by Matt Braun
Tallman settled on a bench across the street from the sex house, snatched a thin cheroot from his vest, stroked a sulphurhead on the weathered wooden seat, and fired up the expensive cigar. He figured that he would have time on his hands while Tucson’s top politician got his goose strangled. He once again pondered his options, and became more convinced than ever that he would have to stretch the bounds of the law in order to assure the success of his mission.
Looking somehow drained, Westfall emerged from the whorehouse after only thirty minutes. The fat mayor looked into the high sun, adjusted his hat, hitched his pants, and proceeded west. After a ten-minute stroll he walked into the sheriff’s office. Tallman followed and stopped at the edge of the window. Westfall was passing banknotes to the town’s chief lawdog.
“Damn,” Tallman whispered to himself as he moved away from the window. He had guessed that, with the exception of the stop at Maybell’s, Westfall was making a payoff run. But what he had seen in the sheriff’s office cinched it. The law would be of no use to him now. They would have to go it alone. He decided he would need Perry Oldham’s cooperation. He also decided that they would have to move soon.
“After stopping in on the sheriff, the mayor went home,” Tallman explained to Oldham. “And that’s how I see it.”
“So you think Westfall is the conduit for the payoffs?” the Wells Fargo division superintendent asked, after listening to the whole story. “Never thought that fellow had the intelligence or the nerve for anything like this.”
“Looks like he must have, Perry. Of course, Traber probably has him scared stiff. He’s probably threatened him with a one-way trip to the desert.”
“Damn,” Oldham grunted as he sat down. “But we still don’t have anything on the stage robberies!” It was obvious he was steeping in his frustration. “For all we know, Traber has nothing to do with it.”
“We don’t know for sure. But having watched Traber, I’m convinced that he would never pass up money as big as you have lost in the stickups. He’s got his paws in everything around here. Even if he was not in on it at first, you can bet your last silver dollar that he’s got a piece of the action now.”
“Maybe so,” Oldham sighed. He balled his fists; his huge muscles filled his white shirt. Though his body appeared as if it would explode, he spoke quietly. “I just keep thinking of my men. Four dead and one with his damn crotch all blown up.”
“Tell you what!” Tallman said, his voice ringing with determination and finality. “Like I told you this morning, I think Traber is our man. I’ve been in this business a long time and I’ve seen plenty of Floyd Trabers. They have the law locked up, they cover tracks better than an Indian, and they usually feed a sacrificial lamb to the legal system on the rare occasion when they are caught. Let me stay on Traber tonight. If we don’t learn anything more, I’ve got plans for Mayor Westfall. Something tells me that he is the weak link in the chain. Scared of his own shadow. I figure he’ll sing the kind of tune we want to hear when he’s given the alternatives I intend to offer him.”
Oldham looked up from his desk. He smiled when he saw the look on Tallman’s face.
THIRTEEN
Obie Stallybrass, the Buena Suerte floor manager, walked up to Vivian. “Jarrott wants to see you, Susanna,” he said, shrugging his slumped shoulders. “He and Floyd Traber just went upstairs.”
“I saw them, Obie,” Vivian said to the congenial man. “Wonder what Sherm’s got up his sleeve now.”
Obie shrugged again and walked off to get another dealer for her table. Vivian got up, her senses heightened by the prospect that she might somehow once again have the opportunity to worm her way in on Traber’s operation. She knew she could get hurt toying with a rattlesnake, but she was becoming more determined as the case appeared to be at a standstill. This was her chance to crack it wide open.
Tallman, still sporting his Cyrus Purdy getup, popped through the Buena Suerte doors just as Vivian was making her way to the stairs. Their eyes locked for an instant, but neither missed a stride.
The mining speculator ordered whiskey just as Vivian knocked on the center balcony door.
“Who is it?” Jarrott asked.
“Susanna.”
“Oh. Come in.”
“Obie said you wanted to see me, Sherm,” she said as she walked in, thrusting her breasts forward and setting her eyes in her best bedroom gaze.
