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

He pulled out his wallet. “Could we go to your room for some privacy?”

“Of course, honey, right this way.”

She led him down the hallway to a bedroom in the back and closed the door behind them. It was still daylight, though. He had that part going for him.

“Three bucks.”

Several coins clinked to the floor as he tugged his money clip from his pocket. “I have ten for you, and another ten for later.”

“What you got in mind, mister?” she asked cautiously.

“Oh, not what you’re thinking, ma’am. I have a friend who wants to buy you a beer at the Red Front. If you meet him there at eight o’clock tonight, you’ll get a beer and the other ten bucks.”

“Yeah?” She crossed her arms. “Well, why don’t your friend come speak for hisself?”

“He’s busy right now but can get there by eight.” He flashed a ten-dollar bill. “Is that all right with you?”

She thought for a moment, eying the cash in his hand, then snatched it. “Sure thing, mister. I’ll be there.”

The sweaty scent of intimacy rose from her in waves. He averted his eyes, as if he would no longer smell it if he looked away.

“One more thing. Don’t tell Miss Jessie or Big Joe.”

“Huh?”

“It’s a secret, all right?”

“Look, mister, I don’t work for no other houses.”

Harley shook his head. “It’s not that. He just doesn’t want other people to know you’re meeting him. He’s a prominent man in town.”

“But he’s willing to go to the Red Front?” She snickered. “That don’t stack up. But you promise he’ll give me fifteen bucks, and I won’t even tell my own self.”

“Deal.”

***

The saloon was thick with smoke and the smell of dirty men and cheap beer. The colonel curled up to sleep at Catfish’s feet anyway. Girls from Mary Doud’s sporting house next door were working the customers, and he’d declined two by the time Sadie arrived a little after eight o’clock. He recognized her from Harley’s description and waved her over.

She slinked up to his table. “You the gent wants to pay me twenty-five bucks?”

“Have a seat.” After she settled, he added, “I thought it was fifteen bucks?”

“Nope, he promised twenty-five.”

“That’s fine.” He got her a beer at the bar.

“You have my money?”

He reached into his pocket and pulled out a stack of bills, peeled off two tens and a five, and slid them across the table.

She stuffed them down her private place and took a swig of beer. “What do you want me to do for you, mister?”

He leaned back and puffed on his White Owl. “Just talk.”

She smirked. “What talk’s worth twenty-five bucks?”

“Information.” He blew a smoke ring. “About the night Miss Georgia got shot.”

She slammed her beer on the table. “Oh, you a copper?”

“Lawyer. I represent the boy accused of killing her.”

She scraped back her chair and got up. “Well, Mr. Lawyer, thanks for the twenty-five bucks.”

“Wait.” He touched her arm gently. “I need your help, ma’am. Actually, my client needs it. His life may depend on it. Please listen to what I have to say, and if you want to leave after that, you just get up and go.”

She settled back into the chair and took another drink. “Talk.”

“Thanks.” He leaned closer. “Look, I believe my client didn’t do it, and I think you know that.”

She huffed. “Every killer I ever seen says that.”

“Yes, ma’am—well, this time it happens to be true. I know you know it is. I’d just like you to know something about the boy your employer is setting up. He’s eighteen and foolish. He wanted some fun and it went bad, as fun sometimes does. Miss Sadie, if he gets convicted of murder, they’re gonna hang him. He’s got a family that loves him.”

“Yeah? Well ain’t that sweet?” She gulped her beer. “What’s it to me?”

“Maybe nothing. But I think maybe you got hard talk and a soft heart. I think maybe you had bad luck yourself. Maybe things happened to you that you didn’t have any say over.”

“You don’t know nothing about me, mister.”

“No, but I know girls like you. I know why you do what you do. I understand that. Folks do what they gotta do to get by. You probably been in danger for your own life before, I expect, maybe more than once. You know what it’s like to be afraid. Well, ma’am, Cicero’s afraid. He’s scared to death. All I ask is for you to answer one question.”

She frowned. “Yeah, what’s that?”

“After Miss Georgia got shot, when you and Miss Jessie were in her room, did Cicero ever say anything?”

“Are you joshing? That boy was cold, dead drunk. He didn’t say nothing.”

It was time. Catfish nodded to a man at a nearby table, who got up and approached.

“Miss Sadie Wiggins?”

“Yeah, what’s it to you?”

“I’m a deputy sheriff, and this is a subpoena for you to appear in court tomorrow afternoon at one o’clock.” He dropped the folded paper on the table in front of her.

Catfish gave a brief nod. “Thanks, deputy, you can leave.”

Sadie guzzled her beer and slammed it down. “You son of a bitch.”

“Please, ma’am. I only did it so you won’t get in trouble with Miss Jessie. You can tell her you have to go to court or you’ll get arrested.”

“You going to pay me another twenty-five bucks to do that?”

“Sorry, ma’am. I’m not allowed to pay witnesses.”

“I ain’t no witness, and I ain’t doing nothing for the likes of you.” She shot out of her chair and hurried for the door.

He had to change her mind. If she told Miss Jessie, then lying in court would be just another of her job duties. He and the colonel followed her outside and down the street toward the sporting house.

“Wait, Sadie, please,” he called after her. “A boy’s life depends on it.”

“I don’t give a damn about that boy,” she yelled over her shoulder.

A man appeared on the street ahead, walking toward them. A big man. Catfish recognized him as they drew closer.

“Miss