gilded cage, a byoo-tee-fill sight to see-e-e-e… Their combined volume was topped by Queeny's wobbly soprano…. for her love was so-o-o-o-old! For an o-o-o-ol' man's go-o-o-old, she's a bird in a gilded- 'Whoa!' Lieder shouted, and there was sudden silence. 'Now that, ladies and gentlemen.' He shook his head and laughed helplessly. 'That, folks, is what I would call… terrible! And I can't permit myself to embarrass an old woman any further by making her sing when she's got a voice that would shatter a spittoon at fifty yards. So instead, I'll tell you what. You can dance for us, grandma. Tiny, give her some more whiskey. And to make it more interesting, grandma, I think I'm going to have you dance… naked. I cannot wait to see all that tallow a-wobbling and a-jiggling! A sight to make a man swear off woman-meat forever! Gentlemen of the choir! Give this little lady a big welcoming hand! Professor Murphy? Music, if you please.'
The choir applauded, and Jeff Calder put two fingers into his mouth and whistled an ear-splitting note.
'Take it off!'
'Let's see what you got!'
Queeny's pudgy fingers hesitated at the ties of her wrap. Drunk though she was, she was loath to reveal the not-excessively-clean underwear she wore during the week, when there were no customers. But Tiny overcame her show of reluctance by ripping the wrap off her, snatching her drawers down, and pushing her out onto the dance floor. Her feet got tangled in her drawers, and she stumbled against Bobby-My-Boy, who pushed her back into the center of the room, where she stood beneath the big overhead oil lamp, her crossed arms scooping in her breasts, her drawers puddled around one ankle. Professor Murphy pumped away at the player piano, his head glistening with sweat, and she began to shuffle from foot to foot, at first awkwardly, miserably, ashamed of her age and weight. But… but every eye was on her! She was the focus of all attention! She was on stage again! A sultry grimace creased her cheeks as the whiskey transported her back to happier times. Responding to her public's whistles and slurred suggestions, she began a grotesque imitation of her old Dance of the Seven Veils, using her hands to conceal, then coyly reveal, tantalizing glimpses of her bulbous nipples and her shaggy pudenda. Rivulets of sweat lacquered the rolls of fat beneath her underarms. Her pendulous breasts swayed and jiggled. Each time a pelvic bump made her audience hoot and whistle, she shook a finger at them, and her mouth made an o-o-o of naughty admonition.
Show business!
Only slowly… and with growing bewilderment… did she become aware that they weren't cheering. They were saying cruel, wounding things about her body. Why, they were passing personal remarks!
Queeny stopped jiggling from foot to foot and stood beneath the big kerosene lamp, sobbing into the hands that now concealed only her face. The ballad ended with a crescendo of chords; the piano roll flapped within the mechanism; and the room was silent.
Suddenly Queeny's head snapped up, and her eyes flashed within their tear-smeared sockets. A string of snarled abuse poured out of her. She called them every nasty thing that came to mind, while tears worked their way down her cheeks to the corners of her mouth, and the overhead light caught patches of slippery wet on her naked flesh.
Lieder laughed and told Tiny to pour the old gal a drink. She'd earned it! But Queeny snatched the bottle from Tiny and hurled it at Lieder, who ducked as it shattered against the wall near his head. His eyes suddenly emptied, and his lips curled back from his teeth. 'Get your fat ass out of here before I kill you,' he snarled. 'Get out!' Then his voice dropped to a tense, breathy timbre. 'And if you come back, old lady, I'll arrange a little romantic encounter between you and a broken bottle. It'll be a night of love you'll never forget. Bobby-My-Boy, stop grinning and show the lady out.'
Bobby-My-Boy grabbed Queeny by her hair, slapped her face, and propelled her through the bar doors, which flapped against the walls as she stumbled out into the darkness and fell to her knees, skinning them on the rough boardwalk. She tried to stand, but whiskey sloshed through her senses, and she sprawled across the steps.
Across the street in the darkened Mercantile, Mr. Kane crossed to the window and looked down the street to where lamplight spilled from the door of the Traveller's Welcome. 'My God, she's-' He returned to the table and sat heavily. 'They've stripped her naked and thrown her out into the street.'
