Have Your Ticket Punched by Frank James

by Fedora Amis

  Jemmy cringed when she understood what Hal meant. The pigeons were coming home to roost and were dive-bombing her head along the way. She tried to speak—own up to her lies—but she was too late. The two men had already begun squaring off for another set-to.

  Autley tossed off his ruined derby. “Let me warn you. I was the best boxer in my weight class at Southside Turner Hall.”

  Hal set his porkpie hat on the cave floor. “Oh, yes. You were so excellent at fisticuffs, you let someone break your nose.”

  Autley removed his water-spotted overcoat. “You’ve no call to get personal.”

  Hal laid his soggy jacket on the floor by his hat. “I’m about to get personal with that broken nose. Probably do it some good. Bust it from the other side and straighten it out.”

  Autley dumped his mud-splotched jacket on top of his overcoat. “You Irish are all dirt and duck. Got no stomach for doing right or participating in an honest fight, either.”

  Hal said, “That’s just wishful thinking on your part.” Simultaneously, the pair rolled up shirtsleeves and tugged at their ties. “We Irish were born with war in our bellies.”

  Autley said, “Lots of babies are born with hair on their heads. They soon lose it.” The pair circled each other warily.

  Hal said, “I haven’t lost my taste for wiping up the floor with a lout like you.”

  “Where are the rest of the Irish louts? I’ve heard the Irish travel in packs like stray dogs.”

  “I don’t need a pack to whup a runt like you.”

  “You’ll need every yellow dog from Kerry Patch.”

  “I’ll make you wish you’d never been whelped.”

  Autley lunged at Hal, and the pair grappled. A crowd gathered to make bets on which one would win.

  Jemmy saw her chance to escape and took it.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

  Friday Night, November 25, 1898

  “A fiver on the little ugly guy. He looks like a real scrapper to me.”

  “I’ll take your five and bet five more that Big Red takes him in less than ten minutes.”

  “You’re on, if you’ll make it twenty.”

  “Twenty bucks or twenty minutes?”

  “Both, if you’re game enough.”

  “Done and done.”

  Jemmy slipped through the crowd as people made wagers on Big Red and Little Ugly. She set a course for the arch where she’d seen Deke Wicher. She didn’t get far.

  A man’s booming voice called, “Where are you going in such a hurry, Miss McBustle?” She slid on the damp floor as she turned toward the sound. Lieutenant O’Rourke’s arm shot out to steady her. “The cave floor is uneven and slick. By thunder, I’d hate for you to injure yourself.”

  “I appreciate the advice, but my footing was fine until you distracted me.”

  “I would apologize, except I don’t feel the least bit sorry. Surprise is the best way I’ve come across to speak to you.”

  A whispered female voice dripped sarcasm in Jemmy’s good ear like lemon juice on a bite of fish. “If it isn’t my faithful classmate—the one who promised to inform me of the location for this bout of fisticuffs.” Pervia Benigas pursed her lips as if daring Jemmy to answer.

  “I went to your home as soon as I was able. When I discovered where you had gone, I rushed to Union Station. I even searched the train. Of course, you weren’t there. I kept my promise. It’s not my fault you weren’t where everyone told me you’d be.”

  “Nonetheless, I feel no obligation to share certain information with you. A promise attempted is not a promise fulfilled.”

  “No matter. I’ll put the question to our favorite pugilist, Handsome Harry Benson. Perhaps he will be more forthcoming than you.”

  “Mr. Benson won’t tell you a thing. I suggest you don’t bother him. It would be as useless an exercise as dashing about train stations trying to find people who don’t want to be found.”

  “Why are you here? Shouldn’t you be practicing? Has your concert for tomorrow night been cancelled?”

  “I won’t be in Cincinnati in time to choose a piano, but Pervia Benigas never misses a concert.”

  “Ladies, please allow me to accompany you home. It seems clear that neither of you is likely to enjoy tonight’s boxing match.”

  “I have no intention of leaving. If you’ll excuse me, Miss Benigas, Lieutenant O’Rourke. I’ll leave you to continue your evening together.”

  Lieutenant O’Rourke’s brow furrowed. “An unaccompanied young lady is not safe in a mob such as this. Please allow me to escort you wherever you wish.”

