The Sporting House Killing: A Gilded Age Legal Thriller Read online

  The Sporting House Killing

  A Gilded Age Legal Thriller

  By

  G. Reading Powell

  Copyright © 2021, Gerald R. Powell

  All rights reserved.

  www.greadingpowell.squarespace.com

  ISBN: 978-0-578-84642-2 (paperback)

  ISBN: 978-0-578-84643-9 (ebook)

  No part of this book may be used, reproduced, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, internet transmission, or by any information storage or retrieval system, without the express written permission of the publisher, except where permitted by law, or in the case of brief quotations in critical articles and reviews.

  This book is dedicated to the trial lawyer, that stalwart defender of the rule of law.

  Table of Contents

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  Chapter 41

  Chapter 42

  Chapter 43

  Author’s Notes

  Chapter 1

  Jasper wasn’t so sure this was a good idea, but Cicero was already squeezing out the first-floor window.

  “Let’s go,” Cicero said quiet-like after he hopped on down.

  “Somebody’s fixing to catch us,” Jasper whispered out the window, then glanced back at the door. No light coming under the door from the hall.

  “No, they’re not.” Cicero crossed his arms. “Everybody’s in bed. Now come on.”

  Jasper heaved hisself up on the windowsill and listened. Still quiet. So he jumped out. Even with a crescent moon, it was dark as pitch. He waited for his eyes to get accustomed to the dark and followed Cicero up to the street corner.

  This late on a Sunday night, Webster Street was deserted. On Fifth Street toward downtown, two lights bounced around, getting bigger and bigger—a hackney carriage with its sidelights burning.

  Cicero stepped into the street. “Here comes one.”

  Jasper glanced back at Maggie Houston Hall, where they’d lived since starting college last fall. Cicero always complained it didn’t have indoor plumbing like most newer buildings did. It’s 1894, he’d say, you’d think Baylor could do better, like Waco was in ancient Babylon or something. Truth was, their outhouse was downright fancy. It was painted and even had paper sheets instead of corn cobs.

  Professor Charlton and his wife lived in the dorm, but they always went to bed early. Jasper checked their window one more time. Sure enough, the lights was still out.

  The hack horse trotted up, and Cicero hailed the driver. “We need a ride, mister.”

  “Aren’t you boys out kinda late?” the hack driver said. “I’m headed home.”

  “No, sir. The matron told us it was just fine.”

  Jasper looked at his shoes, his hands in his pockets. She’d said no such thing. What was he getting them into?

  “Would you take just one more fare for the day?” Cicero asked.

  “All right, get in.”

  They settled in behind him.

  “Where to?”

  “Corner of Washington and First Street.”

  The hack driver twisted around and eyed them both. “How old you boys?”

  “Twenty-one,” Cicero said.

  They ain’t twenty-one.

  The driver shook his head and turned the carriage around, and the horse trotted back up Fifth Street for downtown. They rattled across the railroad tracks on Jackson, then Mary Street.

  Jasper leaned close to Cicero. “I ain’t so sure we oughta do this.”

  Cicero poked him in the arm. “You said you were thirsty.”

  “I did, but I don’t know where we can get no sody water this late on a Sunday night.”

  “We’re not drinking soda water, you numbskull. We’re drinking beer.”

  He wiped his palms on the legs of his pants. They should just get on back. “Well, we can’t get no beer neither. You heard the preacher. All them saloons is closed today.”

  Cicero looked at him like he was about to let loose some important secret. “I know where we can get some.”

  “How you know that?”

  “A senior told me.”

  “Who?”

  “Pat Neff.”

  “I don’t believe it,” Jasper said, crossing his arms. “He don’t drink beer.”

  Before long, the hack turned right on Washington Avenue and after several blocks passed a place with a beat-up ol’ sign: the Red Front Saloon. A crowd of fellas tarried out front. Whether Preacher Jones said so or not, this saloon sure was open. Jasper hoped they wasn’t going there. The hack kept on but slowed when the street went from gravel to dirt near the end of Washington, almost to the river.

