Death In Helltown

by John Legg

  “Good. A question, is Lundqvist in on this deal?”

  “He was…is.”

  Bloodworth nodded. He turned, dismissing Smalley. Then he turned back. “Another question. When you came to Sally’s room to offer me the job, you said one recent killing was near the Dead Buffalo and the other was outside the Red River. What’d you mean by that? Were they killed outside in the street?”

  “No, not in the street. Some of the girls have their own little shacks out back of the saloons. We don’t like it much — too easy for them to slip in customers and not give us our due.” He hesitated at Bloodworth’s harsh look, then continued. “But some of them…well, I reckon they’ve earned it.”

  “Makes it easy for the killers to do their deviltry.”

  “It does.”

  “But Sally was killed in her room at the Pecos?”

  “Yes. One of the other girls, too.”

  “How’d the killers get up there without being seen?”

  “Ain’t sure. I said that when I talked to you. Might be in the early mornin’ hours. Most of the places close down or slow down almost to closing for a couple of hours then for the swampers to clean up and the bartenders to restock. Might be that a couple of fellas could slip up there then.”

  “How were the girls found?”

  “Somebody went lookin’ for ’em when they didn’t show up at work.”

  “So we don’t know exactly when they were killed?”

  “No.”

  “Then nobody would’ve heard ’em scream, if they were able to.”

  “Probably not.”

  Bloodworth considered that for a few moments, then nodded. He turned toward Sally, ignoring Smalley. He gently laid a hand on Sally’s covered shoulder. “You weren’t the classiest of ladies, Miz Sally Ahearne, but you were fine enough, and for certain did not deserve to die like this.” As he was walking out, he stopped in front of the frightened undertaker. “You make sure she’s laid to rest proper, you understand me? Mr. Smalley’ll see to the bill.”

  “Yessir.”

  ** ** ** ** **

  Bloodworth didn’t expect to find anything, but he went straight to Sally’s room and checked through everything there. Her possessions were sparse. And as he thought, it was no help.

  He needed to think, so he headed north to Dodge proper and took a table in the corner of the Crystal Room restaurant. He was soon working on grilled pork chops, applesauce and fresh green beans, but he did not savor it.

  Back in Helltown, he grimly began moving from one saloon/whorehouse to another, chatting with bartenders and working girls. He looked the places over, trying to figure out how these devilish killings were happening. Then he began wandering the backstreets and alleys, looking over the girls’ shacks. He was surprised at how many there were. Dozens, it seemed, and each one a potential abattoir. And the more places he checked, the more frustrated he became. The scattered shacks were bad enough, but trying to find someone sneaking up into one of the girls’ rooms in a saloon was just as impossible.

  Over the next several nights, he wandered Helltown, eyes and ears always on alert. Not that it would make a difference, he thought sourly. With the honky-tonk pianos, quarrels, shouting and occasional gunfire, it would be difficult to tell if any of the women were being attacked.

  He spent a little more time in saloons over the next week, hoping against hope that he would hear someone who’d had too much to drink let something slip that might give him a clue to who the culprits were.

  The nights passed, and Bloodworth grew more exasperated. And when two more women were killed, one in the Fat Steer and one in her shack, loathing — for his inadequacy in the situation — added to it.

  A week later, George Smalley found him in the Trinity. “I need to talk to you, Bloodworth,” Smalley snapped.

  “Later.”

  “Now.”

  Bloodworth shrugged, took his mug of coffee and headed silently to a table. He and Smalley sat across from each other.

  “What’ve you been doing about these abominations besides wandering through Helltown downing free beer and whiskey?”

  “Mr. Smalley,” Bloodworth said, voice cold as a mountain stream, “I am in a foul mood, and I do not appreciate bein’ accosted by you. Or anyone else. I am repulsed that these new murders’ve occurred while I’ve been tryin’ to find the bastards.”

  “You will not receive any money without success.”

  “Right now, I don’t give a good goddamn about the money. I think these sons of bitches are tauntin’ me, killin’ these women right under my nose. And such a thing does not set well with me not in the least little bit. I will catch ’em, rest assured.”