  “Please don’t bother. I have an escort. In fact I have two. I’m sure your Miss Benigas deserves your full attention.”

  Suddenly, Jemmy noticed Pervia Benigas had disappeared. That exasperating woman! I bet she’s off to convince Handsome Harry not to talk to me.

  Sassy Patterson’s voice sounded like cream on peach cobbler. “Jemima McBustle, why didn’t you tell me you were attending this sporting event? Could it be because you have such a handsome escort?”

  “Miss Patterson, may I present Lieutenant O’Rourke of the St. Louis police.”

  Sassy offered a dainty gloved hand. “I’m always delighted to meet a gallant officer of the police corps.”

  “Lieutenant O’Rourke—Miss Isabel Patterson and her fiancé, Mr. John Folck.” Jemmy placed a tad too much emphasis on the word fiancé.

  O’Rourke bowed low over Sassy’s hand. “Pleased to make your acquaintance, Miss Patterson.” He nodded in Folck’s direction. “You, too, Mr. Folck.”

  Folck acknowledged the introduction with an impatient dip of his head.

  Jemmy entwined her arm around the lieutenant’s and purred at Sassy, “I can’t imagine why you’re still in St. Louis. I was under the impression you planned to be off in a carriage. I would have thought you’d be halfway to Hot Springs for your honeymoon this very evening.”

  Sassy scowled. “I fully expected to be on the train for Excelsior Springs and sipping champagne by now. However, our plans changed. An acquaintance—I wouldn’t consider this person a friend of John’s—persuaded him to make a sizable wager on the outcome of this bout. Apparently, if our man does not win, we shall have no funds for a wedding trip.” She looked ice picks in Folck’s direction. “We’d have to postpone our wedding.”

  Lieutenant O’Rourke beamed. “By thunder, I can’t imagine any man who would engage in such folly. It’s simply beyond belief. Were I a fellow with Folck’s luck, I would not—for a single second—delay the possibility of claiming such a lovely lady as my wife.”

  Folck spoke up at last. “And if the challenger wins, we’ll be set. I expect to make enough money not only for a wedding trip but also to start my own business.”

  Sassy rounded on him. “If you win, that is. If you do not, I may change my mind about marrying you. After all, a young lady in my position can’t hitch her star to a gambler who loses.”

  Jemmy enjoyed watching the lovers’ spat. To see Sassy crossed by a suitor was not something she’d ever expected to witness. Her guilty pleasure lasted less than a minute.

  Hal’s voice bellowed loud enough to make her cringe. “So there you are. I will not be left out in the cold like some worn-out shoe you’d toss in a ditch.”

  “Neither you nor Mr. Flinchpaugh looks much the worse for your skirmish. I’ll wager neither of you exchanged even one pair of punches.”

  Flinchpaugh said, “It wasn’t a fight because it wasn’t fair. This gorilla has arms a foot longer than mine. I would have put him down with a single uppercut if he hadn’t stuck his big paw on my head and held me there.”

  “Stop whining, Flinchpaugh. When you discovered Jemmy wasn’t watching, you lost your taste for trading blows right fast.”

  Flinchpaugh turned toward Hal with clinched fists. “Are you accusing me of trying to show off?”

  “If the shoe fits . . .”

  Hal moved toe to toe with Autley. He looked down his nose at Flinchpa
ugh, who did what he’d been boiling up to do—hit Hal in the solar plexus.

  Hal crumpled in half like a cookie broken in the middle. He wheezed, “I think you broke my stomach.”

  “I warned you.”

  Hal rolled around, moaning, on the cave floor.

  “I told you I’m a boxing champion.”

  Hal moaned some more and wobbled onto hands and knees.

  Flinchpaugh took a step toward Jemmy and held out his hand. Jemmy hid behind Lieutenant O’Rourke. Flinchpaugh circled round in an attempt to catch Jemmy’s hand. Jemmy circled, too, as she kept the lieutenant’s body between herself and Autley.

  O’Rourke began to laugh. “By thunder, Flinchpaugh—I assume that’s your name—I’m beginning to get dizzy. Do you think we might end this game of ring-around-the-rosy?”

