by Len Levinson
A midget in knickers and billed cap jumped forward. He pulled three red balls out of his pocket and juggled. ‘Keep your eyes on the bouncing balls.’
She moved to the side, to go around him. Suddenly he dived at her hand. She couldn’t dodge in time. He grabbed the Smith & Wesson, twisted it away, landed on his feet, disappeared with the gun into the crowd.
Disarmed, she felt naked before them. Somebody laughed. The men crowded closer, lascivious grins on their faces, Chauncy uttered, ‘We best get out of here.’
‘Not me,’ she replied, and plunged angrily into the mob, heading toward the table occupied by Frankie Bendigo. Hands groped her body, somebody pinched her ass. She grit her teeth and snarled, clawing her way forward. Somebody tripped her, she was thrown to the floor. A hoodlum hit Chauncy over the head with a lead pipe. His eyes rolled into his head and he fell to the floor a few feet behind Amanda.
She rose to her feet. A big man with a hairlip stood in front of her. ‘I’m first.’ He unbuttoned his pants.
A sailor with a red bandanna drew a knife. ‘Like hell you are.’
Hairlip pulled a six-inch blade from a scabbard that hung around his neck. They circled each other warily, fighting for the right to rape her. ‘Will a gentleman please give me a gun,’ she said in a tremulous voice. ‘At least let me defend myself.’
‘Take this.’
Frankie Bendigo stood before her, holding out his gun, a smirk on his face. She took it, cocked the hammer, and turned around. Every man before her turned and ran. She tried to discern hairlip’s back, but the tumult swallowed him up. They spilled out the back door, a few broke through a window, several ducked behind tables, some went over the bar.
Frankie Bendigo burst into laughter, hugging his sides. He went limp, leaned against the wall, terns running down his cheeks. Amanda measured him carefully. A young rabid wolf. She handed back the gun. ‘I’ll pay you five hundred dollars to kill John Stone.’
He looked her up and down. A lecherous smile came to his face. ‘If there’s anything I like, it’s a bitch who can fight. Let’s sit down and talk.’
He headed toward his table, dropped beside the blonde, grabbed a breast with one hand, crammed his tongue into her ear. She frowned and pushed him away, gazing malevolently at Amanda.
Amanda stared her down. The blonde leapt for Amanda’s throat, but Amanda smashed her in the nose with her fist, grabbed her hair, slammed her face against the table. The blonde clawed at Amanda’s eyes. Frankie Bendigo dived between them, pushed them apart. ‘Goddamn crazy-ass women!’ He turned to the blonde. ‘I got business with Mrs. LaFollette. And pass the word around. If her gun ain’t on this table in ten minutes, I’ll kill me a midget tonight.’ Frankie Bendigo leaned back and lit a cheroot. Chauncy Blaine, a gash on his head, walked unsteadily toward the table. ‘Get rid of him,’ Frankie Bendigo said. ‘This is between you and me.’
‘Wait for me in the carriage,’ she entered Chauncy. Chauncy’s head ached, his eyes didn’t focus well. He felt like an old man as he headed for the door. Dark swirling smoke enveloped him. Amanda turned to Frankie Bendigo. ‘I have the money with me. Pay half right now.’
‘How you know what the fee is?’
‘I’m paying what my husband charged, top dollar.’
Frankie Bendigo spat into a cuspidor. ‘That’s what he charged, but he weren’t worth it no more. Surprised nobody shot him before. Bet he weren’t much in bed.’
‘On the contrary.’
‘He’s prob’ly the only man you ever had.’
‘What’s that got to do with you shooting John Stone?’
He leaned toward her and smiled confidently. ‘I’m not shooting him unless you spend the night with me.’
She blushed to the roots of her hair. He threw back his head and laughed crazily. ‘You think I’m beneath your ladyship? Well it’s true—I am. But if you want John Stone dead, you’ll do it. And you won’t just lay still with your eyes closed until I’m finished. You’ll give me some good goddamn lovin’, or it’s no deal, and you don’t git your money back.’
The waiter brought a mug of evil-looking coffee. She stared at Frankie Bendigo and wondered if she could. No man beside Randy ever saw her naked. Another’s touch would make her flesh crawl. She vowed no sacrifice too great.
‘How do I know you could kill John Stone, if my husband couldn’t?’