  “See that you do,” Smalley said, irritation in his voice. “Or else.”

  Fire flamed up in Bloodworth’s eyes. “Do not threaten me. Mr. Smalley It gets my hackles up right good, and when I get this swole up with anger, I can be one nasty bastard.” He paused for a sip of coffee, and grimaced when realizing it had turned cold on him. He set the cup gently down. “I told you a long time ago that I ain’t a Pinkerton. I’m a gunman and man hunter. When I find the bastards who’ve done these hateful things, they will die. They will not be brought to justice, other than the justice I will dispense. It may take some time, and I will not be interfered with.”

  Smalley nodded, unhappy by the look on his face. He rose. “Just find these men, dammit. And soon.”

  “I will,” he said with a hell of a lot more certainty than he felt.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Bloodworth began prowling Helltown later, and within two nights, he knew when each saloon slowed down and threw their clients out for a short while. That was at least something. The shacks he could not guard very well. There were too many and too scattered. But the saloons were contained. It still would not be easy, but at least he had a direction to go in.

  He showed up the various saloons at random, not letting anyone know where he would appear. Oftentimes he would just look through the doors; at others he would stroll in and take a gander at the hallways where the whores worked and sometimes lived. Occasionally he would stop to chat with the bartender, if he wasn’t too busy restocking, and perhaps sip at a beer or take the rare shot of whiskey.

  He was doing so in the Red River just before the Ike, the barkeep — a tall, slender fellow with a neck too small seemingly to support his head — was getting ready to start throwing out what few patrons were left, those that weren’t nodding off at tables. Suddenly a scream rang out from one of the rooms above.

  Bloodworth spit out a mouthful of beer, swore, spun and raced as fast as his gimpy leg would allow up the stairs. He stopped for a second, trying to figure out where the sound had come from. Then came another scream, this one muffled. But Bloodworth had a fix on the room. He dashed there and shouldered the door open, pistol in hand.

  A short, stout man with a thick brown beard and patchy russet hair had one of the soiled doves by the throat. The woman looked half dead already.

  “Let her go, boy,” Bloodworth commanded. “You come along peaceable to the marshal and maybe you’ll make out all right.”

  The man stood there dumbly, staring at Bloodworth. He still had his hands around the woman’s neck, but he was mostly just holding her up. She looked at the bounty man, a pleading look in her gray eyes.

  “Who the hell’re you?” the man finally asked.

  “The man who’s gonna plant your ass six feet under the Kansas sod you don’t let that woman go.”

  “She ain’t but a whore.”

  “Far’s I can see, she’s a lady. Don’t matter much anyhow. She ain’t deservin’ to have a slug like you tryin’ to choke the life out of her. Now let her go and come along quietly so’s Marshal Redmon can lock you up till you get some sense. With some reasonable remuneration to this young gal, she might forget this happened. Maybe a small fine and you can go your own way. Should that happen, though,” Bloodworth added, voice hard, “you’ll leave Kansas.”
r />   “If I don’t?” the man said with a smirk crossing his lips.

  “You’ll never leave Kansas.” Bloodworth’s voice was flat, his eyes cold.

  The man flung the woman aside. “All right, dammit. Just let me get my coat.”

  The woman started to get up and Ike moved to get past Bloodworth to help her. Bloodworth took a step to the side to stop the barkeep and waved at the woman to stay down. He was sure this was not going to end well. He was right.

  The man snatched a gun out of his coat and whirled. It was a damn fool move, seeing as how Bloodworth had his pistol out and ready. He fired, drilling the man in the forehead just above the left eye. The man collapsed in a bloody heap.

  “Ike, go fetch Bock, and maybe whatever deputy might be on duty.”

  “Whoever it is, he’s likely to be sleepin’ off a drunk somewhere.”

  “Reckon you’re right. Just the undertaker, then.”

  Ike spun and hurried out. Bloodworth went and knelt beside the woman. “What’s your name, girl?” he asked as he helped her up.

