Coyote

by Rhonda Roberts

  It was almost sheer.

  She checked me over and laughed. ‘I can’t wait to see their faces.’

  Satisfied, she led me and the other girl down a narrow passage to the stage. There, behind the heavy green curtain, stood about ten more girls. They looked like a bunch of nineteenth-century schoolgirl dropouts.

  The madam warned me to stay put and went to look for Gilda.

  The other virgins were bored — chewing gum, smoking and picking their noses to calm their lack of stage fright. In the centre of the stage was a fake marble block with fake iron chains attached. I was guessing that was ‘the block’ the madam had been talking about.

  I could hear a heavy sound from the other side of the curtain. I peeked out. It was the sound of moaning. The main hall of The Hue & Cry was exactly the same as I’d last seen it, and yet totally different.

  This was definitely the X-rated tourist show.

  Below the stage a bare-breasted woman was unzipping a businessman’s fly. He had both hands locked around her head, pressing her down. At the next table, a working girl took her customers at both ends, flexing the two men into a raucous climax with practised ease. Everywhere I looked the pseudo-nineteenth-century whores worked the customers’ groaning faces into that same rictus of pleasure.

  The smell nearly knocked me to the floor. The place stank of sex.

  I shook my head to clear it. Where the hell was bloody Gilda?

  As I watched, Captain Shaker walked up onto the stage, in front of the green curtain. ‘Well, my hearties,’ he joked. ‘It’s time for the main event. Our yearly Virgin Auction.’ He leered at the crowd. ‘I hope you’re all ready to spend big. This year we’ve gone to a great deal of trouble to make sure you get the unripened fruit you came to personally pick from the tree.’

  Customers and working girls alike disentangled themselves to watch the stage with unhealthy anticipation.

  ‘Yes, my hearties, tonight you are lucky enough to see my very special Virgin Auction.’ He waggled his heavy fake eyebrows. ‘My highly illegal auction, I might add, that you’ve all paid extremely well to witness.’ He waggled his shaggy eyebrows again. ‘And some lucky men will be lucky enough to experience … first-hand.’

  The crowd boomed its pleasure.

  ‘Yes … all our fresh young beauties are certified untouched and under …’ He coughed. ‘Too young to know better. These delicate flowers are yours for the plucking … to do with as you will … for the right price.’

  I looked over at the other bored virgins. Sure they looked underage but they were all older than I was.

  The curtain opened far enough to reveal the auction block.

  Captain Shaker commanded, ‘Bring out the first offering.’

  The men got to their feet to crowd around the front of the stage, some pushing and shoving for a good place. Two pirate-clad bouncers bounded up to where we were waiting at the side of the stage and grabbed the first girl. With high drama she made them drag her, weeping and wailing, to the block.

  I winced. Her shrill shrieks gave me a headache, but seemed to excite the crowd.

  She was small, maybe five foot with almost boyish features.

  Captain Shaker looked up. ‘What a delicate bloom. She doesn’t yet know what dark pleasures await her.’ He chuckled.

  A grey-haired man began the bidding. The more the girl wept and shrieked for mercy, the higher the bidding went. Reluctance seemed to be an aphrodisiac.

  That same pattern continued on for the rest of the girls …

  Where the hell was Gilda? I was getting sick of waiting for her to come to me.

  Then it was my turn.

  The pirate bouncers took one look at my pissed-off expression and quailed. They exchanged an ‘oh no’ glance and carefully took my wrists. They didn’t attempt to drag me, merely accompanied me to the block. They left the chains alone and hightailed it off the stage.

  When the spotlight hit my sheer nightgown, the cheering crowd went completely silent.

  Captain Shaker caught the mood and turned back to look at me.

  I surveyed him coolly from the block.

  Shaker looked startled. He signalled to one of the pirate-clad bouncers at the back of the room. He whispered an order into the man’s ear and he took off at a run.

  ‘Yeah, go get Gilda!’ I muttered.

  ‘Well,’ boomed Shaker. ‘For lucky last we have a very special present for you all tonight. A young one … but perhaps not a flower.’ He gave me a quick glance. ‘More a tiger cub, I’d say.’ He chuckled. ‘One who will give you as much resistance as you could desire. Now what am I bid?’

