Demanding Satisfaction [Bride Train 9] (Siren Publishing Ménage Everlasting) (14 page)

They all laughed at tiny, quiet, stubborn Amelia forcing the huge, loud Scotsman into bed. Sophie knew Amelia had done it before and that he’d threatened her with spankings if she tried anything like it again. Amelia had admitted at the time that she’d happily enjoy a spanking from him, not that she’d let him know it.

“I expect Trace will head out with Ross,” continued Nevin, speaking to Lily, “along with Ranger and Ben. They can iron out some of their arguments before the others arrive.” He nodded, satisfied, and turned to Sophie. “How are you getting there?”

“I’ll be hidden on the Tanners’ regular supply wagon. By the time it stops at Ruby’s for whiskey, it will be dark. I’ll slip out and be inside the saloon before anyone sees me.”

“People know Sin and Luke, but I don’t think Cole, Jed, and Zach have been to Bannack City often enough for them to be known.” Nevin nodded to himself. “They can keep apart and be ready if needed.”

“After what Smythe did to Victoria, Jed is not a good choice,” said Lily. “You remember what happened the last time they met.”

“Jed threatened to string him up if he came anywhere near Victoria.” He chuckled. “You’re right. I’d better tell Jed to hang back.” He sighed and scratched the back of his head, frowning. “You women will be the death of me yet.”

“You won’t be the one in danger,” said Sophie.

“Have you seen Amelia when she’s riled?” Nevin laughed. “She won’t like you taking this risk. None of the wives will. But you’re right. It has to be done, and soon. When is Soph—I mean Queenie—going to be on show?”

“Wednesday or Thursday,” said Lily. “She’ll have time to get settled before getting all uppity. Ruby will call Isaac to straighten her out on Friday, or maybe Saturday.”

“You’re putting a lot of faith in this Ruby woman,” warned Nevin.

“It’s the best chance we have,” said Lily. Sophie nodded in agreement.

“I wouldn’t want to be in your shoes when the judge finds out what you’ve cooked up.”

“If my husband kept his promise and spoke to me about what was going on, instead of taking the train to Helena to talk with his cronies, we might not have had to resort to this.”

“I’ll be laughing if you can’t sit down for a week.”

Lily turned her full courtesan charms on Nevin. “If Ambrose tries to discipline me, he’ll discover I have a few methods of my own to keep a husband in line.”

“Don’t tell Amelia,” said Nevin, holding his hands up in mock panic.

“But do tell me,” added Sophie with a sweet smile.

Josh, once more dressed in his dirty clothes, checked the noisy street. A few red lanterns hung beside saloon and whorehouse doors. Instead of giving light they only made the shadows deeper. This was not the part of town where people wanted to advertise their presence. But Max stood where his face could be easily seen. That would keep Hames from looking too deeply in other shadows, ones that hid Sam. If Josh bothered to look, he was sure he could make out his brother’s shape somewhere nearby, a second set of eyes for Max.

The three of them might fight like cats and dogs some days, but they were brothers. Nothing could break that bond. Josh owed Max his life for all the times he’d put himself between Josh and their father’s fists or belt. He pushed away useless memories and sidled up to Max. Bent over, shaking like he was eight hours from his last drunk, he held out a begging hand.

“Smythe’s meeting with his bully friend at the Nugget,” he said quietly. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

“You smell worse than a privy,” snarled Max. He put a coin in his hand. “Take that and get away from me.” He pushed Josh, making him stumble. “Find out what you can,” whispered Max before shoving him harder.

Josh covered his head with his arms to protect himself from Max’s halfhearted blows. He crab-walked into the dark before staggering back to the Golden Nugget. Neither brother would have woken him before morning if he was really exhausted, but he was not one to shirk a job. He’d had an hour’s deep sleep and was ready to last another ten. Maybe he’d spend the next day snoring, but there was work to do tonight.

The bouncer glared at him when he stumbled into the Nugget, but he held up the coin as proof he had money to spend. The man grabbed it and motioned to someone. Smythe and the man who might be Isaac were still in the corner closest to the kitchen and therefore the back door. Smythe looked up, but he barely took notice of the obviously drunk man knowing the bouncer would throw him out as soon as his money was gone. One of the older whores sidled toward him carrying a bottle of rotgut in one hand and two glasses, likely dirty, in the other. She smiled without showing her teeth. She looked like a hag but was likely barely thirty years old.

