Hell's Half Acre Read online

  Tucker smiled. “All right, why not? It’s been a while since I had a willing woman.”

  “Well, big boy, you found one now,” Tess said.

  * * *

  Tess played the game well. She made a tease of disrobing in the mean little candlelit room and eagerly, or so it seemed, got into bed naked beside Tucker.

  Now it was all up to Frank.

  The well-worn Colt that Tucker placed on the upended wine crate that served as a table gave her pause. “Honey, I didn’t think you were armed,” she said.

  “I wouldn’t feel undressed without it,” Tucker said.

  “May I see it? I do love a man with a big gun.”

  “Well you found one now,” Tucker said. He took the woman in his arms and Tess became frantic. Damn it, where was Frank?

  The rules of the shakedown were simple. Poteet must wait outside the door until the bed started to rock. Then, playing the outraged husband he must charge into the room, gun in hand and yell, “What are you doing in bed with my wife?” Or words to that effect. The last rule was that the mark must be aghast, beg for forgiveness not to be shot, and gladly pay up to soothe the cuckolded husband’s dangerous rage. The take varied from a few dollars to hundreds if the mark was a married man and a pillar of society who wanted no scandal.

  Frank Poteet thought that the man in bed with Tess looked prosperous enough for a good haul. When the bed began to creak rhythmically, Poteet pulled his face into a ferocious expression and charged through the door.

  “You bounder! What are you doing—”

  The words died in Poteet’s mouth. Tess sat up in bed, her breasts uncovered, and she looked horrified. Tucker, naked as a jaybird, held his Colt in his right hand and made the bed creak with his left.

  “The oldest game in the book,” Tucker said, grinning. He shot Poteet in the chest but as the gambler fell he managed to squeeze off a shot. The bullet hit Tess between her breasts. She cried out in shock and pain, fell on her left side and her long brown hair cascaded in glossy waves to the floor. As feet pounded on the stairs, Tucker dressed hurriedly and shoved his revolver back into his waistband.

  Larry Kemp rushed into the room, took in the carnage at a glance and said, “What the hell happened?”

  “They tried a shakedown play,” Tucker said. “The man had a gun so I shot him. He shot the woman.”

  Kemp caught on immediately. “His name is Frank Poteet. He’s worked the angry husband thing before.”

  “And the woman?”

  “She called herself High Timber Tess. I don’t know what her real name was. She and Poteet shacked up together and he pimped her out when the cards turned against him.”

  “A charming couple,” Tucker said. The ivory butt of his Colt showed under his coat.

  “Hell, mister, how did you know?” Kemp said.

  “In my line of work a man looks at nothing but sees everything,” Tucker said. “I saw Poteet give the woman a nod and I figured they planned to make a shakedown play.”

  A couple of bruisers stepped into the room and Kemp said, “Boys, get them bodies out of here. Dump them in Battles’s yard. I sure as hell don’t need the law poking around my place.”

  After the bodies were carried out, Kemp said, “What’s your name, mister?”

  “Wilson J. Tucker.”

  Kemp was stricken. “Oh my God,” he said.

  “Heard of me, huh?” Tucker said, smiling without warmth.

  Kemp swallowed hard. “Tell the big man I’ll pay his score on Sunday,” he said. “Tell him I won’t fail.”

  Tucker nodded. “I’m sure you won’t.”

  CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

  “Both killed by a single shot to the chest, Jess,” Dr. Sun said. “It looks like somebody gunned them both.” He looked around him. “How did they end up here?”

  “That’s what I’d like to know,” P. J. Battles said. “Bodies bleeding all over my cotton is bad for business.”

  Jess Casey’s eyes lifted to the Alamo. “They could have been killed in the saloon and dragged into your yard, Mr. Battles. Or they were shot right here but that seems unlikely.”

  “Rats,” Battles said. He saw the question on Jess’s face and said, “Cotton bales crawl with rats at night. Nobody would come in here unless they were forced.”

  “They were pushed in here at gunpoint and then shot,” Jess said. “It’s a possibility.”

  Big Sal and her scrawny assistant stood by like vultures. The woman said, “The dead man is Frank Poteet, a two-bit gambler, shell game artist and pimp. The woman, God rest her, is Tess Rambler. She called herself High Timber. She and Poteet lived together in a shack behind the Germania boardinghouse.”

