Susan Amarillas (11 page)

A
nother man might have been angry. Another man might have taken her little speech to heart. Not this man. No, Luke was smiling as he stepped off the porch and headed for the stable. The sun was shining. Song-birds chirped in a nearby oak tree.

The lady was something. Her words said one thing, but her kisses, the way she melted into him every time he pulled her into his arms, told an entirely different story. He was right this time. She did want him. Lord knew he wanted her. It was only a matter of time.

Lady, there’s no escape. You’ve met your match.

A smile lingered on his lips as he saddled his horse and rode out. He was headed for the Barbary Coast.

He was becoming more and more convinced that the kidnapping and the corruption were connected. How, he didn’t know—yet. But he was going to find out. He was going to get that boy back. He was going to get the woman, too.

While you’re at it, why don’t you bring in the James gang.
That seemed about as easy as the tasks he’d set for himself.

Twenty minutes and he was on “Terrific Pacific” Street. Gin mills, dance halls and bordellos greeted him.

It was late afternoon, and already the narrow streets were filled with milling people—men, mostly. The Coast was hardly a place for ladies—except certain kinds of ladies, he amended, spotting a woman dressed in nothing but pantalets, black stockings and a corset as she lounged near a saloon entrance across the street. His mouth curved upward in an appreciative smile. Hey, he was a man after all. He could look.

Get your mind on business, Scanlin. Time to do a little of that undercover work you’ve been recruited to do.

His hand rested naturally on the worn handle of his .45 as he pushed open the rickety doors of the Midway Plaisance and walked in. The place was large and square. It had been a long time since the floor had seen the business end of a mop. The scents of tobacco, whiskey and unwashed bodies made his nose crinkle. God, how many of these kinds of places had he been in the past few years?
Too many
came the reply.

A roulette wheel clattered an invitation, which he ignored. Nearby, a dark-haired man dressed in black dealt faro to a table of miners.

Luke shook his head. They had a better chance of striking the mother lode than they did of winning. Too bad they were too drunk to know it.

Edging between the tables, he headed for the mahogany bar that ran the length of one wall. It was scarred and worn, and the brass footrail hadn’t been polished since the day it was delivered.

Wedging in between a cowboy and a sailor, he caught the eye of the greasy-haired bartender. “Whiskey.”

The man quickly complied.

Luke tossed a two-fifty gold piece on the scarred surface. “Busy place,” Luke commented absently to the man as he sipped the rotgut.

“First time?” the bartender commented. He spit in a glass, then wiped it clean with a bar towel that was as black as a witch’s heart.

“Yeah.” Luke thumbed his hat back and surveyed the room. “Couldn’t come to town and not partake of a little...sin.” He laughed, and the potbellied barkeep joined him.

“Well, if’n it’s sin you’re lookin’ for, this here is the place, all right. You name it, we got it. If’n we don’t, wait ten minutes—someone’ll get it for you.”

They laughed together. Luke helped himself to another drink. It burned like lit kerosene.

A bald-headed man was pounding out a melody on a piano so out of tune it made him want to grind his teeth. Luke guessed that was what the whiskey was for. A couple more of these, and he wouldn’t even notice. Sure as hell looked like no one else minded.

The tables were crowded, and getting more so every minute. Cardsharps and working girls seemed to be appearing in proportion to the increase in the crowd. They must have a sixth sense about these things, he mused, turning to lean back, his elbows on the bar. He lingered for a few more minutes, long enough to get a feel of the place, before he decided to move on. There were a lot of saloons and brothels, not to mention opium dens. Those he planned to stay far away from.

He strolled casually down the sidewalk, pausing to glance in a window or two. He wandered down a couple of alleys, getting the lay of the land, so to speak.

After three more saloons and more rotgut than he wanted, he wandered into the Fat Daugherty’s. It was pretty much like the others, a little squarer, a little fancier, in a run-down sort of way. There was still a bar along one wall. This one had a mirror behind it, adorned with a crack big enough to put your fingers in. On the wall opposite, there was a painting of a woman, generously endowed, and naked as the day she was born.

Located conspicuously under the painting was a roulette wheel, next to a table for dice. A bunch of slick operators were dealing cards at other tables scattered nearby.

