by Jon Sharpe
“You may not boast a superior education, but you think things through. You like to know about everything going on around you—the people, the land, everything—so that you can judge for yourself what is of value and what is not.” He took a sip of his bourbon. “You are your own man, even if you are working for that conniving bastard, Parker.”
“Is everyone here crooked?” Fargo asked bluntly. “So far, not a single person I’ve met has a decent thing to say about the other, and I reckon you’re about the same in that regard. As you said, Senator, I’ve had a long day. Can we skip the part about how Parker and Anderson are thieves and bad men and all you want to do is help Storyville? Can we just get to what you want from me?”
Beares laughed long and loud. “As I said, you shoot straight.” He stood and poured himself another drink. “All right, Fargo, I’ll do the same. There are three of us vying for control of Storyville—the parishes of Winn and Catahoula, to be precise. We all think we’re entitled, and none of us is really better than the robber barons of England or the pirates that ply the Caribbean. I know you’re working for Parker, and I wanted to see what I could do about that.”
“Not much,” Fargo said. “I’ve taken the man’s money and given him my word.”
“To do what, precisely?” Beares asked.
“To keep the game fair,” Fargo said. “He suspects that one or more of the players may cheat, and he wants me to keep an eye on it, catch the person if I can.”
Beares brought the bottle from the bar and offered Fargo a refill, but he shook his head. “I’ve had enough, thanks.”
“And will you do it, then?” Beares asked. “Keep the game fair?”
“As much as I can,” Fargo replied. “The game will be fair so long as everyone plays by the same rules.”
“And since when,” a familiar voice said from the doorway, “is a lady required to play by the rules?”
Fargo looked up, more than a little surprised to see Hattie Hamilton framed in the doorway.
Beares rose to his feet, and Fargo followed suit. “Ah, good evening, my dear,” he said. “Can I pour you a drink?”
“Do you even have to ask?” Hattie said, striding into the room. “I’ve been dealing with David all day.”
“Understood,” Beares said, moving to the bar and pouring her a stiff jolt. “This should help settle your nerves.” He handed her the glass and she took a long swallow, then sighed in pleasure. “Better?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s a start,” she said, then turned to Fargo. “You’ve had a busy day yourself, Mr. Fargo,” she said. “The parish talk is all about you—fighting in the streets, running into old friends, even giving my young Fleur a ride back from her little outing to the countryside.”
Fargo winced inwardly, knowing that the young lady had not wanted to be seen. For a town with so many secrets, it seemed like very little went on that the people in power didn’t know about. “I’ve been busy,” he admitted. “Now I’m curious.”
“And what are you curious about, Mr. Fargo?” Hattie asked, settling herself on the long leather couch and leaning back in a provocative pose. Once again, her eyes screamed seduction, but he reminded himself of H.D.’s warning.
“Based on what I saw down at the docks, you and Senator Parker are an item,” Fargo said. “I’d go so far as to say he seemed very possessive of you. And now you’re here—with a man he would say was an enemy.”
Hattie laughed, and the sound reminded Fargo of some wind chimes he’d once heard—light and melodic—and warning of the coming storm as the winds rose. “Well, Mr. Fargo, a lady does need more than one patron if she’s going to make her way in the world.” She batted her long eyelashes at him, then said, “Isn’t that right, dear?”
“Quite right, Hattie,” Beares said. He seated himself next to her and put a hand on her thigh. “But I think that Mr. Fargo is a smart enough man to realize that there’s quite a bit more going on here than meets the eye.”
“He looks like a dirty cowboy to me,” she said. “But with a bath and some proper clothing, I suspect he’d clean up rather well.”
“I’m not a city man,” Fargo said. “I wear what’s functional out on the trail and not much else.”
“After this week, you’ll be a wealthy man, Mr. Fargo,” Hattie said. “I imagine that you’ll soon get used to the things money can buy: comfortable clothing, good whiskey, beautiful women.”
Trying to turn the tables on her a bit, Fargo grinned lecherously. “The beautiful women part I’ve got licked.”
She smiled in return. “I bet you do. I wonder . . .”
