Blood on the Verde River (6 page)

She about blushed. “I am just a simple puta.”

“I know that. I am looking for another girl. Her name was Bonnie Allen.”

The puta shook her head very quickly at him. “I don't know her.”

“I am at the Hampton ranch. You can reach me there if you hear of her.”

“I will. I will. I hope you find her.”

Chet left the barrio and wandered back through the town, eventually making his way to the saddle shop.

His men came in late afternoon and met him there.

JD laughed. “Today, I talked to Ivory.”

“Well, what's she like?” Chet asked, sharing a grin with Jesus.

“Whew. She is—”

Chet waved off JD's explanation about her charms. “What did she know about Bonnie Allen?”

“She's scared to death. But she told me Bonnie was going to meet a man the night she vanished. And they would kill her if they knew she said anything.”

“Would she give you his name?”

“Aw, hell. She was so damn scared, she was shaking, but she told me his name. It's Bernard Whittle.”

“Does he live here?”

“She didn't seem to know that.”

“Does he work for old man Clanton?”

“Never said.”

Chet held up his hand. “I can check him out with Marshal White. We have a name. That's something. What did you learn, Jesus?”

“Carlos Ramaras.”

Chet nodded. “I heard about him today, as well. What do you know about him?”

“He is a white slaver who lives in Sonora, but they doubt he would take a white woman from up here.”

“Why not?” JD asked.

Jesus shook his head and turned up his hands. “He is not afraid of Mexican authorities, but he fears a gringo backlash. He could buy off any official below the border, but couldn't hold off against an attack by angry gringos before the
federales
could stop them.”

“You guys can hang around. I'm meeting a waitress who says she can answer our questions tonight about Bonnie Allen.”

“Oh?” JD laughed.

“It isn't funny. We've learned lots already that even the law couldn't find out. If she has some information we can use, we'll even be more informed.”

“I just thought it funny, you meeting a saloon girl.”

“I know. We've been walking around like blind sheep trying to get some answers. But we're finding out some things and if she knows something we may need it.” Chet sure didn't need to get angry at the two young men helping him. They were doing their part under less than perfect circumstances. They'd lost a lot of time already, so speeding things up was essential.

He left the two young men and was waiting when she stepped into the cat-infested alley from the lighted back door. He noticed her looking around—ready to spring back inside if threatened by anyone.

“Over here.” He waved to her. From where he stood, he had a good view of the alley in both directions. No need to take any chances no matter how sure he felt about her.

“My name is Valerie.”

“Mine's Chet.”

“Come on. We can't talk here. I live a few blocks away.”

He fell in a little behind and followed her. “Did you know her? Bonnie Allen, I mean.”

She nodded.

Chet explained, “Her mother helped me when I came to Arizona two years ago. She's a very nice lady. That's why I'm here. I told her I'd look for her.”

Valerie shook her head warily. “Bonnie Allen and I worked together in another café when she first came to Tombstone. She told me she wanted to work in a parlor house. We both went to see about a job up there, but I didn't want to do that. When it got down to it, I chickened out. She always teased me about that, but I didn't care.”

She opened the door to her small house. “Actually, I tried it, but I guess my conscience got to eating at me. I quit and went to a Protestant church. They took me in. I went back to work as a waitress. I was threatened if I didn't come back that I might be raped and beaten up. I borrowed a loaded pistol and let them know I had it.”

Inside, Valerie lit a coal-oil light then closed the door and barred it. “Sit down. Bonnie told me about this guy who said he could get her work for some big money. I was suspicious. I am not an angel, but night after night I hated having them smothering me, and as I said, I quit.” She clearly shook with her revulsion.

“Can you tell me where this guy is if he took her?”

“No one has heard from him.” She shook her head and sat down across from Chet.

“There is a white slaver in Mexico named Ramaras. He in this deal?”

“I don't know. But I have heard of him.”

“Was it Bernard Whittle?”

She stood up and hugged herself. “Damn Chet, how did you learn that?”

“I've been learning things these past few days to try and solve this. Is the sumbitch upstairs in one of the whorehouses?”

“No. He has a house over by the Methodist church.”

“Sit down. It's okay. So he deals in this slavery business too?”

“I'm not sure of that.” Valerie chewed on her lip before she continued. “She said he could get her a better job through him.”

She sat down and gripped the sides of her seat. “I am not a scared person. But these guys involved in this business can really hurt you.”

“I can too. I mean, hurt him.”

“I want you to find her—alive. I can't tell you anything else.” She chewed on her lip again. “You're a married man, aren't you? I can tell. You have a
don't touch me
look about you. Your wife and Jenn are both damn lucky to have you.”

“No, I'm the lucky one. My wife isn't in the place you are. But if I give you stage fare to go to Preskitt, you can work for Jenn, and I guarantee you won't be under any pressure up there.”

