Karen Mercury (15 page)

“Oh, I don’t know about that—”

Bullet Bob leaned even closer and grinned with one side of his mouth. “Do you know that
belle femme
who plays Eve here at the Morning Star?”

Chess’s ears pricked up. “Yes! Where is she, anyway? She’s not onstage.”

Bullet Bob looked secretively from side to side. “I have prepared her. Tonight, she will be ours!”

Fear gripped Chess. This didn’t sound good at all. “What do you mean, Robert? ‘Ours’? What have you done to her?”

“Done
for
her, is more like it! I have prepared her for a night of debauchery she will never forget. When she gets off tonight, we will be screwing her like a couple of gods, no? You, me, in the same bed, the same woman? Our sperm will intermingle in her womb! Just think, Chess, how much closer this will bring us!”

Chess needed to find out what Bullet Bob had done to Josephine, but as he was formulating his question in his mind, Josephine herself finally tottered onstage. Tonight she was dressed as a new character, with a long drapery that she nearly tripped over, her eyes wobbly and unfocused. Chess gripped Bullet Bob’s arm.

“You gave her the Spanish fly?”

“I would not waste that on her!” Bullet Bob said ecstatically. “It is for us, of course. So we could enact another ‘appalling and amoral Tower of Power incident’ of our own. It will be monumental, Chess Hudson! I even found a hookah, just like in the newspaper article. Josephine said she has a few more friends we can lay with—don’t worry about the cost. I believe they all want parts in
Hamlet
.”

Chess briefly wondered if Spenser had sucked the prick of the nauseating Bullet Bob just to get the part of Hamlet’s father’s ghost! But he quickly pushed aside the uncustomary jealous twinge. Now Fidelia leaned over Chess’s shoulder, and for the first time he noticed that her low-cut bodice caused another twinge of jealousy in his gut. She whispered, “Did you see Ulrich standing in the wings? It looks like he’s admiring Josephine.”

Indeed, Ulrich stood, for the first time without his guitar, hands politely folded in front of his crotch. His ass didn’t hang free today, and he even looked as though he’d slicked his hair back. Were spirits vain? A Paris medium had once proclaimed that spirits have feelings and emotions identical to humans. Spirits merely evolve at a faster rate because they aren’t burdened with the concerns and travails that humans are subject to. Perhaps Ulrich had developed a puppy love for Josephine.

“Yes, it does. Bullet Bob has done something to Josephine—I presume given her Spanish fly. Look how unsteady she is on her feet.”

“She’s tripping over her new costume. Spenser is helping her. Looks like her new character demands a sword. That will be nice if Spence doesn’t have to hold that heavy thing over his head for another hour.”

Spenser was helping Josephine to stand upright. Her new character demanded that she hold out a pair of white-painted scales, the kind miners used for gold. The scales probably only weighed three pounds or so, but in addition to brandishing Spenser’s sword, pointed tip toward the ceiling, Sackett now came onstage and blindfolded her.

“That’s going to be a tough pose to hold,” said Fidelia as Spenser returned to assume his Hercules position, minus the sword.

“You,” said Bullet Bob, casting Fidelia a filthy look. “More absinthe, fräulein!”

When he slapped Fidelia on the ass, without forethought Chess’s hand shot out and gripped Bullet Bob’s wrist. “
Enough
, Bullet Bob,” he growled. He held Bullet Bob’s bloodshot eyes steady until he recalled his mission. To figure out the loony frog’s next step.

Releasing his wrist, Chess tossed Bullet Bob’s hand back into his lap. “Remember. We must have a wonderful debauch with the girls tonight.”

“Yes, yes!” Instantly, Bullet Bob was his former flippant, ridiculous self, although he had looked a bit frightened of Chess for a moment there. “How many women were at your Tower of Power debauch? I can get more!”

“Yes,” said Chess. “How
did
you get ahold of that
London Illustrated News
, anyway? It’s not a common newspaper in Laramie.”

“Oh, I have my ways. I have followed your every exploit for the past month!”

Chess frowned. “My only exploits for the past month have involved sleeping on a train.” A new thought entered his head. “Or, have you just been lonely for a partner since Ulrich Schiller died?”