“Want company, handsome?”

He ogled her cleavage as if interested. “What’s yer name?”

“Betsy.”

She rubbed her breasts against him and turned toward an empty table. She looked over her shoulder with a look a drunk would consider alluring, before swishing her hips and walking away. He staggered after her, bumping into chairs and other men. He burped and apologized, slapping them on the back with one hand while slipping a few coins out of their pockets with another. When he slumped into his chair, back to the door so he could ogle Betsy—and easily watch his quarry over her shoulder—he had enough money to keep himself there for a few hours.

“Yer a pretty woman, Betsy,” he said, slurring his words a bit.

She gave a practiced smile and filled the glasses. Josh would spill almost all of it. He knew how to appear drunk enough to spend money like water yet sober enough not to become a target. Sam was right when he said he was built like a bull. Few would want to tangle with him unless they thought he was too far into the drink to defend himself.

Betsy had a fine line to keep as well. She could get off her feet while she kept him at the table drinking, but she would make more money if she could get him upstairs. If he passed out as soon as he landed in her bed, she could skim all his possessions and have Smythe’s bully boys toss him into the back alley. The more money she made, the less likely she was to be beaten.

He held up his glass with hers and winked. They both tossed them back. She gasped, closed her eyes, and shook her head as it hit bottom. He tossed it sideways, pretending that his hand wobbled, while her eyes were shut. He slammed the glass down and grinned. Smythe and his guest were having an argument and it looked like Smythe was losing. “More!” demanded Josh, and held his glass out.

She filled hers all the way while giving him only an inch. She likely thought he was more interested in looking at her dirty, bruised breasts than his glass. After their third drink she shuffled her chair closer and placed her hand high his thigh. She skillfully rubbed against his cock, which rose in reaction. She leered at him in delight, but he’d gone without a woman for so long that any female touching him that way would have gotten the same result.

“Oh, you’re a big one,” she cooed as she fondled him. “But I bet I could take you deep into my mouth and suck you dry.”

Her teeth were black and rotten, and her breath stank as if she’d eaten something disgusting after a week-long drunk. He hid his revulsion and leered back.

“If you keep touchin’ me like that, Betsy, I won’t make it upstairs.” He looked around the room as if checking to see if anyone noticed. No one did, but he also saw Smythe’s guest had stood up and looked as if he would soon walk out. Josh needed to follow the man. “Why’n’t you climb under the table right here? Don’t think I could make them stairs anyhow.”

“House rules say you gotta take me upstairs,” she said with a pout. She gave him another suggestive squeeze. He frowned as if it hurt to think.

“I need a piss first,” he said. He leaned closer and spoke in a hoarse whisper. “I gotta let my little man relax afore I kin use him to piss. Might take a bit.” He reached into his pocket and fumbled out a coin. “Will this pay fer yer time while I’m gone? I don’t want nobody to grab a pretty filly like you.”

She nodded and took the coin. “Kin I have another drink?” Her hands went to pour before he replied.

“You kin have the whole bottle,” he said. He pushed unsteadily to his feet, glad her filthy hands and mouth were far from his erection. He staggered his way to the door, getting turned around a few times. It showed him that Smythe’s guest was stomping out, furious. Josh tripped over the doorsill and went sideways on the boardwalk. He hit the next building with his shoulder and used it to keep himself upright. Luckily, Smythe’s guest stomped past him, pushing everyone out of his way. Josh reeled after him.

* * * *

“I want twenty dollars before I open my mouth.”

“That’s a heap of money for nothing but promises,” said Max to Hames. “What proof do I have that what you tell me is true?”

Hames looked amiable in his brown bowler hat and trademark green-and-black plaid suit, but Max felt it was an act. As usual, a stub of pencil was stuck in his hatband and the edge of a notebook protruded from his pocket.

