Have Your Ticket Punched by Frank James

by Fedora Amis

  Jemmy stared in amazement as both men tossed their overcoats at her and started unbuttoning their jackets. Not until then did it dawn on her they were about to come to blows. In a few more seconds, jackets and hats came flying into the runabout. Then both men loosened ties and unbuttoned cuffs in that final ritual before the serious work of grappling one another could begin.

  “Gentlemen, perhaps you haven’t noticed, but we’ve missed our destination. The boxing match is to be held at Uhrig’s Cave.”

  Neither male paid her the slightest bit of attention. Breathless from running down St. Ange Street, Lucy grabbed Hal’s elbow. With a jerk of his arm, he flicked her off like a housefly. She would have splatted on the ground if she hadn’t caromed off the fence and found something to hold onto.

  In a streetlamp’s dim pool of light, Autley and Hal circled each other with fists raised. Both looked grimly intent as they sized each other up.

  Jemmy called out, “Lucy, come into the runabout. You’ll catch your death of cold if you stand out there watching these hooligans waltzing around.”

  Jemmy offered a hand to steady Lucy as she climbed on board.

  Lucy asked, “What are they fighting about?”

  Jemmy pulled Hal’s overcoat around Lucy’s shivering shoulders. “I have no idea. I know Autley didn’t want Hal to come with us.”

  “On that point, the two of us agree.”

  “On that point, three of the four of us agree.”

  “But that’s no reason to resort to violence.”

  “For men as pigheaded as those two, maybe it is.”

  “Do you think they’ll truly hurt each other?”

  “So far, all they’ve done is dance around looking mean.”

  “Is there anything we can do to stop them?”

  Jemmy brightened. “I can think of one thing.” She unwrapped the reins from the brake. “If we leave them here squabbling like schoolyard bullies, I think they’ll come after us.”

  Lucy covered a giggle with her hand. “Let’s.”

  “One teensy problem, though. I’ve never driven a horse before. Well, just the one time. That worked out well enough, if I do say so myself. I’ve seen boys drive horses. If they can, so can I.”

  She flapped the reins harder than she’d intended. The little dark horse reared in the gig shaft and took off at bone-rattling speed. It was all Jemmy could do to pull the left rein and guide the beast. They negotiated the Chouteau intersection on one wheel and came near to overturning.

  Lucy’s scream must have caught the men’s attention. Jemmy yelled over the clatter of horse hoofs on the road. “Can you see what they’re doing now?”

  Head turned to see round the carriage side, Lucy bubbled with delight. “It worked, Jemmy. It worked. They’re coming after us. You can slow down, now.”

  “I’m not sure I know how to do that.”

  “Are we in a runaway carriage?”

  “Whoa, horse. Whoa.”

  “I think the horse is calming a little.”

  “I wish I knew the creature’s name. It seems silly to keep calling him, ‘Horse.’ ”

  “Are you sure it’s a him?”

  “The only thing I’m sure of is that those two will be hopping mad when they reach us.”

  “What should we do?”

  “I think we’d better keep them running for a time.”

  “What a brilliant idea! A nice run in the cold November air should cool them down.”

  “And wear them out.”

  By the time the little dark horse jolted the ladies to the Fourteenth Street viaduct over the rail yards, Jemmy had very nearly figured out how to drive the runabout.

  Lucy said, “Perhaps we should stop here and wait for them. They’re so far back, I can barely see them. I think they stopped running. No, they’ve started again.”

  “You know what, Lucy? I don’t think I want to be here when they catch up. If they can still run, they’re not exhausted enough to forget their quarrel, whatever it was.” Jemmy urged the horse forward, slower this time.

  “What do you mean to do?”

  “Drive the two of us to the big event.”

  “What’s the big event?”

  “A no-holds-barred bare-knuckles fight.”

  “I had no idea such fights still existed.”

  “Polite society may frown upon it, but I suppose there will always be an appetite for blood sport. I’m beginning to think it’s part of human nature—at least for men.”

  “But what about Hal and Mr. Flinchpaugh? Won’t they worry if we just take off and leave them?”

  “They’ll find us. They know where we’re going.”

  “But won’t they be angry if we just up and leave them running after us?”

