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 d
rugs, 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?”
He didn’t wait for an answer, but went methodically through Violet’s clothes. He opened the drawer that had held her journals and was about to close it when he saw something in the back and pulled the drawer open wide. Violet held her breath, and released it as he pulled out a brown paper bag.
“What’s this?” he asked, opening it.
Violet frowned. “I don’t know.” She stepped toward him, reaching for the bag.
“No, ma’am.” He pulled it out of her reach and dipped a finger in. He licked the white grains off his finger. “Tastes like Doc Simmons’ headache powder. My wife swears by it for her, eh, her monthly times.” He rolled the bag back up and put it back.
Violet started to say, “But I don’t use that stuff. I don’t get headaches or cramps,” but caught the look on Sharon’s face. She remembered the powder she brought Rose.
“How did Rose die? One of her spells?”
The sheriff nodded. “I don’t see anything in here,” he said to the agents. “Shall we proceed?”
The agents exchanged glances. “Go ahead, Sheriff,” the fat one said, “we’ll just take this subversive Russkie and these incriminating papers down to Macondo, and you can do what you want with the broad. She’s a lot of fun, especially after you smack her around a bit.”
He pulled Gold to his feet. “That’s my dolly,” he whispered to her. “Well done.”
Sheriff Cabrera turned to Sharon. “Your room next. I don’t know what you’ve got against Miss Kitty, but if she gets shut down you’ll be turning your tricks on the waterfront like the old days, and you won’t like it one bit.”
“Sharon,” Violet said, holding out the bag of powder. “This is yours.”
Sharon shook her head. “Not mine,” she said. “Never seen it before in my life.” She turned to Spires. “Tell the sheriff what you told me—about how they’re a threat to all Americans. She’s lying, you know, and a real patriot doesn’t lie. Right?”
“That’s the God’s honest truth, young lady,” Spires answered, more moisture collecting on his moustache. “This commie’s a threat, and you shouldn’t believe a word she says,” he gestured at Violet.
Doc Simmons appeared at the door. “Violet, Miss Kitty wants you… “ He caught sight of the bag. “Headache powder? From my apothecary?” Violet shook her head.
He reached for the bag in the sheriff’s hand. “It’s Violet’s,” Sharon said.
“I’ve never seen you in my shop, Violet. Sharon, you bought this bag yesterday, because I’ve got the date stamped on the bottom.” He opened it. “You must have had quite a headache—you’ve used enough to kill a horse.”
Sheriff Cabrera stood very still for a moment, then turned to Sharon. Sharon, her face white with fear, ran screaming down the stairs. He caught up to her at the foot of the staircase, and all stood silently, listening to the scuffle on the porch. A car door slammed.
Doc Simmons looked at Violet. “Cruel, but not very bright.” And he turned to follow the sheriff downstairs.
Violet looked at Spire and Carson, one holding Gold and the other her journals. “No. You can’t take the journals. I demand them back.”
“Demand all you want. Now that your little protector of a sheriff is gone, I think your fancy talk is going to be just that: talk.”
“Wait a minute,” Spires said. He reached into the drawer. “When that dumb cop found the little drug bag, I thought I saw something else.”
Violet felt the room go gray. It was over.
With a shout of triumph, Carson pulled the keys from the recesses of the drawer. His eyes gleamed, and he licked his fat lips. “You saved them,” he said softly, and she shuddered. “Oh, sister. You are going to pay for these.”
He waved his gun at her. “Step lively, Miss Stone. We’re going to be sticking together while we go through your journals and see who your real accomplices are.”
He gestured with the gun. Violet wondered if he would shoot her. Carson ran his tongue along his teeth. Yes, perhaps he would. She glanced at Gold, and he nodded, almost imperceptibly. Shakily, she headed down the stairs.
“I’ll get us out,” she whispered back to him, but they were already pulling him from the room. She heard him bumping down the stairs behind her as they dragged him, still cuffed, down to the front of the house.
* * * *
Kate came round the side of the house and watched Sheriff Cabrera bundle Sharon into his car. He looked up at her. “I’m sorry, Kitty. I have a feeling Sharon overplayed her hand here. But Rose is dead, and I’ve got to take her in.”
“Overplayed her hand? How?”
“She gave Rose the headache powder. According to Doc Simmons, there was enough to kill a horse.”
Kate thought of the lemonade glass, with the sugar clumped in the bottom. “Oh, my God,” she said. “Sharon? Sharon, how could you?”
