Death In Helltown (8 page)

Bloodworth reached for his Remington when a knock on the door woke him in the morning. He cocked it. “Who’s there?”

“George Smalley.”

Keeping the six-shooter aimed at the door, he said, “Come on then.”

Smalley entered without hesitation, followed by Hope, who moved toward one corner. Bloodworth eased down the hammer and set the pistol on the bed next to him.

With an angry look on her face, Sally rose, naked, and pulled on a robe, glaring at Hope the whole time. The young woman said nothing, but she had a hard glint in her eye.

Smalley leaned back against the door. “You heard?”

Bloodworth nodded. “Sally told me. Was it here?”

“No. One near the Dead Buffalo, one outside the Red River. Same way as the others.”

“I reckon you control both places?”

“Just the Dead Buffalo. A fella named Billy Cobb owns the River.”

“Customers?” he asked sourly, his stomach making a small lurch.

“Sally?” Smalley asked.

“No. Well, maybe. I don’t know. I mean, they might be, but it sure ain’t happenin’ when … well, you know.”

“I reckon they’re customers,” Smalley said. “Take a look at things, then slip back in at night and do their deviltry. What I can’t figure is why. Or exactly how.”

“There’s a mighty lot of loco men out there, George. Such fellas don’t need a reason. They’re just plumb evil is all.”

“I expect you’re right.” Smalley sighed.

“Of course, there could be another reason. You have any rivals? You and Cobb, I mean.”

“Fellah named Axel Lundqvist owns several other places. Why?”

“Would he to his benefit if you and Cobb were to be run out of Helltown?”

Smalley thought about it for just a second. “I suppose so,” he allowed.

“He might be behind it. I don’t say it’s so, but it could be.”

“I’m not so sure that killin’ girls in other places’d do him much good. It’s bad for business.”

“You don’t give a damn about the girls, do you?” Bloodworth demanded.

“Of course I do,” Smalley said hurriedly. “But if this keeps happenin’, we’re gonna go out of business. And then what about the girls?” He tried to sound reasonable.

Bloodworth shook his head. “So what do you want from me?”

“Offer we made before still stands. We want you to protect the girls.”

“For protection?” Bloodworth asked. “Or for killin’?”

“Does it matter?”

“Nope,” Bloodworth answered. “I just want to be clear on what I’m bein’ hired for.”

“We want the killer caught. That’d be the best way to protect the girls,” Smalley said. “Whether you kill him or arrest him with enough proof that he gets hung don’t matter.”

“I’ll give it consideration.”

“We’re offerin’ five hundred dollars, plus extra benefits,” Smalley said, nodding in Sally’s direction. “There’s more where she come from, too. Even Hope here.”

“I thought she wasn’t part of this.”

“She ain’t. But she’s willin’ to offer herself if that’ll help rid Helltown of the son of a bitch.”

Bloodworth glanced at Hope. “That true?” He ignored the hiss of anger from Sally, who stood in a back corner, arms crossed across her chest.

“Yes,” Hope whispered, her head down. But something about her didn’t seem quite right to Bloodworth, though he wasn’t sure what. He had the impression that she was seething under the demure manner.

“You are one slimy bastard,” Bloodworth said, looking at Smalley.

The pimp shrugged. “We want the bastard caught, and me and the others involved in this are willin’ to do what’s needed to see it done.”

“Then I suggest you leave Hope out of it. She ain’t part of your business.”

Smalley nodded once, curtly.

Bloodworth considered for a moment, then said, “I ain’t no Pinkerton. Findin’ the killer ain’t gonna be easy. It’s not something I do. I’m a man hunter. I find out who he is, I can take care of him and it won’t give me a moment’s pause. But findin’ this devilish bastard…” He shook his head. “For one thing, it means coverin’ most of the saloons in Helltown, since all of ’em have workin’ girls.”

“Handle it anyway you figure is best,” Smalley said with a shrug.

“Why’d you come to me and not the marshal?”

“Redmon’s a fine fellah, maybe even a halfway decent lawman, but he has too many duties.”

“Horseshit. He’s got five deputies to handle most things.”

“True. But, hell, you know those deputies ain’t worth mule piss for most duties.”

Bloodworth cocked an eyebrow at Smalley. Then he nodded in agreement.

“Besides, I just think Redmon doesn’t have the right constitution for such a thing. And he’d be useless tryin’ to track down a whore-killin’ son of a bitch.” Seeing Bloodworth’s hesitation, Smalley added, “We come to you because of your reputation, and the way you handled those hard cases when you first come to town, and the scum who tried to hold up the stage.” His voice suddenly took on a bitter note. “And you took care of the bastards who killed Edith.”

Bloodworth looked at him in surprise. “I thought you and she…”

“It wasn’t nothin’ like that. Her husband was good to me, and Edith looked after me when he died. Gave me responsibility, treated me like an equal, not some damned hired hand.”

