The Harlot’s Pen (21 page)

Behind him, Doc Simmons got out of his car, stretching his long legs, and hoisting his black bag. He stood in for the coroner more often than not, when the patient was beyond his plasters and powders.

Kate squinted as, from the third car, three men in dark suits emerged, hands on holsters.
Who the hell are they?
Before she could ask, Moses came galloping up behind them all. And finally, climbing carefully out of the strangers’ car, came Sharon, her color high, with a pleased smirk creasing her face.

“Evening, Miss Kitty,” the sheriff said. “You’ve got trouble here?”

“Come around the back,” she said, glancing at the men in suits. They didn’t look like customers, even if Sharon was with them, and gentlemen didn’t wear holsters to a whorehouse. As they rounded the house she whispered to the sheriff, “Who are they?”

“Federal agents. I don’t like them being here, but they were waiting outside my office for Miss Sharon all evening,” he whispered back.

“Sharon? Why?”

“Dunno. So what’ve we got?” he asked in a normal voice.

“Rose. She had another spell and…” Kate felt her throat close. She’d seen dead girls before, but never one of hers.

“Moses says she’s dead. True?” Kate nodded. “So sorry, Kitty. Let me have a look.”

Samantha was still at her post and looked wide-eyed at the parade of people coming around the side of the house. “Go on back to the kitchen, Samantha. Put together a nice tray of sweets and take it to the parlor. There’s just a few gents there, but Lily and Violet should be down any minute. Stay in the parlor ‘til one of them comes down. Then tell the girls to stay in the parlor until I get back.” Samantha nodded and, looking over her shoulder at the men in suits, scurried away to the house.

Kate didn’t look at Sharon. Federal agents waiting for her all afternoon? What in God’s name was that about?

The sheriff pushed the door to Rose’s room open. Poor Rose still lay there, but Samantha had tidied the room somewhat. It was a warm evening, and it was starting to smell. Kate put her hand gently over her nose and mouth and followed the sheriff in.

“One of her spells, then?” he asked. Kate nodded. “Jeff, check the body.” The deputy looked wild-eyed at his boss. His pallor made the pimples glow red. “Go on then, get going.” The boy tiptoed towards Rose, then bent to remove the cloth that was covering her. The gash on her neck grinned like a devil’s mouth. The boy stood up sharply, flapped his arms and ran from the room. Kate could hear him retching out by the oleander.

“Gotta learn sometime. She used to harm herself when she was in her mood, didn’t she?” the sheriff said.

Kate nodded again. Doc Simmons knelt by the body.

“Same cut as before, and again the cut doesn’t look deep enough to kill her. It looks to me like she passed out, hit her head, and died.” Doc Simmons pulled the sheet back up. “She fell last time, too. Looks like she relapsed. Often times that happens, a second knock on the head will kill you, sort of a cumulative thing even if it wouldn’t have killed you on its own. Looks like Rose was following her old pattern, and it took a bad turn. Accidentally.”

Kate was thankful for his stress on the last word. A death was bad enough, but a suicide was a disaster for a business.

Then Doc Simmons bent down and looked more closely at the dead girl’s face. He wiped some white grains from the side of her mouth. With a sidelong glance at Kate, he put his hand in his pocket.

“I’ll send Jeff for the coroner’s wagon,” the sheriff said. “He ain’t good for much else. I’m so sorry Kitty.” He turned to the rest of the group. The men in suits were inside the door, looking quietly around the room. “Nothing more to see, gentlemen.”

“On the contrary,” one of the agents said. “Federal Agent Gerald Macondo here. The smell of opium is very obvious here, over the smell of death. Surely you’ll conduct a thorough search of the room and the rest of the house.”

The sheriff walked up close to the agent, looking down on him. “I don’t smell anything. These girls were heavy on the perfume, and maybe you don’t get to be around whores much, but their scented water would choke a horse.”

Doc Simmons laughed, but the agents did not. “You can conduct the search or we can, Sheriff.”

The sheriff looked at Kate. “I don’t have a warrant, ma’am. Would you like me to come back with one?”

Kate and the sheriff held a long conference in the silence of a second’s glance.

“No need, Sheriff. You won’t find any drugs in my house, or on my girls.” Sharon turned away from the door. “Sharon!” Kate added, her voice sharp. “Show the sheriff around.”

Sharon, her color gone from her cheeks, nodded.

