Louisiana Laydown

3

The boat arrived in the city of New Orleans at mid-morning. The air was a foul-smelling mix of human waste, trash, swamp, and too many people crammed too close together. In short, it was like most of the bigger cities Fargo had ever been in—no place he’d want to stay for any length of time, and why anyone else would was a mystery to him.

The trip down the Mississippi had been filled with good meals, great sex with the voluptuous Louisa, and good conversations with David Parker, who now stood beside Fargo at the rail, watching as they neared the docks.

“It’s good to be home,” Parker said. “I enjoy traveling, but my soul belongs to this city.”

Sniffing the air with distaste, Fargo said, “That’s hard to imagine, given the smell.”

Parker laughed. “I’ll admit that it does assault the olfactory senses, but you’ll get used to it. There are other compensations that more than make up for it not smelling like a bed of roses.” His eyes scanned the docks. “There’s one now,” he added, pointing to a woman descending from a carriage at the far end of the dock. She turned toward them, and Fargo was struck by her handsome features.

She wasn’t beautiful in the traditional sense, but her face was striking. She caught sight of Parker standing at the rail and raised her hand in a wave, then moved down the dock to where the passengers would disembark. The riverboat finally moored, and Parker led the way down the gangplank with Fargo close on his heels.

“Hattie,” Parker said. “You didn’t have to come down here to meet me.” He caught her up in his arms and kissed her on the cheek.

“You’ve been gone almost a month!” the woman exclaimed. “I wasn’t going to wait to see you even another minute.” She turned her gaze on Fargo, and then he knew why she was running a successful brothel. Her blue eyes screamed seduction. They glowed from within, like a twin set of blue flames, and the passion in them exactly mirrored the intensity and wetness of a woman reaching an orgasm. They were eyes meant for the bedroom, and her smile hinted at every dark desire that could cross a man’s mind. Despite the fact that her figure was more matronly than seductive, he guessed that she’d have no trouble bringing most men to their knees within moments. “I see you’ve brought someone along with you, David. Who’s this handsome specimen?”

“Hattie Hamilton, meet Skye Fargo,” Parker said. “We met on board during a poker game. Mr. Fargo here has an eye for detail and doesn’t take kindly to cheaters.”

Fargo took her outstretched hand and almost jumped as a wave of sexual heat passed from her to him. It wasn’t just her eyes, he now knew. She was pure sexual ambition in female form—almost a predator. “Miss Hamilton,” he said. “It’s a . . . unique pleasure to meet you. Mr. Parker speaks highly of your business establishment.”

She laughed, low and throaty. “I’m sure he does,” she said. “He financed its opening, but he’s made his investment back a thousandfold, haven’t you, David?”

“Yes, yes, indeed,” Parker said. “I thought Mr. Fargo might prove useful in our upcoming poker game. I trust all is prepared.”

She nodded, letting her eyes linger on Fargo’s a moment more before turning back to her patron. “Yes, everything is ready. The game is set for three nights from now, and everyone has confirmed their attendance.”

“That’s excellent news, Hattie,” Parker said. “I knew I could count on your delicate handling of this. We wouldn’t want any interference from those who frown on such high-stakes games.”

“Speaking of high stakes,” Fargo interrupted, “we probably shouldn’t be standing here on the dock talking about this.” He jammed a thumb in the direction of the boat. “I’ll need to get my horse and my things, arrange for a place to stay.”

“Nonsense, Mr. Fargo,” Hattie said. “There’s plenty of room at my establishment.”

Fargo saw Parker’s tense look and remembered his earlier words, then ruefully shook his head. “Thank you,” he said. “But I suspect I could get a mite distracted staying there and Mr. Parker has hired me to be sharp. You and your ladies could dull any man’s senses, I imagine.”

She laughed, and the sound was that of a young woman. “Why, Mr. Fargo, I do believe you are flirting with me!”

Fargo grinned and said, “Maybe a little. But the truth is, I’d best get a place to stay that’s elsewhere.”

“Indeed,” Parker said, his voice cold. “Hattie’s place is easy enough to find. Once you’ve stabled your horse, just ask any of the newspaper boys in the city for directions to the Blue Emporium. They’ll be able to direct you. Across the street is a decent enough hotel, the Bayou. It’s run by a bunch of Cajuns, but it’s clean and affordable.”

