pushed it down securely with the heel of his hand. “And that’s just the way I want to keep it. I don’t want it gettin’ around that I’m shootin’ off my mouth about Shad Beaumont.”
Preacher held up his hands, palms out. “Don’t worry. I ain’t gonna say anything about it. What I’d really like to hear more about is those houses with the fancy ladies.” He grinned. “It’s been a hell of a long trip from Pennsylvania.”
The ferryman, who had seemed to be getting suspicious for a moment, now relaxed. He returned Preacher’s grin and said, “What you want is a house called Jessie’s Place. Friendliest gals in town, bar none. It’s got a mite o’ class to it, too. Tain’t cheap, mind you, but like this here whiskey o’ mine, it’s worth it.”
“All right,” Preacher said, leaning forward eagerly. “Tell me how to find it.”
The ferry returned to the east bank landing a short time later. It was a sturdy flat-bottomed boat large enough to carry two wagons and their teams, or a dozen riders. Preacher had to wait until several more men came along on horseback who wanted to cross the river before the ferryman would let them board. Four men who bore a definite resemblance to the one-eyed man and who were probably his sons worked the long, heavy sweep oars that guided the boat across the Mississippi’s currents to the landing on the west bank.
During the crossing, Preacher stood at the boat’s railing, holding on to Horse’s reins, and unobtrusively studied the half-dozen men crossing with him. They appeared to be working men, much like he was pretending to be, except for one sandy-haired gent in a brown frock coat and beaver hat. He wore a ruffled shirt and a fancy cravat under the frock coat. His horse was a big black gelding, a fine-looking animal. The man appeared to be well-to-do. Preacher pegged him as a gambler, and a successful one, at that.
When the boat tied up at the landing about half a mile south of the long line of wharves that jutted out into the river, Preacher led Horse off onto solid ground again, which the rangy gray stallion seemed to appreciate. The other men disembarked as well, including the gambler. He swung up onto his expensive saddle and rode off toward the main part of town. Preacher followed him, although he didn’t care about the gambler. He was going that way anyway, because the ferryman had given him directions for how to find the whorehouse known as Jessie’s Place.
Preacher had been to St. Louis many times before, so he actually knew his way around the settlement fairly well, although he was pretending to be a stranger. He hadn’t heard of Jessie’s until today, though. It had been a while since he’d been here, and things sometimes changed fast on the frontier. Although St. Louis was civilized, it was right on the edge of a vast, untamed wilderness, and some of that wildness had rubbed off on it. There were a lot of different ways a man could get killed on the prairie or in the mountains, but the same was true here in the city.
Preacher thought maybe it was even
He had two possibilities for the first step in his plan: the fancy saloon called Dupree’s and Jessie’s Place. He was confident that if Jessie’s was the best whorehouse in St. Louis, Shad Beaumont was bound to own it. From what he knew of Beaumont, the man was involved in everything shady that went on in the settlement. He wanted to be sure that Beaumont heard about “Jim Donnelly.”
Unlike most of the houses of ill repute in St. Louis, Jessie’s wasn’t located near the waterfront. Instead it was in a quiet neighborhood on the north side of town where trees grew around the houses and there were flower beds full of brilliantly blooming flowers in the yards. The house had two stories and wore enough coats of whitewash that its walls gleamed. It looked like the sort of place where a wealthy merchant would live.
Which was exactly what it was, Preacher supposed. Jessie might not be the owner, but she was in charge here, and she definitely had merchandise for sale.
Preacher couldn’t afford that merchandise, even if he’d been in a buying mood. He hadn’t come to St. Louis looking for a woman, he reminded himself as he tied Horse at a hitch rail in front of the house. Several others were tied there, and Preacher frowned slightly as he recognized one of them. It was the big black from the ferry, the one that the sandy-haired gambler had ridden.
Well, that wasn’t too much of a surprise, he told himself. A man who dressed that well and owned a horse like this would want to patronize the best whorehouse in town.
Preacher went up a flagstone walk bordered by flower beds to the front porch. There was a brass lion’s-head knocker in the middle of the heavy door. He rapped sharply with it and waited.
The man who opened the door was tall, broad-shouldered, and black. He was bald except for a fringe of gray hair around his ears that trailed around the back of his head. Age didn’t seem to have withered him any, though. The muscles in his arms and shoulders bulged against the coat he wore.
He took one look at Preacher, got a superior sneer on his face, and said, “If you’ve brought those barrels of wine from the boat, you need to take them around back.”
“You see a wagon full of wine barrels out here?” Preacher asked.
The man frowned and looked past him. “No. What do you want?”
“This is Jessie’s Place, ain’t it? What do you think I want?”
Preacher started to push past the man, who put a hand on his chest to stop him. Preacher felt the strength coming from the man’s arm and shoulders.
“This ain’t your kind of place, mister. You need to go back down to the waterfront. The girls in the cribs there’ll be more than happy to accommodate you.”
Preacher sneered right back at the man. “You talk mighty fancy for a slave.”
“I ain’t a slave,” the man said with a shake of his head. “I’m a freedman, and I ain’t afraid of you just ’cause you’re white, mister. The law around here ain’t gonna blink an eye if I whup your ass.”
Preacher returned the man’s cold, level stare. “So you’re a freedman, eh?” He turned his head and spat. “That’s just a fancy word for a darky who’s got too big for his britches. I got money, damn your black hide.”
“Not enough,” the man said. “I can tell by lookin’ at you. Now, are you gonna leave peaceable-like, or—”
Preacher didn’t let him finish. He swung a wild punch at the man’s head instead.
The man ducked under the blow and lunged forward, wrapping his arms around Preacher’s waist. Suddenly Preacher felt himself jerked up off the ground. He let out a startled yelp that was completely genuine as the man hoisted him above his head.
