Bury Them Deep in War Smoke Page 9

  ‘It can’t be too difficult to find a whore house in this stinking town,’ Ward muttered as he cast a glance at the gaping hole where the room door had once stood. ‘All you have to do is follow the stink of sweat and cheap perfume.’

  He walked across the room to the bed and picked up his hat, and dusted it off before returning to the window. Although Ward did not realize it, he was turning into his late brother with every passing heartbeat.

  ‘Time to find Miss Betty,’ he muttered, putting on his Stetson and tightening its drawstring. He lifted the sash window and poked his long slim leg out on to the balcony. He stepped out into the crisp night air. ‘And once I’ve found her I’ll make that bitch pay.’

  Ward still had the taste of death in his mouth, and he wanted to savour its acrid flavour again. He walked to the railings and rested his hands on its wooden top post and stared at the activity inside the funeral parlour.

  He chuckled. War Smoke’s lawmen would be busy for quite a while, he reasoned. Then he spotted the elderly figure of Doc Weaver making his way along Front Street to the funeral parlour with his trusty medical bag in his hand.

  ‘You might as well slow up, old timer,’ Ward whispered to the doctor from his high vantage point. ‘Sam Foster is beyond your pathetic ability to help him.’

  The man in black sniffed the air like a hound dog searching for an elusive fox. Many conflicting aromas travelled on the cool night air. One of them was the scent of stale perfume and powder. A depraved smile etched his face.

  ‘I reckon all I’ve gotta do is follow my nose,’ Ward said confidently as he stepped over the railing and faced the building next to the Diamond Pin. ‘Follow the scent and you’ll soon find the ladies it belongs to.’

  Black, brooding clouds drifted over War Smoke, and for a few moments they blotted out the large moon. The settlement was suddenly blanketed in darkness. As the fleeting light of the moon momentarily reappeared, Ward was gone.

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN

  Jonas Ward knew that the greatest abundance of females selling their bodies was down near the cattle pens gathered along the rail tracks. He had spotted more glowing red lamps at that end of War Smoke than anywhere else when he had ridden through the labyrinth of streets and alleyways after leaving the resting locomotive.

  Unseen and unheard, Ward raced across the roofs towards the place where he felt sure he might locate the grandest of all the whore houses. Nobody witnessed the agile man draped in black as he leapt and climbed over the rooftops at a speed that defied the laws of gravity as well as those of sanity.

  Nothing could stop his vendetta.

  Jonas Ward was hell bent on avenging the conviction and execution of his brother Lucas. He had already claimed the life of the first man his brother Lucas had blamed for his demise, and now he was after the second name on the list: the feisty Miss Betty LaRue, whose only crime was to have told the truth, and to state under oath that Lucas Ward had not been with her at the time of his crimes.

  Jonas Ward had vowed to kill them all as well as anyone else who might get in his way. He moved at almost inhuman speed across the array of wooden and brick structures towards the poorer part of War Smoke. The aroma of stale perfume and scented powder filled his flared nostrils as he reached the rooftops overlooking the shadowy streets and alleyways that spread out from the cattle pens near the stockyard like spiders’ webs.

  This part of town was markedly darker than the heart of War Smoke. Its only illumination came from the lanterns covered in red cloth. Ward negotiated the wooden shingles and leapt from one roof to another, and then descended to the ground. He landed in the shadows and looked around the eerily empty alley. He rose to his full height and pressed his back against a wall as his ice-cold eyes surveyed his unfamiliar surroundings.

  The overpowering smell of cheap perfume dominated the darkness. Ward knew that he must be close to the place called the Crimson Heart, and once he found the infamous brothel it would be only a matter of time before he located Betty LaRue. The man in black moved away from the wall, crossed the dark alley and turned into a side street. The scent grew stronger with every step he took as he continued his search. Ward did not realize it, but he was searching for what was reputed to be the biggest and most lucrative of all the whore houses in War Smoke.

  Ward emerged from the shadows and was still vainly continuing his search when a girl appeared out of one of the doorways ahead of him. She tilted her head as he approached, and expertly displayed her wares. The red lamp above the doorway flattered her, its almost pink light softening her appearance. She smiled coyly, and Ward touched his hat brim respectfully, but kept moving towards her. His long black trail-coat tails billowed in the gentle night breeze as he slowed his pace.