Tears actually came into Bullet Bob’s red eyes. This fellow could easily manufacture feelings, a talent Chess himself didn’t possess. “Oh, Ulrich! How I miss him!” Then he switched back to glee, pointing at poor Josephine. Chess could see her knees wobbling as she struggled to hold both the scales and the sword immobile. “She makes a very good Lady Justice, does she not?”

Chess could see Spenser’s eyes flickering toward Josephine, meaningfully. Spenser was positioned a bit farther toward the back of the stage, and he seemed to be indicating something on her back that only he could see.

Lady Justice
.

He’ll impress Chess, get corned and then

Be humping Lady Justice

Josephine was Lady Justice—not Alameda! Chess’s hand gripped the arm of his chair as though about to rip it off, but there was nothing he could do. It wasn’t illegal to give people Spanish fly. And Ulrich had only predicted Bullet Bob would “hump” Lady Justice, not kill her.

Fidelia returned with the requested absinthe, and Chess murmured in her ear, “Lady Justice. It’s Josephine. And she doesn’t look well. I’m going to talk to Ulrich.”

Going to talk to Ulrich, what a joke. I’m talking to a spook.
Chess made his way to the wing where Ulrich stood, all the while Spenser shooting him urgent glances in the direction of Josephine’s butt.

“Ulrich,” said Chess, touching the arm that was now the consistency of pudding. There was even a warmth to it, like a real person, and Ulrich turned to face Chess, like one of those mechanical gypsies at Coney Island who spit out a fortune. His expression, however, was not happy.

“Josephine is pretty,” he seemed to sob, although his mouth only had two different positions, like the carnival gypsies.

“Why are you sad?” Chess asked. “Because you fancied Josephine? And don’t like to see Bullet Bob get his hands on her?”

“Yes,” cried Ulrich. “And I am sad because she is about to die.”

“What?” Shoving Ulrich aside, Chess stepped to the right, to discover what Spenser was so madly indicating. Although Josephine’s feeble white drapery only covered half of her ass, it was drenched in blood. Why would Josephine pose onstage nearly nude while having her menses? She would not.

Chess rushed onstage to whisk the heavy sword that was already falling from Josephine’s fingers. Simultaneously, Spenser did the same, breaking out of his pose in order to snatch the scales from her other hand. Chess could smell the blood as well as the urine that drenched her sheet and knew it was the result of the cantharides—the Spanish fly. He had had an unfortunate experience with this before.

Josephine fell onto Chess, and he caught her with the arm that wasn’t holding the sword. “Josephine! Josephine!” he whispered insistently. Spenser tossed down the scales and tore the blindfold from her face, and her eyes were rolled up into her skull.

Many audience members may have thought it a part of the act so just sat there, appreciating the art. But Bullet Bob stood and applauded loudly. More people looked at Bullet Bob than to the tableau onstage, and he called out, “Bravo! Bravo! Zeus assassinates Lady Justice with his almighty sword!” Some other potato-heads even applauded along with Bullet Bob.

“What?” whispered Chess, locking eyes with Spenser. “Is he fucking hallucinating that
I
killed this poor girl?”

“Quick! What’s the remedy for Spanish fly poisoning?”

Chess squeezed his eyes shut with horror. “There is none. We could try to induce vomiting.” Tossing down the sword, Chess turned Josephine facedown and pressed on her abdomen with a fist, and some puke mingled with blood did dribble from her mouth, but…she was dead. She was dead as a can of corned beef.

A fresh uproar came from the audience. Chess glanced up and saw that Ulrich had somehow magically gotten ahold of the sword he had just flung down and was flailing about Bullet Bob’s head with it. Ulrich may have been a ghost, but the sword itself was real, and even in the dim gallery lighting Chess could see cuts and swipe marks appearing on Bullet Bob’s face and arms.

“
Sacre merde!
” Bullet Bob shrieked. “Lady Liberty’s spirit is attacking me!”

“
Du Hundsfott!
” bellowed Ulrich, now clearly having nearly full control of his earthly voice, as well as the use of his arms.

Chess saw Fidelia clawing her way toward where Ulrich flailed. He abandoned Josephine and Spenser and fought his way up the aisle into the audience.

