Five Belles to Hell

by Tony Masero

  Dane took a casual slug from his bottle and looked out over at the Negro gardeners in an unconcerned manner. ‘What you going to?’ he asked. ‘Shoot us all down.’

  Lomas rotated his pistol to center on Devlin and his secretive gun.

  ‘Now you could pull that weapon,’ he warned. ‘But at this short range I reckon I could put one through your whore there and straight into you, so I wouldn’t recommend it.’

  ‘I ain’t a whore!’ complained the redhead angrily.

  ‘Whore or not,’ said Lomas. ‘Your boy there pulls out that leg iron and you’ll be one dead floozy alongside him.’

  ‘You hear that, Devlin?’ the woman whined. ‘You going to let him talk to me like that?’

  ‘Shut up,’ growled Devlin, reluctantly releasing his hold on the pistol butt as he read the intention in Lomas’s eye and believed it.

  ‘You some kind of hard man, are you?’ asked Dane, with a confident half-smile.

  Lomas was getting riled now; the sight of these men lying across the steps of his sister’s house sent a wave of anger and resentment through him.

  ‘Hard enough for the likes of you, buster. Now I want you to get your sorry ass’s off these steps, stand up like men instead of the scum you are and get out of my way.’

  ‘Fuck you,’ cursed Corinth scathingly.

  That was enough for Lomas and he fired his Colt from the waist without taking aim. He had not cared whether he killed the man or not he was so irritated. As it happened the single shot clipped Corinth in the ear and ripped off the lobe.

  All the men leapt up at the gunshot as Corinth yowled and clutched at his torn ear.

  ‘You bastard!’ he screamed. ‘You fucking bastard.’

  They all stood frozen on their feet and the redhead murmured complaint from where she had been dumped as Devlin jumped up.

  ‘You listening now?’ asked Lomas, his gun unwavering as it covered them all. ‘Shed the hardware,’ he commanded, poking his gun in the direction of their pistol belts.

  ‘Who the hell are you?’ asked Dane as he sullenly complied.

  ‘Someone you don’t want to meet again, sergeant,’ promised Lomas.

  The house doors flew open and Sweet Dean and Wayland burst out onto the top steps.

  ‘What’s going on here, who’s doing all the shooting?’ asked Sweet Dean loudly.

  ‘You are Sweet Dean Pye?’ asked Lomas, still keeping his seat on the pony and waving the Colt in the man’s direction.

  ‘I am Agent Pye,’ said Sweet Dean, taking a cautious step back so that he was closer to Wayland. ‘What’s your business here?’

  ‘He shot off my damned ear,’ howled Corinth. ‘I want him dead, you hear me.’

  ‘Lucky it wasn’t your damned fool head,’ observed Wayland calmly. ‘I fancy our friend here can put a slug where he wants. Is that right, sir?’

  Lomas jerked his head in agreement. ‘I come here to ask a simple question,’ he said. ‘Afraid your little gang of assholes here couldn’t give straight answer, maybe you can?’

  ‘Ask away,’ said Wayland, his sharp eyes fixing on Lomas.

  ‘My name’s Lomas Bell and I come looking for my sister, Ladybell Rolfe. Any of you boys know where she is?’

  ‘She’s gone away,’ burst out Sweet Dean.

  ‘I can see that, fat man, or none of you deadbeats would be defiling her front porch. I want to know where she is.’

  ‘Watch your mouth,’ advised Sweet Dean bombastically. ‘I’ll have you know I’m the agent and governmental representative for this county. You best mind your manners.’

  ‘Where’s my sister?’ Lomas insisted.

  ‘I have no idea,’ Sweet Dean spat back. ‘This property was confiscated under due process by the Bureau of Refugees, Freedmen and Abandoned Lands and the woman took off, where to, I have no idea.’

  Both Dane and Devlin were edging their way along to either side of the steps and Lomas smiled thinly at the movement.

  ‘You fellas, like that thing dangling between your legs?’ he asked. ‘You want to keep it, then you’d best stand still.’

  Both men froze and Devlin instinctively crossed his hands over his Crown Jewels.

  ‘Now I believe you know where my sister went and I advise you to come clean before I get real annoyed. Best tell me she’s alive and safe too or there will be hell to pay, I assure you.’