  ‘Hello, stranger,’ the heavily scented female cooed in a well rehearsed fashion. ‘I ain’t seen you along here before. Are you looking for a little fun?’

  He stopped and eyed her from head to toe. She had seen better days, but he made no judgement of either her or the choice of occupation she plied.

  ‘It’s kinda late for a young girl to be out all alone,’ he flattered her. ‘You ought to go home before your momma misses you.’

  She laughed and circled the lean man. ‘You didn’t answer me, handsome. I asked you if you wanted to have some fun. Do you?’

  He pulled down the brim of his hat until it shielded his eyes from her and moved even closer. The closer he got, the less attractive she became.

  ‘I’m kinda busy right now,’ Ward said drily as he looked at the ground. ‘I was wondering, do you happen to know where the Crimson Heart is? I’ve got business there.’

  The mere mention of the name of the town’s biggest brothel seemed to sicken her. She moved even closer and pushed her exposed cleavage under his lowered head.

  ‘Don’t you want me to keep you company for a while?’ she asked without answering his question. ‘I can show you a real good time for half the price any of Miss Betty’s girls will charge you.’

  The name of the woman he sought caused Ward to raise his head and look straight into the girl’s face.

  ‘I’m not going to the Crimson Heart for that kinda business, ma’am,’ Ward smiled, and allowed the girl to keep pushing herself into him as he dipped his hand into his trail coat pocket and fished out two silver dollars. The coins glinted beneath the red lamp as he teased the girl with them. ‘I’m a drummer. I work for a big eastern company and they want me to finalize a deal for them.’

  The girl kept trying to snatch the coins from his hands, but Ward was too fast for her. She smiled and pressed her heavily powdered and painted face into his as her fingers skilfully toyed with the drawstring of his black Stetson.

  ‘Come on inside,’ she cooed. ‘You can go to Betty LaRue’s place later. Come on.’

  Ward sighed.

  ‘I have to get some important papers signed before morning, Missy,’ he said, so convincingly that he almost believed it himself. ‘Tell me where it is and I’ll give you this money.’

  She looked shocked. ‘You’d give me them two bucks for just telling you where the Crimson Heart is?’

  Ward nodded. ‘I promise.’

  She pointed along the dark street.

  ‘Walk down to the corner and turn right,’ she willingly informed. ‘You can’t miss the place. Very cheap looking, if you ask me.’

  A smile filled his features. He placed the two silver dollars in the cleavage of her ample bosom and watched the coins disappear into her boned corset. She giggled as the cold metal coins continued their journey into the unknown folds of her undergarments.

  ‘Thank you, ma’am,’ Ward said as he moved away from her and headed to where she had told him he would find the brothel.

  ‘Come on back when you’re finished,’ the girl waved at Ward’s back. ‘You can do business with me anytime you like.’ As Ward reached the corner he glanced back at the girl standing beneath the red light.

  ‘You wouldn’t like my kinda business, Missy,’
he whispered under his breath before continuing. ‘It’s kinda fatal.’

  The man in black turned and had taken only three steps when he saw the brightly illuminated structure before him. He paused momentarily and produced a cigar from his silver case, and bit off its tip before spitting at the ground. A hundred options raced through his mind as he carefully placed the stout Havana in the corner of his mouth. He knew he could just walk into the structure and start shooting if he liked, but that was not the plan he had been mulling over for months. Miss Betty LaRue had to die, but first she had to know why she was being executed. Ward knew that he could not do that in War Smoke: that could only be achieved at Boot Hill.

  A wry smile covered his face as he studied the structure. The Crimson Heart was totally unlike all the other places in War Smoke providing a similar service. Whereas they were small and barely noticeable apart from their traditional red lamps, the Crimson Heart was large and lit up like the 4 July. A couple of buckboards out front were filling the spaces not occupied by saddle horses. The sound of piano music wafted out from one of the open windows, and an untold number of contented voices also spilled out on to the street.

