The Sporting House Killing by G. Powell (best non fiction books to read .TXT) 📕

“What’s on your mind?” Catfish asked.

He let out a long breath. “Folks at Baylor been asking me what I know about Cicero.”

Catfish softened his tone. “What’ve you told ’em?”

“Mostly that I don’t know what he was doing at that whorehouse, which is mostly right. It don’t set well with me not telling what I do know.”

“Who’s been asking?”

“Professor Perkins, for one.”

“Don’t worry about him.” Perkins was a friend and wouldn’t do anything to hurt Jasper. “He already knows what happened, and he’s not gonna get you in trouble. Who else been asking?”

“Professor Charlton. Him and his wife lives in our dorm. He was the one I first-off told about Cicero not coming back that night. He’s asked me some more questions, and I don’t feel right lying to him.”

Catfish didn’t really know Charlton. “It sounds to me as though you haven’t actually lied, just held back part of the truth.”

“Yes, sir.”

“That’s not really lying.”

“It sure feels like it is.” He stared at the floor, then looked back up with worry written all over his face. “Mr. Calloway, to be real honest, I’m scaryfied they’s gonna find out I gone to a whorehouse and had a beer, and then they’ll boot me out of school. That’d shame my mother and father, and I can’t abide that. All our neighbors pitched in to pay my tuition.”

Catfish locked eyes with Jasper. Houston’d had that same look. He’d been older, of course, but the look was the same. Eight years later and the fear, the plea for help were still so vivid.

Damned if he’d let anything happen to Jasper. Not this time.

He clicked twice at the colonel, who came over and plopped down between them. Jasper leaned over and rubbed his floppy ear.

“Well,” Catfish began, “first thing is, you didn’t know you were going to a sporting house, did you?”

“I thought we was going to get a drink.”

“And you didn’t even touch a sporting girl, did you?”

“No, sir. But one touched me, right before I got out of there.”

He smiled. “That doesn’t count as being with a girl. And as for the beer, I thought you said you didn’t even open it.”

“No, sir. I didn’t, but I knowed we was going there to drink beer.”

“That doesn’t count as drinking. As far as I can tell, son, you didn’t actually do anything wrong. Just thinking about sinning’s not wrong—otherwise, lots of good folks’d be sinners.”

“Preacher Jones don’t agree on that.”

Catfish swatted the air. “Preacher Jones isn’t from around here.”

“It sounds right the way you say it, but folks at Baylor is real strict about things like that. They give us this student handbook, and it says we’s supposed to act Christian all the time.”

“Jasper, as I told you before, I’m your lawyer too. You gotta trust me.”

“Yes, sir.”

Miss Peach breezed back in the front door and clicked across the floor straight to Catfish.

“Mr. Calloway,” she said, handing him the ten-dollar bill, “there’s no account at Sanger Brothers for a Jessie Rose or a Rose by any other name.”

He smiled. “Good work. Call up Miss Jessie right now and see how she reacts.”

They waited while she went to the front room and made the call. He strained to hear but couldn’t catch what she said.

She bustled in a minute later. “I don’t think she was expecting that call. When I asked her if she was happy with her purchase, there was a long pause. She just said ‘yes, thank you’ and hung up.”

He nodded. Now they were getting somewhere. “Something’s up between Miss Jessie and Mr. Buford Lowe, alias Winky-Blinky. Time for us to find out what.”

Chapter 18

On the way to see Winky-Blinky, after they dropped Jasper off at his dormitory, they stopped at City Transfer. Mr. Manchester knew buggies as well as anybody in town, and Catfish wanted to show him Jasper’s drawing of the one-seat buggy. Mr. Manchester said it looked like a Stanhope gig. He showed them a picture in a catalog: one two-person bench seat and a spindled back, just like a wide Windsor chair. Mr. Manchester said there weren’t many in this part of the country, but they were popular back east for heavy harness showing.

Next stop was the town square to show the same drawing to Mr. Moon. He spent most of his days watching the goings-on around the square as he shined shoes. He didn’t remember ever seeing a buggy like that but said he’d look out for it.

When they got to Buford Lowe’s residence on Mary Street, Catfish looked around for a red buggy. Didn’t see one. No place to keep one, either.

Winky-Blinky himself answered Harley’s knock at the door. His jaw dropped, and his eyes started jumping. He began to push the front door shut but hesitated, glanced over his shoulder, and reluctantly stepped back toward them.

“What do you want?” he asked in a quiet voice.

“How do, Mr. Lowe,” Catfish said more loudly than usual. “You mind if we have a word with you?”

“Who is it, dear?” called a female voice from inside.

Three rapid blinks, one big wink. Then again. “I’m going out for a minute, Milly. I won’t be long.” Lowe stepped out, shut the door behind himself quickly, and hurried away from the house.

They followed, Catfish almost trotting to keep up.

“What do you want with me?” Lowe asked, his voice cracking.

“Just a word or two.”

“About what? I don’t know you.”

“Name’s Catfish Calloway. I believe you already met my son, Harley.”

“Look, I’ll pay it back. I swear. It wasn’t much, and I’m good for it. Let’s just work something out, and nobody has to know anything.”

Lowe glanced back at his house. When he spotted a woman in the front window, he accelerated his pace around the corner. Finally out of sight, he slowed a little but didn’t seem very relieved.

Catfish grabbed him by the sleeve and stopped him in the middle of the street. “Mr. Lowe, we’re not interested in whatever you’ve got going on with Miss Jessie. Unless you