“Sounds fine,” Fargo said. “When do you want to meet up again?”

“Three days from now,” Parker said. “Be at the Blue Emporium at sundown. The game will begin shortly thereafter.”

“I’ll be there,” Fargo said. “Anything else?”

Parker took Hattie’s arm possessively. “Just stay out of trouble, Fargo. This city eats up cowboys and spits them back out as nothing but sackcloth and bones. Be careful.”

“Understood,” he said. He tipped his hat to Hattie and turned away.

The Ovaro would be restless from several days in the hold and Fargo felt the need to stretch his legs, too.

His horse was led out shortly thereafter, and with a wave to Louisa who was standing on deck and looking forlorn, he tossed his saddle on the Ovaro and began the work of crossing the crowded, dirty city, trying to find somewhere, anywhere, that a man and his horse could feel free.

So this was fabled New Orleans, Fargo thought, as he plied its streets and observed its broad spectrum of the human species. It seemed that on every street corner somebody was peddling something—gadgets or junky tourist mementos or elixirs meant to make you more beautiful or rich or intelligent.

The architecture was more interesting than most of the people. Most of the houses, even the poorer ones, had a certain style that made them worth a serious look. Fargo didn’t know anything about architecture but he knew that few cities offered the eye this kind of varied housing. The civic buildings were likewise impressive. For all its flaws, the place obviously had pride and that was reflected in everything from the humblest abode to the gaudiest mansion.

And that was certainly not the only kind of beauty on display. In carriages, buggies, and hansom cabs, and on horseback the range of female good looks was stunning. The rich women in silks, the working girls in scruffy cotton, the imperious ones in gold-trimmed carriages . . . a man didn’t know where to look, there were so many attractive women competing for his attention.

Sometimes it was difficult to remember that he was actually trying to find something out . . .

It took two hours of dealing with no small number of rude people with little knowledge of the surrounding country before Fargo finally found someone who gave him directions worth a damn. Following them, he found himself on the outskirts of the city, where swamp hadn’t taken over the fertile fields, and the trees looked almost normal, rather than the haunting, moss-covered trees that he’d seen elsewhere.

He gave the Ovaro his head, letting him run. It felt good to be on horseback again, the wind in his face, his hat blown backward. Even the rush of air through his recently trimmed hair made him feel alive and well. He had money—quite a bit of it—and if things went well, he stood to earn a good deal more.

The Ovaro dodged right, around a tree stump, and pulled a tight circle, ready to run across the field again. Fargo pulled him to a halt, letting his big lungs catch up for a minute. Suddenly, the Ovaro snorted a warning and stamped his front hoof. Fargo’s hand moved to the butt of his Colt, even as his eyes scanned the shadows beneath the trees for whatever or whoever was there. A faint movement caught his gaze, and with breathtaking speed the Colt cleared the holster and was aimed at the form. “Show yourself!” he barked, his hands rock steady.

“Don’t . . . don’t shoot me, please,” a female voice said. “I didn’t mean to startle you or your fine horse.”

“Come on out from beneath that tree,” Fargo said. “Nice and easy. I’m a mite jumpy, and I’ve run across far too many women who were good with a gun to go on pure trust these days.”

She stepped out from beneath the trees and Fargo felt his jaw unhinge a little bit. She was just about the most breathtaking creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Her skin was the color of coffee with just a bit of fresh cream mixed in and her eyes, large and dark, were mirrored pools deep enough for a man to drown in. Her face was absolutely guileless, unmarked by lies or harsh words, like so many women he’d seen. It almost glowed from within.

She wore a simple dress, cut of one cloth, and her large breasts swelled against the tight, cotton fabric. The ivory color suited her, he thought, as his eyes traveled over her hips and down her shapely legs. From his vantage atop the horse, he could see that she wore no shoes. He holstered the Colt, and tipped his hat. “Ma’am,” he said.

She laughed, and it was the sound of an angel singing. “Don’t you go calling me that,” she said. “I may be a lot of things, but I don’t hardly qualify as no lady.”

“Reckon I’ll give you the benefit of the doubt,” Fargo said. “Least until you prove otherwise. You’re a long way from anywhere out here.”