  ‘She is alive,’ confirmed Sweet Dean, grateful he had seen it was so. ‘We are no common murderers here; we only carry out the strictures of the law. The house was confiscated on the grounds of offering succor to the enemy during the recent conflict.’

  ‘And you took up residence real quick, is that right, fat man?’

  ‘This place is bought and paid for entirely legitimately,’ said the red-faced Sweet Dean.

  ‘Is that right? Care to tell me just how much that fee amounted to?’

  Lomas noted the slow smile of satisfaction spreading over Sweet Dean’s face, then too late he felt the rifle barrel jab into the small of his back.

  ‘Best lay down that pistol, hotshot,’ said Little Wait from behind him, as he loudly levered a shell into his Winchester. ‘I’d as soon as put one through your liver as not.’

  They had him cold and Lomas knew it. He lowered his revolver as Dane and Devlin rushed forward with cries of victory and dragged him from the pony.

  ‘Let me at him,’ roared Corinth, rushing forward. ‘I’ll gut him from crotch to chin.’

  ‘Wait!’ barked Wayland. ‘Hold him there.’

  As the two held Lomas firmly between them, Wayland took his time and came down the steps slowly to stand before Lomas, when there he peered deeply into the Marshal’s eyes. Then he reached out and flicked aside Lomas’s lapel to reveal the tin star pinned to his vest out of sight.

  ‘So,’ he said. ‘A lawman.’

  ‘A lawman!’ repeated Sweet Dean in nervous surprise, coming down the steps to join them.

  ‘He’s outside of his territory here,’ Corinth pressed. ‘He don’t have no rights. We can make him vanish like he was never here, Captain. Let me do it.’

  ‘That what you did to my little sister, you prick?’ snapped Lomas.

  ‘Why you…’ snarled Corinth, pulling back his fist and punching Lomas full in the face. Lomas’s head rocked back and blood spurted from his nose.

  ‘Bring him inside,’ ordered Wayland.

  ‘What does this mean?’ asked Sweet Dean, his face crossed by a worried frown. ‘Why would the law be here?’

  ‘That’s what we’ll find out,’ promised Wayland.

  As they carried Lomas up the steps, Devlin’s woman who was brushing down her skirts, started to complain loudly at the treatment she received and Wayland looked across at her disdainfully.

  ‘Corporal Devlin, will you get this trash out of here? If you will keep these harlots at least take them somewhere out of sight.’

  ‘Yes, indeed,’ agreed Sweet Dean pompously. ‘They lower the tone of the whole place.’

  ‘I’ll see to it, Captain,’ said Devlin obediently, with a warning look at the woman. ‘What shall we do with this one?’

  ‘Take him into the drawing room, make sure he is bound safe then we’ll have a few questions for him.’

  ‘Let me question him, Captain?’ begged Corinth, his hands and shoulder soaked with blood from his lobe-less ear.

  Little Wait allowed a slow smile to spread across his stoic Indian features. ‘He give you an ear full, did he?’

  ‘Shut up,’ snapped Corinth resentfully, as he nursed his wounded lobe. ‘He’ll pay for it, have no fear.’

  They sat Lomas down in one of the classical chairs that Sweet Dean had lifted from another fine house and lashed him in place with a coil of rope. The room was well appointed now after its earlier poorer days. Elegant furnishings filled the room, and expensive drapes hung on the windows with lush carpeting underfoot. All of it had been appropriated with Sweet Dean’s dubious rights under government stricture.

>   ‘Now then,’ said Wayland when it was done. ‘Let’s talk a little.’

  ‘Why are you here?’ snapped Sweet Dean.

  ‘I told you,’ said Lomas, sniffing at the blood trickling from his nose. ‘I come for my sister.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Wayland. ‘So you did, but I wonder if that’s all you came for. I believe we have to ascertain the truth of it.’

  ‘Look, I don’t give a good goddamn what you carpetbaggers are about down here. All I want to know is where my little sister went. Tell me that and I’m gone and you can get back to whatever it is you all do here.’

  ‘I take it you are a Southerner then?’ asked Wayland.

  ‘Sure he is,’ spat Corinth. ‘He’s one of those yellow-bellied rebel dogs, you can hear it in his voice.’