  “They’ll be angry either way, but if they have to walk all those blocks to Washington and Jefferson Streets, they’ll be more tired than angry. At least, I hope they’ll be more tired than angry.”

  “It sounds awfully mean to leave them running down the street. They don’t even have their jackets, much less their overcoats.”

  “They’ll stay warm enough if they run.” Jemmy looked at Lucy. “Any time you want, I’ll stop the runabout, and you can get out.”

  “I can’t walk. I’d ruin my good boots. I can’t afford Snow Queen boots on a shop girl’s pay even with my employee discount.”

  A quick glance out the back told Jemmy the men were catching up. “Quick, throw something out.” Jemmy urged the little horse into a trot.

  “Throw out what?”

  “A hat, a jacket, anything.”

  Lucy tossed a hat into a snow bank under a streetlight. “Oh, I see. They both veered off the street to collect the hat. Good thinking, Jemmy.”

  “If you see them gaining on us, throw out something else. We can’t let them catch us. The big fight is the best chance I have to get to the bottom of Quisenberry Sproat’s death.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN

  Friday Night, November 25, 1898

  When she saw the battered Uhrig’s Cave sign, Jemmy shook her head. I can’t believe I’m going down into another cave voluntarily.

  Jemmy set her jaw and determined to enter. She entrusted the horse and runabout to a young man who promised to care for the rig for fifty cents. Jemmy gave him her last quarter with a promise her young man would supply the other quarter when they redeemed horse and carriage.

  The pair of girls owned not a single cent when they reached the entrance. Jemmy showed the ticket taker her press credentials, but the man refused them. “I’ll wager them papers is faked. I heered of one or two lady newshounds, but I never heered of no lady without no man to protect her sent out to cover no boxing match in the middle of the night.”

  “Our escorts will be arriving shortly. They’ll be happy to pay our way.”

  “You two don’t look right to me.” He pointed at Lucy. “That gal ain’t even wearin’ no proper coat.”

  Jemmy had to agree. In Hal’s much-too-big overcoat, Lucy looked like a five-year-old playing dress-up-like-papa. All she lacked was a pipe and a drawn-on mustache.

  “Move on off to the side.”

  “My good man, why are you being knavish to these ladies? Where’s your chivalry, sir?” The Tom Loker−Simon Legree actor from the Crystal Palace Theatre strode alongside the queue. In black overcoat and fedora hat with white silk scarf around his neck, he looked his usual glamorous self.

  “I don’t know nothin’ ’bout chivarees, but I know my job. I don’t let in no freeloaders. Nor do I believe some young gal who says she reports on sportin’ events.”

  “How dare you call them freeloaders? They are my guests. Didn’t they tell you I was settling the disposition of our conveyance? You’re extremely rude to keep these delicate flowers waiting out in the cold.”

  Loker-Legree handed the man three one-dollar bills. The ticket taker dipped his head. “Sorry, ladies. I was just tryin’ to stay on the right side of the boss.”

  Loker-Legree usher
ed the pair into the cave. Jemmy asked, “Is the admission price a whole dollar? That’s twice as much as Buffalo Bill Cody charges for his gigantic Wild West Show—and that show has a cast of six hundred.”

  “The circumstances here require certain discreet inducements to insure the security and uninterrupted pleasure of the attendees.” He nodded in the direction of a pair of fellows in police uniforms. “I think you follow my meaning.”

  Lucy piped in, “Do you mean the management has to bribe officials to look the other way while they break the law? That’s the most—”

  Jemmy cut her off. “Lucy, I’d like you to meet our savior, Mr. . . . I’m overcome with embarrassment. The only name I can think of is Tom Loker, but of course that’s the name of the character you play in Uncle Tom’s Cabin.”

  “I am a person of many names—role names, stage names. I sometimes forget my real name myself. But Tom will do, Tom Rafferty. I’m pleased to meet any friend of Miss McBustle.”

  “Well Mister Tom Rafferty, Miss Lucine Leimgruber and I are most grateful you came along when you did. Call on me at the Illuminator any day so I may reimburse you for our entrance fee.”

  “Nonsense. How could I wish for anything better than to find myself escort of two lovely ladies?”

