The Bridge

47

Book walked in the door just as we got Bolger back behind bars and closed the door between the office and the cells.

“Think he’s telling the truth?” Chastain said.

“Do,” Virgil said quietly. “He don’t got the necessary resources to conjure up something like this.”

“Poor bastard,” Chastain said.

Virgil nodded a little.

“What now?” Chastain said.

“Me and Everett need to make a trip to the Back Door, pay this Belle a visit. Figure out what we can about Ballard, the whore, and who the fella was that hired him.”

“You still think this Swickey is the man behind all this?” Chastain said.

“Could damn well be,” I said.

“I haven’t had any luck locating him yet,” Chastain said.

“Keep looking,” Virgil said.

“Maybe this Belle knows where he is,” I said.

“Maybe,” Virgil said. “If he does run cattle and has a big spread, he can’t be that hard to find.”

“We’ve contacted every census and court and scoured records but have come up empty, but we ain’t done. We’ll keep after it,” Chastain said.

“Good,” Virgil said.

Virgil and I left the office and walked up the street, headed for the north side of town.

The Back Door brothel was a newly reconstructed Victorian two-story house atop a tall foundation at the end of Reed Street.

Virgil and I climbed the long steps and knocked on the door. After a moment a distinguished-looking black man with a feather duster in his hand opened the door.

“I’m sorry,” he said. “Won’t be open for business until later this afternoon, gentlemen.”

I showed him my badge.

“Not here for no business,” I said. “Need to see Belle.”

He leaned forward, looking at my badge, and nodded.

“I’ll let her know you are here,” he said, as he stepped back and let us in. “And you are?”

“Marshal Virgil Cole and Deputy Marshal Everett Hitch,” I said.

“Sure,” he said. “Please have a seat.”

Virgil and I sat in the parlor as he walked off down the hall.

We sat there and waited, and after a moment longer than we needed to wait, Belle entered.

We stood.

She was short and round, with a wide smile. It looked like in her day she was a pretty lady, but like most women of her trade, the years had caught up with her.

“You need to see me?” she said in a husky voice seasoned from years of smoke and whiskey.

“We do,” I said.

We introduced ourselves.

“I know you two,” she said with a smile. “Well, at least I know who you are. Sit.”

We sat.

“I’m sorry I’m not more put together,” Belle said, “but you caught me before I went about the three-hour process of making myself up, so it goes without saying you must come back so you can experience the amazing transformation.”

“Sure,” I said, in an effort to be polite.

“Just need to ask you a few questions,” Virgil said.

“I’ll answer what I can,” Belle said.

Virgil nodded.

“Swickey?” Virgil said.

“What about him?” Belle said.

“So you know him?” I said.

“I do,” she said. “Not real well, however.”

“When was he here last?”

“Oh, well, it’s been a few months, I think,” she said.

“He got a certain gal?” Virgil said.

“He did,” Belle said. “Kim.”

“Where can we find Kim?” I said.

“You can’t,” she said. “Not here, anyway. She moved on.”

“Know where she moved on to?”

“Yep,” Belle said. “She married one of her regulars and they moved back to Wichita Falls.”

“Swickey been back since?” Virgil said.

“No,” she said.

“What can you tell us about him?” I said.

“Well,” she said. “He’s a single man, he enjoys himself when he is here, and he spends a lot of money, but he’s been here only a few times. Like I said, he liked Kim, but she’s long gone.”

“You know where Swickey lives?” Virgil said.

“No, I’m afraid I don’t,” she said.

“You hired a man here named Ballard?” Virgil said.

We could tell she didn’t like the sound of the question.

“He’s no longer working here,” she said.

Virgil nodded.

“We know that,” he said.

“I’m sorry,” she said. “I’m not surprised he’s someone you are looking for.”

“Why?” I said.

“He’s a... how should I put this,” Belle said. “Ballard’s rough company.”

“Why’d you hire him?” I said.

“He had the credentials I was looking for,” Belle said.

“Which are?” I said.

“He’s intimidating,” Belle said. “He was what I was looking for. He collected for me.”

“You have any idea where he might be?” I said.

She shook her head.

“Not at all,” she said.

“Fair enough,” Virgil said.

“More importantly,” I said, “we are looking for one of your girls who introduced Ballard to one of your clients, maybe Swickey.”

Belle shook her head.

“I don’t know anything about that,” she said.

“This Kim,” I said. “Was she friendly with Ballard?”

“No,” Belle said. “Kim was intelligent and cautious, and she was not close to him that I know. Reason being she was close to me.”

“Was Ballard friendly with one woman in particular here?” I said.

“Don’t think so,” she said. “The girls liked him. Well, they liked to look at him.”

“What do you mean,” I said.

“Good-looking, got that thing about him women want. Silent, strong, but he’s a buck in the rut,” Belle said. “Full on, with the horns and all.”

“Describe him,” Virgil said.

“Well,” Belle said. “Like I say, he’s strong. He’s handsome as hell, a little over six foot, dark hair, full twist longhorn mustache. He sports a bowler with a white feather. He’s kind of flashy, has a pretty flashy smile. But like I tell ya, don’t be fooled, he’s rough company.”

“He just up and left here?” Virgil said.

“No, I told him to leave,” she said.

“Why?” Virgil said.

“He went too far,” she said.

“In what way?” Virgil said.

“He’s one mean sadistic son-of-a-crazy-bitch,” Belle said, nodding.

“What’d he do?” Virgil said.

“The last fella I had him collect for,” Belle said, “he beat him up bad, tied him up, naked, and ransacked his place.”

Virgil thought about that. He looked around the room at nothing and everything.

“How can we find out,” I said, “who this woman is?”

“Be hard?” she said.

“But not impossible,” Virgil said.

“Not impossible, no,” she said. “But you fellas know whores, and getting something outta them won’t be like twisting water out of a wet rag. They like the men they fuck because they pay them well, and they like to keep it that way. Whores are whores because they are whores.”

Virgil looked to me.

“So, like I say, not impossible,” Belle said. “But my girls don’t live here. But you can of course talk to each and every one of them...”

I slid my hand into the pocket of my coat as she was talking and I felt the envelope Séraphine had left for me at the hotel desk. I pulled it out and looked at it.

“Plus,” Belle continued, “since Ballard, I’ve had turnover, too. Whoring ain’t like it used to be. There is no loyalty...”

As Belle went on jabbering, I opened the envelope and read what Séraphine had written.

I looked up to Virgil and he was looking at me.

I looked back to the note. It had but one word written on it. Slaughterhouse.