by Matt Braun
“Holy Hannah,” Nell said with a theatrical shudder. “You ask a lot, don’t you?”
“Only enough to keep me alive.”
“Don’t kid yourself.” Nell looked at him with dulled eyes. “Buckley doesn’t have to bargain with anybody. He has a dozen different ways to silence you, and all of them permanent.”
“A man plays the cards he’s dealt. It’s that or run, and I’ve never been one to turn tail. Besides, I don’t like the way Danny and Fung sandbagged me.”
“What the hell? It’s your funeral.”
“Not yet.” Starbuck grinned. “You just give me the lowdown on Buckley, and I’ll bluff him right out of his socks.”
“There’s not a lot to tell. I only know what I’ve heard when Denny goes on a toot and lets his tongue wag too much.”
“How long has Buckley been top dog?”
“Long before my time. Twenty years, maybe more.”
“Jesus,” Starbuck marveled. “He must be tough. How’d he get his start?”
“The Tenderloin,” Nell replied. “From what I gather, he killed the previous boss and just stepped into his shoes.”
“You’re saying a blind man was able to pull that off?”
“Well, he wasn’t blind then. According to Denny, he was wounded in the shootout and lost his sight afterward. His men stuck by him and he branched out from there.”
“Why would they stick by a blind man?”
“Because he’s one brainy bastard! Even without eyes, he can outthink lugheads like Denny. On top of that, he’s masterminded every crooked deal in this town. Nothing moves without his say-so.”
“Are you talking about Chinatown and the Coast?”
“No.” Nell slowly shook her head. “I’m talking about Frisco, from the bay to the Golden Gate.”
“Politics!” Starbuck’s eyes narrowed with sudden comprehension. “That’s what you meant earlier, wasn’t it? When you said something about the second oldest profession?”
Nell bobbed her head. “Buckley is the Democratic Party. That’s why Denny calls him Mr. Frisco. His wardheelers deliver the votes and he owns city hall like he’d foreclosed on the mortgage.”
“So it’s not fear—personal fear—that keeps Denny and Fung in line. They toe the mark because he’s the political kingfish. Is that it?”
“No question about it,” Nell affirmed. “He handpicked Denny to run the Coast, and the same with Fung in Chinatown. One word from him and they’d both be out on their ears. He made them and he can break them. It’s just that simple.”
“In other words,” Starbuck mused thoughtfully, “Denny’s plug-uglies and Fung’s hatchet men couldn’t save them no matter what.”
“That’s the setup,” Nell remarked. “They’ve got the muscle, but Buckley’s got the clout. He controls the mayor and the police department and every patronage job in the city. If he says Denny and Fung are out, then they’re out. Period!”
Starbuck considered a moment. “How about payoffs? The take on the Coast alone must be worth a fortune. Is there a bagman—a go-between—or does Denny deal directly with Buckley?”
“Search me.” Nell gave Starbuck a bemused look. “I only know what I hear, and nobody talks about payoffs. Even when he’s drunk, Denny’s not that thick.”
“What about graft? Bribes? Anyone with Buckley’s power has to knock down a mint with under-the-table loot.”
“Oh, I imagine he robs the city like a bandit. But you couldn’t prove it by me. I’ve never heard a rumor to that effect, much less read anything in the newspapers. He keeps a tight lid on the operation, real hush-hush. They way I get it, nobody but him knows the full score.”
“How do you mean?”
“Well, it’s like he wears two hats. One for politics and one for vice. He keeps them separate, never mixes one with the other. So nobody down here has any real pull with city hall or the police department. It all begins and ends with Buckley.”
“Very cagey,” Starbuck nodded. “One king with two kingdoms. Nobody trusts anyone else, so there’s never a chance they’ll join forces and kick him off the throne.”
“I told you he’s a brainy bastard.”
“All the more reason for me to show up with the money tomorrow.”
Nell smiled wanly. “You’d better think about tonight, lover. Otherwise, there won’t be any tomorrow.”