  Lucy said, “We’re deeply in your debt, Mr. Rafferty. We’d love to keep you company, but that won’t be possible. We really do have beaux who will be arriving shortly.”

  “Mr. Rafferty, would you be so kind as to excuse us for a moment?” Jemmy took Lucy’s elbow and whispered into her ear. “I need to find Handsome Harry Benson. Could you stay by the entrance and distract Hal and Mr. Flinchpaugh when they arrive?”

  Lucy’s jaw dropped. “You want me to face them alone?”

  “No, I was wrong to suggest it.” Lucy must think I’m a selfish monster with no feelings for anyone. “I’m sure Mr. Rafferty and the pair of us can get lost in this great crowd for a while. I hope we won’t have to see Hal and Autley for hours—or at least as long as I need to find Handsome Harry.”

  With a whuff of relief, Lucy nodded. “I hope you make your conversation short. Hal and Mr. Flinchpaugh are already angry as hornets. If they don’t find us right away, they’ll be fretting with worry as well.”

  “The sooner I find Harry, the sooner we will be able to face the wrath of the righteous. I’m sure you anticipate that moment as eagerly as I do.”

  “May I treat you ladies to a pre-bout libation?”

  “We’d be most pleased to acc—” Jemmy slipped on a bit of moss trod slick by many feet.

  Tom caught her and wrapped her arm around his. Jemmy batted her eyes at him, “I seem to be at sixes and sevens when I’m around you.”

  “In all sincerity, I hope you’re falling for me in a more metaphoric sense of the word.”

  “It’s not beyond the realm of possibility. We’d be more than pleased to accept your kind offer. Wouldn’t we, Lucy?”

  Tom offered his other arm to Lucy, and the three strolled into Uhrig’s grand auditorium—an immense cavern that seated three thousand. Jemmy scanned the main room, where a roped boxing ring had been set up on a platform in the middle of rows of chairs reaching back in ever-enlarging squares.

  Tom guided the ladies through a brick arch to a smaller dining room filled with laughing guests at tables covered with checkered tablecloths.

  As a waiter seated them, Tom said, “Bring us three Simon Legrees.” The waiter nodded and hustled off.

  “What’s a Simon Legree?”

  “All the rage at the moment. I confess to popularizing it myself—and to making a tidy bit on the side. You see, I invented the Simon Legree. At least that’s what I’m calling it for the run of Uncle Tom’s Cabin. When I move on to another show, I’ll change the name and the garnish to complement the new play.

  “When we arrive in a new city, I make a point of speaking to the men who tend bar in the best watering holes in town. I give them the recipe and supply them with the special cordial which I’ve arranged to have concocted locally. It’s the secret syrup that makes the drink unique.”

  “And you manufacture the syrup. How clever you must be.”

  “I see you understand the ways of the world. I love the life of an actor, but none of us have guarantees of a new role when a company dissolves. We need to have a second income. Also, our expenses are heavy—at least for the way I wish to live.”

  The waiter brought three tumblers of a bright red liquid with a licorice-whip stirrer. When Lucy took a sip, her eyelids shot up in surprise. Her head darted about frantically for some way to spit it out. Eventually, she braced herself and swallowed. “That drink is liquoritous. I never drink anything stronger than white wine.”

  “Waiter, Miss Lucy has changed her mind. Bring her a glass of white port.”

  “And you, Miss Jemima, do you like my creation?”

  “I find it quite pleasing on the palate. Somehow it reminds me of Thanksgiving. What’s in it?”

  “Rafferty’s Cranberry Cordial, Kentucky bourbon whiskey, seltzer water, and a licorice whip.”

  “How very clever. I only wish I could savor it with you, but I must excuse myself for a time.”

  Lucy rose to accompany her. “No, Lucy, please sit. Eat your licorice stick and keep Mr. Rafferty company. I won’t be long.”

  Jemmy made a mental note to ask Tom if his local cordial maker might have been Mabel Dewoskin. It would stand to reason. As an actor, he would know a woman who lived in a hotel that catered to theatrical folk. She’d have to broach the topic carefully now that Mabel was dead. She found herself wishing she could prove Tom Loker Rafferty innocent. What a shame if the killer should turn out to be such a fine-looking, well-spoken young man.