‘I wouldn’t take the job if I didn’t think I could kill him. I’m loco, but not that loco. Your husband was a big reputation, but that’s all. Hell, there’s prob’ly a dozen men who could’ve taken him. You want John Stone dead? For no extra cost, I’ll cut off his head and hand it to you on a platter.’
She saw madness in his eyes. This is a dangerous killer. If anybody can do the job, it’s Frankie Bendigo. A strange thrill shot through her. If I have the courage of my convictions. ‘It’s a deal.’
‘You sure? ’cause it ain’t gonna be no simple roll in the hay. I’m a-gonna show you what a real man is.’
‘I was married to a real man.’
‘You go to bed with me, you’ll find out different. Git that through your head right now. I’m a-gonna screw you deaf, dumb, and blind.’
‘I’ll keep my side of the bargain. See that you keep yours.’
His breath stank of tobacco and whiskey. ‘Let me tell you something, your ladyship. Once we get up from this table, there’s no turnin’ back. Do you understand what I’m sayin’? This is yer last chance to pull out, because from here on, we’re going all the way no matter how much you cry or beg.’
‘I’m ready to leave right now.’
He rose beside her and gazed into her eyes, an expression of victory on his vulpine features. The waiter carried a gun on his tray. ‘Feller said this was your’n, ma’am.’
Amanda took her Smith & Wesson, five chambers loaded, hammer resting on an empty. She walked toward the door, holding it in her right hand. Frankie Bendigo placed his hand familiarly around her waist, revulsion arose in her throat, but she didn’t push him away. The saloon was silent as everyone watched Frankie Bendigo escort the lady in black toward the door.
~*~
Stone sat in the cell. He’d lost track of time. Most of the prisoners slept. Nothing to do, light insufficient to read, food atrocious. He had to get a message to the outside world through thick stone walls. He fretted, shifted position, clicked his teeth. Maybe I can lure a guard close to the bars, grab the keys.
Plan the escape to the smallest detail. Select the easiest guard. Don’t tell anybody. Phyllis Redpath appeared on the ceiling, wrenching deep desire. If I get out of here, tell her how I feel, she throws me out, then at least I tried. But I may never see her or anybody else again.
The door at the top of the stairs opened. The guard jumped to his feet and stood at attention. A sergeant descended the stairs, followed by Slipchuck, Tobias Moffitt, and a man who looked like a high-priced lawyer.
‘I don’t care how many police he fought!’ the lawyer boomed. ‘He wasn’t guilty of anything in the first place!’
‘He shot a man!’
‘Present your witnesses or turn my client loose! I’ll take this case to the Supreme Court in Washington! You can’t incarcerate an innocent citizen!’
John Stone advanced to the bars; Slipchuck ginned toothlessly. ‘That dog of your’n brung me here, so I went fer Mr. Moffitt to git you off.’
Moffitt peered into the cell. ‘Good to see you again, Johnny. We’ll have you free in a few minutes. Just some formalities.’
Stone saw money pass from hand to hand. The sergeant nodded to the guard, who inserted a key in the lock.
‘I wonder,’ Stone said to the lawyer, ‘if you could secure the release of my friends.’ He pointed to Slim sleeping on the floor. ‘He hit a bartender in self-defense.’ Turning to Ronnie Dossick, he said, ‘That man’s been here a year for stealing a loaf of bread.’
‘A loaf of bread?’ the lawyer asked incredulously. ‘You can’t be serious?’
/> Dossick rose to his feet. ‘’at’s all it was, your worship. Ter feed me kids.’
‘Been to trial yet? I’ll appeal. You can’t jail a man for stealing a loaf of bread.’
‘I’ll buy a carload,’ said Moffitt, ‘if they’d let the poor wretch out.’
The lawyer conferred in low tones with the sergeant. They argued back and forth. More coins passed hands.
‘We’ll free the cowboy since he ain’t been to trial,’ the sergeant said. ‘But the thief stays till the appeal.’
Slim followed Stone to freedom in the office outside the jail. The lizard stood near the bars. ‘You’ll be back.’
‘If I do,’ Slim replied, ‘I’ll cut yer fuckin’ throat.’
The sergeant chortled cynically. ‘Nice people you work for, Counselor.’
‘Everybody’s entitled to a fair trial. Even you.’
They climbed the stairs to the main floor, where Stone and Slim retrieved guns and personal belongings. Outside, Stone found another foggy Frisco night. A carriage sat at the curb.