  “You knew them, Sal?” Jess said.

  “I saw them around a time or two and talked. Poteet was a right sociable man.”

  “Did they visit the saloon there on the corner?” Jess said.

  “Visit? They were there all the time. Poteet was a crooked gambler and he was banned from every saloon in town but this one.”

  “Who owns the place?” Jess said.

  Battles said, “A lowlife by the name of Larry Kemp. He did ten hard in Leavenworth for bank robbery and when he came out he bought the Alamo. I guess he’d buried his loot somewhere and went back for it.”

  “Let’s go have words with him,” Jess said.

  * * *

  Walking into the Alamo first thing in the morning was like stepping into an outhouse in summer. The place stank of human sweat, vomit, piss and spilled beer and the not unpleasant incense smell of burned opium.

  Larry Kemp was quick to deny that Poteet and Tess had been killed in his saloon. “I run a strict house here,” he said. “No funny business, if you catch my drift.”

  “Who supplies your opium?” Jess said.

  That caught Kemp off guard. He hesitated a moment, blinked, then said, “I don’t sell opium. Beer, whiskey, gin punch, but no opium. Never.”

  Jess, unnerved by the deaths of the gambler and his woman, snapped. “You’re a damned liar,” he said. “This dive stinks of the stuff.”

  Kemp’s face took on a sly cast. “Be warned, Sheriff, the man who supplies the opium and morphine is big, so big that he can crush you and your little Chinese friend underfoot, like a booted man steps on a cockroach. Now just turn around and toddle out of here before you get hurt.” Then, “Riker! Sims! Get over here.”

  Two huge men who’d been lounging against the bar drinking coffee stepped toward Jess and Dr. Sun. Huge in the arms and shoulders with broken simian faces, they were a pair to be reckoned with.

  “Show the gentlemen the door,” Kemp said.

  Jess expected a strong-arm play but to his surprise the bigger of the two bruisers pulled a switchblade. “You heard the boss—out!” the man said. He stepped closer, the knife ready, and Jess’s hand dropped to his gun.

  Dr. Sun wore a plain black robe that fell to his ankles. Quickly his right hand shot inside an opening in the gown and he drew a broad, single-edged sword, a bright green tassel hanging from the pommel.

  He was incredibly sudden. The blade flashed in an arc and neatly severed the knife-fighter’s hand at the wrist.

  For a heartbeat the man stared at his bleeding stump, then he shrieked in pain and horror and for some reason he ran outside, bellowing for help. His companion, appalled, took a step back and reached for the gun under his vest. Dr. Sun advanced on him, his steel blade bloody, and the big man lost interest in the fight. He turned on his heel and fled. His booted feet pounded all the way to the back of the building and then a door slammed.

  Jess holstered his Colt. Kemp’s horrified eyes were fixed on the hand lying on the floor, the switchblade still in its grasp.

  His voice low and flat, Jess said, “Who supplies your opium, Kemp?”

  Dr. Sun’s blade rippled in the morning light as he flicked the point under the man’s chin. “The sheriff asked you a question, my silent friend,” he said. His words sounded like the hiss of a snake. />
  Kemp was scared. Really scared. He-pissed-himself scared.

  “I don’t know,” he said, standing in a puddle. “The opium is delivered, I pay for it and I’ve never been told who supplies it. I know he’s big, a very important man in the Half Acre, and he kills without even thinking about it.”

  Dr. Sun said, “Mr. Kemp, have you ever seen the jian take off a man’s head? The blade is so quick, it is an exquisite thing.”

  Kemp wailed, “I’m telling you the truth. I don’t know who he is.”

  “Is it Kurt Koenig?” Jess said.

  Kemp didn’t hesitate. “I told you. I don’t know.”

  Jess tried a long shot. “Does Lillian Burke, the brewer’s daughter, ever come here?”

  Kemp shook his head. “Not as far as I know.”

  “Jess, are we finished?” Dr. Sun said.

  Jess nodded. “Yeah. I don’t think we’re going to learn any more from Mr. Kemp.”

  “Then I must go look for that poor man I disabled. He needs help. Give me his hand, Jess. He might want it.”