“And we’ll be happy to accompany the sheriff. According to this young lady, you are also harboring communists, and we don’t look too kindly on them, or on the drugs they sell and abuse, either. Shall we start with this room?”

Communists?
Before Kate could reply, the lead agent, Macondo, dapper with his slicked-back hair and sharp suit, stepped across Rose’s supine body and pulled the top drawer from her armoire. He dumped the contents on the floor. “Madam, you will stay here with me. Carson, Spires, go with the girl. And young missy, there’s a fine reward for your patriotism waiting for you if we catch those commies. Go!”

Sharon turned away, and the two agents followed her. The sheriff sent Kate one last glance, a small nod, and followed them out.

Sharon sold us out. But communists? Oh, my God, Violet and Gold?
“Wait!” she called out and started after them. The lead agent grabbed her arm. They stood eye to eye, glaring. “Oh, no you don’t, you harlot. Laws may be pretty lax out here in the country, but we’ve got a murdered girl, obviously killed over some drug sale, and a couple of traitors in your house. I think you’ve seen the last of your little enterprise.”

Kate spoke very slowly. “I don’t know who you really are, or what you’re insinuating, but you’d better let go of my arm this instant.”

Macondo snickered, and produced a pair of cuffs from his pocket, still keeping a close hold on Kate’s arm.

“Well, to hell with you, buddy,” Kate said, and swung her free elbow into the agent’s nose. The resounding crack was mighty satisfying as he crumpled to a heap beside Rose.

Kate followed him down, and put her knee into his spine.

“Probably not the smartest thing you ever did, Miss Kitty,” Doc Simmons said, “but maybe one of the bravest.” He bent down and used the agent’s own handcuffs to cuff the agent’s hands behind his back as he sputtered the blood out of his mouth and nose. “You’ll be fine, sir, but for now, you’ll be still.”

Kate bent over Agent Macondo. “You’re a disgrace to the United States of America, to our great country, our laws…” she ran out of breath, and focused on unbuckling his belt.

“Keep your hands off me, you whore,” Macondo said thickly.

Kate worked his pants down, and his drawers too, until they were around his ankles. “What are you doing?” he screeched. “Leave me alone!” She buckled the belt as tightly as she could, effectively hobbling him.

“Don’t worry, I’m not going to touch your pathetic privates.”

Doc Simmons took Kate by the arm and led her out of Rose’s room, leaving Lead Federal Agent Gerald Macondo hobbled and cuffed on the ground next to poor, dead Rose. Kate turned and locked the door.

“You’re in trouble, Kitty,” the doc said. “There was powder on Rose’s lips, and it wasn’t opium.”

“It was headache powder.”

“There’s cocaine in the headache powder. You take enough of it mixed with opium, it will make you crazy, if it doesn’t kill you. But Rose never bought any from me.”

* * * *

Gold had pulled on his pants, and Violet still had her stockings and garters on when they heard the sounds of men on the steps. “Lots of commotion out there,” Violet said. “Maybe a dance let out in town, and we’ve got an overload of business.”

“I don’t think so, dolly. Get your clothes on fast. I don’t like the noise of so many shoes.”

Violet pulled her dress over her head. It was one of her fashionable dresses, shorter than the ones Kitty’s girls wore, straight and narrow, with a scooped neckline. It was a city dress, and she hadn’t worn it since her confrontation with Sharon, thinking to avoid any comments about her supposed wealth. It was far more modest than the tight skirts and deep-cut blouses the girls usually wore.

The hem had just dropped when her door flew open. “Freeze!” Violet and Gold went rigid. Then her jaw dropped.

“Well, if it isn’t our old friend Mrs. Toppings, or Miss Stone, shall I say?” Two of the federal agents from San Francisco stood at her door. The fat one with the mustache had a gun.

“Is this your newest conquest?” The heavy, sweating agent gestured at Gold. “Up to your old tricks, and some new ones too, Miss Stone?”

Gold looked at Violet, frowning. “Do not insult the lady,” he said, standing and putting himself between the agent and Violet.

“Don’t, Gold. It’s all right. This agent and I have met before.” Her voice was shaking. She caught sight of Sheriff Cabrera behind the two federal men. “Sheriff, what is going on?”

“So you know all the girls, eh, Sheriff? Maybe you need to recuse yourself from the search, conflict of interest and all.” The agent’s smarmy smile across his fat face sent a shiver down Violet’s back.

“I’m not excusing anyone,” he answered. “Miss Violet, these men are looking for drugs. Poor Rose. She’s done it again and fallen to her death this time.”