Valerie closed her eyes. “She won't hire me.”

“I know her. You want the stage ticket?”

She shrunk in the chair. “If you don't find Bonnie, she will blame me.”

“No. A ticket is twenty dollars. My men will carry your luggage down to the depot and put you on the stage. I will wire Jenn and she will meet you tomorrow or whenever the stage gets there.”

Valerie wrung her hands then nodded. “I accept.”

Chet went over, unlocked the door, opened it, and looked across the street where those two slim boys of his were leaning their butts on the hitch rail. They'd followed him. Their pants were tucked in their boot tops, high crown hats were cocked on the back of their heads, and silk kerchiefs were around their necks. They stood, waiting.

Shaking his head, he waved for them to come over. With smug smiles, they came loose from their braces on the rack and walked over.

“Valerie needs some help getting her things to the stage depot. We're buying her a ticket to Preskitt.”

“Who will tell my boss?” she asked.

“We will,” Chet said.

“Tell him I'm sorry.” She began to cry.

“Don't cry, Valerie.” JD hugged her shoulder. “Men can't take crying,”

“I'm sorry. I left Texas to come out here to become a woman of the night. I found I hated it. Then I was trapped here. Now I'm going to leave here and make a new start.” She sniffed. “I hope it will work.”

“We'll be certain it is a good start,” JD said, and they helped her pack.

Chet agreed. “I'll wire Jenn and she'll meet the stage.”

“How do I thank you guys?”

“Smile for us,” JD said.

“That's good,” Jesus added when she forced one.

The three waited with her at the stage depot and at ten o'clock they loaded her things on the stage. Chet told the driver to be sure she got on the Black Canyon Stage at Hayden Mills. He'd already wired Jenn that she was coming. She stood on her toes and kissed all three. “Thanks.”

Then she smiled and climbed in the coach. The driver climbed on top, took the reins, and shouted at the ready horses. The stage rocked out of Tombstone.

“Where are we going?” JD asked as they left the station.

“To tell her boss that she quit,” Chet answered.

“Do you think we can ever find Bonnie Allen?” JD asked.

Chet nodded. “I haven't given up.”

“I just asked.”

The café was closed when Chet and his crew got there and it was too late to return to the Hamptons so they slept at the livery. At dawn, they went down the block and he told her boss she'd left.

He scowled at them. “Why?”

“She got a better job in Preskitt,” Chet said.

“Hell, I'd gave her a raise.”

Chet shook his head. “It's not your fault. She needed to leave here. Too many bad experiences.”

“You all three want breakfast?”

“Yes and coffee,” Chet said to him.

They took seats at the bar and coffee was poured right away. Chet felt sorry for the owner. Customers would soon file in for their breakfast. They'd miss Valerie. She had lots of get up and go to get things done.

They got their meals and watched all the mix-ups made by the new help the owner had called in. Jenn would love that girl.

“This guy who told Bonnie Allen he had a better job for her, he lives in town?” JD asked.

“Yes. We're going to watch him around the clock until we figure out his business. We'll find Marshall White and get him to tell me where this Bernard Whittle lives.”

They finished their breakfast quickly and headed to the marshal's office first.

“Don't you hate walking around all over this damn town?” JD asked, making a disgusted face over their situation.

Chet laughed. “Yes, I'd like a helluva lot more to ride.”

“Me too,” Jesus agreed.

“Sorry, cowboys, but this one's a leg job.”

They found Marshal White in his office, yawning after his all-night shift.

“Oh, morning,” White said recognizing Chet.

“Morning, Marshal. This is my nephew JD and Jesus. What can you tell us about Bernard Whittle?”

The marshal acknowledged the young men with a nod. “Barney is what they call him. He has some mining interest around here. Must make money at it. He lives pretty high.”

Chet flat told him, “That good old boy sells women into slavery.”

“Oh, hell. I had no damn idea. You sure?”

“I think we have three good witnesses that would swear to it. He a friend of yours?”

White shook his head. Scrubbing his beard stubble with his palm, he asked, “What can I do for you?”

“I want to confront him.”

“If you have word on it, I don't blame you, but I can't do much unless we have solid proof.”

“You've been square with Jenn, so I decided to tell you our purpose. We'll try not to break the law.”

White warily shook his head. “I walk a tightrope in this damn town with old man Clanton on the left and the mine owners on the right. Throw in the merchants trying to make a living and it's real crazy.”

“You have no idea who Whittle's contacts are?” Chet asked.

“No. No idea. People do shifty things and conceal them. If he's involved in this trade, he is a master of that business.”

“Any use to talk to the sheriff?” Chet asked.

White blinked at him. “John Behan? No, he's not worth a damn either.”

His words amused the three standing around him.

Frustrated, Chet asked, “Can you at least give us Whittle's address?”

The marshal nodded and gave directions to the slaver's house.

