Black Ransom (5 page)

Ehron Lee understood that things looked bad. They were riding stolen horses, and he had no proof of his land purchase. But the fact that they weren't guilty of any wrongdoing and would be able to plead their case before a judge offered them some hope. At least they wouldn't be mob-lynched, the victims of frontier justice, which had been Ehron Lee's first worry.

Winston slipped into a panic. He shouted, “I ain't guilty of nothin' and damned if I'm gonna swing for it!”

And in a quick, sudden action, he slapped a meaty hand against the flank of his horse, startling the animal into a desperate run.

Ehron Lee shot up ramrod straight. “Winston, you damn fool!” he cried.

Winston didn't get far. He never had a chance, and had he been thinking rationally, he would have realized that his attempt was plain suicide. One of the posse members calmly half turned on his saddle, and with his six-shooter drawn, he fired a single bullet, hitting Winston square in the back, the impact throwing him sideways from the horse. Ehron Lee heard Winston groan and watched helplessly as his brother-in-law struggled to lift himself to his knees before collapsing face first onto the ground. He didn't move.

Two of the men quickly broke away from the group, galloping off on their mares to retrieve the stallion, which had been spooked by the gunshot.

The eager young buck who had fired the shot blew away the drifting smoke from the barrel of his revolver, fancy-twirled it before reholstering, and said matter-of-factly, “Man claimin' to be innocent don't try to run off like that.”

Bert Stradd simply turned toward Ehron Lee, who looked dumbstruck, and said in a self-satisfied manner, “Your friend made a bad move. Well, he ain't got no worries now. But don't look too good for you, pardner.”

TWO

MADAM ROSINA'S BORDELLO
in the town of Justice, a quiet, peaceful community situated in a lush green parcel of valley nestled in the rolling foothills of Cullen County, boasted an impressive clientele, the most prominent of whom was Charles Hugh Harrison, circuit judge, who always made it a point to avail himself of the pleasures these premises offered whenever he presided over a judicial matter in town.

Of course, since Judge Harrison was regarded as a pillar of decency and respectability, his character beyond reproach, he planned each visit prudently, exercising caution to maintain secrecy, arriving under cover of nightfall, per a prearranged appointment forwarded by a coded telegram. He was allowed a back entrance separated from the rest of the house, which provided a stairway leading to a comfortable upstairs room where he could indulge his pleasures in privacy.

Naturally Judge Harrison paid for these special privileges, fees somewhat steeper than those of less conspicuous customers. But for a person of his reputation, he understood and accepted this as a necessary precaution.

Judge Harrison was a fastidious middle-aged man of slim, short stature whose gaunt features were dominated by a sharply arched nose, atop which he perched gold-rimmed spectacles that enlarged his small, beady eyes. His stern demeanor befitted his profession but stood at odds with his mischievous personal enjoyments. Married for many years and father to a teenage daughter, Harrison maintained little romantic inclination toward his wife—a woman whom he rarely saw with so much of his life now spent traveling to dirt water towns throughout the southern regions of the state. Likewise, he'd had little time to spend with his daughter, Evaline, a girl he'd barely watched grow through her adolescent years. Financially he'd provided both with a fair degree of stability, but his frequent and lengthy absences had left an emotional void between him and his family.

Harrison would convince himself that his weeks and oftentimes months away performing his judicial duties were the reason he utilized the services of prostitutes. Such an argument would help assuage whatever guilt might begin to gnaw at his conscience. But, in truth, Harrison possessed little guilt, permitting himself neither self-reproach nor remorse for his actions. He simply preferred the company of such women. They satisfied him in a way a more intimate relationship could not. Perhaps because of the nature of his work, he needed to maintain emotional detachment even in his private life. He had the natural urges of most men toward women, responding as they satisfied his physical needs, though it was another quirk in his character that he was loath to reciprocate.

And as long as he could pay, and pay well, his “requirements” were always accommodated. Whores cooperated with his demands, no matter how strange they might be.