Violet sat back down hard on the bed. “Not Rose. Oh, poor, poor girl.” She felt the tears in her eyes. She tried to blink them away, but they fell on her cheeks. She hated to cry in front of the agents. She took a shuddered breath.

Gold put his hand on her shoulder. “I’m sorry, dolly, for poor Rose.”

“Shut up, you stinking kike,” the other agent said. “Carson, looks like we got both birds in the pair.”

“How dare you! You represent our country and use foul language like that!” Violet said.

“If it isn’t the offended virgin?” Spires licked his lips, his moustache retaining droplets moisture. “Did you know, kike, that this big whore used to parade herself as married to a respectable man, all while sneaking around his back to run with her communist friends? Did you know she was doing the nasty with other unsexed females who call themselves women but are deranged, filthy perverts? Is that where you’ve been putting your bald rod?”

“You are pigs, a bad excuse for men!” Gold said, rushing at the agents. The sheriff pushed himself into the fray, but the agents grabbed him, and Carson twisted Gold’s arm behind his back. Gold bent forward, and Carson lifted it until he screamed.

“That’s better, you goddamn commie.” He took out his gun and in one movement bashed Gold in the temple. He crumpled at the agent’s feet. Violet threw herself on the agent, kicking him with her heeled shoes. Spires pulled her off, tearing her dress down the front neckline. Then he slapped her hard, sending her flying across to the bed.

“Hold off, here!” shouted the sheriff, but the agent turned his gun towards the lawman. “Next?” he said to the sheriff. His mouth turned to a line, but he stopped mid-stride.

Spires started to pull out clothes from Violet’s armoire. “Silk stockings, dresses from the Emporium. Oh, yes. Do they know about your last pigeon?”

Violet sat silent, trying to think above her throbbing cheek. She wanted to reach down, stroke Gold’s cheek, mop the blood from his temple, but she didn’t dare. She looked at the sheriff, but he looked away from her.

Lily appeared at the door with her gentleman, and then scurried quickly past, but Sharon stood there, waiting. Violet willed them not to find her journals. She prayed. She tried to send the sheriff a mental message, like the mediums of old, begging him to stop this. But he stood as petrified as she was. And the prayers of whores are not often answered.

“Lookie here,” said Spires. He pulled out her notebooks. She started towards him, and he held them up. But Violet was taller and reached above him. Holding tight, they pulled a childish tug-of-war over the papers.

Carson found his voice and his hands. He took the journals from his partner, and Violet realized she couldn’t fight on two fronts. “Let’s see,” he said, flipping open the pages. ‘I went to Mrs. Whitney’s trial again today…’ Spires, we’ve hit pay dirt.”

Gold seemed to be coming to, blinking his eyes and straining at the cuffs. Then he lay still. His eyes stayed slitted shut, and Violet thought she saw the glimmer in them. In that narrow glance she felt her father’s spirit, his unrelenting belief in the laws of this country. She stood up.

“This is America, not Russia. You need a warrant to search my room. Show me the warrant, or get out.”

“Oh, do we, now? Not when the security of the country is at stake! Or have you forgotten what happened to your Mrs. Whitney? Or your little gift to us at the old jail? Now she sells it,” he said, turning to the sheriff, “but for us, all three of us, and one of San Francisco’s finest, as well, she gave it away for free. Didn’t you, Violetta?”

“You’re lying, for one thing. You never got anything from me—though not for lack of trying. And what’s more, you’re wrong. Your big boss, Mr. Palmer, just got hauled before Congress to answer for his warrantless arrests. The United States Congress wasn’t impressed by his arguments about national security, and neither am I. So I say, obey the laws of America, or get out!”

A smile crept across Sheriff Cabrera’s face. “You heard the lady. She argues as well as a lawyer, and she’s got the law on her side, too. So, in my jurisdiction, you’re out of line. Out you go.”

“You’ll be sorry, Sheriff. You’ve got a murdered girl, a drug den, and a house full of subversives. You’ve got the permission of the lady of the house, or whatever you call her, to search for drugs. So I don’t think that the governor is going to like hearing that you’ve been pussy-whipped by a fast-talking floozy. If you don’t search this room and every other room in this house, I’ll see to it that you’re run out on a rail.”

“Do what you want, buddy. I’m going to search this house for drugs, because I don’t like what I saw any more than you do, but you ain’t touching another thing, or another person, in my jurisdiction. Got it?”