  Autley stretched himself to his full height. “I claim my rights as escort.” He extended his hand. “Miss McBustle, please come with me.”

  Jemmy took a few seconds to ponder—a few seconds too long. O’Rourke chuckled deep in his throat. “I don’t know what you’ve done to upset Miss McBustle, but she’s hiding from you. I guess that means she doesn’t care to accompany you this evening.”

  Autley stood with jaws clamped shut. Tension rose from his head like steam from a teakettle.

  O’Rourke stiffened and stood up straight. “I’m beginning to understand. By thunder, if you’ve made unwelcome advances, you’d best keep your distance.”

  “I assure you I’ve done no such thing. If anyone made unwelcome advances upon Miss McBustle, it’s that big fellow there on the floor.”

  “Her actions tell me otherwise. Appears to me Miss Mc-Bustle has discovered you’re a brawler and doesn’t like what she sees.”

  Hal struggled to his knees. “Now wait a minute, Lieutenant. You don’t know the first thing about why Flinchpaugh and I got lathered up. It was all her fault.”

  “If you don’t mind, I’ll let her explain what happened. Ladies may have a completely different view of events than brawling boy-os.”

  Hal rose to his feet with one hand on his stomach. “Mr. Flinchpaugh and I would like you to remove yourself from our business.”

  “The pair of you seem bent on making your quarrel my business.”

  As words flew hotter and hotter among the three men, Jemmy retreated. The angry voices drew yet another crowd. Her last vision was of Sassy’s radiant face. Clearly, Sassy loved a good argument, especially one that could erupt into a good fight.

  Jemmy managed to sneak away during the fracas. The voice of Big Ed Butler calling spectators to their seats echoed in her bad ear. The fisticuffs bout would start soon. She had a few minutes at best to find Handsome Harry.

  She picked up her skirts and headed for the arch. She paused at the entryway and wrung her hands. How did I wind up here? I promised myself I’d never set foot in a cave again. Yet, here I am, about to trot down a corridor that leads who knows where.

  Inside the archway, the floor became even more slippery. She kept one hand on the rough-hewn wall in hopes of staying upright.

  Noises from the crowd faded as she slid along the wall’s rugged surface. Some thirty feet down the corridor she came to another brick arch. Inside she discovered an unoccupied room. It reeked of Watkins liniment. The place overflowed with chairs, clothes trunks, and boxes of medical supplies. Stacks of Turkish towels perched at the ends of two sheet-covered tables.

  Jemmy was too late. Harry had already left for the ring. Her spirits fell. She didn’t have long to feel sorry for herself.

  The sound of a woman screaming roared and echoed through the cave.

  Jemmy sank to the floor in horror. Electric fear jolted up her spine. A second scream sent her scurrying under the nearest sheet-covered table.

  Jemmy heard scuffling feet and a woman’s muffled cries pass by the changing room. When the sounds faded, she slipped out from her hiding place and sneaked into the hall.

  To her left lay the cave’s main room, where clanging bells and the noise of the crowd announced the bout had begun. That way promised safety.

  But how long would it take her to gather her little army and convince them she needed them all? They would harangue her—probably for many precious minutes—or start fighting again. Meanwhile some villain would be performing unspeakable acts on a poor, defenseless female in the dank recess of Uhrig’s Cave.

  Perhaps it could be done. Persuading Lieutenant O’Rourke to come with her would be as easy as batting an eyelash. Flinchpaugh would be eager to show how tough he could be. Hal had to come; after all, he was her bodyguard.

  Or she could go the other direction—the direction of the scuffling. Yes, my story is that way. I feel it in my bones.

  The string of electric lights ended at the archway to a second empty changing room. The way forward was inky dark, but every fiber of her body pulled her in that direction. That way seemed less than inviting—terrifying, even. Still, she felt as if she were a penny coin being pulled along into the black pit by a gigantic magnet.

  After all, I might waste hours convincing those stubborn men to accompany me back here. Hal and Autley would probably start another fight. They’ve already crossed words and fists three times this evening.

  She kept her back to the wall and edged along with both hands against its jagged surface. The noise of the crowd in the main room faded until it seemed no louder than the scratching of a mouse in the attic.

