On the Road Again Flint MurdockChapter 11 Cat Mouse
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On The Road Again: Flint MurdockChapter 2: Fun & Games free porn video
After a good breakfast — they had eggs available — Riles asked what Cayuse and I would be doing that morning.
“First we’re going to ride around town, get a sense of where everything is.”
“And then?”
“We’re going to visit the madams. Starting with Josephine Airey.”
Emma laughed, “She sounds pretty formidable. A while back, Chicago Joe put a notice in the newspaper. Told saloon owners and gambling houses not to serve her husband, not to let him drink or place bets and, most of all, not to loan him money.”
Molly winked at Rebecca, “Make a note of that for future reference. In case Flint starts getting too free and loose.”
Rosie said, “What about Cayuse?”
Riles said, “Cee is our hero, he can do whatever he wants.”
Rosie beamed.
It was snowing steady, but not that hard. Scarface and Sugar picked their way carefully through the rutted streets. Both Cayuse and I used reins made of braided horsehair — much stronger than leather.
Cayuse was a scout in a way. A tracker. But I’d had more urban experience, so I said, “Let’s ride to the four points of the compass and circle back to the Steamboat Block.”
He nodded and we set off to the north.
It was rugged country; the rough map I’d picked up at our hotel showed me we were looking at Beartooth Mountain in the distance. It was also the direction of Prickly Pear Canyon and the toll road from Fort Benton. Earlier this year, the Montana Central Railway laid tracks through the canyon.
It was pretty country, a lot of shale in green and red tones that we could just make out through the snow. Not any clues about the prostitute murders, but that wasn’t what we were looking for. This was merely an orientation foray. It was better to know than not. I’d learned to study the territory all around Fort Laramie when I was in the Cavalry. And Cayuse had grown up knowing how to read the landscape, track people. And how to recognize escape routes, box canyons, hidden streams.
After half an hour or so, we wheeled our mounts to the right and headed on. There was a little hamlet, East Helena, about five miles out. Looking back, Cayuse and I could see Mount Helena far off to the west, even through the snow.
Next, we set out for the south side of town and rode past Cox Lake and the Nelson Gulch where quite a bit of gold had been found. We saw the two main claims that Autry had mentioned — the Alhambra and the Gold Hill — along with a 10-stamp mill to crush and process the ore.
Finally, we turned to the west and passed Ten Mile Creek and had a closer view of Mount Helena. The ride gave Cayuse and me a pretty good perspective of the area. And gave Scarface and Sugar a real good workout.
Back in town, Marshal Autry took Cayuse and me to meet the three madams — Chicago Joe first, she’d been in town the longest.
Next would be Crazy Belle, and then Patcheye Osgood.
As we walked toward the Red Light Saloon on Wood Street, I turned to Autry, “Would you like us to carry our badges in a pocket?” Instead of pinning them to a shirt.
Autry seemed relieved, “That’s a good idea.”
Cayuse and I made the change as we walked. Less visible now. But we could pull the stars out if needed.
I said, “Don’t tell the whores they’re safe now. They aren’t.”
Cayuse nodded, which for him was a real stemwinder.
Autry started to argue then just said, “We’ll play it your way. For now.”
Even with the snow, there was some considerable street traffic that evening — riders on horses, several buggies, men and women walking here and there, going in and out of shops and taverns.
Autry said, “There’s some controversy that swirls around Josephine Airey. Well, it’s Josephine Hensley now; she married a gentleman named James T. Hensley.”
And placed a notice in the paper about him.
“What’s the controversy?”
“She came here from Chicago and a lot of her whores are from there too. Some folks claim she tricked them into moving here — promising them regular jobs in the hotel.”
He groomed his mustache as he did when he was thinking on something. “None of the girls ever filed a complaint though. In any case, Josephine makes a lot of money from her rental properties. And she donates some considerable of it to charities and politicians. She’s the most influential landowner in town. And people tend to look the other way when Chicago Joe rumors are flying around.”
Cayuse nodded again, a real chatterbox this evening.
The Red Light Saloon was a solid-looking brick structure that wouldn’t be as vulnerable to a fire as many of its neighbors. It was set up like the Bighorn — a bar to the right, card tables to the left, hotel rooms upstairs for the sporting ladies and their customers. An old gentleman wearing a bowler was playing a corner piano softly. There were only three late-day drinkers, but it was still early for the saloon crowd.
Chicago Joe met us in her office — on the first floor, in back, just like the way Mrs. Chambers had set up her operation in the Bighorn.
Chicago Joe was a solid woman, stern looking, around 40 or so. Had her dark hair piled up high on top of her head and cascading down the back in thick curls. She wasn’t wary of us; Autry had told her what to expect. But she was alert, studying Cayuse and me closely.
Quite a sight, Chicago Joe. She wore a full-length dress buttoned up to her neck, just like Mrs. Chambers. But this dress, this red velvet dress, was covered in colorful jewels — chest, waist, arms.
Chicago Joe’s voice was low and throaty, with an Irish accent. “People call me the queen of the red light district. And they’re polite when they pass me on the street. But I was a whore and had to mortgage everything I had to buy my first building in the tenderloin. And everything included about three dozen pairs of undergarments.”
It was a practiced story, maybe true, and she told it well.
“Then I lost just about everything in the 1874 fire and had to start all over again by picking up abandoned properties that no one else could afford to rebuild. I did whatever it took and now I’m the largest landowner in Helena. And this maniac has got to be stopped.”
l let Autry do most of the talking. Like a lot of people in the political world, he seemed to enjoy the sound of his own voice. I liked him though; he’d always been straight with Cayuse and me.
