of gunning down the marshal, he strapped on his cross-draw holster and pushed past the lawman to leave.
From inside the jailhouse, he heard Madeleine say, “You are such a sweet man, Marshal. Do come by sometime. Jezebel would love to spark with you again.”
Slocum didn’t hear Willingham’s reply but Madeleine said, “Keep going to that hussy Lorelei’s house and you’ll get the clap so bad your dick will fall off. Do have a pleasant day, Marshal.”
She exited the building, looking pleased as punch. She ran her arm through Slocum’s and indicated he should escort her back to her house.
“You’ve got a lot of clout in this town to talk to a lawman like that,” Slocum said when they were out of the marshal’s earshot.
“Grizzly Flats isn’t so large there are a lot of opportunities for men to find female companionship. My house is the best in town, or so I prefer to believe.”
“Better than Lorelei’s, from what I’ve heard.”
“You don’t dip your wick there, Mr. Slocum. Or with any of the other ladies in town. Since you’ve been here for a couple weeks, I find that strange.”
“I don’t pay for a woman’s favors.”
“Ah, I can see why,” she said, giving him a once-over.
“Besides, I walked into town with my saddle on my shoulder.”
“I know. And that boss of yours is a skinflint, hardly paying what you are worth.”
“Is there anything you don’t know that goes on in Grizzly Flats?”
“Quite a lot, actually, but I try not to let it bother me unduly if I can’t find out. A woman in my position must stay informed.”
“As a leading businesswoman?”
“My position is more likely to be on my back,” she said harshly. “I don’t sugarcoat what I do. I find horny men and extract as much money from them for my favors as possible.”
“You look like you’d be mighty good at that,” he said.
She laughed. The sound was musical.
“A Southern gentleman to the end, I see. I am good enough that I can employ four other whores. Oh, don’t look so shocked.”
“Most madams try to make their business sound respectable.”
“It is respectable. At least, it’s not illegal. I pay my weekly bribe to the marshal for his bogus health inspection. What he gets paid to do and what I actually do is just that. My girls are healthy and reasonably happy.”
Slocum doubted that. Most soiled doves were addicted to opium or laudanum to kill the pain they felt, both physical and mental. He understood the need to dull what the world did. He preferred whiskey.
Madam Madeleine sighed, causing her considerable bosoms to rise and fall, then jiggle slightly.
“I wish my position in town was more secure. Because of my high standards, most everyone else thinks I am snobbish. Oh, I get plenty of business, but I am not held in any esteem. Grizzly Flats is quite parochial and many here consider me an interloper, my arrival being so recent.”
“I appreciate you getting me out of jail,” Slocum said. He started to disengage his arm, but Madam Madeleine wouldn’t have any of it. She gripped down hard enough to dig her fingernails into his flesh and draw
blood.
“We have a few things to discuss,” she said.
They entered her house through the front door. Slocum saw that one pane of beveled glass had been broken and a hinge had been pulled free of the doorjamb by the fleeing robbers.
“You want me to fix that up?”
Madeleine raised a carefully plucked eyebrow.
“All that and a handyman, too? I should have suspected.” She pointed to a love seat. “Sit there.”
The way she spoke wasn’t an invitation as much as an order. Slocum dropped into the love seat and watched her go to a cut crystal decanter and pour two drinks. She handed one to him and then sat next to him, her thigh pressing warmly into his.
Madeleine lifted her glass in a toast and said, “To our new partnership.” Her emerald eyes fixed on his.
“May it be mutually profitable,” Slocum said. He downed the whiskey and wasn’t surprised to find that it was much smoother than anything Malone served over at the Damned Shame Saloon.
“You are a cautious man, too, I see,” the redhead said. She took the glass from his hand and shifted in the love seat.
Her whiskey-scented breath was hot and sweet as she bent closer. Her lips touched his, a fleeting caress more tentative than he’d expected. Madeleine drew back so she was just inches from him.
“Let’s go upstairs,” she said. “My bed is all mussed from being roused so early. There’s no reason not to muss it further before the maid makes it up.”
“No.”
For a moment the woman stared. Then she blinked and backed off another inch. Her ruby lips parted, clamped shut, and then she finally said, “You are not joking, are you, Mr. Slocum?”
“You want something else from me. I owe you. Let’s get that debt paid before adding others to the bill.”
She rocked back and stared at him.
“What do you want me to do?”
“I’ve never run across a man quite like you before,” she said.
“One who turned down your advances?”
“I don’t make advances,” she said sharply. “Men come to me, begging for what I have to offer.”
He said nothing. He had read her right. She had to be in control and used her sex as a potent weapon. Willingham had been more inclined to spill blood—before Madam Madeleine came. She made him forget, at least for a moment, about his blood lust. She thought she could manipulate Slocum the same way. And truth to tell, he was tempted. The redhead was a gorgeous woman, and he suspected she was damned good in bed. If he gave in now, though, he would be forever indebted.
“Is it that woman you’re sharing a hotel room with?”
“Mirabelle? No.”
“Damn me if I don’t believe you.” She turned and faced across the room, smoothed out nonexistent wrinkles in her dress, making sure she fluffed up her bosoms to let him know what he was passing up, then continued, “I am tired of those two drunks annoying me and my girls.”
“Tell the marshal. He needs something more to do than lock me up.”
“I don’t cotton much to the law. You understand that, Mr. Slocum, since you are my kindred spirit in that regard. They have tried to rob me before, they accost my girls outside the house, and they never—never!—come in as paying customers. If they did, I would thrash them soundly.”
“Tell the mayor.”
“Mayor Zamora is an honest man,” she said. “My influence over him is small.”
“Not like with Judge Holbein.”
