“If he’s got one I don’t know it.”
“He’s a killer?
“I ain’t never seen him kill nobody,” Zeke said, “but that’s his rep.”
“And he came in here to see your boss?”
“All the time.”
“So maybe he killed him.”
“Why would he?” Zeke asked. “The boss paid him.”
“Maybe,” Short said, “he wasn’t payin’ him enough anymore.”
CHAPTER 29
Outside Short was surprised to find Butler approaching him.
“You’re followin’ a little too close, don’t you think?” he asked.
“I don’t think it matters,” Butler said. “There’s a window across the street with somebody in it. No gun,” he added, to keep Short from dropping to the ground. “Just nosy, I think.”
“And?”
“If they make a habit of watching this street, or this saloon, maybe they saw something.”
“That means if they’re nosy enough,” Short said, “they could see what goes on here mornin’, noon, and night.”
“Now you’ve got it.”
“You know what floor? What door we knock on?”
“I can guess,” Butler said, “but I don’t want to make it too obvious that we’re going over there.”
“Okay,” Short said, “we’ll take a short walk down the block, and then double back across the street.”
Butler nodded.
Mary Cronin had lived on Rusk Street for the past twenty years. She’d seen saloons go up and come down and go up again. She’d seen men lie, cheat, steal and kill, and all from her window. Now she was seventy years old and she still prided herself on her eyesight. She lived on money she got from her son every month, cooked all her own food, never left her rooms, and spent most of her waking hours at her window.
As far as she was concerned, this block belonged to her.
When a knock came at her door she was surprised. Nobody ever came to see her but her son, and he had his own key.
She was loath to leave her window—something might happen that she’d miss—but her curiosity got the better of her. Now who could possibly be knocking at her door, and why?
She walked to it, and turned the knob.
Butler had guessed wrong with the first door they knocked on, and they’d interrupted a couple having sex, who acted like they’d been caught doing something wrong. When they realized that the woman’s husband had not sent Butler and Short, they cursed them out and slammed the door.
“I get the feeling those people are not married to each other,” Short commented.
Shaking his head, Butler led Short to the next door on that floor.
“I hope this is the right one.”
Butler knocked. He was about to knock again when the door was opened by an elderly woman.
“Yes?”
“Ma’am,” Butler said. “I believe your front window overlooks the street. Am I right?”
The woman frowned, narrowed her eyes.
“Who are you—wait. I know you. You’re the two fellas who were just across the street at the Bloody Spur, ain’tcha?”
“Yes, Ma’am, we are,” Butler said. “May we come in and talk to you?”
“Is this about the murder?” she asked.
“Yes, Ma’am, it is,” Luke Short said.
She looked at his silk hat—which was in his hand—and his walking stick and said, “You’re a bit of a dandy, ain’tcha?”
“Yes, Ma’am, I guess I am.”
“And you’re handsome,” she said to Butler.
“Thank you, Ma’am.”
“Been a while since I had a handsome man or a dandy call on me,” she said. “Now I got one of each. Well, come on in, then. I reckon we got a lot to talk about.”
“Thank you, Ma’am,” Butler said, as he and Short entered.
Butler walked right to the front window and looked out. He could see the front of the Bloody Spur very clearly. He looked at Short and nodded.
“You young fellas will have tea with me, won’tcha?” the lady asked.
“Ma’am,” Luke Short said, “I don’t think we have the time—”
“If you wanna know what I know,” she said, “you’ll make the time.”
“And what do you know, Ma’am?” Butler asked.
“I know I ain’t had any company for tea in a month of Sundays,” she said.
“Ma’am,” Butler said, “we’d be delighted to join you for tea.”
CHAPTER 30
They each had a cup of tea and some cookies the woman said she had just made for herself. They found out that her name was Mary Cronin and she had lived there for a very long time.
“I remember when the Bloody Spur went up,” she said, “and then all them others followed. I remember when this wasn’t called Hell’s Half Acre, or the Bloody Third Ward. I remember when decent folks lived here. Now look what we got. Drunks and gamblers.” She peered at Butler. “Which one are you?”
He smiled.
“Ma’am, I believe I’ve been one or the other at certain times of my life.”
“Well,” she said, “I’m impressed. I do believe that was an honest answer.”
“Ma’am,” Butler said, “we’d like to ask you about the murder of Ed Cramer. Do you know who Mr. Cramer was?”
“’Course I do, young man. I’m old, I ain’t stupid.”
“I didn’t mean to say that you were, Ma’am—”
“Could you just call me Mary and stop with the Ma’am all the time?”
“I believe I can do that, Mary.”
She looked at Short.
“You ever been drunk?”
“I’ve turned a card and been drunk plenty of times, Mary,” Short admitted. “Too many from my wife’s point of view.”
“Another honest man,” Mary said. “I don’t know what to do with all this honesty.”
“I’ll give you some more, then, Mary,” Butler said. “My friend Luke, here, has been accused of murdering Ed Cramer. Now, he didn’t do it—”
“I know he didn’t do it,” she said, looking at Short. “You Luke Short?”
“Yes, Ma—Mary.”
“I thought so. You had cause to kill Cramer, didn’t ya?”
“I did.”
