(1988) The Golden Room (6 page)

‘Most agreeable, Miss Everleigh.’

Minna allowed Dr Holmes to see her to the door, then walked to her Model A Ford, where Edmund was waiting to assist her into the seat.

As they drove away from Dr Holmes’s Castle, Minna felt pleased. Dr Holmes was a professional, a gentleman, and her instinct told her he would be trustworthy in protecting the Club against Mayor Harrison’s incursions.

As the Ford continued away from the doctor’s Castle, Minna glanced back at it. The third storey could still be seen from a half-mile’s distance. The chimney was visible also, and it was odd that the chimney was emitting smoke.

Crazy, Minna thought, to be using a furnace in the spring. Still, admittedly, there was a chill in the air, and whatever he was doing to warm himself, Dr Holmes certainly knew what was best for his own health as well as theirs.

The minute Dr Herman Holmes was certain that Minna Everleigh had departed the area, he hurried to his office, reached under a drape beside the fireplace, and pressed up a lever on a concealed panel to release pent-up gas.

After a while, he strode into the hallway to a metal wall with a wood grain finish over it, reached behind a thick-leafed rubber plant, pressed a button, and watched the door slide open to his secret soundproof chamber in the rear. He went inside the dimly illuminated, gloomy room, sniffed to be sure the gas had cleared, and found his sixth wife, Georgianne, still sprawled on the floor where he had left her.

He had decided at noon, after he had learned Minna Everleigh was coming to interview him, that once he had the job, Georgianne would no longer be useful to him. She would be in the way when Minna appeared, and create too many problems when he had access to the Everleigh Club and its fantastic girls. As Georgianne had bent her thick head of hair over her lunch, Holmes had come up behind her and whacked her on the back of the head with a crowbar. He had caught her before she slumped to the floor, dragged her into his gas chamber, stripped off her clothes, then sealed the windowless chamber lined with sheet iron. From his office he had turned on the gas.

Minna had arrived punctually and - as expected - he’d earned the job at the Everleigh Club. Getting the job thrilled him. It would be a feast. He would have all those flawless young women to choose and pick among — some for love, some for money — and when necessary, he would dispose of them too.

Now, staring down at Georgianne’s corpse, Holmes suffered no remorse. She had served her purpose, given him her money and many nights of acrobatic love-making. Alive, she would have been in the way. Georgianne was just another corpse. There had been so many before her, a few men, mainly women, whom he had bilked of their savings or used for the pleasures of his body. One human being more or less meant nothing to Holmes. There was pleasure in taking advantage of stupid human beings, using them, and getting rid of them when they became burdensome. He had read in a medical book that all serial killers were insane. Holmes felt positive that he was totally sane. He simply derived happiness from what he did. It was, perhaps, a strange but wonderful kind of lust.

Without wasting any more time, he lifted Georgianne’s limp corpse off the floor, carried her across his shoulder to the first trap door, pulled the door open with his free hand, and dropped her down a greased chute to the basement.

Closing that trap door, he tugged at a second trap door which opened to a narrow stairway that also led down to the basement.

Once in the seven-foot high basement, Holmes worked efficiently. He carried Georgianne to a fourteen-foot cedar tank lined with zinc and filled with quicklime. He dropped her body into the quicklime, which rapidly began to dissolve her flesh.

After a short time he emptied the tank, drew on his rubber gloves, removed what was left of Georgianne and settled her remains on his surgeon’s table. He found his scalpel, lancet, other knives. He was proud of his skills with a scalpel, which he had first learned in his youth at the Medical School of the University of Michigan. Expertly, he began to dissect Georgianne’s remains. There was a little blood, not much, and when his wife lay in seven parts on the table, Holmes went to his large kiln, revived the fire, methodically took the seven parts of Georgianne and threw them on the flames. In half an hour, there would be no more of Georgianne except the smoke coming out of his chimney and a few charred bones among the ashes.

After that, Holmes washed his hands, then climbed back up to his asphyxiation chamber to put everything there in order.

With everything neat and in place, Holmes left his secret chamber, closed it, and returned to the office.

He surveyed his office, his expression as innocent as when the crafty yet gullible Minna Everleigh had sat there to question him.

He settled down behind his desk and enjoyed a pipeful of Dutch tobacco. He was now a free man once more, free to enjoy and profit from the Everleigh Club’s harem of pleasures.