  Ward ignited a match with his thumbnail, cupped its flame and filled his lungs with the acrid smoke he craved. He tossed the spent match at the sand and started across the narrow street towards the undoubtedly popular building. The closer he got to the Crimson Heart, the more determined Ward became to fulfil the wishes his brother had written in his last letter.

  He stopped outside the busy structure and studied the two-storey building. It seemed that each of the rooms behind the windows was occupied and by the sound of it, folks were having themselves a good time.

  Ward’s eyes darted across the structure. Then they focused on the open doorway and the well-lit interior. He tapped ash from his Havana and then pushed it back into the corner of his mouth and proceeded up the three stone steps to the entrance.

  He had only just set foot inside the building when a woman’s voice drew his attention. He glanced from under the flat brim of his hat at the mature woman who was walking towards him.

  ‘And what do you want, handsome?’ she asked.

  Jonas Ward smiled and studied the buxom lady, probably in her forties and obviously in charge of the Crimson Heart.

  ‘I’m looking for a certain lady named Miss Betty LaRue,’ he replied in his most seductive of voices. ‘You wouldn’t happen to be Betty, would you?’

  She fluttered her long eyelashes at the lean man.

  ‘I sure would, handsome,’ the notorious Miss Betty LaRue was clad in a revealing yet expensive dress. Her large breasts were contained in its dark blue silk and supported in a way that enabled them to bounce with every word she uttered. She was attractive, and Ward could tell that she must have been beautiful at one time. ‘What do you want of me?’

  He removed his hat and gave a polite bow before returning his Stetson to his head. ‘It’s an honour to meet you, Miss Betty.’

  She was suspicious of the handsome stranger, mainly because she could sense that he was dangerous. Yet even so, she was attracted to him. Danger had always intrigued her.

  ‘Don’t go wasting your time sweet talking me, friend,’ Betty LaRue said as he stepped closer to her. ‘You ain’t getting no discount with any of my gals.’

  Ward shook his head.

  ‘You misunderstand me, dear lady,’ he smiled. ‘I’m not interested in mere girls. If I have a choice I always throw my hat at the more mature ladies.’

  She leaned back and studied the stranger.

  ‘You look familiar,’ she said. ‘Have we ever tangled before?’

  ‘I’m afraid not,’ Ward grinned. ‘I was sent to War Smoke by my bosses back east to find you and propose a deal which I’m led to believe would make you one of the wealthiest ladies in the state.’

  ‘I’ve already got more money than I know what to do with, pretty boy,’ she smiled as her eyes continued to study the stranger more carefully.

  ‘This is a special deal designed just for you, Miss Betty,’ Ward said before exhaling smoke at the ceiling.

  ‘A deal?’ she repeated. ‘Are you a drummer?’

  ‘Hardly, I pretend to be a simple drummer, but in fact I represent one of the largest companies in New York.’ Ward continued to spin his tall tale. ‘I understand that one of my bosses might have bumped into you several years ago. Because of this he wanted you to be the first to profit by the company’s next venture.’

  ‘What’s your name, handsome?’ Betty asked.

  Ward had to do some quick thinking. He drew on his cigar and then blew the smoke at the floorboards as his mind raced.

  ‘They call me Jonas,’ he said.

  She moved closer to him and fingered his bandanna. ‘Is that your first or last name?’

  ‘Both,’ he smiled.

  Betty LaRue laughed. ‘You’re being mighty careful with your words, Jonas. What’s the name of your boss?’

  ‘I’m afraid I can’t tell you that yet,’ Ward looked around them. Not one person was paying either of them the slightest notice.

  ‘What’s this deal you was talking about?’ she asked.

  Ward pulled the cigar from his lips and tapped its ash on to the floor and then looked at her. ‘I can’t tell you here, but if you would come with me I’ll show you.’

  The normally cautious woman took the bait. She moved around him and ran a long fingernail across his shoulders, then reached over her desk and plucked a crimson shawl off the pink cushion that adorned her chair close to the entrance.

  She winked at the stranger.

  ‘Come on, Jonas,’ she purred like a kitten. ‘My buggy is just around the corner. You can drive me to wherever it is you want to take me.’