  “Doc, get it yourself,” Jess said. “I’m not touching it.”

  Dr. Sun picked up the severed hand and left and Jess said, “Clean up this mess, Kemp.” He looked at the man’s wet pants. “And for heaven’s sake take a bath.”

  CHAPTER THIRTY

  There were three men in the Silver Garter when Jess stepped inside.

  Kurt Koenig, Luke Short and Mayor Harry Stout sat at a table, a silver coffee service and china cups between them.

  The mayor’s face was black with rage and Jess heard him say, “An outrage, I tell you. I never thought the day would come when I’d be exposed to such villainy.”

  Koenig looked up, saw Jess and grinned. “Ah, the law has arrived. Now we’ll get to the bottom of this.”

  Jess nodded to Short, who ignored him, and then to the mayor, who said, “Good morning. Did you hear what happened?”

  “Hear what?” Jess said. “I’ve been investigating a double murder.”

  He looked for a reaction from Koenig, but the expression on the man’s face hadn’t changed and still showed only a slight amusement.

  “Murders, sir?” Stout said. His florid face was almost crimson. “As though murders are anything new in Hell’s Half Acre. My dear boy, I’m talking about thuggery of the highest order, a vicious attack on civilization itself, by God.”

  “Is anybody going to tell me what happened?” Jess said. Without being invited he picked up a cup and poured himself coffee, an I-don’t-give-a-damn move that wasn’t lost on Koenig, who looked surprised.

  Stout said, “In the early hours of this morning, when decent Christian folk were asleep in bed, a band of armed men broke into City Hall and removed the murderer who calls himself Zeus. As far as I can tell the night watchman turned the other way, the rogue.”

  The news hit Jess like a fist. He said, “What does the watchman say?”

  “He says he was making his rounds when he was hit on the head and remembers nothing more,” Stout said. “I don’t believe a word of it.”

  Luke Short said, “Black men are dragged out of jails and lynched all the time. Why make such a fuss, Your Honor?”

  “Because the man was taken from the jail cell in City Hall by vigilantes,” Stout said. “Such an act of savagery cannot stand.” He glared at Jess. “Conduct an immediate investigation, Sheriff, and report to me personally. Do I make myself clear?”

  Jess didn’t answer that. He asked a question of his own. “Who would want Zeus dead?”

  “Hell, that’s easy,” Luke said. “You heard the mayor, they were vigilantes. Addie Brennan was well liked in this town.”

  “No, she wasn’t,” Jess said. “I’ve been told she was a mean old biddy who never had a good word to say about anybody. A woman who wasn’t well liked in life would hardly be regarded as a saint in death.”

  Koenig said, “Then what’s your take on it, Jess?”

  “I think Zeus had to be silenced,” Jess said. “But for what reason I don’t know. I believe we’re already talking about a dead man.”

  “Who’s going to take a black man’s word for anything?” Luke said. “You’re talking nonsense. A bunch of vigilantes took him out of the jail and strung him up someplace because he shot Addie Brennan. Use your brain, cowboy.”

  Mayor Stout gave Jess a long, speculative look then said, “Report to me, Sheriff, as soon as you find out something. Now I must go and see if I can undo the damage done. If a man cannot feel safe in City Hall then where can he feel secure?” He shook his head. “This will not set well with the voters who’ve come to trust Honest Harry Stout.”

  After the mayor left, Luke Short said, “Making a mountain out of a molehill, ain’t he?”

  Koenig shrugged. “Like Stout said, it won’t look good to the voters.” His eyes moved to Jess. “And to what do we owe the honor, Sheriff?”

  Jess laid his empty cup back on the table. “Don’t sell any more opium to Larry Kemp. I’m shutting him down.”

  Koenig seemed surprised. “Kemp sells opium in his dump? First I heard of it.”

  “You don’t supply him with opium and morphine?” Jess said.

  “The hell I do. I did for awhile, but he never paid on time and I cut him off.”

  “What about this new drug, Kurt?”

  “Haven’t heard of it. What the hell is it?”

  “It’s made from opium. It’s supposed to be much more powerful. It kills people, Kurt.”

  “Then I won’t sell it, if it even exists,” Kurt said. “I wouldn’t want to kill off all my customers.” The big man smiled. “You’re just in time to congratulate Luke and me—we’re going into business together. I’m supplying the White Elephant.”