She smiled at that, one corner of her mouth turning up a little more. She had delightful dimples, but Slocum’s resolve didn’t weaken.
“He could order them run out of the county, but I want them punished.”
“I won’t gun them down in cold blood.”
“Find them. Drag them back here. I’ll take care of the rest.”
Slocum considered the situation. He wasn’t getting anywhere hunting for the men who killed Isaac Comstock and the rest of his treasure hunting party. And he had no idea where to start in town looking for them, if they were also the ones who had busted him up.
“I’ll sweeten the deal.”
“How?”
“Your debt to me for freeing you from jail will be erased,” Madeleine said. “I can also tell you about the men who abducted you after Eckerly’s funeral.”
Slocum wondered if she had read his thoughts.
“It’s a deal,” he said.
“Deal,” she agreed. Then she smiled devilishly and added, “Then we can see about other . . . arrangements.” She patted his crotch, then stood and walked across the sitting room, her bustle moving in an enticing bump and grind. At the stairs, one foot on the lowest step, she turned and said, “You can go now, Mr. Slocum.”
He went.
9
Slocum went into the Damned Shame around noon, after spending some time with Mirabelle, quieting her nerves and convincing her he hadn’t shot his way out of jail. She had returned to the jailhouse to find him gone. Somehow, she had missed how angry Willingham was over losing his prisoner. If he had managed to kill Slocum, he would have been happier.
“Heard you was locked up, Slocum,” Beefsteak Malone said. “How’d you get out so quick?”
“Raised bail,” Slocum said. “Or raised hell. Hard to tell which. Never figured out why the marshal threw me in the pokey.”
“Will can be a nervy sort of fellow,” Malone said. “I’m surprised he let you out.”
Slocum shrugged it off. He had other fish to fry, but he had to ask, “Why’s he got it in for me? I ought to have been given a reward, not jail time.”
“Will and Madam Madeleine aren’t on the best of terms,” Malone said. “Might be he thought you two was hangin’ out together. He can’t do much about her, but anyone carousin’ with her is fair game.”
“Could be,” Slocum said. “It’s passing strange, though, the way he’s trying to frame me for a crime I busted up and kept from happening.”
“You keep the peace inside these here four walls, Slocum,” the bar owner said harshly. “Don’t go stickin’ your nose where it don’t belong.”
“In Madam Madeleine’s business?”
For an instant, Slocum thought the barkeep was going to erupt in rage. The red tide rising in his face subsided and Malone laughed insincerely.
“You got a real sense of humor, I’ll grant you that, Slocum. That’s why you keep fights from gettin’ too bad. Time for you to get to work.” Malone pointed to a pair of men at the table near the door, where the trouble had begun last night.
The pair traced their fingers over the sketch on the uncleaned tabletop where Madam Madeleine’s would-be robbers had plotted and planned their inept crime. Slocum went over, pulled up a chair, and sat with his back to the bar.
“Howdy,” he said.
“We don’t want company,” the more belligerent of the two said. “This is a private argument.”
“Don’t care. Bust each other up all you want. If you tell me what I want to know, I’ll even buy you a couple drinks.”
“To keep me from knockin’ this mangy cayuse’s teeth down his throat?” The man on Slocum’s left half stood, only to be slammed facedown on the table when Slocum grabbed his shirt and yanked hard.
The man recoiled and flopped back in his chair. Before the other man could react, Slocum had his six-shooter out under the table and aimed at his gut.
“Keep it peaceable, gents,” he said. “Beefsteak back there makes me clean up the blood on the floor.” Slocum glanced toward a dark stain on the boards. “Leastways, the blood I spill. The rest doesn’t concern him a whole lot.”
“What do you want?” The one on the receiving end of Slocum’s Colt growled like a dog, deep in his throat.
“You’re sitting at a table where
two customers sat last night.”
“So?”
Slocum had the pair of them to contend with again. The one whose face he had slammed into the table had recovered and was working up a decent head of mad.
“You’ve seen them in here before, I’d wager. You were both in here last night.”
“Go—” The one with Slocum’s six-gun pointed at his gut chopped off his advice when that pistol cocked. To him it must have sounded like the peal of doom.
“What’re their names?”
“Don’t know their monikers.”
“Shut up, Gus. Tell him and we can go about our business.”
“Sound advice, Gus. And I really don’t care if that business is killing each other, since you’re going to take that fight out back.” Slocum saw the man waver and then his resolve melted like snow in the spring.
“One’s Kel. The other’s Malcolm. Herb Malcolm. They’re a pair of drifters what blowed into town a month back and stuck like horseflies on flypaper. They spend most of their time down the street in the Lazy Ass Saloon.” Gus snorted. “Fits the two of them. Lazy sons of bitches, always cadging drinks and then sneaking out.”
“Heard tell they was Peepin’ Toms.”
“Don’t doubt that,” Slocum said. He pushed back from the table and holstered his pistol. “You want those drinks or you want to kill each other?” He saw their expressions and yelled over his shoulder, “Beefsteak, these two fine gents deserve a drink on me. Just one, though, since I suspect their thirsts are mighty big.”
Slocum backed from the table, spun, picked up the two shot glasses, and dropped the whiskey in front of the men. He went to the door and waved to Malone.
“Back in a few minutes.”
“Slocum!”
He let Malone’s angry call slide right on by him. There wouldn’t be any trouble. The men’s rancor would be forgotten until the warmth of the whiskey faded in their bellies. He intended to be back before then.
Walking fast, he went down the street, turned the corner, and made a beeline for the Lazy Ass. He had been in there once, right after he hiked into town and was hunting for a job. The owner had thrown him out, and Slocum had landed the job with Malone less than an hour afterward. That had suited him.