“I asked Sherm to invite you up,” Traber butted in, his blue eyes twinkling through narrow slits. His deep, long wrinkles and the long, thick gray mustache made him look the part of a villain in a cheap theater production. “I’d like to have you join me for dinner. I’ve got—”
“Floyd,” Jarrott interrupted. “It’s going to cost me a bundle to lose Susanna again tonight.”
“You can afford it,” Traber said, his calm and jesting voice in contrast with his evil eyes.
“Jesus Christ!”
“Gentlemen! I do earn my living dealing. Maybe we could make it another time, Mr. Traber. Perhaps my night off.” Vivian said, hoping to show loyalty toward Jarrott. She knew Traber would not back down anyhow.
“Nonsense, Susanna!” Traber said, his wrinkles creased deeper than usual. “This charlatan can switch your night off.”
“Go ahead, Susanna,” Jarrott said, wishing that he had the nerve to kill Traber and take over Tucson. “That is, if you want to.”
“Well, I’m . . . of course I’m flattered!”
“It’s settled, then,” Traber said as he slapped his palms on the arms of the chair and stood up.
Vivian faked a sheepish look toward Jarrott and accepted Traber’s bony hand.
On the way out of the casino, Vivian stopped for her wrap and shot Tallman an apprehensive look just as Hall left the bar to join her and the vice czar.
Tallman understood.
“You fascinate me, Floyd,” Vivian said as she sipped the champagne the waiter had just poured from the second expensive bottle. She wondered how the French bubbly ever made it to Tucson. “I’ve always been attracted to men who know where they are going and how to get there.”
“A fine compliment, Susanna. I like your style,” Traber responded with raised eyebrows, as he flicked the ash from his cigar into his empty dinner platter. “Something tells me there is more to Susanna Duncan than meets the eye.”
Vivian flinched at the words, but quickly recovered.
“I mean,” Traber said when he noticed her momentary discomfort. “There is a mind to go with your other charms. Charms which are numerous,” he added. “Your intelligence, I gather, is a little something you keep hidden for your own purposes. Something like a hideout gun. Very bright of you. My mother was brilliant,” he said, an odd trace of fear flashing in his eyes. “Intelligence and looks. Often an elusive combination in a woman.”
Vivian nodded and sipped champagne, wondering what his mother had to do with it. She’d find out soon enough.
“Well,” Traber went on. “It would be a shame to end the evening so early. Would you care to join me at my house for an after-dinner drink?” Traber tightened his horizontal forehead wrinkles as he awaited an answer.
Knowing looks passed across the white tablecloth, which contained the remnants of the best steak dinner in Tucson. Traber knew Vivian would accept the invitation to his bed only because he had the potential to advance her position in the world, and it showed in his eyes. And Vivian’s eyes revealed that she knew what he knew.
“I’d love to, Floyd.”
Several minutes later they left the restaurant and, to Vivian’s distress, a half bottle of rare champagne. With the tree-stump bodyguard at the reins, they rode at a brisk trot toward the vice czar’s home. Shortly, Hall pulled up the matched chestnuts in front of the vice lord’s expensively appointed residence. Once in the house, he poured French brandy into two crystal glasses that rested elegantly on an ornately carved walnut bar. His taste was impeccable, and, so far, his deportment had been gentlemanly.
“Ju
dd, you may go now,” Traber said to his gorilla after Hall had put a match to the lamps in the parlor and bedroom.
Then Traber stood looking at the lady blackjack dealer with an odd expression in his eyes. For an instant, Vivian thought he looked like a little boy. “Let’s retire to the bedroom,” he said bluntly, his strange look growing in intensity.
Vivian let her lips smile ever so slightly, took hold of his knobby fingers, and urged him down the hallway.
FOURTEEN
Tallman, concealed in a row of scrub pines that marked the boundary of Traber’s property, was concerned by the noises coming from the dimly lit back room. Once, he’d been tempted to charge the place, but he resisted his jealous impulse, trusting Vivian. And the dog-faced Judd Hall sat quietly on the porch burning one cigarette after another.