  The driver pulled over to the curb on the right. “That’s two bits.”

  “Here, mister.” Cicero handed him a quarter.

  “Watch yourselves, boys.”

  “Yes, sir,” Cicero said.

  The hack rolled off and turned right onto First Street.

  Jasper swallowed hard. “Why’d he say that?”

  “He’s just being sociable.”

  There was just enough moon to make out a steam barge chugging down the Brazos River toward the suspension bridge. The only folks out on the streets was them fellas back at the Red Front. Another hack clattered over the gravel toward the bridge over the creek.

  Cicero took off lickety-split across Washington, heading for a two-story red-brick building. The windows on the first floor all had curtains, but they was cinched back, and bright light was pouring out from inside. The upstairs windows was dark. A man and a lady hunched close on the curb across the alley to the left of the building. They was likely smoking, judging by the two small orange lights flickering around them.

  Jasper rushed ahead to catch up. “We ain’t going inside, is we?”

  “Of course we are.”

  Cicero stopped at the door. Piano music blared out through the door but then stopped. Wasn’t nobody in sight through the front door window into the entrance hall.

  “Why don’t it have a name?” Jasper asked.

  “It doesn’t need a name.”

  “Just looks like a house to me.” Jasper waited expectantly, but Cicero didn’t do nothing. “You gonna knock?”

  “I think we just go in.” Cicero opened the door and stepped into the entrance hall. “Come on.”

  Jasper pushed in close behind him. Straight ahead, a staircase went to the upper story. The piano music had come from a room to the left, and all of the sudden a lady appeared in the entrance to that room. She was all decked out in a tight red corset and a frilly wh
ite petticoat. She had black hair pinned up on top of her head and a white flower stuck in it. A red ribbon was around her neck, and a gold locket hung down. Hung way down. Jasper couldn’t help but stare. It sure was hot in there.

  “See something you like, honey?” The lady flicked open a fan and fluttered it quick-like, blowing them dangling curls off her shoulder. She leaned up against the door frame and cocked her head.

  It was awful hot.

  “Welcome to my boarding house, gents. I’m Miss Jessie.” She winked at Cicero. “Why don’t you come in the parlor and get acquainted?”

  “Yes, ma’am. We sure will,” Cicero said, hurrying in.

  So much for just going to get a drink.

  Jasper stood in the entrance for a spell. The parlor was lit up and seemed pretty well-suited to getting acquainted. Everything was just so red, like the color of a prickly pear except brighter. Red sofa. Red pillows too. A mirror that went all the way to the floor. The lamps had red shades and dangling tassels. Red chairs was here and there. A big blue-and-red rug had designs all over it like flowers and such. A piano was up against one wall, but there wasn’t no bar and there wasn’t no beer.

  He should probably go on into the parlor. “We was only wondering if we could get a cold drink, ma’am.”

  “Why, of course you can,” Miss Jessie said, taking a seat. She leaned back, draped one arm over the chair back, and with the other hand drew her petticoat back to show off her legs. They was crossed and sure was long for a lady. Her stockings was trussed up north of her knees with black garters. “Big Joe, be a dear and go down to the Red Front and get some cold Busch beer for these fine gentlemen.”

  “Ma’am, do you mind if we get Lone Star beer?” Cicero asked. “I’m real partial to it.”

  “Joe, make that Lone Star. Get a dozen.”

  “Yes’m,” he said, departing.

  Jasper hadn’t even noticed him appear behind them in the hallway.

  Miss Jessie’s cheeks was red as her sofa. Maybe she was hot too. She cocked her head again and smiled at Cicero from behind her fan. “And what’s your name, handsome?”

  “Cicero, ma’am. It’s just Cicero.”