  “With opium?” Jess said.

  “Of course. There’s a big market for it outside of the Half Acre.”

  “No, you’re not, Kurt,” Jess said. “Luke, if you turn your saloon into an opium den I’ll shut you down. The plague has spread far enough. For now I’m content to confine it to the Half Acre, but soon I aim to crack down on any establishment that sells it.”

  By nature Luke Short had an explosive temper and Jess had pushed him over the edge. “You damned upstart, try to close me down and I’ll kill you.”

  “If you don’t want to go out of business then don’t sell opium,” Jess said.

  “Damn you!” Luke yelled. He jumped to his feet and got belly to belly with Jess, just as he’d done with Jim Courtright. His hand reached behind him for the gun he kept in his back pocket.

  Jess screwed the muzzle of his Colt into Short’s side. “Luke, skin that piece and I’ll scatter your liver all over the sawdust,” he said.

  Short was taken aback by the speed of Jess’s draw. He let his gun hand fall and took a step back. His eyes were ablaze with a killing light.

  “Luke! Let it go,” Koenig said. The big man was on his feet. He wore his gun. “Jess, you’re stepping over the line.”

  “I mean what I say, Kurt,” Jess said. Then, “Where is Lillian Burke?”

  “Pat Burke’s daughter? How the hell should I know?”

  “You own the Green Buddha opium den?”

  “Sure I do.”

  “Lillian goes there regularly. She’s hooked.”

  “I never go near the place,” Koenig said. “It stinks.”

  “Not even to collect the money? Does the money stink as well?”

  Koenig said nothing, but Luke Short was mad and it showed.

  “Luke, turn around real slow,” Jess said, sensing the danger.

  “The hell I will,” Short said. The light was still in his eyes. Even though Jess had his gun in his hand, Luke was going to attempt a draw.

  Jess took a step forward and slammed his Colt into the side of the little gambler’s head. Luke dropped without a sound. Jess rolled him over on his belly and removed the fancy Colt from his leather-lined back pocket.

  “Tell him he can get it back at the usual place,”
Jess said. He shook his head. “That man never learns.”

  “Jess, you’ve just declared war,” Koenig said. “You won’t come out the winner.”

  “I’ve declared war on the Half Acre’s opium trade, Kurt,” he said. “I’m real sorry you’re such a part of it.”

  “Jess, I’m seriously thinking of drawing down on you,” Koenig said.

  “Don’t, Kurt,” Jess said. “I don’t want to kill you.”

  It was a moment of truth for Kurt Koenig. He’d given Jess Casey the job of sheriff almost as a joke. But now the joke was on him. All he’d done was create a monster.

  CHAPTER THIRTY-ONE

  Dr. Sun counted seventeen bullet holes in Zeus’s huge body and evidence of a shotgun blast to his face at very close range.

  “He was shot to pieces,” he said. “Tied up and blasted into doll rags.”

  Jess Casey stared at the body, once so strong and vital, now a torn and dead thing. “It took a lot of lead to put him down,” he said.

  “There’s rage here,” Dr. Sun said. “Somebody hated this man. When the face is disfigured like this it’s always because the victim was murdered in hot blood.”

  The rising wind tugged at Jess’s clothes and hat brim. The blue bandanna around his neck fluttered like an imprisoned bird. “Who would hate Zeus that much?” he said.

  Dr. Sun adjusted the position of the sword under his robe. “Some white people hate blacks,” he said.

  “I don’t see it that way, Doc,” Jess said. “This wasn’t a lynching, it was a revenge murder. Look at the tracks. Four booted men dragged Zeus here and a fifth arrived later. He was wearing shoes. I’d be willing to bet that he carried a scattergun and fired the last shot into Zeus’s face.”

  Dr. Sun looked up at the sky, where white clouds raced like a flock of sheep. “There is great evil in Fort Worth,” he said.

  “Who? Or what?” Jess said.

  The little man shook his head. “I have no answers.” He looked at Jess. “Perhaps you should have remained a cowboy, my friend.”

  Jess smiled. “Too beat up to be a cowboy, too scared most of the time to be a lawman. What do I do?”