“As a matter of fact”—Starbuck leaned forward and poured the last of the champagne—“we’re going to order another bottle of bubbly and pretend we’re having ourselves a high old time. When we start up to your room, I want Denny to think we’re sloshed to the gills. That way he won’t get any funny notions and come tiptoeing around in the night.”
“What about when we get to the room?”
“What about it?”
“Do we have to pretend then,” Nell vamped him with a sultry look, “or can we play it for real?”
Starbuck laughed. “We’ll play it any whichaway you like. How’s that sound?”
“Love it!” Neil giggled and clapped her hands. “Simply love it, Mr. Lovett.”
Starbuck wasn’t sure whether she intended a pun. Nor was he curious enough to pursue it further. His thoughts turned instead to the dumbwaiter and the long night ahead.
Dawn suddenly seemed all too close for comfort.
CHAPTER 12
She had the gift of natural repose, not unlike a sleeping cat. She lay curled in the iron band of his arm, cloyed with the scent of love. Her breasts dipped and swelled with the rise and fall of his breathing.
Their lovemaking had been slow and tender. Tonight she had given herself completely, and he had brought her to full and wondrous climax. Her undulations timed to the questing thrust of his manhood, they joined in an explosive burst of sweet agony. In that final moment, her contractions had held him fast, draining him, and she discovered something she had known with no other man. She found enkindled need, and the stirring of emotion.
Now, awake and restive, Starbuck’s thoughts centered on more practical matters. One step remained before they parted for the night. She had committed herself by talking openly and agreeing to assist in his escape from the Bella Union. Yet he distrusted any arrangement based solely on emotion; troublesome second thoughts might later cause her to regret the act. He felt the need to further guarantee her switch of allegiance from O’Brien. Loyalty, in his experience, was determined only in part by the degree of jeopardy one person was willing to risk for another. The greater part of loyalty was anchored to self-interest, and he saw that as an essential element yet to be realized. He wanted her obligated not to him but to herself. A commitment whereby she would lose greatly in the event she was tempted to backslide.
Starbuck patted her on the rump and gently disengaged from her close embrace. Then he stretched, yawning, and swung his legs over the side of the bed.
“Time to get a move on.”
“I know, damnit.” Nell sat up in bed, her breasts round and firm in the dim light. “Why is it the good things never last?”
Her words presented an opening, and Starbuck seized on the opportunity. “Funny you mentioned that. I’ve been lying there thinking the same thing myself.”
“You have?”
“Well, not exactly the way you mean, but pretty close. I got to toying with an idea about the future.”
“Whose future?”
“Yours and mine.”
“Honestly?” Nell said on an indrawn breath. “You really mean it?”
“Honest Injun.” Starbuck gathered his pants off a nearby chair and began dressing. “Course, it all depends on how things turn out with Buckley.”
“All what?”
“Nothing’s certain, but let’s play ‘suppose’ a minute. Suppose Buckley puts his stamp of approval on the deal. Suppose Denny and Fung salute and figure they’d be wiser to obey orders, and I end up with my hundred virgins. Suppose I take the girls back to Colorado and open a string of cathouses. In other words, suppose it all works out
just the way I’d planned.”
“I’ll bite,” Nell said, thoroughly mystified. “Suppose it does?”
“Then I’ll need someone to run the operation for me. Someone like you.”
“Me!” Nell squealed. “You’re not serious?”
“The hell I’m not!” Starbuck began stuffing his shirt-tail into his pants, and gave her a dopey grin. “I’ve got big ideas and plenty of money, but I’m sort of shy on know-how. You said it yourself, when you asked me if I’d ever run a whorehouse. I guess that’s what put the notion in my head.”
“There’s not all that much to it, not really.”
“Say’s you.” Starbuck screwed up his face in a frown. “I don’t know beans from buckshot about anything. One house would be headache enough for a tyro like me. But I aim to open four houses all at once! Think on that a minute.”
“You’re right,” Nell conceded. “An operation that size could cause you some grief.”
“Grief!” Starbuck snorted. “Christ, I’d be worse off than a one-legged man in a kicking contest. Just for openers, I’d have to hire a madam for each house. Then I’d have to figure out a way to keep them honest and make goddamn sure their books are straight. Otherwise, they could skim off the cream and leave me wondering how I went broke so fast.”