“I like to come here sometimes,” she said. “It’s quiet most of the time and no one bothers me.”

“I don’t suppose,” he said. “Why were you hiding under the trees?”

“I . . .” She cast her eyes downward, in the same way he’d seen slaves do. “I didn’t mean no harm. I just wanted to watch your horse. I never seen one like that before.”

“Yes,” he said. “He’s a good one. Full of himself, too.” He climbed down out of the saddle. “Would you like to ride him?”

She looked startled and held up her hands. “Oh . . . oh, no! I didn’t mean that! I just wanted to watch. I . . . I’ll leave now and won’t trouble you no more.” She started to back away.

“Hold on,” Fargo said. “You haven’t troubled me. I didn’t mean to frighten you.” He gestured vaguely at the trees. “Are you from around here?” he asked.

She shook her head. “No,” she said. “I work in the city most every day. I just come out here once in a while, when I can . . .” She caught her breath, then took what must have seemed to her a daring risk, by adding, “Just so I can breathe again.”

Fargo chuckled. “I understand,” he said. “I don’t know much about New Orleans, but it sure is ripe.” He took a deep breath, inhaled and exhaled. “It’s better out here.”

She smiled shyly at him and nodded. “I guess I better be going back,” she said. “I don’t want Miz Hamilton to get mad at me.”

“Miss Hamilton?” Fargo asked. “Hattie Hamilton? ”

“Yes,” she said. “She runs the Blue Emporium over on Basin Street. Best bang for the buck in all the city.”

“You work there?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said. “I’m what Miz Hamilton calls a ‘special.’ Lotsa men like their girls to have some dark in their skin.”

Fargo eyed her appreciatively. “I can see why,” he said. “I should be the one apologizing—for interrupting your quiet time. I think we both”—he jerked a thumb at the Ovaro, who was busy grazing on the green grass and ignoring them—“just needed to stretch our legs a bit. That riverboat ride from St. Louis was a long one.”

The girl nodded as though she’d been on the trip herself several times, though Fargo doubted she’d been more than fifty miles from New Orleans in her entire life. “Do you . . . I don’t mean to pry, but do you know Miz Hamilton?” she asked.

Fargo nodded. “A little,” he said. “We just met today, down on the docks. Her friend Mr. Parker introduced us.” The girl shuddered and did her best to hide it, but Fargo’s experienced eyes could see that she didn’t think much of Parker—or of Hattie Hamilton. “Why do you ask?”

“It ain’t none of my business,” she said, her voice meek. “You just seemed like you knew her is all.”

Suspecting that his earlier thoughts about Parker not telling him everything were accurate, Fargo decided to take the girl into his confidence. “Well, I’ll tell you,” he said. “Mr. Parker—Senator Parker—strikes me as a dangerous man who likes to get his way. He’s asked me to work for him for a few days this week, but maybe I should rethink it a bit. You haven’t said as much, but I can tell . . . you don’t like him much. Him or Miss Hamilton, do you?”

She stared at him, her dark eyes wide with fear. “No, I like ’em both just fine. Don’t say nothing, please.”

Fargo placed a gentle hand on her shoulder. “It’s all right,” he said. “Calm down. I won’t be saying a word to either one about you. But I need to know the truth. What am I walking into here?”

She looked at him for a long minute, then sighed and nodded. “Nobody works for Mr. Parker for a few days. It’s like . . . like jail, only worse, ’cause you can’t ever get out. And Miz Hamilton, she acts all nice and pretty and like a lady, but deep down, under the clothes, she’s still just what she was when she first came to New Orleans—a scavenger rat.”

She grabbed him by the arm. “You should just run. Don’t go back! Head west and don’t look back, not even once!”

Fargo gently removed her hand and shook his head. “My name is Skye Fargo,” he said. “I’ve made an agreement with Mr. Parker and I’ll hold up my end, but he’ll get more than he’s bargained for if he tries to double-cross me. That much, I can guarantee you.”

She went quiet for a moment, looking him over, like she was examining something of deep interest. “Just be careful,” she finally said. “You are going into the snake pit. The whole city ain’t nothing but one big den of snakes.”

“I’ll be careful,” Fargo said. He turned back to the Ovaro. “Now, why don’t I give you a ride back to the city? I’m headed that way.”