  “Sassy,” she gurgled, her voice box still in bad shape.

  Bloodworth gave her a small smile. “Reckon that gets you in trouble time to time.”

  “It does,” she gargled softly, but she returned Bloodworth’s smile half-heartedly.

  “All right, Sassy, let’s get you out of here.” She was rather wobbly, so he helped her down the stairs and got her seated at a table. As he went to the bar to get her something to drink, he shook his head at the sight of a drunk helping himself to a bottle.

  “I’d advise you to skedaddle, boy, before Ike gets back.”

  The fellow looked up, startled, then took Bloodworth’s advice and scooted out the door. Bloodworth grabbed a glass and bottle and took both back to the table, pouring a drink for Sassy and handed it to her.

  “Thanks,” she said hoarsely and downed it in one swallow.

  Amused, Bloodworth poured her another. “Take your time with this one. We ain’t gonna run out.”

  Sassy nodded and sipped. A bit of natural color was returning to her face. “Thank you,” she said after some moments.

  “My pleasure.”

  “I owe you for it,” she said, turning her head away as if embarrassed. “Ain’t but one way I know to thank you for what you did.”

  “No need.”

  “But I…” She broke off when Ike and the undertaker, Erwin Bock, hurried in.

  Both nodded curtly at Bloodworth before heading up the stairs.

  “You got somewhere you can go, Sassy?” Bloodworth asked.

  She finished her drink and poured herself another. Seeing his annoyed look, she said, “My last one, honest.” When he nodded, she said, “I got a small place not far behind the saloon here.”

  “I’ll escort you there. Make sure you’re safe.”

  “I’d feel real safe were you to stay with me,” she purred as well as she could with her throat still suffering.

  “Reckon you would, but I got business to see to.”

  She sighed. “Reckon I’ll be safe enough here.”

  “Here?” Bloodworth was surprised.

  “I don’t figure Ike — or Mr. Smalley — will be happy with me leavin’. With things slowin’ down as usual, I’ll get a bit of time for some food, then I have to get back to work.”

  “Mr. Smalley won’t mind, and Ike won’t have no say about it.”

  “How do you know he won’t mind?”

  Bloodworth smiled tightly. “I will make certain of it.” He rose. “Time to go.”

  When they arrived at Sassy’s shack, she turned to Bloodworth and said, “You certain you won’t come in?”

  Bloodworth nodded. “This ain’t the time. Like I said, I got business. Besides you don’t seem to be in any shape to be entertainin’. Now you get yourself some rest, you’ve been through a hard time.”

  He tipped his hat to her, made sure she actually went inside, then left. He stopped by the Red River. Bock and Ike were standing at the bar, the former on the outside, the latter on the inside, each working on a foamy beer. Bock looked up at Bloodworth when he entered. “Join us, Mr. Bloodworth,” Bock said.

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  Ike poured him one, and as Bloodworth slurped down a mouthful, Bock said, “You did a hell of a job on that fellow. Damn fine shot.”

  Bloodworth shrugged, uncomfortable with the praise. “I’ve had some practice,” he muttered. He chugged the rest of his beer. “Well, boys, I reckon my night’s over.”

  “Who’s going to pay for that fellow’s funeral and burial?” Bock asked.

  “Don’t matter a damn to me, Mr. Bock. I ain’t doin’ so. Far’s I’m concerned, nobody comes up with the cash for it, dump him in the river and be done with it.” He pushed through the batwing doors into the street.

  ** ** ** ** **

  Marshal Redmon found Bloodworth the next afternoon in his favorite restaurant, chowing down on a breakfast of ham steak with redeye gravy, three eggs fried up, fresh biscuits, and coffee.

  “Mind?” the lawman asked, indicating the chair across from Bloodworth.

  “Suit yourself.”

  Redmon sat, and tossed his hat on the scarred table. He waved at the waiter, who quickly brought him some coffee.

  “I’d like to congratulate you.”

  “For what?”

  “Catchin’ the killer of them gals. Most others on both sides of the river feel the same. Everybody’s grateful it’s over.”