It was early evening when Gus Varney entered the foyer of the Everleigh Club. Although well dressed, from bow tie and waistcoat to striped trousers, he felt awkward and strange. He tried to give no sign of nervousness as he removed his derby hat. He patted his pockets to reassure himself that he had no means of identification except for a wallet bulging with the money the mayor had given him and his beautifully embossed but fake calling-cards.

A rather plump, brown-haired, plain young woman approached him. She extended her hand. ‘I’m Aida Everleigh,’ she said. ‘I can’t remember seeing you before. Have you ever been here?’

‘No, I haven’t, but many of my friends in St Louis have, and they insisted I not leave Chicago without dining at the Everleigh Club.’

‘That’s lovely,’ said Aida. ‘May I ask your name?’

Varney fumbled inside his jacket for his wallet, and tugged it free. He made a show of displaying the fifty-dollar bills in his wallet as he searched for his packet of business cards. He withdrew one card and handed it to Aida Everleigh. ‘I’m Jack Simon, president of the Quality Beer Company.’

Aida studied the card, surveyed Varney carefully from head to foot, then smiled and pocketed his card. ‘We’re pleased to receive you, Mr Simon. What do you have in mind for this evening? Have you had supper yet?’

‘As a matter of fact, I haven’t had a bite all day. A good meal would sit well with me, along with some wine.’

Aida turned to lead Varney into the Club. ‘Do you have anything else in mind?’

‘I … I heard you have some rather attractive girls here. I wouldn’t mind having one join me for dinner.’

‘That can be arranged right now. There are three or four young ladies in our Blue Room. It’s early and the other girls will be down later. But I’m sure you’ll find someone available who will be suitable to your taste. Follow me. I’ll introduce you.’

When they entered the Blue Room, what Varney saw was utterly unexpected. The parlour was furnished with three blue divans appointed with leather pillows on which were attached attractive pictures of Gibson Girls. On the walls all around were hung college pennants — Yale, Harvard, Dartmouth, Princeton — giving the chamber a decidedly youthful and lively appearance. The nearest blue divan held three young women, each smartly dressed in stylish variations of mousseline blouses and voile skirts. They ceased their chatter as Aida took Varney by the hand and approached them.

‘Girls,’ Aida said, ‘I want you to meet Mr Jack Simon, who heads one of the most famous beer companies in St Louis, Missouri. Jack, I want you to meet three of our loveliest entertainers. This is Fanny … Avis … Margo.’

Varney acknowledged their friendly greetings.

‘Girls, Jack has come here to dine and have some pleasure. He tells me he’s famished. He’d like a companion during dinner.’ Aida faced Varney. ‘They’re all famished too. You may have your choice.’

Varney’s eyes fastened on the first of the trio, introduced as Fanny. She was an extremely busty blonde, with a narrow waist and obviously voluptuous thighs.

Before he could speak, Aida spoke. ‘I see you can’t take your eyes off Fanny. Can’t say that I blame you. She’s one of our most popular girls. Would you like Fanny to dine with you?’

Varney could hardly find his voice. His eyes feasted on the lush creature. ‘That - that would be wonderful.’

‘She’s all yours, then,’ said Aida. Fanny jumped gaily to

her feet as Aida told her, ‘Dear, take Jack to the restaurant and acquaint him with what’s available.’ Aida shook hands with Varney once more. ‘Have a good time in the Everleigh Club. I’ll see you again later.’

Fanny slipped her arm through Varney’s and cheerfully led him off.

Momentarily, at the entrance to the large restaurant with its silver candelabras, glistening crystal goblets, and lavish floral centrepieces, Varney was intimidated. He’d once eaten at the Palmer House with the mayor’s staff, but the Everleigh restaurant was much more splendid. Fanny had him by the arm as she drew him inside. Passing several other diners, Fanny waved familiarly to one obese, elderly man and his two male companions.

Fanny settled Varney at an isolated table in a corner, and instead of taking the chair opposite, she brought her chair closer to his and sat down beside him. A coloured waiter materialized with the menu, but Fanny ignored him.

‘I think it would be nice to start with a bottle of Mumm’s champagne. Would that suit you?’

‘Fine.’

‘Now, unless you have some dish you prefer, I could make a few suggestions.’

‘I’ll trust you,’ said Varney. ‘I’ll have whatever you have.’

Fanny was pleased. ‘I’d suggest we start with Romano-Beluga caviar. After that, prime roast beef. How would you like yours done?’

