Morrison James dropped his black leather bag on the carpet and shrugged out of his coat. He draped it over the back of a chair in Mrs. Hall's private apartment and rubbed the back of his neck wearily.
His thick black hair, liberally threaded with silver at the temples, was ruffled in some places, flat in others. His broad face still bore the imprint of a pillow wrinkle on one cheek and his complexion was ruddy from sleep. His spectacles were slightly askew on the bridge of his nose.
"A retainer is what you pay your lawyer, Lisa," he said. "And protection money is what you pay the cops. I can't recall the last time you paid for my services."
She stopped playing with her pearls and tapped his chest with her index finger. Her smile was spun sugar. "That's because you take it out in trade."
The doctor gently removed her hand and smoothed the front of his nightshirt which was haphazardly tucked into his trousers. He straightened his suspenders before he thrust his hands in his pockets and rocked forward on the balls of his feet. "Be glad I do. I'd make you pay me the earth otherwise."
Since he usually kept one of her most expensive girls busy for most of the night, Mrs. Hall thought his price was already too high.
But good medical care was hard to come by so she was generally philosophical about the trade-off."Well, you can have your pick tonight."
"Slow evening?"
"For most of the girls. Not for me. I've had my hands full."
He didn't want to hear the story. He yawned and readjusted his glasses. "Why did you send someone around to my house?" he asked.
"It's not Beth again?"
She waved her hand impatiently. Her bracelets jangled. "No, not Beth.
Not any of my girls actually, though come to think of it, you could take a look at Jane while you're here. I think she's sickening for something."
"Lisa," he said, drawing out her name in bored accents. His eyes fell on the decanter of whiskey on her sideboard. "May I?"
"Help yourself."
Morrison poured himself a drink, tossed it back, and poured another.
He leaned against the sideboard and rolled the shot glass between his palms. "It's long gone midnight, Lisa, and I'd only just climbed into bed when your man came around."
She frowned. "I sent him out hours ago."
"I was in surgery at the hospital. He missed me there." He sipped his drink. "I've had a busy night myself, so what can I do for you?"
Lisa dropped into an overstuffed chair. "You've heard me speak of Harlan Porter?"
"The pimp?"
She nodded. "The very same."
Morrison James was interested in spite of himself. In the dozen years he had been coming to Mrs. Hall's he couldn't remember ever finding it dull. He sighed. Obviously it wasn't for an emergency that he had been summoned this evening. Whatever her need, she was also hiring his discretion. "You'd better tell me the whole of it," he said, resigned and curious.
She smiled warmly. "Of course I will.
He felt himself swell and grow hard. She was curved against his body.
His arm was around her waist, his palm cupping the underside of her breast. He eased himself into her. She pushed at him and accommodated his entry. Her bottom slapped his groin. He buried his mouth against her neck, in her hair. He tasted her skin, let the fragrance of her flesh fill his nostrils. Her breasts filled his hands. Her thighs were warm. She turned her head and sought his lips. Her mouth was hot.
She was burning from the inside out.
"That's it," he whispered with husky urgency. "Move with me."
When she did he felt as if he owned the fire. "God, you're sweet ...
so sweet." She was taking all of him and the sensation was almost unbearably intense, pleasure running the border with pain.
His hand slipped between her thighs and his fingers probed. He stroked, teased. He heard the sleepy cadence of her breathing give way to something more rapid, more frenzied. Hardly knowing the words he was saying he encouraged her, holding himself back until he felt the rise of pleasure in her.
"Please," she said. Only that, just please. But she said it again.
And again.
When she shuddered and melted against him there was no longer a reason to keep any part of himself from her. He gave her back the heat and fire and shared the strength of his passion. This time when they were spent she turned in his arms and promptly fell asleep.
The oil lamp was a mere thread of light now. It edged her profile.
He studied her face, the delicate features that were not strictly beautiful but commanded attention nonetheless, the strands of red hair gilded with copper and gold, the smooth complexion that absorbed the wash of lamplight. He wondered that he bothered looking at all, wondered that he seemed intent on making a memory when he had first thought of using her only to forget.
He should go, he thought. He hadn't planned on spending the night in the brothel. But she was fastened to him like a burr on a blanket and detaching her didn't appeal to him at the moment. He'd leave something generous for her and slip away before morning. At thirty years of age he didn't relish sneaking into his father's home in the middle of the night. This way he could join everyone at the breakfast table.
He fell asleep, a cynic's smile curving his mouth as he thought what they would think of him carrying in the morning paper in his evening clothes.
"So what happened to Harlan?" Dr. James asked as Lisa drew her story to a close.
"Beth chased him off, waving a broom."
"Good for Beth," he said approvingly. "And the girl?"
"She's upstairs. I put her in a room across the hall from Beth.
She could barely talk, of course, though whether from fright, illness, or some harm Harlan did to her I can't say. That's why I sent Huggins around for you. She was warm to the touch and I didn't think some laudanum would come amiss.
"How much?"
She shrugged. "The usual amount, I suppose. You know I don't measure the stuff."
"I know you tend to use a heavy hand spooning it out."
"At least I had the sense to remove the liquor from the room." She chuckled. "Remember how wild-eyed Beth was from mixing the two?"
"I remember she complained about a sore head for three days."
He set down his drink. "I think I better see your orphan in the storm now," he said. "Is she someone you might want for the house?"
"I'd want her, but I don't think she's interested. She could have done herself well enough by staying with Harlan and she made it clear she wanted no part of him." Lisa shook her head, fingering her pearls again. "I'm more than a little afraid she's wandered into these streets by mistake."
"So," he said slowly, "you've finally come to the point of my visit.
You're concerned that taking her in could have repercussions."