Bloodworth nodded. “Like I said, I’ll think about it.”

“Don’t take too long about it. We can’t afford to lose any more girls.” He offered a sly smile. “Besides, I reckon you need a job.” Seeing Bloodworth’s look, he continued, “Oh, yes, I heard about you quittin’ with the stage company.”

Bloodworth grinned without humor. “That’s true, I did. However, I did collect a fair amount of bounty money. I ain’t hurtin’ for spendin’ cash. I’ll give your offer due consideration and let you know.”

“Just be quick,” he warned, though both knew it was a toothless threat. He opened the door. “Come, Hope.”

As the young woman shuffled to the door, Bloodworth winked at her. She offered the slightest smile, but there was little humor in it; Bloodworth thought he detected bitterness.

When they had left, Sally cast off the robe and climbed back into bed. She snuggled up against Bloodworth. A shiver rattled her. “I’m scared, Harlan,” she said.

**  **  **  **  **

“May I?” Redmon asked, hand on the back of a chair across the table from Bloodworth.

“Don’t see why not. You hungry?”

“I could do with a bite,” the lawman allowed.

Bloodworth called over the waiter, and when he had taken Redmon’s order, Bloodworth asked, “So what brings you to my table, Marshal?”

“Got a job you might like.”

“I’ve already had a job offer.”

“I heard.” He paused as the waiter set down a plate of eggs and ham slices and a mug of coffee, then disappeared. “I ain’t heard that you took it, though.”

“I’m cogitating on it.”

“Seems wise.” He slurped down some coffee, then shoved a forkful of ham and eggs into his maw.

Bloodworth continued eating in a more sedate manner. When he saw that Redmon had finished his mouthful of food, he asked, “So what’s this job offer you have for me?”

“Escortin’ a woman to Fort Larned.”

“A woman?” He was suspicious.

“Fine woman. An officer’s wife. He was supposed to meet her here at the train. But he was sent on a patrol and telegraphed her—and me—asking to have someone take her to the fort.”

“Send one of your deputies.”

“Ain’t part of their duties. And it’s out of our jurisdiction. You don’t have that problem.” He paused for another large mouthful of food. “Besides,” he added, putting down his fork, “I don’t trust a none of ’em with a high-class woman on the trail for two, three days.”

“That long, eh? Long time to have to be carin’ for some Eastern woman who ain’t used to hard doings and trail life.”

“Another reason I’d be obliged if you were to take the job.”

“How much you payin’?”

“You should be doin’ this out of the kindness of your heart,” Redmon said with a straight face. He sipped some coffee, watching Bloodworth over the rim of the tin mug.

“Horseshit.” He leaned back and fired up a slim cigar with a match scraped across the surface of the rough table.

“A hundred.”

Bloodworth looked skeptically at him.

“All right, dammit, two hundred.” He set down his cup a lot harder than was necessary.

“Supplies?”

“Whatever you need. Includin’ a carriage and a good horse to pull it.”

“Damn. I hate drivin’ a carriage. But it does give us some room to carry grub and cover.”

“So you’ll take it?”

“Reckon so. When do we leave?”

“This afternoon, if you’re agreeable. She’s eager to reunite with her husband.”

Bloodworth nodded. “Might as well get stared as soon as we can. Have her be ready in an hour. That’ll give us more time to travel today. I’ll stop at the mercantile and get what we’ll need and have them load it on the carriage. Have my horse saddled and tied to the back of the carriage. We’ll pull out soon’s that’s done.”

He rose, dropped some paper money on the table. “Don’t go pickin’ that up, Marshal,” he warned as he left.

**  **  **  **  **

Mrs. Catherine Langhorn turned out to be a tall, striking redhead. She was beautiful in a sharp faced way, and seemed as if she was tough.

“You are a good escort?” she asked straight away.

“Depends on what you mean by an escort. I can drive a carriage and set up a camp. I’ll be company if that’s your desire. I don’t do the cookin’.”

She glared at him for a moment, before her eyes drifted to the Remington in the cross-draw holster and the shotgun in his hand. “And you are a good protector?”

“Beggin’ pardon, ma’am, but I ain’t a stable mucker outer. I was, Redmon would not’ve asked me to do this. You rather have someone else, I’ll take my leave.”

Suddenly, Mrs. Langhorn smiled. “You’ll do for certain, Mr. Bloodworth. And know that I will be no trouble on the trail. I’ve been in frontier forts before.” Without hesitation, she held her skirts and climbed up into the carriage. Bloodworth shoved the scattergun on the floor and hiked up beside her. He clucked the horse into motion.

The journey was not unpleasant. Mrs. Langhorn was an amiable companion and did not complain even when a thunderstorm swept over them. She cooked and cleaned up afterward without fretting while Bloodworth tended to the animals. Still, he was glad to be shed of her when they got to the fort. Bloodworth suffered Captain Langhorn’s thanks, agreed to his invitation of a dinner and brandy and accepted his offer of a soft bed.