‘Can I drop you someplace?’ Moffitt asked.
‘Don’t know where I’m headed.’
‘Could I have a word with you in private?’ Moffitt glanced around furtively. ‘Sometimes a man gets tired of the same thing. Think you might know a refined young lady who might enjoy passing time with a gentleman? I’d bring her east, set her up in a nice suite of rooms. What I lack in youth, I make up in generosity.’
Stone remembered Louellen at the Westerly. ‘How about a nice southern belle?’
‘I rely on your discretion. You might need working capital.’
Moffitt handed Stone a fistful of dollars, then climbed into the carnage with the lawyer. The driver flicked his whip. Matched chestnut roans pulled the carriage toward the Bedford Arms.
Stone looked down and saw Muggs wagging his tail happily.
‘Led me here,’ Slipchuck said. ‘Din’t miss a turn.’
‘This dog deserves a steak.’
On the next block, they came to Paddy’s Saloon, with two pool tables in the back. Stone beckoned to a waitress. ‘Could I get a raw steak for my dog?’
He waited for an argument, but she walked calmly toward the kitchen. A reasonable woman, you don't find many these days. He elbowed his way to the bar, ordered three whiskeys. The man in the apron filled glasses with gleaming amber fluid. Stone grabbed his and poured it down.
It hit like a sledgehammer. Vision tunneled for a moment, it felt as though steam were erupting from his ears. A clock with a stained face hung on the wall next to the moth-eaten head of a mountain goat. Two o’clock in the morning.
Phyllis Redpath floated before his eyes. ‘Leave me alone,’ he muttered.
‘What was ’at?’ asked Slipchuck, whose left ear sometimes malfunctioned, sending strange buzzes and beeps into his brain.
Stone sipped his whiskey. Don't know what it is, but I need her more than anything. If she turns me down, at least I tried. But if she doesn't? He saw himself kissing her belly button, his pulse quickened.
The waitress returned with a raw steak. Stone paid her, then drank his second glass of whiskey in one gulp. It went down like a cannonball. The saloon became deep purple for a few moments. Then he picked up the steak and headed for the door. A drunken fool stuck his foot out, to trip Stone, who kicked hard. The fool upended, landed on his head. A miner stepped in front of Stone.
‘You don’t push around my pard like that.’
Stone brought one arm up, hit the miner square in the face. The miner went sprawling. A hoodlum jumped in front of Stone, who buried his fist into the fat round belly preferred. The hoodlum keeled over, vomited beer. Stone plowed through the crowd. Outside, Muggs sat near the enhance to an alley.
‘Got something for you, boy.’
Stone lay the steak in front of Muggs. The dog looked away, anxious to get moving. Stone dropped to one knee in front of Muggs, an expression of concern on his face. ‘Maybe you’re sick.’ The ex-cavalry officer examined his animal carefully. Eyes clear and eager. Good reflexes. Muggs’s happy drooling face became Phyllis Redpath. Stone rose to his feet. I'll give it to her straight from the heart, If she turns me down, that's life.
~*~
Amanda LaFollette walked the streets of the Barbary Coast at the side of Frankie Bendigo. Ruffians and criminals stepped aside to let them pass. It reminded Amanda of when she appeared in public with her husband. But Randy LaFollette never went to the Barbary Coast unless on assignment. He didn’t have scoundrel tastes like Frankie Bendigo.
The slinky gunfighter held her arm familiarly, as if he owned her. It made her queasy. Randy was barely cold in his grave. Whatever’s necessary, I'll do.
Frankie Bendigo squeezed her waist, titillated to know the wife of Randy LaFollette was his for the night. I'll show her a few things.
They entered a dark alley with a drunkard lying next to a barrel of garbage covered with rats. Frankie Bendigo kicked the barrel onto its side. Amanda pressed her back to the wall. One furry creature leapt over her foot, but she stifled the scream.
He unlocked a door. They entered a pitch-black corridor, climbed two flights of stairs, down a hallway with the window at the end admitting the light of the moon. The rooming house smelled like a saloon. Frankie Bendigo unlocked another door, lit a lamp. The room was filthy, bed unmade, half-eaten food on a plate near the fireplace. Frankie Bendigo bunched kindling and logs together, set them aflame. He took a bottle of whiskey and two glasses from a cupboard.