Nonetheless, the thought of Vivian and Traber together left him uneasy. He told himself it wasn’t jealousy or the thought that Vivian might have to let Traber sample her luscious fruits. He was simply concerned for her safety. Friends were hard to come by. And the longer they worked together, the more respect he gained for the long-legged woman who was as willing to chomp off big slices of life and swallow them whole as he was. He sensed that an ironclad friendship was slowly being riveted in place.
While he was pondering this possibility and shifting his position, a man walked up the street and deliberately and quickly turned into Traber’s small yard.
“Hoped I’d find you here, Judd,” the man said, his voice showing respect for Hall.
“Quiet! The boss is busy.”
Both men laughed aloud, then abruptly silenced themselves.
“Let’s go into the carriage house,” Hall muttered. “Don’t want to bother the boss.”
Both men walked toward the other side of the house, their conversation turning into a jumble of sounds.
Acutely aware of the bright moon and the still air, Tallman quietly worked his way around the back of the small barn. Despite his new vantage point, the voices were still mumbles intertwined with sinister laughter.
After ten minutes of incomprehensible jabbering, the visitor shook Hall’s hand and walked toward the street. Tallman, faced with a dilemma, decided to tail the stranger, allowing that Vivian could take care of herself.
For half a mile, Tallman followed the stranger through the distinct shadows cast by the brilliant moon. As the man turned and walked a narrow path to a small frame house, Tallman carefully noted the location and hurried back to Traber’s extravagant home. As he cut across a neighbor’s lot and made a beeline for the hedge, he saw the red glow of Hall’s cigarette. Things seemed unchanged.
Tallman was shifting his position to ease the cramp in his side from his cross-draw rig and to ease the pain in his back, which came from his being hunched up in the pine hedge for the past hour and a half since he’d returned from tailing the stranger. He had just settled into a better position when he heard Traber.
“Judd!”
He looked up and saw the tree-stump henchman open the front door. Minutes later, Vivian, Traber, and the bodyguard stepped onto the porch.
Their words were clear in the still night air.
“See Susanna home, will you, Judd.”
“Sure, boss,” Hall said, before turning to go for the carriage.
Once the guard rounded the corner of the house, Vivian and Traber spoke quietly as she hung onto his arm as if she’d found her first schoolyard sweetheart. Tallman chuckled to himself and shook his bowler-topped head in awe, thankful that Vivian was on his side. And, truth be known, he was relieved to know that she was safe and still in pursuit.
When Hall wheeled out of the carriage house and stopped at the porch steps, Traber helped Vivian aboard.
“Boss,” Hall said in his gruff voice. “We had a visitor tonight while you was—ah—entertain’.”
“Yes?”
“Our friend in the shippin’ business. Says he’s got work for us to tend to, day after tomorrow.”
“I’ll keep it in mind,” Traber said calmly. “No need to bore Miss Duncan with business.”
Tallman smiled, feeling confident that the man he had tailed across town was the final link. He was also amused at the tone of reprimand in Traber’s voice. Hall would hear about his indiscretion in front of Vivian.
“Sure, boss,” Hall responded, his tone sheepish.
“Oh, my! You do stay busy,” Vivian chimed in. “Here it is the wee hours of the morning and you’re still doing business.”
“Staying on top is a full-time job, Susanna,” Traber allowed, as the horses snorted and shifted in the cool night air. “The bigger beasts eat the smaller ones and so on.”
“Well, Floyd, if I can ever be of any help, you know where I am.”
Tallman heard no reply.
“I’ll stop by the Buena Suerte on the way back. Talk to Sherm,” Hall went on. “It will save a trip.”
“Good idea, Judd. I’ll see you in half an hour.”
Hall slapped the reins on the matched chestnuts, and the well-schooled horses stepped into an organized trot, their white stockings flashing in the moonlight.