‘Rare.’

‘Me too. I love rare meat. It gives one energy. Then we might have some crepes Suzette. How’s that?’

‘Perfect, Ma’am.’

‘Jack, my name is Fanny. You needn’t be formal with me. I hope we get to know each other much better.’

‘I hope so too, Fanny.’

When the silver bucket appeared with the Mumm’s and the bottle was uncorked and poured, Varney tried to

concentrate on his mission. He was here because Mayor Harrison wanted to prove that this was still’ a whorehouse. Varney’s assignment was to go to bed with a whore. How did one go about it? Fanny seemed too ladylike, yet she had served up several double entendres. Varney determined to relax and play it by ear.

‘I know you’re a beer king,’ Fanny was saying as they sipped their drinks. ‘I hope you don’t mind that I ordered champagne. It just seemed more appropriate for a good time.’

‘It is, it is,’ Varney agreed.

She had said a good time. He wondered if he dared read what he hoped to read in those words.

As the supper was served, Varney tried to answer Fanny’s questions about St Louis. He had never been there, but neither had she, so he was safe. Then they talked about entertainment in Chicago.

‘Do you like stage plays?’ Fanny asked. ‘Very much,’ said Varney. ‘Especially Trelawny of the Wells with Ethel Barrymore. I saw Peter Pan with Maude Adams.’

‘Actually, I prefer vaudeville,’ Fanny confided. ‘The last stage play I saw was Uncle Tom’s Cabin, with real live bloodhounds.’

‘No kidding?’

‘But give me vaudeville any day. Harrigan, the tramp juggler, or that magician, Herrmann the Great, or Princess Rajah, who dances with a python around her. I think the best act is “Sober Sue - You Can’t Make Her Laugh”. A $1,000 reward if you can. All the comedians try and fail. The rumour is that Sober Sue has paralysed facial muscles. You know what my favourite fun thing is?’ ‘No, what?’

‘That new invention - movies,’ said Fanny. ‘At the Chicago Opera House I saw The Great Train Robbery, starring Bronco Billy Anderson. It was my first movie ever, but it was too short. Only fifteen minutes. Since then I’ve seen Cinderella,

which has wonderful camera effects. There’s a scene where the pumpkin changes into a carriage. The best one is The Passion Play, which is ten times longer than the average movie. You should try a movie some time.’

‘I will,’ promised Varney. ‘I heard they were coming to St Louis.’

They had run out of entertainment topics to discuss, and silently swallowed the last of their crepes. Fanny touched her napkin to her mouth and murmured, ‘Yum, that was good.’

‘Very good,’ Varney agreed.

‘I should thank you for a marvellous meal,’ she said. ‘I want to thank you.’

She leaned over, across him, her full breasts pressing like twin cushions against his arms, and she planted a delicious kiss on his open lips. Her tongue darted out to find his and then teased against his tongue.

Varney could feel an immediate erection.

Fanny reached down and patted his stomach. ‘How does it feel? Have you had all you want?’ Before he could reply, her palm slid down his stomach, and reached his crotch and curled around his erection.

Withdrawing her hand slowly, she gave him a seductive smile. ‘Or would you like more?’

‘More,’ he gulped, relieved that he didn’t have to ask her to bed. She was plainly asking him. His confidence grew along with the size of his penis, and he added firmly, ‘Much more. I want you, Fanny.’

‘You have me,’ she said simply, taking his hand. ‘It’s only a short walk.’

They went up the thickly carpeted mahogany staircase, between the potted palms and the statues of nude Grecian goddesses, to the upstairs corridor. There Fanny led Varney along a row of doors until she reached her own.

Opening the door, she turned on a lamp and beckoned Varney inside the boudoir. Its magnificence stopped him in his tracks. What caught his eye first was the Turkish-style

headboard of brass, inlaid with marble. Nearby was a window covered from floor to ceiling by red velvet drapes with silk borders. On one wall stood an elaborately carved wooden mantel splashed with gold paint. There were freshly cut roses in two iron urns on the mantel.

This, thought Varney, is paradise.

Fanny was undoing the jet buttons of her blouse. As Varney moved to assist her, she said, ‘It would take you too long to undress me, Jack. These buttons, then the hooks and eyes, and after that my blouse and skirt, and the petticoats, ruffles, and whalebone stays, and then my shoes to unbutton, and my stockings to roll down. It would take you half an hour, and by then you’d lose your erection.’