  “No praise needed, Marshal. He ain’t the one.”

  “You sure?”

  “Yep,” Bloodworth sopped up a bit of egg yolk with a biscuit and popped it in his mouth.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “All them other gals was cut up somethin’ awful. This one was just some drunk saddle tramp choking one of those unfortunate soiled doves.”

  “Damn,” Redmon said with a shake of the head. “You gonna keep lookin’ for the killer?”

  “Or killers. I told Smalley I think there’s two, maybe more. But, yes, I aim to keep huntin’ ’em down.”

  “Good luck,” Redmon said, draining his coffee. He rose. “I doubt there’s much I can do, but if I can be of any help, you let me know.”

  “I will.”

  No sooner did Redmon leave when Smalley walked in. He took the seat the lawman had vacated without asking. He slapped a stack of bills on the table and shoved it across toward Bloodworth.

  The bounty hunter moved his plate aside and stuck a cigar in his mouth. He scratched a Lucifer across the tabletop and got the smoke fired up properly. Then he leaned forward and pushed the money back toward Smalley. “Can’t take it.”

  “What?” Smalley asked, surprised. “Why? You earned it fair and square. I said we’d pay up when you finished the job, and I’ve done so.”

  “Job ain’t finished.” He blew a smoke ring into the air.

  “What do you mean? You got the guy last night. From what Ike said, you plinked square in the eye.”

  “I did shoot that fellah but I missed his eye by an inch. But it don’t matter none. But he ain’t the one been killin’ them gals.”

  “What makes you think he’s not the one?”

  “This saddle bum was stranglin’ Sassy…”

  “That the whore’s name?”

  Bloodworth glared at him. His mood had been sour since he awoke, and Smalley was not helping to improve it the least little bit. In fact, he was adding considerably the Bloodworth’s foul humor. “Like I just told the marshal, this son of a bitch was tryin’ to strangle Sassy. All the others were beaten and all carved up.”

  “Maybe he planned to do that after he killed her.”

  “Maybe,” Bloodworth allowed “but I’d wager against it.”

  “Well, it doesn’t matter. It should be enough to send the other fellow…”

  “Fellahs,” Bloodworth interrupted. “I still think there’s more than one.”

  “All right, send them packin
’ after this. Now you take the money. You earned it.” Smalley rose and headed out, leaving the money on the table.

  Bloodworth sat there for some time, sipping coffee and puffing his cigar. Finally he pulled the money to him and shoved it into his coat pocket. “I’ll earn it yet,” he vowed silently.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As he began patrolling the town, if that’s what he could call what he was doing, he had too much time to think. Standing in the shadows where he could keep watch over several buildings, he contemplated the situation.

  Not much of this made sense. There were, he knew, some men who were just plain ornery and mean and given over to living a life of evil. But killing some fallen angels seemed mighty odd. He could understand once, maybe twice, by some fellows who had been given some back talk from one of the girls and being drunk might’ve gone off his head and killed her, then took off back to Texas. He thought it reprehensible, but sometimes such things occurred. But a whole series of them? It was incomprehensible to Bloodworth, but, then, Bloodworth had dealt with too many men who did inconceivable things for no other reason than they were downright wicked.

  He began to consider people he knew here who might be such a malevolent thing. Erwin Bock, the undertaker, might’ve been trying to drum up business. But Bloodworth immediately cast that thought away. There was plenty enough mayhem and killings in Helltown to keep Bock busy. Besides, he was too old and too scrawny to kill anyone by beating her to death.

  Sam or Ike, the bartenders? Or any of the other barkeeps? Possible, he reckoned, but not very likely. A number of them would have to be in cahoots seeing as how the murders had occurred in several places. And they happened at different times, when at least some of those men were tending to their bar.

  Lundqvist, the owner of several saloons and brothels. Bloodworth and Smalley had discussed that, but it seemed rather dubious, seeing as how at least two of the killings had taken place in his establishment. Of course, he could’ve had those staged to keep suspicion off himself. Bloodworth had known men who would do such a loathsome thing.