As Tallman entered his room in the Governor, he scaled the bowler across the room to his bed, stripped off the mustache, and loosened his stiff white collar. His back was still slightly cramped and he was beginning to feel a sense of urgency. On the walk back to the hotel, he had decided that he would force the gang’s hand, one way or another. He would follow the stranger in the morning, and if that led up a blind alley, he’d decided to squeeze Tucson’s blubbery mayor until something came out. But he had a feeling that the mysterious business Hall had mentioned was another stage job for Doc and his strange mama. It fitted what Pearl had said before the last job.
Tallman rubbed the excess spirit gum off his upper lip and then dipped a towel in the basin of fresh water. After he had rubbed his neck and face clean, he slumped in the overstuffed chair in the corner of the hotel room and broke out a cheroot. He wanted to wait an hour before seeing Vivian. And if he went to sleep, he knew it would be for more than an hour.
“Thought you would never show, Ash,” Vivian whispered as she let her fellow Pinkerton into her room.
“I wanted to let the dust settle,” he answered quietly. “After what happened the other night, I wanted to wait and then take a careful look around before coming here.”
Vivian walked toward the tall, sandy-haired detective, locked her fingers behind his neck and pulled him to her lips. She probed urgently with her tongue and literally shuddered with desire.
Tallman put his hand on her hips and felt velvet skin, slippery under the maroon-and-black silk lace nightgown.
Tallman backed away and raised his right eyebrow. “You’ve got that look in your eye, Viv,” he kidded. “I’d have thought three hours with old Floyd would have tuckered you out!”
“Me? Tuckered out? You men are the ones with the limitations. Us ladies can go as long as it suits our fancy!” she exclaimed, with a twinkle of lust in her green eyes, as she spun away and walked toward the bed. Her hips moved under silk in a way that would cause a man’s heart to skip a beat. She sat on the goosedown and looked right at her lithe, steely-eyed partner. “Truth is, Traber has nothing to offer. Remind me to tell you about it some time when I get up my courage and when you are up for a moment of tearful laughter.”
“Sounds interesting,” Tallman said as he walked toward her dresser. “Where did you get this?” he asked as he looked at the bottle of French brandy. “Allan will choke when he sees this on the expense report!”
“A gift from Sherm.”
“Sherm, is it!” he said as he poured some of the amber liquid into one of the crystal glasses that rested next to the brandy. “God have mercy on Vivian Valentine’s men!”
“Were you with me tonight?” she asked, bringing the conversation back to business.
“Cyrus Purdy was sneaking about in the bushes all night,” he replied after sniffing his glass. “Matter of fact,
I’ve been sneaking about since early this morning. But nothing more came of it until this evening. That is, with the exception of the restaurant I discovered this morning. After we clean this up, I insist that we have breakfast there.”
“Hall’s visitor?” Vivian asked. “Your success this evening?”
“Very observant, Miss Valentine,” he said, his mood mellowing, his voice becoming sonorous. “I suspect that we have a line to our Judas. While you were engaged . . . in whatever . . . with your gray-haired beanstalk, I tailed the messenger to his little home across town. And I’ll be up with the roosters to see how the man fits into the organization.” Tallman swirled the cognac in his snifter as he went to the corner chair, which was identical to the one in his room. “Traber is definitely running the local protection racket. I followed him today as he made his rounds. Also I snaked after that lard-assed politician, Westfall. He made the rounds too. It’s obvious that he is their lackey. He came out of Traber’s real-estate office with a fist full of banknotes in a white envelope. At least that’s my guess. I don’t think it was a love letter.”
“You might think different if I ever get around to telling you about our vice lord,” Vivian said, a note of disgust in her voice.
Tallman allowed Vivian a wry smile after another taste of the cognac. “Not much more to tell . . . except that Westfall visited the sheriff and passed on a handful of banknotes. I guess it stands to reason that they need his cooperation to keep the owners of the saloons, gaming joints, and whorehouses in line.”
“But other than the possibility that the Hall’s visitor is the missing link, we need more to connect Traber and Pearl Bowen.”
“That’s a fact . . . if you are talking courtroom requirements.” His tone was cool, utterly assured. “But tomorrow will tell. If Traber’s visitor leads nowhere, I’m going to squeeze Westfall until he squirts. I have a feeling that he will give.”