"Exactly so. But credit my conscience a little. I was more concerned about not taking her in."
He nodded. "You know you don't have to worry that I'll say anything about tonight. . . to anyone." He patted Lisa's shoulder.
"She may not be anybody anyway."
Lisa looked up at him and smiled uneasily. "You don't know how much I hope that's true."
Morrison James picked up his leather bag. "You said you put her in Beth's room?"
"No. Across the hall." She paused, watching him frown as he tried to place the bedchamber. "Up the stairs. Turn . . ." She stopped, looked at the bracelets on her left wrist. "Turn left." The madam 's grin was self-depreciating. "Honestly, one would think at my age I'd know right from left. Left at the landing," she repeated. "Then the second door on your right." Her grin faded slowly. Her eyes were thoughtful a moment, then worried, then frantic. She stood suddenly and clutched her necklace in lieu of clutching her heart.
"What is it?" the doctor asked. "Lisa? What's wrong? You look nearly apoplectic."
"I think I may have told him the wrong room!"
"Who?"
"I meant for him to have Megan." Her eyes darted around the room as she considered the implications of her mistake. "Oh God, what if" "Who?" Morrison James asked again. "Lisa, you really must explain yourself if I'm to be of any help."
Mrs. Hall headed toward the door, certain she would be followed.
She twisted the handle and stepped into the hallway, turning immediately for the private back stairs leading to the second floor.
"I don't know his name, not that it really matters," she said as she hurried along. "I think he's been here before but I didn't deal with him.
He was a cold son of a bitch. I wondered if we should even accommodate him." She raised her skirts and quickly took the steps, pausing just a moment at the top to catch her breath before she charged down the hall.
"I should have shown him to the room," she said, fretting.
"What if he found the girl and..." She couldn't finish her sentence.
She looked helplessly at her long-time friend. "What if there's trouble?"
Morrison James set his hand on the madam's shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. "Listen to me, Lisa, you're working yourself up for no good reason. You may not have given the wrong directions. He may have found Megan. And if the worst has happened, how bad is it really?
It's quite possible that the girl has no one to come to her defense should the incident become public. You've weathered greater storms than this."
Mrs. Hall ducked away from the doctor's shoulder and hammered on Megan's door. "I just have a feeling," she said. "And it's the kind of feeling I've learned to trust." She stepped back as the door was opened by a young woman with rumpled, honey-blond hair and a sleepy, disgruntled smile.
"Is he in there with you?" Lisa asked. She had to know the worst before she went into the other room. She had to be prepared.
Megan blinked in surprise. "No one's with me." Her round face screwed up comically as she tried to stifle a yawn. When she gave in to it her jaw cracked. "Excuse me, but I've been sleeping hard.
My last customer put me through the paces.
"A tall man?" asked Lisa. "Dark hair? Black eyes?"
Megan shook her head, leaning against the doorjamb. "Don't you remember? You set me up with Billy Davis."
Morrison James put his hand to his forehead and rubbed his temple.
"You had the mayor's right-hand man in here this evening?" he asked.
"The same Billy Davis who is threatening to close down every brothel in the city?"
Mrs. Hall and Megan both looked at him as if they couldn't understand his amazement. "A man with his particular needs has to go somewhere," said Lisa philosophically. To Megan she added, "He was in here hours ago. Well before midnight. You haven't had anyone else?"
The madam's heart sank. Still, she had the presence of mind to show concern for one of her favorite girls. "Billy didn't hurt you, did he?"
She shrugged. "No more than usual. Nothing I can't handle."
Mrs. Hall frowned. "Morrison will see you as soon as he's finished with our unexpected guest."
"You mean Harlan's victim?"
The madam nodded. "Come on, Morrison, we may as well go in there now.
I think my worst fears have been realized."
"Now, Lisa," he said trying to calm her. "You don't know." He stopped when she shot him a warning glance. They hurried down the hall. This time when they reached the door Mrs. Hall didn't bother knocking. She turned the handle and stepped into the room.
Morrison followed while Megan hovered on the threshold.
The room was too dark to see much of anything at first glance.
The gaslight from the hallway helped a little. It was the only reason Lisa didn't shut Megan out.
The madam marched over to the bed and began plucking at the rumpled mound of blankets, tossing them on the floor until she uncovered a tousled head of black hair. "Where is she?" she demanded by way of a wake-up call.
He opened one eye and groaned. His head throbbed. He shut the eye, hoping it would help. It didn't. A strident voice was repeating: "Where is she? where is she? where is she?
Morrison James pointed to the empty bottle of Scotch lying on its side on the floor. "I thought you removed the liquor."
"I did," Lisa said. She followed the line of his pointing finger.
"I did," she repeated, picking up the bottle. "He must have had this."
She held it over the man in the bed, shaking it threateningly.
"Did you give her any of this?"
Any of this? Any of this? He could no longer determine if the questions were being rep eated or if he was hearing echoes. He opened a single eye again and managed to grab the sheet that was about to be torn from his naked back. "Do you mind?" he asked coldly.
Lisa dropped the sheet. She also put the bottle back. "What happened to her?"
He supposed the question was being put to him. It was difficult to tell, what with the madam's eyes darting nervously around the room and the fact that there was an audience. He sat up slowly, pulling the sheet over his lap, and leaned against the headboard. He cast a bleary eye in the direction of the clock on the mantel. It looked to be nearly three-thirty. He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger.
"What is it you want to know?" he asked tiredly.
"The girl who was in here, what's become of her?"
He stopped rubbing and greeted the madam with a caustic glance.
"How would I know?" He lifted one corner of the sheet and made a pretense of searching under it. "No, not there. Have you checked the privy? The kitchen? What about another room? Surely I'm not the only man she's entertained tonight."