  Still, her immediate challenge was finding Harry Benson. She walked briskly toward the ring in hopes of seeing a face she recognized. Her heart beat faster when she spied Benson’s manager. He crisscrossed the canvas-covered ring floor. From time to time, he’d bounce up on his toes, then fling himself at the ropes. He looked like an oversized tyke playing Red Rover who’d just been called to “Come over.”

  As Jemmy approached, he was making circling gestures toward two men at the corner of the ring. The pair tightened the top rope with a turnbuckle.

  “Mr. Medley, may I have a word?”

  “If it isn’t the little lady who stirs up trouble. I forget the name.”

  “Miss Jemima McBustle. Would you be so kind as to tell me where to find Mr. Benson?”

  Amos Medley didn’t try to hide his lecherous smirk. “Try his hotel room tomorrow or the day after. Right now he has a fight to think about. I won’t have him disturbed.”

  “Let me assure you I’m not interested in Mr. Benson as a suitor. I am a journalist seeking to interview him for my newspaper, the St. Louis Illuminator.”

  “I don’t care if you’re Nelly Bly or Queen Victoria, Harry has no time for females—young or old, rich or poor, newswoman or new pussy.”

  Jemmy had never heard the word “pussy” used to describe anything but a housecat. For a moment she stood puzzled. When she put two and two together, she blushed red as a mess of measles. She used the only weapon she had—sarcasm.

  In mock gratitude, Jemmy sank in a deep curtsy. “I do thank you for your estimable assistance and your clever repartee. May I quote you?”

  Before he could answer, she trounced away in a huff. “The man is about as helpful as a bowlful of termites.”

  She stopped to take stock of her surroundings. A man carrying a stack of towels emerged from an arch on the far side of the cave. Jemmy recognized him as Deke Whicher. Harry must be down that corridor. Jemmy took a step in that direction but didn’t get very far.

  “You stop right there, Jemima McBustle. You have a lot to answer for.” Hal grabbed her shoulder to spin her around. “What’s the big idea of leaving us out in the cold? I’ve a good mind to take you across my knee.”

  “Not likely, since you failed to bring along the Mongolian Ho
rde.”

  Autley Flinchpaugh whined, “You threw my new derby in a puddle. It’ll never be the same again. And where’s the runabout? It’s rented. I’ll have to pay for it if you smashed it up.”

  “The rig and horse are fine. You owe the boy a quarter for looking after it.”

  “If he doesn’t steal it, that is.”

  “Later, Flinchpaugh. Right now I want answers from our little miss runaway, here.”

  “Hal, Autley, please lower your voices. We’re attracting a crowd.”

  Hal propelled Jemmy by the arm past curiosity seekers. Before long, she found herself backed into the base of a brick arch.

  “Now, why did you humiliate us? What have the two of us ever done to deserve such misery? You left us running after you without so much as a coat to keep out the cold.”

  Jemmy fumed over Hal’s rough treatment. “I have no intention of telling you anything at all so long as you’re bruising my arm. You’re supposed to be my bodyguard. You’re supposed to keep me from harm, not attack me.”

  Hal shoved her against a wall before he let her elbow drop. He placed both his hands on the wall and trapped her between them. “I’m listening.”

  “Try to look at things from our point of view—Lucy’s and mine.”

  “I’m not interested in points of view. I want answers.”

  Jemmy waved a hand to fend off Hal’s cabbage breath. “Lucy and I saw the pair of you get ready to fight when you tore off your jackets. We were afraid you’d hurt one another. It seemed the best way to stop you two from coming to blows.”

  “All right. Fair enough. But your plan worked. We stopped—but you didn’t. You kept on going. In fact, you whipped up the horse to go faster, so we couldn’t catch up. Why did you do that?”

  “I’ll tell you the answer to that when you tell me why you and Mr. Flinchpaugh wanted to fight in the first place.”

  “If you must know, Mr. Flinchpaugh made a perfectly ridiculous—”

  “Stop right there, Dwyer.” Autley pulled one of Hal’s hands away from the wall. “We should not be discussing this in public.”

  “Let go of me. My partner, Miss McBustle, and I may have our differences; but I’ll be damned if I believe for one minute she’d”—he struggled to find the right word—“she’d do what you said.”