“She had a headache. She asked me for some,” Sharon said sullenly. “It’s not my fault she was so high on opium that she took too much.”
“Then she hid the bag in Violet’s drawer,” the sheriff went on.
Sharon looked at the ground.
“She didn’t mean to hurt Rose,” Kate said. “I’m sure she didn’t.” But she wasn’t as sure as she said, and her voice was flat. She passed her hand over her brow.
“You don’t believe me, do you?” Sharon said. “I never meant to hurt Rose. I love her. She’s like a sister, like Lily. You’re the only family I ever had. I wouldn’t ever hurt you.”
“Say goodbye to the Resort,” Kate said dryly.
“It’s that God damned bitch Violet’s fault. Just look there, she’s getting hauled away like the communist she is.”
Kate turned and saw Gold, handcuffed and bleeding, being pulled to the large, black car parked behind the sheriff’s. And following them at gunpoint, was an ashen Violet, and the stocky federal agent behind her, gun in one hand, a stack of notepads in the other.
“You don’t even know what a communist is,” Kate said to Sharon.
“Oh, yes I do! I saw the ad in the paper, the one where if you know something is up, you can telegraph the federal agents that protect our country. I may not read much, but I could read some of what Violet had written in her nasty papers, and I let them know, that’s for sure. I’m getting a reward, too.”
“You won’t be able to spend that reward if you hang for Rose’s murder,” the sheriff said.
“I’m not going to hang!” Sharon’s voice went up an octave. “I didn’t kill Rose! Miss Kitty, you can’t let them take me away! Please, please don’t!” She started to sob, trying to climb out of the sheriff’s car. He pushed her back in, just as the coroner’s wagon came around the corner.
“And say good bye to Rose,” Kate said, her voice catching. “They’ve come for her.” Then she turned back to the sheriff. “I’ve got another surprise in poor Rose’s room.”
Before she could move, a man came shuffling around from the other side of the house. It was the lead agent, Macondo, his face bloody, his hands still handcuffed behind his back, and his pants and drawers around his ankles.
“What the hell?”
“He tried to rape Rose’s poor body. We stopped him in time.”
“That’s not true!” he screamed. “Arrest this woman! She attacked a federal agent! Spires! Carson! Get over here!”
The two agents emerged from their car. “Hey, boss, caught you with your pants down!” Carson said.
“Shut up, you idiot, and get these cuffs off me.”
“Sorry, bub,” the sheriff said. “No can do. If I’ve got a pervert rapist here, I’m definitely taking him in. And don’t go for your gun,” he added, his already drawn. Carson and Spires stepped back. “In the car with you,” he added, pushing the agent into the back of the car next to Sharon. “I’m sure that this l
ady will know just what to do with that equipment while we drive back to Sonoma.”
“If she wants her reward, she’ll pull my pants back up.”
“I’ll bet a whore never got that order before!” said the sheriff, and he got into his car.
“What about Violet and Gold?”
“I can’t do much for them, Kitty. I’ve got to take care of the crimes I know about, not the ones I don’t.”
Kate shook her head. “Violet!” she called.
“Tell Mr. Young,” she called back. “He’ll know what to do.”
Clancy Young. Yes, of course he would. “Don’t be afraid. I’ll go into Sonoma and call him tonight.”
“I have a telephone connection,” the sheriff said. “Want to ride along?”
Kate glanced back at the house. Lily, Moses, Samantha, and Jake were standing on the porch, watching the scene unfold. She walked quickly back to Lily. “You’re in charge, honey. It’s all going to be all right. Moses, take care of everyone. I’ll be back soon.”
“I’ll stay until you do,” Jake said.
Kate looked into Jake’s kind, tired, blue eyes. Then she leaned in and kissed him on the cheek. “You’re a fine man, Jake. Thank you.”
“You’re a damn fine woman, yourself.”
* * * *
“The steam dredge Nevada was used to form and maintain the levees along Sonoma Creek…it did the work of 1000 men.” Sonoma Historical Society
“So, where do we take them?” Spires asked Carson. “We can’t go to the local jail. That country bumpkin of a sheriff won’t let us in, I’ll bet.”
“Back to San Francisco, then.”
“It’s a long drive, buddy.”
“Well that’s too damn bad. But there’s a new bridge over the creek. We can go that way. It’s a shortcut. And even better, there’s a whole lotta dark swampland around that bridge. Maybe our guests might have a little adventure.”
The Harlot’s Pen Page 17