“That’s quite enough of that, Hattie,” Beares interjected. “She’s almost insatiable, Fargo. You’ll have to excuse her more predatory appetites.” He growled at her almost playfully. “We have business to discuss with Mr. Fargo, my dear. We should try to keep to the matter at hand.”
“Of course, Beary,” she said. “Whatever you wish.”
She made the words sound like a promise of other things—things best done in a darkened bedroom—and Beares laughed. “I’ll hold you to that,” he said.
“What business?” Fargo asked. “I’d like to get back to my hotel and get some sleep.”
“Simple,” Beares said. “We want you to work for us, Mr. Fargo. The poker game is far too important to allow Senator Parker or that petty criminal Anderson to win. The future of New Orleans is at stake.”
“I’ve already agreed to work for Senator Parker,” Fargo said evenly. “I told you that.”
“We’re well aware of your arrangement with Senator Parker,” Beares said. “We simply ask that you work for us, too.”
“How so?” Fargo asked. “I’ve already said I’ll keep the game fair.”
“Oh, no,” Hattie said. “This has nothing to do with keeping the game fair. We have something else entirely in mind.”
Fargo suspected as much. They wanted him to double-cross Parker so they could win somehow. “I’m not the kind of man who believes in going back on his word.”
“We expect nothing of the sort,” Beares said. “Your friend H.D. made your reputation in this town since long before your arrival: a man of justice and all that. We want you to do nothing that will violate your word to Senator Parker.”
“Then what do you want?” Fargo asked again, his patience wearing thin. “Just spit it out.”
“We want to hire you to protect us,” Hattie said, leaning forward. “Between Anderson and . . . and David . . . we are constantly under threat of attack. How can the game be fair if my lovely Beary is killed before it even happens?”
“Seems like you’ve got plenty of men to do that,” Fargo said. “And your ‘butler’ Charles—whoever he really is—is a pretty fair hand with a gun himself.”
“Ahh, it’s not for me,” Beares said. “Despite Hattie’s good intentions, I’m perfectly safe. My concern is for her. Should Parker find out about us . . . or if things go badly for him at the game . . . I fear he may do something rash where Hattie is concerned. ” He looked at Fargo earnestly. “I simply want you to look out for her, Fargo. Even a man such as yourself might understand why she is my most prized trophy.”
“She’s something,” Fargo admitted, trying to work his mind around the situation. Something wasn’t right about all of this, but he wasn’t sure what it was. “Again,” he said, “why me? You’ve got plenty of help. Just assign one of them to do it.”
“Parker knows most of my men by sight, Fargo,” Beares explained. “Should he or one of his men try to harm Hattie, he would never suspect that I’ve employed you to keep her safe.”
“Besides,” Hattie added, “you wouldn’t want to see me get hurt, would you, Mr. Fargo?”
“I don’t hold with harming women in general,” Fargo said, thinking again of H.D.’s words and wondering if Hattie was more snake than human. “And what will you pay me for this?” he asked, playing for time.
“We’ve considered that,” Beares said, “and I believe we ha
ve just the compensation in mind that would interest you.” He gestured, and said, “Go on, Hattie. Tell him.”
“When you leave New Orleans, Mr. Fargo, you’ll be wealthy,” Hattie said. “Between what David is paying you, and a reasonable cash incentive from us, you’ll be able to make your way comfortably anywhere in the world. But your true reward from us you’ve already seen.” She paused dramatically, then whispered, “I’ll let you take Fleur when you go.”
“Mary?” Fargo asked.
“I suppose that’s her real name,” Hattie said. “She is quite beautiful, isn’t she, Mr. Fargo?”
Damn woman, Fargo thought. How could he refuse if it meant getting Mary out of the horrible situation she was in?
“Ah,” Beares said. “I believe we’ve caught Mr. Fargo’s interest.”
“Oh, Beary,” she said. “There’s not a man alive who doesn’t think with his pecker most of the time. It’s why my business is so successful.”
“Well, Fargo, what do you think of our little proposition? You keep Hattie here safe, and when the game is over, I’ll give you two thousand in cash, plus Hattie will give you the beautiful Fleur for your very own. With what Parker is paying you, that’s quite a haul for little more than a night’s work.”
“She’s not a slave,” Fargo said. “Someone you can just give away or sell whenever you want.”