Judge Harrison had ridden into Justice just before sunset. He checked into the town's one hotel, The Jubilee, which was filled to capacity but had a room already reserved for him. After unpacking his luggage, he allowed himself a bath, followed by a light supper in the hotel dining room. The trial for which he had come to town was scheduled to begin the following day, and adhering to his usual pattern, Harrison was eager to enjoy a night of relaxation at his preferred pleasure palace before assuming his “professional” title as “His Honor” at ten o'clock the next morning.

Judge Harrison would be presiding over the trial of a man accused of horse theft and attempted murder: an ex–Union soldier named Ehron Lee Burrows. Harrison had been wired all the details of the crime, and it looked to be a simple trial. Harrison dispensed justice by following the letter of the law, and there appeared to be little defense for the accused, outside of a probable plea for leniency from his attorney. But when he reviewed the evidence offered, Harrison saw no reason to grant such a request. Horse thievery in itself was a hanging offense; a vicious assault upon a helpless old man only compounded the seriousness of the crime. Much to his satisfaction, Judge Harrison could not see the trial lasting beyond a day.

But that would be dealt with tomorrow. He had other less sordid duties to pursue this night.

With Justice observing peace and quiet at this late hour, town activity was now confined to the saloon, where men played cards or just socialized over drinks. Harrison quietly exited out the back of the hotel and walked casually through the empty streets, ostensibly on a nightly constitutional but, in fact, making his way to the bordello. The bordello was a well-maintained, wood-framed, two-story house that prior to its present status had a respectable heritage. Ironically the house had been owned by a man called Justice, for whom the town was named. Percival Justice had founded the town after spending most of his life at sea and acquiring a substantial fortune in the shipping industry. The town never quite achieved the level of expansion Percival had hoped for during the years he settled there, and following his death, with most of his funds tied up in businesses that turned only a meager profit, and with no heirs to whom he could leave his estate, his house, perhaps his one worthwhile asset, was purchased by Rosina Perez, a Mexican madam of some wealth, who saw her own enterprising way of expanding her profits. She succeeded quite admirably, as her establishment was clean and comfortable, and tastefully decorated. The girls who worked for her were both professional in their duties (most had come with Rosina when she emigrated from Mexico) and proper in their care and hygiene. And most important, Rosina operated her business with respect to discretion. Her reputation was such that customers were known to come from all parts of the territory to partake of the pleasures of her establishment.

The house was situated just outside town, within walking distance but far enough from official boundaries not to be considered a part of Justice itself. The services provided by the bordello were accepted but not acknowledged by the town officials.

A narrow, willow-bordered pathway provided entry to the grounds, the dense overhang offering suitable protection of anonymity for nocturnal visitors to the house.

Judge Harrison's arrival was expected and so the back door was unlocked for him. He climbed the stairs to his room, where he checked his pocket watch and saw that he was about fifteen minutes early for his appointment, which was how he preferred it. He never wanted his “companion” to be waiting for him. He was a man of meticulous routine, and this extended even to his pleasures. Arriving early allowed him time for a drink (a bottle of champagne was always set on the nightstand) and to prepare himself by spraying the room, and his person, liberally with imported perfume.

Almost as an afterthought, he removed the wedding band from his finger and placed it in the pocket of his trousers.

When his companion for the night announced her presence with a knock at the door, punctually at the appointed time, which pleased the judge, Harrison, already undressed and clad only in his robe, crossed the room and opened the door. The girl standing outside the room was Mexican: dark eyes and tanned skin, with long raven hair that she wore loose around her shoulders. Through his spectacles Harrison gazed at the girl appraisingly and, finding her suitable to his discriminating taste, invited her inside, not with words but with a mere nod of his head.

Truth be told, the girl, Angelique (or “Angel,” as she was known to her customers), was not as impressed with Judge Harrison as he was with her. She was a fairly new addition to Madam Rosina's stable, having been encouraged away from a border town cantina, where she was performing the same duties under less favorable conditions and little pay. Naturally she hadn't been told who tonight's customer was, but his austere, almost hawk-like look, complemented by a neatly trimmed goatee that made the middle-aged man look old enough to be her grandfather, coupled with a somewhat intimidating bearing, suggested someone of importance whom, she detected, held her in low esteem. He exuded a chilly arrogance.

Not that his opinion mattered. Angelique had no illusions about herself or what she did for a living. She was a whore and she knew it.