“You need some sleep. Thanks for the information.” Chet shook the marshal's hand. So did the others.

“I just hope you find her.”

“Oh, we're trying.”

They set out with JD grumbling about being on foot again. Past the Masonic Hall, they went down the hill and found Whittle's wooden framed house. They climbed the porch and heard a back door slam.

“JD go see who that was and hold him if you need to.” Chet nodded to Jesus to go along and back him.

They left on the fly.

Chet knocked on the door.

A gray-haired woman answered from behind a half open door. “Yes?”

“I need to talk to Mr. Whittle.”

She shook her head. “He's not here.”

“Oh, yeah he is,” JD said, herding a gray-haired man around the side of the house.

“What is this about?” Whittle asked angrily.

Chet folded his arms over his chest. “My name is Byrnes.” He turned to the woman at the door. “Ma'am, you are excused.”

She frowned, but finally closed the door.

Chet went on talking to the man. “I want to know what you did with Bonnie Allen.”

“Who's she?”

Chet stared hard at the man. “Have you ever had a cactus needle shoved under your fingernail?”

“No.”

“I'm ready to do that to you to help your memory.” Chet held his hard stare.

Looking very uncomfortable, Whittle searched their faces. “I don't know—”

Weary of his stalling, Chet grabbed his hand and forced it open. “See that center nail. I am going jab a thick cactus needle under it if you don't tell me all about Bonnie Allen.”

Whittle's face turned white. “I—I don't know. I swear I don't know where she is now.”

He didn't say he didn't know where she went or with whom.
“You listening to me?” Chet demanded. “You told her you had a get rich deal for her and coaxed her away.”

Whittle swallowed hard and nodded. “Some of Ramaras's men took her that night. I swear I don't know where she is now.”

“He's the one who lives in Sonora?”

Whittle nodded.

Chet grew anxious standing on the porch making too loud talk. They'd soon have an open forum. Several housewives were out gossiping at a distance about what was going on.

“Let's go in the backyard. We're drawing a crowd here.” No need getting any more attention.

JD and Jesus herded Whittle around behind the house where a board fence shielded them from prying eyes. Chet strode forcefully behind them.

“May I sit down?” Whittle asked, looking around.

Chet nodded. “Yes, on the steps.” He stood in front of Whittle. “I want you to send Ramaras a message to come up here and meet you.”

Whittle looked aghast. “Why he would kill me if it was a trap.”

“I didn't get you in this mess. How will you send it?”

Whittle put his index finger on his lip. “By a boy, I guess.”

“Listen, you contacted him before. You better do it right or I'll do you in.”

Whittle said, “I understand. He contacted me and said he needed a certain kind of female for a certain man. Bonnie Allen fit that. This man is not mistreating her. She's living in a palace.”

“No, she's being held against her will.”
Thank God, she might still be alive.

“Who has her?” JD demanded.

“Oh, I can't say.”

“By God, if you don't tell us, I may put that damn cactus needle in your eye,” JD said. “I'm out of patience right now.”

“His name is—Manuel Baca.”

Chet looked at Jesus. “Is he real?”

“Baca is a powerful man and owns much land. He has a
grande
hacienda in Sonora.”

“That sounds great. How much money did they pay you for her?”

Whittle shrugged.

Chet nudged his leg with his boot toe. “Answer me.”

“Five hundred dollars.” Whittle sat with his face in his hands.

“Don't act like it bothered you to sell her. You're a damn slaver like the rest. You're a scummy, sorry sumbitch. Guilty of the worst crime I can think of—selling a human being. I'm about ready to hang you. You get word to Ramaras to come in here and meet you now.”

“What if he won't come?”

“I may hang you. JD is going to be your houseguest and stay here. You try to escape him, warn someone, or run off, and you'll be dead. Do you understand?”

“Yes.”

“Let's go. Leave word for me at the O.K. Corral, JD.”

JD nodded, not happy about the situation, but he understood they were moving on the possible recovery of the girl.

That fact made Chet a little happier about the whole business of trying to find her. Still, getting her out of this Baca guy's hands might be tougher than any part of it so far.

When he and Jesus reached the top of the hill and the main road, a wagon passed them. At the sight of Chet, a man in back with his head all bandaged jumped up and pointed at them. Next, he was trying to get the driver to give him his pistol and making loud noises as the wagon went on.

“Who the hell is he?” Jesus asked.

“A man with a busted jaw, I guess,” Chet said and chuckled.

“Good thing that driver didn't let him have his pistol.”

“Good thing.” Chet and his man went on to downtown and lunched at the stew palace. He'd write Marge a letter to share with Jenn about some of the information he learned from all their work. There was some hope. That was the best news. While walking all over town bothered JD, not having his wife to hug and kiss was a much larger longing for Chet.

He missed her and not just a small part, either.