Preacher was about to fire at Beaumont, when a big shape suddenly leaped forward and got in the way. Brutus lunged at Beaumont just as the man pulled the trigger. Even over the blast of the pistol, Preacher heard the meaty thud of lead striking flesh. Brutus grunted in pain and reeled backward, crashing into Preacher as he did so.
“A trap!” Beaumont yelled as he cast a furious, wild-eyed glance over his shoulder at Jessie. “It’s a damned trap! You betrayed me, you bitch!”
Preacher had gone down under Brutus’s massive weight. It was like having a house fall on him. He was stunned, the breath knocked out of him. He tried to lift his pistol and shove Brutus aside so he could get a shot at Beaumont, but the man ducked through the parlor door and vanished.
Screams came from inside the parlor, and then a second later Preacher heard glass crash. He finally managed to get out from under Brutus, but by the time he reached his feet and hurried to the parlor door, Beaumont was gone. The front window, which had been covered by heavy curtains, was shattered and the curtains had been pulled down. As Preacher looked at the damage, he realized that Beaumont had dived through the window to escape.
Several of the girls who worked here were in the parlor, along with a couple of customers. They all stared fearfully at Preacher, who realized he still had the pistol in his hand. He was about to tell them that they were in no danger when a scream came from the hallway behind him.
“Brutus!”
He wheeled around and saw Jessie on her knees next to the big man. She put her trembling hands on either side of his face and turned his head so that he appeared to be looking at her, only his wide, staring eyes were empty and lifeless now. As Preacher watched, a large red stain continued spreading across the front of Brutus’s white shirt.
Preacher didn’t know what the hell Brutus had been trying to accomplish by leaping at Beaumont that way. Maybe he had thought that he could knock Beaumont’s gun aside and keep anyone else from getting killed. Maybe it had been just instinct that made him move toward trouble instead of away from it, since his job was to keep ruckuses from breaking out here in the house. No matter what Brutus’s motive, his actions had gotten him killed.
And maybe saved Preacher’s life in the process.
That was just one more mark against Beaumont, Preacher thought as he saw tears rolling down Jessie’s cheeks. One more score to settle with the bastard.
Preacher reached down and grasped Jessie’s arm as she continued sobbing over Brutus’s corpse. “We got to get out of here,” he rasped. “You heard Beaumont. He thinks you’re to blame for what just happened here.”
“I . . . I am,” Jessie choked out. “It’s my fault Brutus is dead.”
“No, it ain’t, but we can worry about that later. Beaumont’s got men workin’ for him all over St. Louis. He won’t have to go very far before he finds some of them and heads back here.”
Jessie let Preacher tug her to her feet. She used the back of her hand to paw at her wet, red eyes.
“You’re right,” she said. “With his temper, he’s liable to come back with a bunch of men and . . . and burn the place down. We have to leave, find some place to hide . . .”
Preacher nodded. “Where’s Cleve?”
“I don’t know. Maybe at Dupree’s. Not here, though. He should be safe, at least for a while. Shad may not suspect him of being involved in this. We need to find him and warn him—”
“Later,” Preacher said. “For now, let’s just get you out of here.” Something else occurred to him. “And Casey—I mean Cassandra—too.”
Jessie stared at him. “Cassandra?” she repeated. “What does she have to do with this?”
“You saw how Beaumont was when he lost that shipment of cotton. He might’ve beaten her to death that night if he’d gotten anywhere near her. How mad do you reckon he’s gonna be about you and me double-crossin’ him?”
Preacher saw understanding dawn in Jessie’s eyes. “You’re right. He’ll take out his rage on her. All the other girls should get out of here, too, just in case.”
“Probably wouldn’t be a bad idea,” Preacher agreed.
Jessie turned to the parlor. Her voice was still strained with the grief of Brutus’s death, but she managed to make her tone brisk and businesslike as she said to the customers, “I’m sorry, but because of all this trouble, we’re closing down for the rest of the day. Please leave now.”
None of the men argued with her. They didn’t want to be around any more shooting, so they hurried out, averting their eyes as they stepped around Brutus’s body in the hallway.
“You, too,” Jessie told the scantily clad women in the parlor once the customers. “Pack up whatever you need and get out as quick as you can. The house is closed. When you go upstairs, pass the word to the rest of the girls, and any customers who are still up there, too.”
“But, Jessie,” one of the whores wailed, “what are we going to do? Where will we go?”
Jessie shook her head. “I’m sorry. You’ll have to figure that out for yourself.” Then she turned to Preacher and went on, “Come on, let’s get . . . what did you call her? Casey?”
“Yeah, that’s what she told me to call her,” Preacher said as they left the parlor and headed for the staircase.
“I wonder why she never mentioned that to me.”
Preacher didn’t have an answer for that.
Jessie paused at the top of the stairs. “What are we going to do about Brutus?” she asked as she looked back down toward the hall where his body lay.
“Ain’t nothin’ we can do,” Preacher replied. “We’ll have to leave him there and hope that Beaumont gives him a decent burial.”