“Not only did I hear everything Orville Rivers confessed, I purchased Rufina Emslow’s boardinghouse from him. Did the mighty Pinkertons know Rivers used it as part of his network of spies? No one has a better idea of what’s going on than I.”

“You’re a reporter. Why would you tell me things you could be paid to put into print?”

“I’m more than a reporter,” corrected Hames. His toothy smile held an edge of irritation. “But since I do not own the
Helena Observer
, I am paid only for what is printed. Unfortunately, not everything I write gets past the editor.” He gave Max a sly look. “Perhaps I wish to ensure whatever Rivers told me comes to light. He had his fingers deep in many pies. You know about him despoiling sweet Molly Sinclair. But she was not the only innocent he put his filthy hands on.”

“I expect you hear a lot of dirty secrets,” replied Max. Hames nodded, not quite hiding his smirk. The man was far more complex than the image he portrayed. Or was it just his petty need to show others up? He certainly liked using ten-dollar words. “Speaking as a lawman, I appreciate you talking to me rather than making money through blackmail.” Hames preened at the compliment. Though Max felt contempt for the pompous man, he let none of it show. “You got a room we can talk in?” Max looked around the street. “Too many chances for big ears and loose lips to take what I’m paying for.”

Hames hesitated. He stared at Max’s hand, fingers closed around the gold coin, and gave a sharp nod. Where had Hames’s money gone? Usually he was the one buying a round in the saloon to encourage loose lips. Had Rivers’s death stopped a source of his income? And did that income come from selling girls like Molly?

Max followed the ugly suit through the Golden Nugget Saloon. One sweep of the room showed him Smythe, alone at a corner table. He looked furious. Josh was gone, so hopefully he was following Smythe’s guest. A blowsy woman sat alone at a table with an empty bottle and two glasses in front of her. She glanced at the door, then at the bouncer. He jerked his head at a tall, well-dressed man who’d just staggered in. She put a false smile of welcome on her face, yanked her dress even lower, and went to meet her next client.

They passed through the saloon and out the back door. It was a short cut to another street which held a boardinghouse. Instead of using the front door, Hames took Max to a side door that led to a set of stairs. There was nowhere to go but up.

The room Hames took Max to was a decent size. The door was in one corner, a bed in the next, a set of chairs and piecrust table with a bottle and glasses in the third, and a sturdy desk in the last. A large battered leather case rested on the desk. Max, hands in his pockets, walked over.

“This thing your typewriter? Never seen one before.”

“Don’t touch it!” Hames stood over the case as if guarding it with his life. He gestured for Max to sit. “No one touches it but me. If anything happens, there’s no one between here and Helena who can fix it.” He ran his fingers over the case, almost caressing it.

Was the man that wild about his job? Max sat, leaning his elbows on his thighs to show interest in whatever Hames had to say. The man had to listen to others to do his job, yet he liked to lord it over others. Max figured Hames might enjoy taunting a Pinkerton detective. After all, Max was the one wanting information.

“I expect you hear a lot of things,” said Max. He dug deep into his pant pocket and pulled out the twenty-dollar gold piece Lily had given him. He tossed it in the air nonchalantly while he watched Hames closely. “I’m interested in finding out anything you know about a man called Mr. Isaac.”

Hames stilled for a mere second, proving he knew the name, before he held out his hand for the coin. Max tossed it over. Hames caught it, closed his fist over it, and then sent it into his own deep pocket. His tense posture eased. Rumors suggested Hames was close to the line financially, and this confirmed it.

“I’ve heard the name here and there,” said Hames. “It would save time if you told me what you know.”

Max knew that strategy well and wouldn’t fall for it. But he could tell what was whispered between whores. Now that he was flush with money, Hames might feel like boasting and could add something that might help. The problem would be whether what Hames said was the truth.

“Though he calls himself Mr. Isaac, it’s pretty well known he has another name,” said Max. “He wears a mask, so no one knows what he looks like. He’s hired by whoremasters to control the women working for them. Molly Sinclair and Sarah Frost have personal knowledge of him, but they were blindfolded, terrified, and can’t provide any information. No one knows where he came from, or where he lives.” Max threw up his hands as if exasperated and leaned back in the chair. “For all we know he’s moved on to California for the winter.”