In the Traveller's Welcome, Lieder stood beneath the big oil lamp, his eyes lost in the shadow of his brows. He searched the faces of the silent deacons, seeking the slightest sign of amusement at his having been obliged to duck the bottle. There was none. 'Everybody sing! Pump that goddamned piano, Curly! Fill up those glasses, Peggy!' He punctuated his orders by pulling out his pistol and firing into the ceiling, which caused Mr. Delanny to twitch and crimp the card he was laying out. Notes gushed from the player piano, lush and syrupy, and everyone sang, heads thrown back, mouths open wide… for her love was so-o-o-old, for an o-o-old man's go-o-o-old….
After obliging them to down two more glasses of rye 'for the road,' Lieder escorted his guests out. 'And mind you get plenty of sleep, 'cause we'll be fetching you tomorrow night for more jollity and fellowship. Whoa, there, Professor. I want you to stoke up your boiler and fill us three tubs. Up to the brim and steaming!'
'Tonight?' The bleary-eyed, nauseated barber looked wistfully after his fellow deacons, who were stumbling home along the moonlit street.
'Yes, tonight! We ain't none of us had an all-over bath since I don't know when. And do you wonder if we're going to have a wallow? We're going to have a long, long wallow. And I want that water hot enough to melt the marrow out of our bones!' He told Tiny to collect their 'arsenal' and take it over to the barbershop, so they could keep an eye on it while they were soaking in their tubs. 'We mustn't leave temptation in the way of these good people. They're too weak to fight against it. Ain't that right, Mr. Delanny?'
Delanny did not look at him.
'Of course we all know the urge to do something brave and dangerous isn't very strong amongst pimps, but just to be on the safe side… Peggy, you go cut some of that clothesline in the kitchen and tie Mr. Delanny into his chair.' He walked to the table on which Mr. Delanny was laying out solitaire with ostentatious lassitude. 'I don't think Mr. Tone-of-Voice would mind being tied into his chair… just to help strengthen his resolve to be a coward. What do you say, Peggy?'
'No, sir. I mean… yes, sir.' To cover his confusion, Jeff Calder went quickly into the kitchen, where he snatched down the wet underwear and cut off a length of clothesline.
'And I'd cinch that rope down real tight if I was you, Peggy,' Lieder said, 'because if I come back from my bath and find this pimp's got away…' He let the bartender imagine the consequences.
Calder snatched the rope tight and tied it off. Delanny smiled thinly to cover the pain in his skinned wrists.
As she looked from the window to Lieder's face, Frenchy's glance fell to Delanny's right boot. If the chance came to get at his gun…
Tiny returned from carrying the 'arsenal' over to the barbershop, where he left Bobby-My-Boy guarding it. 'You know what I saw?' he asked Lieder.
'What?'
'That kid was helping the old whore into his place, the one who tried to bash you with that bottle.'
'Let him be. He's just what you call your good Samaritan. Generous to a fault. He's like me in that way. Now, I want you ladies to take off your shoes and give them to Tiny. That's so you won't take it into your heads to run off up to the mine or down to Destiny.' Frenchy kicked off her shoes as Tiny approached her, but he had to twist the shoes off Chinky's unresisting feet.
'Go upstairs and collect all the shoes,' Lieder said. 'We'll stuff 'em into the barber's boiler to help heat up our bathwater. That way they'll serve a useful purpose.'
As Tiny disappeared up the stairs, Lieder looked at Frenchy, who returned his gaze with her eyebrows arched over half-closed eyes. 'What do they call you, girl?'
When she didn't answer, Jeff Calder volunteered, 'Frenchy's her name.'
'Frenchy, eh? I suppose that means you used to sell ass down New Orleans way, right?' Frenchy didn't answer. Lieder smiled and shook his head. 'You have got real sassy eyes, girl. Real sassy. But I'll get you. Don't worry, Frenchy. I'll get you. That's a promise.' He grinned, then he turned, to Jeff Calder. 'Peggy, I'm putting you in charge of these good people. You can handle that responsibility, can't you?'
Calder squared his narrow shoulders. 'Yes, sir.'
'And to show how much I trust you, I'm going to leave your army rifle and one round… so you can enforce your will on these folk. But…' He held up his finger. 'But if anything goes wrong while I'm off enjoying my nice long bath, guess who I'm going to gut-shoot first.'