  ‘I’ll tame her!’ grunted a leering fool at the front. He bid twice what the last girl had gone for.

  I gave him a cold, hard stare. He wilted under it.

  But it seemed to excite the rest of the audience. The bids moved up in increments of one thousand.

  ‘I’ll triple that last bid,’ came a deep voice from somewhere in the crowd.

  That shut them all up.

  I was accompanied off the stage to a table in the middle of the room. I briskly slapped away the fingers of every questing idiot I passed, but they seemed to enjoy it.

  My eyes, still adjusting from the stage lights, couldn’t focus.

  ‘Sit,’ demanded a deep voice. A strong arm grabbed me and hauled me onto a hard lap. I knew that musky, male scent only too well.

  He kissed my neck with relish. ‘Hallo, darlin’ …’

  It was Honeycutt.

  ‘What are you doing here?’ I growled into his ear.

  ‘And here was I thinking you’d be pleased to see me,’ Honeycutt growled back. ‘I know I’m very pleased to see you.’ He looked down. ‘And so much of you too.’

  ‘Shut up and tell me!’ I demanded.

  ‘I arrived at Seymour Kershaw’s office just after you’d left. He looked like a train had hit him — so I knew you’d beaten me there. I persuaded him to tell me what he told you … et voila. Here I am.’

  I eyed him with suspicion. Occasionally Honeycutt lapsed into the French he’d learnt at his Paris-educated mother’s side. She was Creole, a proud descendant of the first French settlers of New Orleans. Its appearance usually meant he was about to cause a whole lotta trouble.

  ‘So how did you get in?’ I insisted.

  ‘The bouncer liked the size of my money,’ he drawled. He ran a warm hand up from my thigh to my breast. ‘What did he like about you?’ He paused for a deliberate squeeze. ‘No, let me guess …’

  ‘Oh, shut up!’ I smacked his hand away. ‘This is serious! I believe Gilda’s behind everything. She’s the only one that fits the profile. She’s ex-Navy SEAL, so sniper- and explosives-trained. That means she was capable of setting the fire at Portsmouth Square … Plus she has the historical knowledge to blackmail Seymour.’

  ‘Is that so, darlin’? So you thought you’d just slip into something more comfortable while you waited for her to arrive?’ Honeycutt was clearly enjoying himself way too much. ‘Never thought you’d be starring in a virgin auction … Is this a recent thing?’

  ‘Honeycutt, I expressly told you to stay away from me … and my case!’

  He just grinned and looked me over like I was a lolly he was about to unwrap. ‘Aren’t you even a little bit pleased that I’m the one that, er … bought you?’

  ‘Sure,’ I snorted, looking around the room with contempt. ‘Like any of these degenerate fools had the slightest chance of even slowing me down.’

  ‘Kannon … I can’t tell you what a comfort it is to know that’s the God’s-honest truth.’

  I ignored that. ‘Have you seen Gilda yet? She wasn’t backstage.’

  ‘No, but the bouncer assured me she’d be gracing us auction winners with her presence soon. Seems she likes to make sure the customers are well satisfied.’

  I blocked out the double entendre. ‘Good.’ I scanned the doors. There was one on either side of the stage and the main entryway at the very back of
the room made three. I wanted to see Gilda before she got too good a chance to see me. I was itching to have a go at her.

  I felt Honeycutt’s raspy chin press into the back of my neck and nuzzle. ‘What are you doing?’ I snapped.

  ‘Don’t you think we’d better play our parts? Have a look,’ he ordered.

  I checked around. The other ‘virgins’ were down to their skins … and down to work. ‘Forget it, Honeycutt! I’m not taking anything off!’

  He swung me back to face him. And breathed, ‘Oh, I don’t think you have to, darlin’; what you’re wearing is pretty damned non-existent as it is.’

  His arousal sent another wave of musky scent up my already overstimulated nose. This smellovision was getting stronger, just like my night vision. I felt like I was about to explode … or go into heat … or both.

  Honeycutt seemed to enjoy the look on my face.

  He leant in to rub his full lips over my cheek, whispering, ‘Let me tell you, darlin’, I really do appreciate your undercover skills.’

  That damned Louisiana accent! It made me hot just to hear it.