  ‘You see?’ Wayland smiled thinly at Lomas. ‘These bold fellows fought long and hard against your sort throughout the war. So before you become overly critical at our intentions it is best you remember who won the conflict by dint of blood and glory and who it was that crawled way in surrender.’

  ‘You didn’t ask which side I was on.’

  ‘Does it matter?’ said Wayland indifferently. ‘Your attitude is the same as most of the upstarts we come across all too often in these parts.’ He turned to Dane, ‘I believe our friend here needs taking down a peg or two, Sergeant. You will administer a lesson in manners and teach the fellow his proper place. I wish to speak with him further, so make sure there is enough left to answer me, am I clear?’

  Dane took off his jacket and impassively began to roll up his sleeves. ‘I got you, Captain.’

  ‘See to it then. Mister Pye, shall we adjourn? There are some questions I have regarding properties to the west.’

  ‘Yes, yes, we need to engender further income, I certainly cannot manage on the pathetic $77 a month they permit me as agent,’ agreed Sweet Dean, eyeing Lomas with a disconcerted frown. ‘Although I do hope this will not bring any further curious troublemakers down on us here.’

  ‘Have no fear, Mister Pye. Once the gentleman is reminded who are the victors and who the defeated I’m sure he shall go his way in peace.’

  The meaning was inherent and only too clear to Lomas.

  ‘And mind that carpet,’ warned Sweet Dean in a last thought. ‘It is of superior quality and I will not abide stains.’

  As they closed the door behind them, Dane hunched over the bound prisoner and delivered the first blow.

  Lomas looked up at him after his head had rotated back in place, he spat a mouthful of blood aside. ‘That the best you can do?’ he asked.

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake!’ complained Dane, watching the sluice of blood hit the floor as he steadied himself for the next punch. ‘You heard what the man said, no stains on the carpet, you dumbass.’

  It was dark when Lomas came back to consciousness. Dazedly he shook his head and then wished he had not. He still hung from the bindings on the chair and was alone in the darkened room. Ruefully, he mentally checked himself. It was his face and upper body they had concentrated on and he could feel the swelling over one eye and in his cheek, he thought he had lost some teeth there and the taste of bitter blood filled his mouth. He shirtfront was covered in dark drips and a cut above his right eye still leaked over his face. Lomas guessed he must look a mess.

  His ribs were sore but he surmised that none were broken as he could still draw a deep breath without too much pain. Thankfully they had dissuaded the vengeful Corinth from going to work on him with hot poker and stuck to taking it in turns with their fists.

  Where they were Lomas did not know but he guessed they had left off to take supper or leave him to Wayland’s gentle attentions before they finished him permanently.

  He worked at the bindings over his wrists but they were still tight and had not loosened during the beating. With painful difficulty he began to hop the chair over towards the tall French windows that fronted the garden with the intention of breaking a pane and using the glass shards to cut himself free.

  There was a movement in the shadows by the long window drapes.

  ‘You awake, mister?’ a voice whispered.

  Lomas lifted his head and squinted into the darkness.

  ‘Who’s there?’ he mumbled around his dry throat.

  The shadow scurried over quickly and crouched beside him, ‘I’m the one who wrote you. Ruby May’s my name, I loved your sister just fine and I didn’t like what those men did to her.’

  Lomas could feel her slicing at his bonds with a sharp knife.

  ‘How’d you know I was here?’ he asked.

  ‘My Pa told me; you met him over in Nigger Town. Look we ain’t got much time, they’s all partying and getting drunk right now but they be back soon. We got to move, can you do it?’

  Lomas felt the rope slip away and brought his hands around and rubbed at his chafed wrists, the action caused a shaft of pain to run over his ribcage.

  ‘Come on, Mister Bell. We got to go,’ pleaded the girl in an anxious tone.

  ‘Okay, I’m coming,’ said Lomas, getting to his feet. His legs went from under him as he did so and he fell to the floor.

  ‘Lord!’ sweated the girl. ‘If they catch us here it will be like the devil hisself is let loose.’

  ‘Shoot!’ cursed Lomas. ‘My legs is gone. Help me up, woman.’

