Bo nodded. “I know. He’s probably somewhere either soaking up more booze or passed out from it, but I suppose he could be in real trouble.”
As if his words were a stage cue, the office door opened hurriedly and a short man in work clothes stuck his head in. “Are you fellas the deputies?” he asked in an excited voice.
“That’s right,” Bo said as he turned toward the door.
“Well, you’d better get down to Bella’s pronto! It looks like all hell’s gonna bust lose down there!”
“Hold on a minute,” Scratch said sharply to the townie. “What’s Bella’s, and where is it?”
The man looked at them like he couldn’t believe what he was hearing, but he said, “Bella’s is the biggest whorehouse in town. It’s a block over and two down on Grand Street.”
“Grand is the one that parallels Main on the north?” Bo asked as he and Scratch started toward the door.
The townsman nodded. “Yeah. You better hurry. Thad Devery’s on a rampage, and he’s got some of his cousins there to back him up.”
Bo and Scratch exchanged a glance as they went out the door. An urgent summons like this, with the Deverys involved, smacked of a trap of some sort. As lawmen, though, the Texans couldn’t just ignore it. It was possible that the madam and the girls who worked at Bella’s really did need their help.
Bo caught hold of the shoulder of the man who’d come to the office and turned him so that his face was in the light. “Your name wouldn’t happen to be Devery, too, would it?” Bo asked in a hard voice.
“Devery? Hell, no! My name’s Ernie Bond. I drive a freight wagon. I don’t have anything to do with the Deverys, other than the fact that I don’t like ’em much.”
The man seemed to be telling the truth. Bo figured that he and Scratch would have to accept it for now and check out the situation at Bella’s.
“Then lead the way,” Bo ordered.
Ernie Bond gulped and looked like he would have rather done just about anything other than head back to the whorehouse, but he nodded and said, “Sure.” He took off trotting along the boardwalk.
Bo and Scratch followed, their long legs allowing them to keep up with the smaller Ernie without much trouble.
They took the first cross street and cut over to Grand. The word must have gotten around town that there was some sort of trouble developing over at Bella’s, because quite a few men were hurrying in that direction besides Bo, Scratch, and Ernie Bond. The ones who were slower got out of the way of the lawmen.
Ernie had said that Bella’s was the biggest whorehouse in Mankiller. It lived up to that billing, Bo saw as they approached. The building took up half a block. Its windows were covered with thick curtains. The bottom half of the heavy front door featured elaborate woodworking, while the upper half had a pane of leaded glass surrounded by gold trim set into it. Painted on the glass in gold leaf was the simple legend BELLA’S PLACE. That was the only explanation anybody in Mankiller needed. Everybody knew what went on here.
Men clustered on the porch, pressing their faces to the glass as they tried to catch a glimpse through any tiny gaps in the curtains. More men were gathered in front of the door. Bo raised his voice and said, “All right, everybody step back. Let us through.”
Some of the men started guiltily and got out of the way. Others were slower and more sullen about it, but they stepped aside after a moment.
Bo nodded to Ernie Bond and said, “All right, thanks for bringing us here. You don’t have to go in.”
“I won’t, then,” the little townie said. “There’s liable to be bullets flyin’ around in there before it’s over!”
Bo hoped not, but he was prepared for anything as he opened the door and he and Scratch stepped into the whorehouse. They had their hands on their guns as they entered.
They found themselves in a foyer with a polished hardwood floor and fancy wallpaper. An oil lamp in a brass sconce lit the place up, revealing an arched entrance that led into a parlor to the left. A beaded curtain hung over the entrance. Straight ahead was a wide staircase with a carved banister.
Several women were clustered at the bottom of the stairs. The one in front was middle-aged but still quite attractive, with bright red hair piled high on her head in an elaborate arrangement of curls. She wore a sea-green gown cut low enough to reveal the pale swells of her breasts. The women behind her on the stairs were all considerably younger and skimpier dressed, so Bo pegged the redhead as Bella and the others as the soiled doves who worked here.
That thought was all he had time for before a loud crash came from inside the parlor.
“Thank God you’re here!” the redhead exclaimed. She waved a handkerchief that she had clutched in one hand toward the parlor. “They’ve gone loco! They’re going to tear the whole place up!”
“No, ma’am, they won’t,” Bo said. “Not if we can do anything about it. Is that Thad Devery in there?”
“Yes, and his cousins Reuben and Simeon. George tried to settle them down when they got upset, but I’m afraid they’ve killed him!”
That accusation made things even more serious. Bo and Scratch drew their guns as they turned toward the parlor.
“You and your gals better get upstairs, ma’am,” Scratch said.
Bella turned and began shooing the whores up the stairs like a mother hen chasing a bunch of chicks across a barnyard.
“I’m sure smellin’ a trap,” Scratch went on as he and Bo paused at the beaded curtain.
“Me, too,” Bo agreed, “but we’ve got to go in there anyway.” Sounds of destruction continued to come from the parlor.
There was a splintering crash just as the Texans stepped into the room. Bo saw a man holding two of the legs