“Honey, I hate to be the one to tell you, but the madams aren’t your real problem. It’s the girls! When you put that many females under one roof, it turns into a slam-bang catfight, night and day. Once you lose control, the whole operation could go to hell in a handbasket.”
“That’s my point,” Starbuck said forcefully. “I need someone to select the right madams and ride herd on all five houses. A supervisor or manager, someone who knows all the tricks of the trade. To my way of thinking, that someone is you.”
“You really mean it, don’t you?”
“Damn right!” Starbuck sensed it was time to dangle the carrot. “Matter of fact, I’ve already thought it out, and I’m willing to offer you ten percent right off the top. With four houses, I figure we’ll rake in an easy million a year, maybe more. Your slice wouldn’t exactly be termed chicken feed.”
“Omigawd!” Nell whispered, awestruck. “A hundred thousand dollars! I’d be rich!”
“The sky’s the limit,” Starbuck observed grandly. “We’d make a helluva team, you and me. No telling where it would end.”
Nell’s head was buzzing. She suddenly saw an opportunity to put the Bella Union and the Barbary Coast behind her. The manager of a Colorado whorehouse empire was by no means a candidate for sainthood. Still, it was the only profession she knew, and it was several rungs up the ladder from the life she’d led in Frisco. Moreover, it offered the chance for financial independence, wealth beyond anything she had ever imagined. Which meant never again having to spread her legs for whiskey-soaked highrollers and pot-gutted old men.
Then there was Harry Lovett. He evoked responses in her that were all but forgotten. A sense of tenderness and affection, the deep-felt exhilaration of needing and being needed. On the surface he was glib and conniving, a grifter out to make his mark and devil take the hindmost. Yet there were quicksilver splinters of time in which she’d caught fleeting glimpses of the man beneath the rough exterior. A sensitive man with wit and understanding, even a trace of compassion. Knowing all that, she too wondered where it might end. Other whores had married their way out of the houses, so the idea was by no means farfetched. Harry Lovett might very well be the man for her. A chance for a fresh start and a new life. Her last chance.
At length, dizzied by the thought, she realized he was waiting on an answer. Then, on the verge of replying, a shadow of anxiety clouded her features. She suddenly remembered who she was and where she was. The star whore of the Bella Union, and no less a prisoner than the slave girls of Chinatown. Denny O’Brien always collected on a debt, and she owed him … more than she cared to admit.
“I’m sorry, Harry.” She smiled the saddest smile he’d ever seen, and shook her head. “It’s a great idea, but it wouldn’t work.”
“Why the hell not?”
“Nobody quits Denny,” she said simply. “It’s a rule of the house, and he doesn’t make exceptions. Especially in my case.”
“Forget O’Brien,” Starbuck countered. “Once Buckley gives the go-ahead, we’re off and running.”
“I don’t understand.”
“Nothing to it,” Starbuck scoffed. “I’ll tell Buckley that either you’re included in the package or it queers the whole deal.”
“Suppose he calls your bluff?”
“Not a chance in a thousand. Fung would go off like a skyrocket and accuse O’Brien of deliberately scuttling the deal. That’d give Buckley more troubles than he’s got now. He just wouldn’t stand for it.”
“You sound awful sure of yourself.”
“Why not?” Starbuck laughed. “Once I make up my mind to something, that’s it! Either I get you in the bargain or the deal’s off. I’ll just buy myself some whores from somebody else.”
“You’d do that for me?”
“Hide and watch. One way or another, you’re on your way to Colorado.”
Nell bounded out of bed and threw herself on him. She smothered him with kisses, her arms circled around his neck, and finally planted one soundly on his mouth. When he pried her loose, her face was lighted with an exhuberant childlike glow.
“I hope that doesn’t wear off before we get to Colorado.”
“Honeybun, you haven’t seen anything yet. Wait till I really get warmed up!”
“Tell you what I do see.” Starbuck looked her up and down. “You step out in the hall like that and we’re liable to draw a crowd.”