This was her first appointment with Charles Harrison, and she didn't know what to expect. Judging by his appearance, Angelique would have guessed his occupation as undertaker. While withholding his identity (as was always the case), Madam Rosina had called him a “gentleman of suitable character,” but Angelique had had turns with other so-called “respectables,” and she usually found that while they may have been upstanding citizens in their professional life, under the sheets it was quite a different matter.

Money was always the incentive, however, and Madam Rosina was generous in sharing her profits with her girls. Therefore, Angelique accepted the glass of champagne her client silently offered her as a preliminary overture. There would be very little conversation, and when Angelique was about to introduce herself as Angel, Harrison raised his hand to silence her. He neither wanted nor needed to know who she was. He kept such arrangements impersonal, no intimacies.

This was not particularly uncommon to Angelique—though quite often her customers provided false names to allow for at least the facade of personal connection.

After a single glass of champagne, Harrison disrobed, and buck-naked, exposing a most unappealing physique, he proceeded into bed, with Angelique likewise expected to follow. Consuming the rest of her champagne quickly to hopefully hasten the effects, the girl stepped behind a decorative partition and began removing her outer garments, uncertain if not uneasy at the prospect of what was to come, but readying herself to do her “professional” best to please the customer . . .

Judge Harrison's night of pleasure at the bordello proved all that he could have hoped for. The few words he did speak were brief whispered instructions of what he expected from the girl, and while a few of his requests were somewhat peculiar, Angelique was seasoned and complied without complaint. But it had all been prelude. When the moment came, Harrison was quick on the draw, releasing but one pull on the trigger. By the time he drifted off to sleep, an exhausted Angelique had admirably fulfilled some of his fantasies.

For Angelique, the experience was far from memorable. Of course, her personal pleasure in the affair was barely a consideration. For her, the night wasn't as exciting as it was painful. The old man seemed to have to struggle to achieve his own puny “thrill” and often he would squeeze Angelique's forearms with a strong grip while in the midst of prompting stimulation. Angelique was certain she would end up with some bruising, but this wasn't entirely new to her. She would simply file these
souvenirs
away under “hazards of the trade.”

Still and all, Harrison was impressed with the little señorita Rosina had provided, and beyond paying her fee, which he left in a sealed envelope on the night table, he also supplied a generous gratuity, which Rosina would
not
share with the girl.

Judge Charles Hugh Harrison returned to his hotel room before dawn feeling fully satisfied and ready to get down to the day's business.

* * *

Ehron Lee Burrows had spent almost two weeks sitting in the town jail awaiting the arrival of the circuit judge. Shortly after his jailing, Ehron Lee was notified by the sheriff, Buck Leighton, that his wife, Melinda, together with her sister, Abigail, would be arriving by stagecoach later in the week to visit him. Although he desperately missed his wife, Ehron Lee didn't want Melinda, just months from delivering the baby, to see him locked behind bars, a possible candidate for hanging. He urged the sheriff not to let her in. Sheriff Leighton wasn't about to grant him that request; he was of no mind to deal with a determined female. He bluntly told Ehron Lee that there was no way he would keep her out if she insisted on seeing him.

What Ehron Lee couldn't know was that Melinda would not be the problem. His sister-in-law, Abigail, was so distraught over the death of her husband that her already fragile personality had become even more unstable.

Yet when she first came inside the jailhouse, following after Melinda, she appeared calm and composed. She sat herself next to the sheriff's desk and let Melinda have her time with Ehron Lee. She was quiet and didn't react to the pain-wracked voice and the tears that streamed from her sister's eyes as Melinda clung desperately to her husband's hands when they reached outside the bars of the cell.

They didn't speak for long; neither knew what to say to comfort the other. Ehron Lee struggled to give her reassurance, but he could only tell her what he knew for certain—and that could not include his prospects for the future.

“I'm innocent, honey, you gotta believe me,” he said. “And they shot Winston only 'cause he got scairt and tried to run off.”

Ehron Lee couldn't tell if she'd even heard him. Her features reflected a strain he'd never seen on her before, aging her beyond her tender years. She seemed to have trouble accepting any of what he was saying. It was almost as if she were struggling to find a safe place in denial.