Hattie laughed. “Oh, Mr. Fargo, you are indeed naive about the ways of our city. Fleur is a slave in all but name. When she came to work for me, she signed a contract. A lifetime contract, Mr. Fargo. She is mine to do with as I please—and if giving her to you is what pleases me, then so be it.” She waved a hand covered with a lace glove. “She’ll go along quietly, Fargo. And from what the girls tell me, she was quite taken with you.”
Damn woman, Fargo thought again. She’d maneuvered him into a corner. Somehow, she had a hold on something that Mary valued—maybe a hold of some kind over all the girls at the Blue Emporium. But in order to find out what it was, he’d have to play along. At least for a while.
“And all I have to do is keep Miss Hamilton safe?” he asked.
“Indeed,” Beares said. “Even Senator Parker, I think, could respect that.”
Fargo nodded, thinking that there was so much going on in this town that was beneath the surface. Everyone’s motives were hidden and he suspected that the person truly pulling the strings was Hattie Hamilton—but what he lacked was proof.
“All right,” he said. “I’ll do it. For Mary and five thousand.”
“Outrageous!” Beares shouted. “You can’t be serious!”
Fargo grinned at him. “Oh, I imagine your ‘most prized trophy’ is worth at least that, isn’t she, Senator Beares?”
“Damn women,” Beares muttered. “Fine. Five thousand. ”
Hattie squealed like a schoolgirl and threw her arms around Beares. “You’re so sweet, Beary,” she said. “Whatever would I do without you?”
“Yes, well, there is that, isn’t there?” Beares asked. He moved to a picture on the wall, removed it, and opened a safe. He took out a wad of cash and counted quickly. “Here’s half now,” he said to Fargo, handing it to him. “You’ll get Fleur and the rest after the game is over and you’re ready to leave town.”
“Fair enough,” Fargo said. “There’s just one more thing.”
“What’s that?” they asked, almost in unison.
“Her name is Mary, and she doesn’t take another customer from now on.”
“What?” Hattie said. “What difference does it make?”
“Those are my terms,” Fargo said. He held out the money to Beares. “Take it or leave it.”
“What’s it matter, Hattie?” Beares asked.
“I was hoping to . . .” She sighed, then nodded. “Fine, Mr. Fargo. Mary won’t take another customer—but she stays at the Blue Emporium until it’s all over.”
“Agreed,” Fargo said, slipping the money into his vest. “I’ll be leaving now,” he added. “If we’re done?”
Beares was looking at Hattie hungrily and he waved Fargo away. “Of course, Fargo, by all means. I’m glad we were able to reach an understanding.”
Fargo nodded and headed for the exit, wincing as he heard Hattie mutter behind him. “Men! They think with their peckers and believe theirs should be the only plow in the field.”
“Of course we do, darling,” Beares replied. “Speaking of plowing . . .”
Fargo quickened his pace, hoping that he’d get back to his hotel room without any other adventures. He’d had more than enough for one day and his head was spinning with all the secrets and lies he’d heard . . . and all the money in his pocket.
8
Fargo made his way back to the Bayou without incident, his mind working on all the things he’d learned during the day’s events, while his eyes scanned the crowded streets, keeping alert for any sign of trouble. Given how rowdy many of the saloons seemed to be, he somewhat expected it, but other than having to step out of the way of a man headed for an alleyway to throw up, no one bothered him.
Worn out from his day, Fargo nodded briefly to the man behind the counter and trudged up the stairs to his room. What he wanted now was a good night’s sleep. Perhaps in the morning, with a decent breakfast and some coffee in him, he’d be able to figure out what was really going on here—hopefully before the poker game got under way and the powder keg all these people were sitting on blew sky-high.
He started to insert his key in the lock, but the door creaked open when he leaned a hand against it. Instantly awake, Fargo pulled his Colt, shoving himself against the wall and listening for any sounds. The room was quiet and dark, so he spun back into the doorway and kicked it wide open, shoving his Colt before him.
A high-pitched gasp of surprise stopped him in his tracks. “Please! Don’t shoot me!”
“Mary?” Fargo asked, trying to adjust his eyes to the darkness. “Is that you?”