Luke strolled over to the bar. He cringed, forced a smile and said, “Whiskey.” A man should never switch horses in midstream, but next time he was going to ask for buttermilk!

A ferret-faced bartender served up the murky-looking liquid. “Thanks,” Luke said casually, and plunked down a silver dollar.

He’d been making the rounds all afternoon. He wasn’t exactly sure what he was looking for, but he’d know it when he saw it. How’s that for vague? he thought.

But that was what police work was. He couldn’t just walk up to someone and say, “Pardon me, do you know anyone who kidnaps children or bribes officials?”

No, he just hung around, chatting occasionally, drinking as little as possible and watching. In the past few hours, he’d seen more faces from wanted posters than he had in three years. Obviously he’d been wasting his time down in Texas. All the scum of the world was here.

Speaking of scum, there were a couple of men at a corner table that he’d been watching in the mirror for several minutes. They were dark, and unwashed, judging by their greasy hair, and they looked like they had slept in their clothes.

These two he didn’t recognize. Yet something about them pricked his lawman’s instincts. There was enough of a resemblance that he thought they might be related, but what had caught his attention was that, unlike everyone else in the place, they weren’t gambling or cursing or playing cards. They had consumed an incredible amount of liquor, judging by the two empty whiskey bottles on the table and the one they were working their way through now.

Even with that, these two had their heads together like they were planning to rob the Central Pacific and they didn’t want any one else to know. Now, he realized that this was a modern day Sodom, and the two could be discussing anything from drugs to whores, but still, they intrigued him.

And since he was in no hurry, he settled down at a table in the shadows at the end of the bar.

Shortly before dark, the bartender lit the gas lamps along the opposite wall, keeping the flame low enough to hide the faded pattern on the wallpaper. Why the devil would anyone put wallpaper in a saloon? Luke mused, taking another sip of his drink.

About that time, a woman with hair in a shade of red God never made sidled up to him. Having known a few whores in his day, Luke figured she was twenty-five going on forty.

“Hi, honey,” she said, dragging out a chair to straddle, which left absolutely no question about her intentions. Not that he’d had any, anyway. She was wearing a dress that was above her knees and nearly below her nipples. She had enough rouge on her cheeks to make a rose jealous.

She was looking at him with what he guessed was her come-hither stare. “Buy a girl a drink, cowboy?”

Luke wasn’t interested in whores. But he knew what kind of a life these women lived, and though he knew it was their choice, he also knew most women didn’t
have
a lot of choices.

Become a whore or get married to some dirt farmer. The result wasn’t much different. They still aged ten years in one and died way before they should. It was more sympathy than interest that made him say, “Sure.” He signaled the bartender for another glass.

The woman leaned forward, pressing her breasts against the back of the chair in a blatant invitation, which Luke ignored. Okay, sort of ignored.

He sipped his drink. She downed hers in one swallow and wiggled her glass for another. He obliged.

Around them the crowd was getting thicker and noisier. Someone was yelling for another drink at the bar, and the bartender was threatening to cut off a vital part of his anatomy if he didn’t shut up.

A sailor, too young to know what a razor was for, wandered over to fondle the girl.

“C’mon...” he managed to slur. He half fell across her shoulder, and she gingerly pushed him back.

“Not now,” she told him sharply. “Can’t you see I’m engaged?” She grinned at Luke.

The sailor stared, bleary-eyed, from the girl to Luke and back to the girl again. With an unsteady shrug, he wandered off in search of new sport.

“Business is good, I see,” Luke said, half teasing.

“Not bad,” she returned, emptying her glass again. “Could be better, though. If you get my drift,” she added, her hand gliding up his thigh toward his crotch.

Smiling, Luke covered her hand with his, stopping her. “Thanks,” he said softly, “but I’m not really interested. No offense.”

“What’s the matter, handsome?” she said, with a lilting tone to her voice. “If there’s a problem with the...” Her hand inched closer to his crotch. He stopped her again. “Millie is just the one who can cure you.”

Luke laughed. “Darlin’, believe me, there’s nothing wrong.” Hell, every time he kissed Rebecca, he was painfully aware there was absolutely nothing wrong.