  His full lips brushed over mine, teasing … seducing. His tongue slipped into my mouth. It felt like hot satin. I groaned, licking it with my own. I pressed myself up against him, like he was a wall and I was wallpaper.

  I wanted to eat him whole, from the lips down … and I was sitting on positive proof that the impulse was entirely mutual.

  Daniel groaned into my mouth and slid one firm hand up my leg and under my nightdress …

  I moaned back, urging him on.

  Daniel wrenched his lips from mine, panting with the effort for control. ‘Darlin’, we’d better stop … or this audience is going to get a performance they may not forget in a hurry.’

  I blinked, trying to regain my balance. ‘Er … yeah,’ I panted back. ‘Okay.’ I bent in and bit his neck.

  He groaned and forced me back. ‘Kannon!’

  ‘What?’ I growled.

  ‘We have to stop.’

  I gazed at him vacantly. ‘Yeah, Daniel, in a minute … just let me …’

  ‘Listen.’ He tenderly cupped my hot face with both hands, holding me away. ‘We deal with Gilda … then we go straight back to my place. It’s closer than yours by at least ten minutes … And the way I’m feeling at the moment, darlin’ — we may have to do it in the car on the way!’

  ‘Do it in the car?’ I nodded, still dazed. ‘Good plan.’

  ‘And, darlin’ …’ He gave me a sharp look. ‘Don’t even consider backing out … or picking a fight so you can storm off. Because if I get the slightest feeling that you would then we won’t be getting off this chair — audience or not — until we’re both good and satisfied!’ He searched my face. ‘Agreed?’

  ‘No argument from me!’

  I peeled off his lap and stood. I had to get away from Honeycutt — well, at least off his sexy body — to get my brain to click back on. ‘Gilda has to be around here somewhere!’ I felt a little unstable on my feet.

  ‘I saw a couple of your fellow virgins take their customers through the door to the left of the stage.’

  ‘Okay, Honeycutt, let’s go and see what’s back there.’

  Behind the door was a corridor, which led into another room. This one, surprise, surprise, was done up as a dungeon, complete with slave chains and pirate paraphernalia. A Madam Lash, dressed only in a cruelly narrowed leather corset and spike-heeled riding boots, was teaching a pair of her customers how to polish her footwear. From the thrashing she was giving them, they hadn’t been very good at it.

  We strode past, heading for the next door — the one at the rear of the dungeon.

  Madam Lash looked up and barked, ‘You can’t go in there!’

  When we ignored her, she pressed a buzzer on the wall behind her.

  I’d just latched onto the door handle when I heard shouting behind us.

  It was Captain Shaker and two of his bouncers. ‘Hey, you! What are you doing?’

  The door handle turned beneath my fingers.

  It opened.

  It was Gilda and she was ready for trouble.

  She may’ve been dressed as Prairie Rose but the semi-automatic in her hand said she wasn’t relying on arrows. ‘What’s going on?’ she demanded.

  Honeycutt tried to slip in front of me, but Captain Shaker stuck a gun in his ribs and ordered him not to move.

  Gilda peered at me, puzzled. Then her expression changed.

  She ripped off my black wig …

  56

  THE BRIGANTINE

  Gilda and her men marched us down the darkened stairs of The Hue & Cry’s old stone-walled basement. Fresh paint fumes wafted up to greet us. From the light at our backs, all I could see was a mound of tools and some renovation equipment next to the stairs, but beyond was merely deep shadow.

  Then Gilda turned on the lights.

  It was startling.

  An old two-masted sailing ship, as strong and as gleaming black as the day it first set sail, sat marooned in the middle of the vast basement. It appeared to ride the surrounding blue-painted floorboards as though they were still waters holding the old vessel in their stiff embrace. The ship’s figurehead rose up, high above the floor, as though breasting a wave. It was a laughing, bone-white skeleton, gleefully holding out a black net to the horizon … ready for the hunt.

  It had to be The Hue & Cry … the Corsairs’d started as white slavers on the North African coast. Someone, I couldn’t remember who, had said that when the Corsairs first docked in San Francisco, they’d used their moored vessel as their criminal headquarters.

  ‘You won’t get away with this, Gilda, let us go!’ I demanded.