‘You look like you need a drink,’ he said out of the corner of his mouth. He poured the whiskey. ‘Here’s to the lady who dresses in black. Here’s to the lady who never looks slack. Here’s to the lady who looks so neat—she makes things rise that have no feet.’ He laughed uproariously, then drank half his glass.
Amanda never dreamed such a filing could happen. Frankie Bendigo stood in front of a mirror, went into his gunfighter’s crouch. He looked at himself poised like a snake, then drew. She couldn’t follow his hand movement. He laughed, spun the gun, dropped it into its holster. ‘Your husband wouldn’t’ve stood a chance against the Frisco flash. Take off your clothes.’ He tugged at his bandanna, eyes fixed upon her. Fully in control, she unbuttoned the top of her high-necked black dress. He became serious suddenly.
‘You must hate John Stone an awful lot.’
‘He killed the man I loved.’
‘So love’s at the bottom of it, eh?’
She let her black dress fall to the floor. ‘What else?’
He drank in her hourglass figure clad in white frilly underwear. With a fast hand, get anything you want, even a lady. But the day you slow down, you ’re dead.
He stepped out of his pants and stood naked before her. He had knobby knees, the beginning of a belly, a sunken chest, and sinewy arms, not the handsome figure of her husband. I don’t know how I can go through with this.
‘Ain’t got all night,’ he said.
She removed her chemise and underpants. He gazed at her naked curves illuminated by flickering flames in the fireplace. I’m really not here. She crawled onto his bed. The sheets and blankets carried the odor of his unwashed body. She lay on her back, and he sidled next to her, touched his lips to her cheek. ‘Remember what I told you,’ he murmured. ‘You can’t just lay there like a dead person. You got to give me some good lovin’, or it’s no deal.’
He pressed his lips against her mouth. His tongue slithered against hers, and she shuddered. Pretend he’s Randy. She hugged him tightly and twined her legs around his waist.
‘That’s better,’ he murmured, holding her butt in his hands.
He’ll never reach me, she thought. This never happened.
Chapter Seven
A shooting star fell into the bay. Stone tried to stoke his confidence, as he traversed the streets of San Francisco. Women generally like me. I’ll ask her to marry me. He fantasized kissing luscious delicacies on her creamy anatomy.
Marie’s prof
ile flashed dimly in his mind, insubstantial and far away compared to the golden goddess. If I can get past the first five minutes, I’llbe all right. Hope she doesn’t call the police.
At 131 Ashford Street on the opposite side of the sheet all lights were out. The building was a haberdashery store and a bank, shuttered and dark. Stone looked up to the second floor where Phyllis Redpath's window was.
He crossed the street. At the far corner, two horses pulled a carriage into view. Stone ducked into the shadow of the bank’s door. The carriage had bronze crests affixed to the doors, rolled toward the curb, and stopped in front of 131 Ashford Street.
A driver and shotgun guard sat topside. The guard climbed to the ground. He had a square, shaven head, a golden earring caught the glint of the moon. Stone heard sound to his right. The door of 131 Ashford Street opened, a wraith in white stepped onto the porch. Tall, slim, exquisite, she moved swiftly to the sidewalk. It was Phyllis Redpath.
The moon shone on precious stones sewn into her white coat. She disappeared into the carriage. The guard climbed topside with the driver, who flicked his whip. The carriage tinned around and headed in the direction it came.
Muggs panted happily as he took off after the carriage. Stone followed, dazed by what he’d seen. She's a prostitute. What else would she be doing out this time of night?
The carriage moved at a steady clip. Stone had to trot to keep up. Muggs loped silently behind the carriage. Stone jumped over a drunkard passed out on the sidewalk. If she won't marry me, I'll pay her price. I'll do anything to get her, except lie. Well, a little lie won't matter much. Maybe if I have her once, I'll find out she's just another woman. Then I can relax and make plans.
The carriage turned a corner and disappeared. Stone put on a burst of speed. I'll make an honest woman out of her. We'll go to Texas. I'll do anything she asks.
He came to the outskirts of the Barbary Coast. Drunkards staggered like phantoms in the vaporous night, saloons spilled light onto filthy sidewalks crowded with men representing every sewer in the world. Stone jumped to the muddy street and trotted after the carriage. From dark shadows, denizens of the Barbary Coast watched the big man pass.