  “Well, Mr. Cicero, have a seat over there by Miss Sadie.” She pointed to the sofa across the room. It was humpbacked like a camel he’d seen in a book and had fancy wood carving on both humps.

  The lady on the sofa, Miss Sadie, was dressed in a gown that hung real low. It was sort of like the one Momma wore around the house in summertime, but it looked different on Miss Sadie. She smiled back at Cicero from the right-hand hump. She had a sweet face—was probably not any older than him or Cicero—and light hair in a topknot with a ribbon. Her lips was real red, but they was beet-red, not prickly-pear red.

  “Have a seat right here,” she said to Cicero, patting the cushion close beside her. She had a real soft way of talking, like a house cat purring.

  “Good evening, Miss Sadie.” Cicero sat at the far end of the sofa under the left-hand hump. He sure enough looked like he’d just seen one of them eight wonders of the world.

  Jasper plopped into a chair that near swallowed him. He straightened back up and scooted to the edge, ready for when it was time to leave. When he grabbed hold of his knees, he noticed his trousers was hiked way up and showed some holes in his socks. He pulled his pants legs down, but they was too short. The mirror was directly across the room—dang, if his face wasn’t beet-red too. He wiped it with his sleeve and swallowed hard. It sure was hot in there.

  “And what’s your name, honey?” Miss Jessie asked him soft-like.

  It took about a year for his words to form up and file on out of his mouth. “Jasper, ma’am. It’s just Jasper. I ain’t got no other name, just Jasper.”

  “Is that right? How unusual.” She turned to the other lady. “Sadie, isn’t Mr. Jasper an unusually charming gentleman?”

  “Yes, he sure is,” Miss Sadie said, smiling now at him instead of Cicero.

  “You’ve got a nice house here, ma’am,” Cicero said. “Doesn’t she, Jasper?”

  “Yes, ma’am.” Everybody looked at him. What else could he say? “It’s red.”

  Dang, that was a fool thing to say, but that’s what hopped out when he opened his mouth.

  Sudden-like, somebody come down the stairs and they all turned to look. A man crossed the hall arm-in-arm with a lady. They disappeared again just as quick toward the front door. She giggled, then squealed like a piglet. The door opened and slammed shut.

  That new lady come into the parlor then and eased onto a low sofa kind of thing with curves and a hump back on one end only. She was younger than Miss Jessie, probably a little older than Miss Sadie, but still couldn’t be more than twenty. She had curly brown hair with a long curling strand dangling to one shoulder. Her gown hung across from her other shoulder. Momma never wore hers like that. This lady was like a Greek goddess he’d seen in books, and when she smiled—dang, she was pretty.

  “Gentlemen, this is Miss Georgia,” Jessie said.

  “Good evening, ma’am,” Cicero said, staring.

  Jasper couldn’t get any words formed at all.

  Miss Georgia looked from Cicero to Jasper. “Are you gentlemen bankers?”

  “Oh no, ma’am, we’re in college,” Cicero answered.

  “Oh?” Miss Jessie asked. “Which one?”

  “Baylor.”

  “How nice. Are you from Waco, Mr. Cicero?”

  “No, ma’am. I’m from Washington County.”

  “I don’t believe I’ve ever been there,” she said.

  “You don’t sound like you’re from around here.”

  “I moved here from St. Tammany.”

  He grinned big. “Oh. You know, I thought maybe you were French.”

  As Cicero talked on and on, something he was practiced at, Jasper took in the parlor closer. It was all new with clean, bright-colored flowery wallpaper and shiny wood edges. A big statue stood on a black stone slab next to him. It was solid gold, and it was a lady. One hand held up a lamp, which wasn’t lit, and the other one dangled in the air like she’d just turned loose a butterfly. The plain truth about her: She was downright naked. On the wall to each side of the mirror was photographs of other ladies with their backs turned. They was naked too. It didn’t much look like any saloon he’d ever seen, though he hadn’t been in many at all, to be honest.

  He wiped sweat from his forehead.