“How about you just keeping me company?” he asked, knowing that whores and bartenders knew everything that was going on. He also knew a whore’s time was money, so he shoved a ten-dollar gold piece in her direction. “Just so your time’s not wasted.”

She looked genuinely surprised, and this time, when she smiled, he could tell she really meant it. She helped herself to another whiskey.

“So what brings you to town?” she said amid the din.

“Oh, nothing much. Just a cowboy up from Texas. Only been in town a couple of days, and thought I’d check things out.”

She raked him with an appraising stare. “Honey, if you’re what Texas cowboys look like, I think I might have to head south.”

Luke chuckled at the flattery. “Thanks.” He poured her another drink. “So tell me, is the Barbary Coast as bad as everyone says?”

She toyed with the drink. “Worse. You name it, it happens here. Shootings, gambling, opium, women...” She sliced a glance at him. “Boys, if that’s your interest.”

“Not mine,” Luke assured her.

She seemed relieved.

“How’s it all keep going on?” he inquired casually. “I mean, down in Texas, about the time things are getting to be fun, some upstanding citizen complains, next thing you know there’s women’s betterment leagues campaigning for temperance and such.” He shook his head in disgust.

She laughed. It was a harsh, tinny sound. “Ain’t it the truth? Everybody knows a man has to have a place to...let off a little steam. Too much...steam is bad, don’t you think?” Her hand found his thigh again.

“Exactly.”

Luke poured her another drink, then lounged back casually. “You know, I was riding around today. I noticed some mighty fine-looking houses not too far from here.”

“Ain’t that a sight? Them big mansions, not ten blocks from here.” She shifted and fussed with a lock of hair that had come loose from her combs. Her arms were raised to give him an ample view of her full breasts, straining dangerously near the top of her dress. “Used to be Fern Hill, before them swells built up there. Lately folks have taken to calling it Nob Hill. Oughta be Snob Hill, if you ask me.”

If she moved another inch, Luke was certain, she was coming out of that dress. Not that he’d mind entirely. All things considered, he figured she wouldn’t mind.

Business, remember.

Taking a big slug of rotgut, he winced and said, “So don’t they get pissed, looking down here and seeing all that’s happening?” He screwed his face up in a frown. “Please, tell me there’s no women’s bet-terment league. I’d hate to see a fine place like this disappear.”

She laughed. “Ain’t no chance of that, honey.”

“Why?” he asked nonchalantly, turning his empty glass in his fingers. “If there’s some secret, I’d sure like to know, so I can tell the boys what we’re doing wrong...when I get home.” He gave her his best smile, all dimples and charm.

The woman swilled her whiskey and leaned closer. In a conspiratorial tone, she said, “You gotta know who to pay, is the secret.”

Luke’s eyes widened in mock surprise. “You mean like government fellas and such?”

In a hushed voice she said, “Exactly. But don’t ask me who, ‘cause that I don’t know. I only know a piece of everything I earn, everything the house makes, everything everybody makes, goes so we can keep in business.”

“Pretty slick,” Luke said in a tone of admiration. “I’ll bet there’s a lot of money goes through here in a week.”

She nodded again. “But it’s worth it. Everybody pays, and everybody’s happy. Lord knows it’s the first place I worked where I ain’t worried about getting arrested all the time.”

He saw her glance around, as though checking the crowd for prospective clients. He didn’t want to lose her. So he pressed the conversation to keep her interested.

“So how do they know who to pay? I mean, anyone could show up with his hand out.”

She eyed him suspiciously. “Say, how come you wanna know so much?”

“Oh, just naturally curious, I guess.” He gave a one-shoulder shrug. “Besides, like I said, when I get back to Texas I wanna explain this to a couple of boys I know who are running a saloon in Amarillo.”

She seemed to consider this.

Damn. He’d pushed too hard, and now he’d lost her. What the hell was he thinking about?

She shifted in her chair. “I like you, honey,” she told him, resting her chin on the curved back of the chair.

“Well, thanks. I like you, too.”
Take it slower.

Another waitress sashayed past, running her hand provocatively along Luke’s shoulder as she did. He smiled.