“Yes,” she said, her voice quavering. “It’s . . . it’s Mary.”
“Hold on a minute,” Fargo said. He fumbled a match out of his vest, struck it against his thumb and lit the oil lamp. Light warmed the room as he turned up the wick a little bit. He turned to the girl, who was curled up beneath the thin blankets on his bed. Her skin glowed softly in the dim light, a deep, rich brown that reminded him a little of light molasses.
“What are you doing here, Mary?”
“Miz Hamilton,” the girl said. “She told me to come over here before she left the Blue Emporium. I didn’t ask too many questions, but please, don’t hit me none. I still have to work.”
“Ah, hell,” Fargo said. Hattie Hamilton is one cocky lady. “I’m not going to hit you, Mary. I don’t treat women that way.” Even in the dimly lit room, he could see she was shaking in fear.
“You promise?” she asked.
“I promise,” Fargo said. He sat down at the foot of the bed—there was nowhere else to sit in the room.
“I’ll . . . I’ll go back now,” she said. “Miz Hamilton said if I didn’t please you, I was to go back and she’d send another girl.” She started to climb from beneath the blankets and Fargo’s heart sped up a bit.
“What!” he exclaimed. “No, wait. I like you fine, Mary. I just . . . I wasn’t expecting you, is all.” He patted the bed. “Stay . . . please.”
She sank back down and seemed to relax a little. “Thank you—”
“Call me Fargo,” he said. “Or Skye, if you like.”
Mary considered this for a moment, then said, “Skye, then. It’s a nice name.”
“Thank you,” Fargo said. He was tired and had absorbed too much information in a short time—he needed to think and to rest.
“Skye,” Mary said, her voice almost a whisper. “I don’t understand why Miz Hamilton . . . she ain’t never sent me out like this. I don’t understand.”
Fargo chuckled. “I can’t say as I completely do, either.” He pulled off his boots and unbuckled his gun belt, leaning forward to ha
ng it over the bedpost. “Probably best if we get some sleep and try to figure it out tomorrow.”
“Sleep?” Mary asked. “I thought . . . you don’t think I’m pretty, Skye?”
He looked over the beautiful young woman lying in his bed and smiled. With her dark hair and skin, she looked like a ribbon of chocolate silk against the white of the bedcovers. “I think you’re very pretty,” he said. He got to his feet and undressed, enjoying the sound when she gasped quiet appreciation at his flat, rock-hard stomach muscles and lean form.
He was down to only his underdrawers when she got out of the bed and turned down the lamp until the room was little more than pockets of dark gold light and shadows. The window shade was drawn and the noise from the street below faded into the background as he felt more than saw her come closer, running her hands down his chest.
“You been hurt a lot,” she said. “Lots of scars.”
“I’ve got a few,” he said. Her hands roamed over the terrain of his shoulders, her nails lightly scratching. “But compared to those who gave them to me, I came out okay.”
Her hands found his biceps and she said, “You’re strong.”
She moved lower, her hands seeking his manhood. Even if she wasn’t often given pleasure for herself, she certainly knew how to give it as she stroked him to full hardness, then took him in her warm mouth. Using her tongue, she worked the shaft, base to tip and back again, warm and wet. Her hands found his sac and gently worked on him. Fargo’s hands found her hair and he groaned in pleasure.
Finally, when he couldn’t take it anymore, he eased away, pulling her to her feet. Mary kept her silence, her eyes wide open. Keeping his own silence, Fargo removed the nightgown, lifting it over her head. Her breasts fell free, rounded and full, but not overly large, with rose-colored areolas and pert nipples. Stepping closer, Fargo lowered his head and took one in his mouth, using his opposite hand to caress and stroke the nipple of the other. He felt them harden.
Her thighs were smooth and muscular, leading down to shapely calves. He knew it was time to please her. Her legs splayed open, giving him full access to her treasures, and Fargo didn’t hesitate to explore the offerings on display to the fullest extent possible. He used his hands, his fingers, and his tongue, touching her, tasting her, arousing her senses everywhere he touched until she writhed on the bed, moaning and begging. Her breath came in short, sharp pants and Fargo knew she was ready, right on the edge of orgasm.