  He followed her out into the street. Her swaying hips moved seductively and the man in black willingly followed. They stopped when they reached the boardwalk at the bottom of the steps. Miss Betty LaRue glanced at Ward.

  ‘My buggy is just around the corner,’ she repeated, before adding, ‘It’s the one with a black gelding between its traces.’

  Ward nodded and walked to get the vehicle.

  One of her muscular staff moved from the shadows and leaned down so that his words could not be overheard.

  ‘You sure you wanna take a ride with that fella, Miss Betty?’ he asked the owner of the Crimson Heart. ‘He looks like trouble to me.’

  Betty LaRue smiled. ‘I can handle him, Dan.’

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN

  Doc Weaver had just completed his examination of the dead body in the funeral parlour and had made his way out into the street to wash his hands in the water trough when his attention was drawn to the clattering approach of the most expensive buggy in War Smoke. He stood with his shirt sleeves rolled up to his elbows as the vehicle came into view. His wrinkled eyes squinted hard at the buggy and its occupants as the black gelding raced through the moonlight, then turned the corner and headed out of town.

  ‘Was that who I think it was, Doc?’ Elmer asked as he ambled out beside the elderly medical man holding Doc’s battered tweed coat. Doc dipped his arms into the ice-cold water and washed the gore off his skin. He shook his hands and then started to roll his sleeves back down.

  ‘I dunno, Elmer,’ he grumbled. ‘Who did you think it was?’

  ‘It sure looked like Miss Betty from the Crimson Heart in that buggy,’ Elmer scratched his head. ‘Though I ain’t ever seen that lean dude with her before.’

  ‘Me neither, boy,’ agreed Doc, and accepted the deputy’s assistance to put his coat back on. ‘He was sure whipping that black horse up a storm, though.’

  ‘It seems a tad late for Miss Betty to go driving with a man young enough to be her son, don’t it?’ Elmer mused as he continued to watch the moonlit dust hanging in the night air.

  Doc raised a bushy eyebrow. ‘Just how do you know who Miss Betty is, Elmer boy?’

  Even the amber lantern light could not conceal the blushing cheeks of
the young deputy. Elmer gave a coy grin and shrugged as Matt Fallen walked out of the funeral parlour and stood between the pair.

  ‘What you sparring about now, boys?’ Fallen asked as he rested his knuckles on his hips.

  ‘Elmer here was telling me how he knew Miss Betty, Matt,’ Doc teased as Heck ambled out with the medical bag. ‘He even knows the name of her place down yonder.’

  Fallen looked intrigued.

  ‘What about Miss Betty?’ he asked, as Heck handed the small black bag to Doc. Fallen looked at Elmer. ‘Why would you start talking about her for?’

  ‘She was in a buggy being driven out of town, Marshal Fallen,’ Elmer pointed to the direction the horse-drawn vehicle had taken.

  ‘That woman is gonna catch her death,’ Heck interrupted. ‘Her chest is always uncovered no matter what the weather.’

  Fallen gently slapped the back of Elmer’s head to get the deputy’s attention.

  ‘Who was driving her buggy?’ he asked.

  Elmer raised his shoulders. ‘I never seen him before, Marshal Fallen. He was dressed all in black, and the way he was using that whip he was sure in a hurry.’

  ‘Kinda dumb to drive any sort of vehicle at that speed at night, Matt,’ Doc drily commented as he searched for his pipe. ‘Whoever that fella was, he was sure in a damn hurry.’

  Fallen stared long and hard at the youngster.

  ‘Are you sure he was all in black, Elmer?’ he pressed.

  ‘The boy’s right, Matt,’ Doc nodded as he rubbed his moustache. ‘The driver of that buggy was all in black. Like a damn undertaker.’

  Heck moved closer to the marshal.

  ‘Do you figure it’s that wine-drinking varmint we talked to a while back, Matthew?’ he asked.

  Matt Fallen gave a firm nod of his head. ‘There’s only one way to find out. C’mon, Heck.’

  Doc put his pipe stem in his mouth and looked to Elmer as both Fallen and Heck ran from the funeral parlour to the grand hotel halfway along Front Street.