  “Take off your coats and get comfortable,” Miss Jessie said.

  “Oh, we’s fixing to leave after we has a drink, ma’am,” he said, but Cicero pulled off his coat and tossed it on the sofa.

  Big Joe returned with a small crate of beer bottles and put it on the end table. Cicero took one and guzzled it, wiping his mouth on his shirtsleeve. Jasper got one too but didn’t open it.

  “Gents, would you care to dance?” Miss Georgia asked.

  Jasper was struck dumb, but Cicero wasn’t. “I sure would, ma’am.” He hopped up like a toad off a pad, then hoisted his beer and took a big swig.

  “Just put a quarter in the piano,” Miss Jessie said.

  “Oh yes, ma’am, I will.”

  He dug deep in his pocket, found a coin, and put it in the coin slot. The piano roll commenced to spinning around, and them keys punched themselves like some invisible piano player was on that red stool. Land o’ Goshen, that was really something.

  Miss Georgia pulled Cicero to the center of the room, and they whirled around to the music. At first Cicero put his right hand gentle-like on her low back, but before long he pressed her real close.

  Jasper glanced at Miss Sadie, who winked back. He quickly looked back at the dancers.

  Miss Georgia whispered something in Cicero’s ear. As they turned, Cicero got his beer from the table. He drunk a gulp and danced and laughed until the music stopped.

  “Jasper, put a quarter in,” he said, not letting loose of Miss Georgia.

  He did. Two songs and another beer later, Cicero and Mis
s Georgia danced toward the hallway, and she grabbed his hand and led him along. He took the box of beer, and they went out the parlor and up them stairs.

  They was gone sudden-like, and Jasper found hisself all alone with them other two ladies. The music stopped, and they looked at him like he was supposed to do something. He sure hoped they wasn’t thinking he was going upstairs with Miss Sadie to get acquainted.

  “Would you care to dance with Miss Sadie?”

  He sat there, gripping his knees. There just wasn’t no words.

  “Jasper, darling, how about a dance?” Miss Sadie repeated.

  He jumped to his feet. “I’m feeling a might peaked. I best get on back to the dorm.”

  “Oh, please don’t rush off.” She got up real quick and put her hand behind his neck.

  He flinched. Without a word, he took off for the front door, but Big Joe stood in the doorway, arms crossed, and he remembered the beer. He reached into his pocket and grabbed all his coins. He shoved them at Joe without counting, dropping both his silver dollars on the floor, and bolted out the front door past a bald man coming in.

  In the middle of the street, he paused for a deep breath. The air was easier outside. He looked back. A light was on in the room above the front door. He didn’t know exactly how long it would take Cicero to finish getting acquainted with Miss Georgia, but he figured it couldn’t be long. He’d wait outside.

  There was a telephone pole across the street. He plopped down next to it on the curb. It was dark and still and quiet, nobody else out. A horse snuffled to his left. A hack was parked on his side of the street, no driver anywhere. The light upstairs in Miss Jessie’s house went out. He tried to listen, but there wasn’t nothing to hear.

  His mind drifted back to that red parlor. For the first time, it occurred to him it’d had a smell—sweet, maybe, like when Momma dressed for a social, except this sweet smell was downright different. He could still smell it. And he could still see some things stuck in his mind. That preacher had talked about places like that. That must’ve been what give Cicero the idea, ’cause that’s when he’d asked Jasper if he had any money.

  Well fiddle-dee if he’d think about that no more. Jasper settled back against the pole, took a deep breath, and shuddered. He might be in a big city leaning against a telephone pole beside a fancy gravel street, but he still felt easier under the open night sky than inside that house. At that very minute, the moon was shining over his family’s farm too. Everybody was long since sleeping. In fact, the roosters’d start up pretty soon. He pushed the red and the smell and the ladies out of his mind. Slow-like, his tensificity settled. He let his breath out again. After a spell, he dozed off.