He left the next morning, and wasted no time on his journey.

**  **  **  **  **

Arriving back in Dodge, Bloodworth turned his horse over to the liveryman, went to his room and dropped off his gear. He strolled over the barbershop/bath house. He was relaxing in a steaming tub, a cigar dangling from his lips when George Smalley entered the small room.

“Mighty rude of you, George,” he said in annoyance.

“I got to talk to you.”

“I’m still thinkin’ on your offer.”

“That ain’t it. At least not directly.”

“Whatever it is, it can wait.”

“No, Mr. Bloodworth, it cannot.”

Bloodworth’s brows knitted. “Out with it, then.”

“Sally’s dead. Killed like the others.”

“When?” Bloodworth asked, voice harsh and grim.

“Two nights ago.”

“She buried yet?”

“No. I was planning to do so tomorrow.

Bloodworth nodded. “Wait outside.” When Smalley had left the room, Bloodworth hurriedly dried off and donned his fresh, clean clothes. He slid the backup gun into the holster at the small of his back and buckled on his main holster. Then he stepped outside. “Where is she?”

“Bock’s Mortuary.”

Without waiting to see if Smalley followed, he moved purposely down the street and pushed his way into the mortuary.

“To the left,” Smalley said from behind.

Bloodworth shoved past the mortician, who was far meeker than usual, and into the small room lit only by two gas lamps. It was not set up as a viewing room, simply as a holding spot. She was naked, looking small and pale. “Why’s she like this?” he asked the mortician through gritted teeth.

“Someone was supposed to bring her a dress a little while ago. For the burial.”

Bloodworth turned his hot gaze on Smalley. “Where is it?”

“Don’t know,” he mumbled. “But I’ll find out.”

“Do that.” Bloodworth took a long look at Sally’s body, taking in the bruises and knife marks. One of her breasts had been deeply sliced, and the other was missing its nipple. Someone had obviously started to cut up her genitals. 

“Cover her,” he ordered. Facing Smalley, he asked, “Were they all this bad?”

“No. She’s the worst.”

Bloodworth could tell by Smalley’s voice that he had more to say. “Speak up if you know something.”

Still Smalley hesitated before he said, in a voice that was small for him. “Where were you night before last?”

Bloodworth’s eyes burned, his nostrils flared. “You accusin’ me of killin’ Sally?” he asked, voice harsh and rasping.

The pimp cleared his throat nervously. He was usually a tough man, or so he liked to think of himself. But staring into this hard man’s eyes chilled him to the marrow. “Seems odd,” he said hesitatingly, “that she turned up dead just after you two had some kind of tiff. At least Sam says you did.”

Bloodworth ignored the mortician who had tentatively entered the room with a blanket. He gently covered Sally’s body, glancing fearfully at Bloodworth as he did so.

“I have no cause to answer to you,” Bloodworth responded tightly. “But to put your mind to rest, we had a few words over a job I was hired for. None were harsh, and she got over it right quick.” He paused to get control of the anger coursing through his veins. Finally, “But if you’re still of a suspicious mind, telegraph Fort Larned and check with a Captain Langhorn and his wife.”

Smalley gulped, realizing how close he had come to being killed. Then he nodded. “Sorry,” he mumbled.

Bloodworth continued to glare at him in rage. Finally he asked, “Your offer still open?”

Bloodworth nodded nervously. “Yep. Five hundred dollars and all the quim you want, free.”

“A thousand.”

“A thousand dollars?” Smalley sputtered.

“A thousand dollars,” Bloodworth confirmed.

“You’re a goddamn thief, Bloodworth,” Smalley snapped, forgetting for a moment who he was talking to.

The bounty man shrugged. “Five hundred for each.”

“Each?” Smalley cocked his head in question. “There was two?”

“At least. Maybe more, but I think two.” A new burst of fury washed over him.

“You’re sure?”

“Yes. Don’t know how I know. I just do.

“I’ll have to talk it over with my associates.”

“No. You make your decision now.”

“Ain’t you angry enough to do this for free? For Sally?” His voice was drenched in fear.

“For Sally, maybe. But I don’t like you or your ilk. And know that you’ll pay one way or another, because as soon as I finish the job I’d be coming for you and the others.”

Bloodworth thought Smalley was going to faint, but then the pimp said, “You have a deal, Mr. Bloodworth.” Gathering up his courage, he added, “But you will not get the money until you solve our problem.” He reached out to shake hands.

Bloodworth continued to stare at Smalley for a moment, then nodded. He shook Smalley’s hand. “You do know,” he said, “that if I am successful and you do not pay me, there will be consequences.”

Remembering just what kind of man Bloodworth was, he agreed as the fear returned in full force. “The money will be there. Don’t you worry about that. Should my fellow business acquaintance cause a fuss over it, I will put up the money from my own pocket.”

“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.