“Fidelia!” he shouted. Many men had removed themselves from Bullet Bob’s vicinity, scrambling into the aisles, upsetting chairs to get out the front door. So by the time Chess leapt over a few patrons who had fallen on their ass, Fidelia alone screeched in German and waved her arms about.

“Ulrich!
Stoppen
, verdammt noch mal!
”

“Fidelia!” Chess grabbed her arm just as Ulrich slashed Bullet Bob in the shoulder. Ulrich must not have been up to fighting strength, though, for the sword barely made an indentation. “Why are you trying to stop Ulrich? What do we care if he stabs this dunderhead?” He had to grip Fidelia about the rib cage to prevent her from getting involved in the fight.

“Ulrich might get hurt!”

“What? Listen, Fidelia. He’s a
ghost.
He can’t be hurt. The only one who can be hurt is Bullet Bob. And who cares about him?”

Fidelia stopped struggling just as a few official-looking fellows came storming down the aisle, the foremost one with a handmade tin badge affixed to his waistcoat.
Mon Dieu. This must be Neil Tempest, my brother-in-law. Laramie’s marshal. The old owner of my new ranch.

Ulrich must have known that, too, for he abruptly froze. The sword thudded to the carpet, and once again Ulrich assumed the posture of a rocket, hands at sides. He swiveled his head mechanically to smile at Fidelia. “Up and away!” he called again before blasting off through the ceiling—this time with a full complement of trousers covering his backside.

“All right,” said Neil Tempest, fingering his whiskey glass. “So you say an anonymous assailant attacked this Robert Chauvet cove from Frogland. Other witnesses in the gallery were actually way less reliable than you three. All I got out of them was that a sword—
your
sword, Mr. Murphy—flew thirty feet through the air and hit him, apparently several times.” He sighed deeply. He was an exquisitely handsome fellow with an arch, erotic Australian accent, and the most piercing icy blue eyes Spenser had ever seen. Spenser had seen him a few times around town and knew he was the fellow selling Chess his ranch. He hoped Marshal Tempest wouldn’t regret that decision now.

“Yeah.” Chess chuckled. He sat across the desk from Neil Tempest, probably where Levi Colter normally sat when doing Fort Sanders or mining work, but for now Chess Hudson was the lord of Albuquerque House. “Can you believe those oiled shit sacks? A sword, in the middle of the air, with no hand attached. Just whacking away at that loco frog.”

Neil shrugged. “Chauvet didn’t seem that concerned by it. In fact, he seemed quite giddy about the whole thing.”

“Yeah.” Chess snorted. “Giddy from a gallon of absinthe. That berserk cove does nothing but swill absinthe spiked with Spanish fly all day long. I’m telling you, Neil. Somebody stole his rudder.”

“Yes,” agreed Neil, “I’m more concerned about the dead actress. We’re trying to get Laramie known as the ‘Gem City of the Plains,’ but it’s usually called the ‘Dead City of the Plains,’ and with good reason. But this gal disturbs me. At first, this Chauvet tried to say it was
you
, Chess, who had murdered her.”

“Which is, of course, absurd,” Chess pointed out, “because I was in the audience sitting right next to him.”

Despite Bullet Bob’s roostered insistence that Chess had been the one to valiantly dispatch poor Lady Justice—and the fact that the sword used to attack Bullet Bob had belonged to Spenser—in the confusion, Neil Tempest had arrested no one.

Spenser eagerly stuck in his oar. “Marshal Tempest, I can attest that the girl was bleeding long before Bullet Bob was attacked by the sword. Chess here has firsthand knowledge of Spanish fly poisoning, and that’s what he thinks it was. Bullet Bob was earlier talking about giving Josephine Spanish fly. Josephine was earlier at the Oddfellows Hall where Bullet Bob was auditioning people for
Hamlet.”

Neil grinned. “Yes, I read the
Illustrated
article. I can see Chess is an expert on Spanish fly.”

Chess, of course, frowned. “Bullet Bob—Robert Chauvet or whatever you want to call him—is the one who should be arrested for Josephine’s murder!”

Neil quirked an eyebrow. “And were
you
arrested for giving those girls in London Spanish fly?”