  With Ruby’s help Lomas staggered over to the glass door and she pushed it open and they cautiously slid out. The moon was up and the garden was a harsh facetted picture of pitch-black shadow and bright lightness. Lomas breathed the night air gratefully, the humid scent of the plants cutting through the crusts of blood in his nasal passages.

  ‘They sure beat you up some,’ said Ruby, noting the streaks of blood and swelling on his face.

  Lomas spat the iron taste from his cracked lips, ‘Nah,’ he said. ‘They punch like sissy girls.’

  ‘Don’t look that way to me,’ she said as they hobbled towards the driveway. ‘I got my Pa’s old mule down there. He can’t go fast but we can cover some ground maybe.’

  ‘Thanks, Ruby. I sure owe you for this.’

  ‘You just get Miz Ladybell back. That’s all I asks.’

  Lomas’s head hummed painfully and his vision kept veering away as he lost track of direction but with Ruby’s help he made it to the tethered mule. With an effort he pulled himself aboard and hunched over the uncomplaining creature as Ruby dragged at the halter.

  ‘Where we going?’ asked Lomas.

  ‘We going to Nigger Town, that be the only place for you once them men’s start searching. We got to hide you out and there’s places down there left over from the old Underground Railroad. You know? When the runaways wanted to head North in the bad old days.’

  Hiding out in a runaway slaves hidey-hole, thought Lomas. He guessed then that maybe the bad old days weren’t that far behind them.

  Chapter Six

  It was fall and in distant Washington, Belle Slaughter was celebrating her twenty-fifth birthday.

  She was enjoying the moment with five barely clothed sporting ladies, each one of them in her employ.

  Belle was working undercover for the Pinkerton Agency and the facade of the high-class bordello she ran had revealed much good information about politicians and officials in the city during the war years. The wily Scot, Allan Pinkerton was well pleased with Belle’s work and he rated her as one of his best agents in the field. He would come to call, often in disguise, to receive Belle’s findings at the four-story mansion where she kept house. It was all a front for the dissemination of information but it proved unexpectedly to be a lucrative one also.

  The place was known as ‘The Belle Tower’ in honor of its madam, and Belle ran a tight ship there. At a cost of thirty-five thousand dollars she had ensured that only the best of furnishings were available and the facilities were of the highest quality so as to attract the high and mighty of Washington. There was a narrow curved archway built into the portico above the entrance that housed a bronze bel
l, although that was for show only and never rang. Inside, most of the rooms were equipped with fireplaces in expensive white marble, elegant chairs and tables were fashioned from polished black walnut upholstered in damask. Underfoot clients trod on rich velvet carpets and heavy lush drapes hung before the lace covered windows.

  It was not a cheap establishment and only the wealthiest in the land could afford the cost of an encounter there. Champagne came in the bucket full and cost fifty dollars a quart whereas a visit with one of the hand picked exquisitely beautiful ladies could run as high as a hundred dollars a night.

  Belle still had one goal in mind and that was the downfall of the secret society, the Knights of the Golden Circle and their leader the evasive and cunning Xavier Bond. So far she had been successful in only a peripheral way and it frustrated her deeply as her promise had been Bond’s downfall in memory of the loss of Kirby Langstrom whom she believed dead at the hands of friendly fire during their encounters with the Circle in Richmond during the war, when she, Kirby and Lomas had worked together.

  Lomas, she knew had tired of a life of espionage and eventually returned to his earlier career as frontier lawman. She missed his mature company and friendship but as she sipped on a fluted glass of champagne and studied the five girls before her she was thinking mostly of Kirby. His loss still saddened her and it was a constant surprise that the man could live on so long in her heart with all the activities, the plots and schemes she had encountered in the intervening years. But there he was, always popping into her mind like an unresolved issue that would not leave her. She dreamt of him sometimes, seeing him again as the bold young cowboy that had lifted her younger self to safety during the shootout in Variable Breaks all those years ago.

  It troubled her and she could find no good reason why the ghost persisted in haunting her. It was as if there was more she could have done whilst he was alive. She had known he loved her and perhaps, she thought, his image persisted because it was a matter of guilt that she had never responded to his advances. But then, justified the practical Belle, there was really no point in worrying after the event. But even though she said it with that intellectual part of her mind, her emotional soul still would not deny the pangs of loss.