  ‘Aw, shut up.’ Gilda smirked at me. ‘You should be thanking me. Some of our more … exacting clients pay good money to go where you two are going.’

  She nodded to her men. ‘Put them down below. In the rear cabin.’ She snorted. ‘That should teach them to cross me.’

  One of the men grabbed an antique hurricane lantern from a table next to the pile of renovation equipment, lit it, and then they dragged us onto the deck.

  The one with the lantern opened the raised trap door in the centre of the wooden deck. Below were narrow, steep stairs. They hauled us down them and into the very bowels of the ship. We were marched to the rear where we were forced to climb down a ladder.

  I shivered. I do so hate enclosed spaces …

  We were in the very bottom of the hold. No windows. No doors. Just the ladder leading up to the trap door in the ceiling above us. The lantern showed there were iron chains and cuffs attached to the walls, enough for maybe twenty slaves stacked like sardines.

  Oh God, what could it have been like for them … months spent here in the pitch dark?

  Gilda supervised as they fastened a big iron cuff around Honeycutt’s wrist and then another around one of mine. Her men left. She peered down through the hole above our heads, the lantern on the floor next to her.

  ‘Do you like my waiting room, Dupree?’ asked Gilda with intense satisfaction.

  ‘What is this place?’ demanded Honeycutt. He wasn’t rattled in the slightest. In fact, he seemed more interested in the old ship than he should’ve been. Guess the Marine in him was coming out.

  ‘This is the real Hue & Cry,’ replied Gilda. ‘The harbour foreshore was filled in 1851, so the Corsairs had it dragged ashore and built their bordello on top of their old vessel. It was rigged out as a slaver, so it was useful for holding their recalcitrant prisoners. Gideon just had it renovated so we could use it for our kinkier customers — when they want to play pirate and slave girl.’

  ‘People know where we are, Gilda,’ I threatened. ‘If we disappear they’ll be straight on your doorstep.’

  ‘Oh, lighten up, Dupree. You won’t be here long enough to go missing.’

  ‘Oh, sure, Gilda,’ I spat back. ‘You’re just going to let us walk out of here.’

  She rolled her eyes. ‘Don’t be so
dramatic. I’m just keeping you here until we’ve had time to finish the show for our clients and send them on their satisfied way. Once they’re gone, you puritanical busybodies will have no witnesses to prove anything.’

  Honeycutt and I exchanged bemused glances. Gilda appeared to be telling the truth.

  ‘Is that why you think we’re here?’ said Honeycutt.

  She shrugged. ‘I don’t know, and I don’t particularly care.’

  Whoever killed River would be panting at the bit to get rid of me too. But if Gilda hadn’t killed River then who had?

  ‘Gilda, we don’t care about your little illegal den of iniquity,’ I said. ‘We’re here investigating the murder of Jackson River.’

  She narrowed her eyes. ‘What are you talking about?’

  ‘River was shot at by someone with military training, someone trained as a sniper … someone who would kill to prevent him from finding Hector Kershaw’s diary.’

  Her face paled with fear … but not for herself.

  I had a hunch. ‘Gilda, just where did you first meet Gideon Webb?’

  ‘Don’t give me that crap, Dupree. Upstairs is just good illegal fun. Gideon would never hurt anyone.’ Her eyes shifted under mine, showing her doubt.

  ‘Webb was a Navy SEAL too … wasn’t he, Gilda? He had sniper training too, didn’t he?’

  She started backing away from the hole, the guilty truth written all over her features. ‘Gideon wouldn’t do something like that. Sure, I know he wants the Kershaw diary … but he wouldn’t kill to get it. He’s a good man.’

  ‘Gilda,’ I said. ‘Webb has been blackmailing Seymour Kershaw … about something Hector Kershaw did back in old San Francisco. Something Hector did to turn the city against the Corsairs —’

  ‘So what?’ She didn’t care. ‘Whatever it was, it happened centuries ago. If Seymour Kershaw cares enough to pay to keep his snooty relatives’ slate clean then good luck to Webb.’

  ‘No, Gilda, listen to me! It’s not that simple. In 1867 Hector Kershaw set fire to Portsmouth Square. He did it just to frame the Corsairs. That murderer locked hundreds of innocent people into those buildings — and then set fire to them.’