Nell laughed a bawdy little laugh. Then she turned, wigwagging her fanny, and jiggled to the wardrobe. She slipped into a housecoat and began buttoning it up. All the while, she was humming softly under her breath.
Watching her, Starbuck wasn’t proud of himself. Exactly as he’d planned, he had spoon-fed her a fairy tale and she had swallowed it whole. She was now in his camp, and there was virtually no chance she would betray him to O’Brien. Yet, however much her loyalty was tested, she would come out on the short end of the stick. Her days on the Barbary Coast were numbered, and from tonight onward the future itself would prove highly uncertain. Not for the first time, it occurred to him that the detective business was a dirty game. He felt somehow soiled by what he’d done. All the more so because he’d done it before and would very likely do it again.
“I’m ready anytime you are, lover.”
Starbuck nodded, watching her a moment longer. “Any idea what you’ll tell O’Brien in the morning?”
“Why, I’ll just bat my baby-blues and tell him you slipped out while I was asleep. He’ll never know the difference.”
Starbuck smiled. “You know something? You would’ve made a helluva con man.”
“Honey, a whore spends her whole life on the con.”
She laughed softly and led the way to the door. After a quick peek outside, she signaled the all-clear. Then they stepped into the hall and walked toward the dumbwaiter.
A light fog hung over the city like gossamer curtains. Starbuck stopped at the entrance to the alleyway and checked the street in both directions. The hour was late, and he saw no one but a gang of drunken sailors weaving toward the waterfront. He crossed the street and strode off in the direction of the Palace Hotel.
The fog was an unexpected ally. Streetlamps, shrouded in a fuzzy glow, were visible half a block away. But the lampposts themselves were hidden by the swirling gray mist. He thought it unlikely that anyone could trail him in such weather. Still, all things considered, too much vigilance was better than too little. At the corner of Sutter and Montgomery, he stepped quickly into the darkened doorway of an office building. Waiting several moments, he listened intently, alert for the sound of footsteps. He heard nothing, and there were no signs of movement near the intersection. Presently, satisfied he wasn’t being followed, he
left the doorway and turned the corner. He reversed directions and disappeared into the fog. He walked swiftly toward Nob Hill.
Some ten minutes later, a bleary-eyed servant admitted him to the mansion of Charles Crocker. He was ushered into the study and asked to wait. Embers still simmered in the fireplace, and he soon rekindled a cheery blaze. Standing with his back to the fire, he warmed himself, slowly inspecting the room. The wooden panels were polished walnut, and one entire wall was bookshelves, stuffed from floor to ceiling with tomes bound in Moroccan leather. The books appeared untouched by human hands, and, quite probably, unread. He was examining a framed Audubon etching when the study door opened.
Charles Crocker marched into the room and slammed the door with a resounding thud. His eyes were gummed with sleep and he looked even fatter attired in a nightshirt and woolen robe. His expression was one of acute annoyance.
“What the hell do you mean coming here at this hour? Don’t you realize it’s after four o’clock?”
Starbuck returned his stare with sardonic amusement. “Crooks don’t keep civilized hours. I operate on their timetable these days.”
“Well, it better be important.” Crocker flopped down in an overstuffed armchair. “I’m not accustomed to being awakened in the middle of the night.”
“It’s important.” Starbuck took a chair across from him, lit a cigar. “Are you familiar with a man named Christopher Buckley?”
Crocker gave him a look of walleyed amazement. “Whether I am or not has no bearing on our business. Why do you ask?”
“Because he’s the man behind your train robbers.”
“You’re out of your mind!”
“Think so?” Starbuck blew a plume of smoke into the air. “Suppose I fill you in on the last few days. Then you can decide for yourself.”
Crocker groaned and slumped deeper into his chair. Starbuck briefly outlined everything he’d uncovered since their last meeting. He established the link between the train robbers and Denny O’Brien, then went on to describe the deal he’d struck with Fung Jing Toy. From there, he recounted the conversation with Buckley and the gist of the problems entailed. He omitted few details, and firmly demonstrated the chain of command in San Francisco’s underworld. His report ended with a summary of his arrangement with Buckley. He stressed the time element and the need for speed.