Her eyes went wide and she shook her head violently. “Oh, no! If Miz Hamilton saw us, I’d get . . . I’d get in trouble for sure. I’m not supposed to even talk to a man without her permission!”

Fargo felt his jaw clench. If what this girl was saying was true, then he knew exactly the type of place Hattie Hamilton was running. Girls stayed on out of fear of retribution or beatings or worse. He’d seen a few brothels out West run that way, and it was never a pretty sight once you got behind the scenes.

“I’ll drop you off when we reach the edge of the city,” Fargo said. He climbed into the saddle and reached out a hand. “You’ve never even been on a horse, have you?”

“No,” she said, her eyes darting left and right. “You promise you won’t tell?”

“I promise,” Fargo said. “And I’m a man who keeps my word.”

She grasped his hand and let him pull her up behind him. “It’s very high,” she said.

Her added weight wouldn’t make any difference to the horse on a trip as short as this. The Ovaro had been through far more difficult challenges. “Wrap your arms around my waist,” he said. “If you’ve never ridden a horse, I want you to have the full experience. ”

“What . . . what do you mean?” she asked, grasping him tightly.

Fargo laughed and put his heels to the horse. The Ovaro responded by leaping into a smooth canter, and turning to take one more run at the open field. “Come on, boy,” he called. “Show her what it is to ride!”

Given his head, the Ovaro ran as though he knew he’d be in a stall for a while. Behind Fargo, the girl squealed in delight and held on even tighter. The trees flashed by on either side, blurs of green leaves and the ruddy brown of bark. They reached the end, and Fargo turned him around, heading him back across the field once more.

“Is it always like this?” she called over his shoulder.

“Like what?” he asked.

“Like . . . flying,” she said. “So free.”

“Always,” Fargo said. “Unless someone’s chasing you. Then it’s a little more tense.”

“I’ve been chased before,” she said into his back. “I don’t mind that none.”

“Were any of them shooting at you, too?” Fargo said, slowing the horse as they found the lane that led back to the city.

She giggled. “No. Why would anyone shoot at me? I ain’t nothing but a whore. Not worth the cost of a bullet.”

Fargo laughed deeply. “You’re mistaken,” he said. “I suspect there are plenty of men in the world who would willingly spend the cost of a whole lot of bullets for your company.”

“I don’t know nothing about that,” she said. “Miz Hamilton saves my money for me.”

He pulled the horse up sharply, felt her weight lean into him, warm and small. “She what?” he asked.

“Miz Hamilton,” the girl repeated. “She saves my money for me. She does for all the girls. We just get ourselves an ‘allowance.’ ”

“How much?” Fargo asked.

“A dollar a week,” the girl said, her voice filled with pride. “I save as much as I can.”

A normal working girl got a dollar a turn. A beauty like this, maybe as much as ten, Fargo thought. He sincerely doubted Miss Hamilton was saving these girls’ earnings. Most likely, she was pocketing the money herself. “I see,” he said, his voice tight. “What’s your name?”

“Fleur,” she said. “I guess it means ‘flower.’ That’s what Miz Hamilton says.”

Fargo shook his head, half turning in the saddle so he could make eye contact. “No,” he said. “What’s your real name?”

“Ain’t nobody called me that since my mama died,” she said. “But my folks named me Mary.”

“All right,” he said. “Mary it is, then. At least as far as I’m concerned.”

He got the Ovaro moving again, keeping his thoughts to himself. Obviously Parker and Hattie had themselves quite a business going. He wondered about this other fellow, Beares, and thought that looking him up before the big poker game would be a good idea.

Whenever he was in strange country—and there was no doubt that New Orleans was such a place—Fargo liked to know the truth of the land and the people in it. There were always good people in such a place, and bad ones, too. The only question in his mind was who was who, and how to protect himself and those who couldn’t protect themselves.

Feeling the warm embrace of Mary in the saddle behind him, Fargo wondered how long she’d been working for Hattie Hamilton and how many other secrets were being kept behind the walls of the Blue Emporium.

If he were to make a guess, Fargo knew the answer would be a whole lot.

And where there was money and power and secrets, there was always death coming.

In his world, no matter where he was, it just worked out that way.