  The musty smell of the place sent a chill down Jemmy’s spine. Her hand recoiled when she touched something soft as an angora baby blanket. Moss! I just stuck my hand in wet moss.

  After the cave wall turned a different direction, noise from the auditorium came as murmurs, barely louder than the ringing in her bad ear.

  Although the cave was clammy cold, Jemmy began to perspire. A feeling of suffocation overwhelmed her. Her chest heaved against her corset stays. She gasped to catch her breath. Maybe I should go back.

  Memories of a different trip in a tunnel dizzied her. In some ways, this trip was even more daunting. At least there had been a lantern then. Jemmy persuaded herself that no light had penetrated this blackness in a thousand years. She panted as her corset stays kept her breath shallow. If I go back now, what will happen to the woman who screamed? She could be seconds away from unspeakable evil.

  The wall turned in another direction, and the sounds from the main cave ceased altogether. She had never been more profoundly alone. Relief flowed through her body when she decided to start back. The relief faded when she spied the tiniest glow of light up ahead.

  I must return and force Lieutenant O’Rourke to come investigate. No sooner did she think that thought than she took it back. The lieutenant will get the wrong impression entirely. He won’t believe I’ve discovered a woman in peril way back here in the bowels of this cave. He’ll think I’m a forward girl who’s smitten with him.

  No, I’ll have to bring Hal. He’s always complaining that I never let him guard me. He’s duty bound to come with me. No sooner did she think it than she took it back. Hal is already so angry with me that he would finish what he started earlier—shove me up against a wall and scold me for the better part of an hour. By the time he finished, the woman could be dead—or worse.

  Jemmy took a calming breath to still her pounding heart. She edged toward the light. I’ll sneak up and have a look. Perhaps I’ve misinterpreted what’s going on. Perhaps there’s no danger at all. If there is danger, perhaps I can do something. If I find everything is all right, I’ve done no harm by looking. I’ve done what everyone is always telling me to do—take my time to understand what I’m poking myself into.

  The moment of truth had come. Jemmy could give in to her fear of caves, or she could choke down the terror and keep going.

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  Late Friday Night, November 25, 1898

  Jemmy felt her way along the damp cave wall. The place smelled like mildew mixed with sour milk. She inched forward toward the point
of light. She heard no sounds except the roaring in her bad ear. Jemima McBustle, calm yourself. Nothing untoward is going on. A quick glimpse will prove no one is being harmed in any way.

  She reached the brick arch opening to the lighted room, but, before she could turn the corner, her foot slipped on the moss of the roughhewn floor. She went down like a sack of beans. As she hurtled forward, she hit her head on the sharp edge of the brick arch. She didn’t hear her own shriek as she plummeted into darkness.

  Jemmy didn’t wake so much as emerge through the half-light inside her skull. Her first woozy thought was, “Why is this bed so lumpy.” She tried to move away from the mass that felt like a boulder boring into her back. She gradually came to realize the clump was her own hands: useless—tied together—numb.

  A gurgling sound came from somewhere. Her eyelids seemed stuck shut. She managed to open one by a supreme effort of will. She squinted in the dim light and tried to get her bearings. The gurgling sound came again—this time accompanied by scuffling sounds. She peered in its direction.

  Panic ran like ice in Jemmy’s blood. Images of her own hands trying to claw their way out from sheer rock flooded her brain. She found the strength to force both eyes open despite the pounding ache in her head.

  Her gaze met brown brogans in feet attached by rags to a pair of chair rungs. Above the brogans, ropes crisscrossed legs in brown, tweed trousers. Still higher she saw a man’s eyes—wide open and urgent above more rags gagging his mouth. Jemmy searched her memory to identify what little she could see of that face. The fellow was trussed up like a rolled pork roast.

  Who is that man? I must stop the swimming in my head. Concentrate. Concentrate.

  It all seemed too much to take in. What happened? Why are the pair of us tied up? Who would do such a thing—and why?

  The man tapped the toe of one foot and tried to talk. “RaRa-RaRa.”

  Jemmy scuffled her feet in an attempt to push herself into sitting position. She failed. Still, she could move her legs. She might be able to run away if she could manage to stand. Run away from what? Who is that man? What is he trying to say, and who imprisoned us in this cave?