“Flint and Cayuse will start providing protection for all three brothels.”
He remembered what I had told him and said, “Now that’s not a one hundred percent guarantee of safety, but...”
Chicago Joe said, “I’m glad to hear you say that, Marshal. Nobody can guard all of my girls full time.”
Autry nodded, “No, but these two tamed Little River — the entire town. Here, just three bordellos ... well, they’re good men.”
“Just three bordellos, but also over fifty working girls. And new ones coming in all the time. Plus, hundreds of men.”
Autry nodded at me.
I said, “We’ll look around, see what sort of security we can set up. For starters, all weapons — guns and knives too — will have to be checked at the door. Otherwise, no drinks, no food, no girls.”
Chicago Joe nodded, “Good.”
The Castle was also in the red light district, at the corner of State and Joliet. Pretty impressive. Two stories, brick, with a big arched entry door and a turret on one side. Of course for $12,000 it should be impressive.
Our visit with Mollie “Crazy Belle Crafton” Byrnes was in the same vein as our conversation with Chicago Joe. Autry made the introductions and did most of the talking. From our side, anyway.
Then Crazy Belle cut him off in mid-sentence and turned to me. That happened once in a while; people looked to the largest man in the room.
“I arrived in Helena on April first, 1881, and started making and saving money that same day.”
Another solid, forceful woman. Sure of herself.
“Three years later I had enough money to buy the old Kiyus Saloon. Remember that, George?”
“I do, Mollie.”
She turned back to me, “Then two years after that, I built this place.” She looked around the Castle proudly.
She nodded to herself, “Do you see the trend?”
I said, “Onward and upward,” mainly to keep her talking.
“That’s right. And I’m nowhere near finished. But this axe-killing fucker ... well, stop him. Do whatever it takes, just stop him. He’s got the preachers all riled up and itching to close us down. Just stop him.”
We walked two blocks south on State toward the Osgood Palace. It was an interesting stretch because the storefronts had right-angled windows poking out on both sides of the entry doors. You could see yourself coming and going, coming and going, in a series of mirror-like images. The sight reminded me of something I couldn’t quite recall. Something from a long time ago.
Autry said, “People promenade up and down here in nice weather. Women like to show off their new clothes. See and be seen.”
Even Cayuse showed some interest — an entire block and a half with striking storefronts.
Autry said, “The gent who came up with the idea wasn’t even an architect — just a craftsman, handy with his hands. But once the first windows went up ... well, you can see how popular they became. The locals call this Fun House Street.”
Of course. The Gilmore Girls had taken me to the Hindenburg Brothers Traveling Carnival back in Indianapolis. There were tigers and elephants and one tent with burlesque music where only men were allowed. Riles had told me, “You’ll be old enough one day.”
Emma said, “Maybe.”
There was also a Crazy House, full of skeletons and monsters and mirrors that confused and distorted.
Fun House Street.
The Osgood Palace was also brick — just like the Castle and the Red Light Saloon. But it was different too. As was the owner, the madam, Maude ‘Patcheye’ Osgood. Who, indeed, wore a black eyepatch over her right eye. I wondered what the story there was, wondered how she’d lost an eye.
The Palace stood out because it had a little wooden house, not much larger than a shed really, out back. Autry seemed slightly uncomfortable as he nodded toward the structure, “Some rough stuff goes on there. The Hurt House.”
Cayuse’s face went even more neutral. We were both thinking about Rosie and the three men who had paid to get her. Paid for her with twenty dollars’ worth of gold coins back when those three Chippewa braves had killed her father and kidnapped her. Well, the Riggers brothers hadn’t had a chance to get rough with Rosie. And now they never would. They were dead, buried deep in one unmarked grave. As were the Indians.
Patcheye was young, skinny, and restless. Always moving, fiddling with something. She was also dressed in a man’s suit. Well, I guess maybe it was a woman’s suit, small and fitted. A coat with padded shoulders, vest, and trousers.
She looked back and forth at Cayuse and me with the alertness of a jackrabbit.
And got right to it, “You got to stop those killers.”
“Killers? More than one?”
“I don’t know. You’re the law, what do you think?”
A little belligerent in her tone and manner, but that was understandable. She didn’t look much over 30 and one of her sporting ladies had just been savagely killed. Patcheye’s hands kept twitching and she jiggled her left knee up and down.
The first two murders took place, so near as Autry and the doctor could tell, on the same night. Then, a week passed before he, or maybe they, struck at the Osgood Palace.
Autry said, “Flint and Cayuse just got in town yesterday, Patcheye. Give ‘em some time.”
“Tell that to Jane Goodnight.”
What had impressed me with the three bordellos was how attractive the women were. Not every single one of course, but many of them were real head-turners.
On the other hand, my mother talked about the furnishings, “As nice as anything we sold in Indianapolis.”
“I guess I didn’t really notice the furniture.”
Emma snorted, “We know what you were noticing, Flint.” She shook her head like she was in despair, “And it wasn’t sofas and chairs.”
Rebecca looked at me; Rosie at Cayuse.
Even though we were all busy with our own investigations, the Gilmore Girls still dedicated an hour after breakfast to teaching Rosie and Cayuse how to read. It wasn’t discussed; certainly no one teased the two students. It was just a continuation of the educational process that had begun back in Little River.
We fell into a rhythm as Christmas day approached. Autry was off on his own, doing his own inquiries and the other work that being a Territorial Marshal entailed.
Molly and Emma were steadily researching back copies of the Herald.
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