Chapter 6
Jack rode down French Street trying to find the Gay Lady Saloon. The evening was beginning to settle upon Washington, casting long shadows along the streets. In this neighborhood the few decent people scurried indoors before the sun set. The rest tried to find solace in a cup of liquor or the fleeting pleasures that could be bought for a few coins. When he discovered the place, Jack saw that the saloon itself was a sad establishment - an old, graying, one-story building with rough, wooden steps leading up to the front door which had a stained window set inside the wood. He pushed himself off of his gray mare and tied the bridle to the hitching post amongst several other horses.
Ezra’s horse could not be seen, so Jack concluded that his friend was still busy tracking down information. Instead of waiting, he walked up the creaking steps, pushed open the decrepit door to the saloon, and walked inside. The tavern was poorly lit, clouded with tobacco smoke, and smelled of sweat and beer. Some of the patrons paused momentarily to look at Jack, but he was mostly ignored by the press of men. The main room had a long bar where a few customers sat. A few tables were scattered on the floor, here card playing seemed to be the principal occupation.
Jack went to the stained bar and stuck his boot on the brass rail below. The bartender had long greasy hair that was unkempt and thinning, but he appeared stout enough to handle any trouble from his usual low-class drinkers. He watched Jack with uneasy eyes.
“What can I get ya?” the bartender grumbled.
“A shot of whiskey will do just fine, and have one for yourself.” Jack said kindly. He thought if this bartender was working the night that Lawrence disappeared, he might have seen something of interest. It was best to ply this man with a little liquor first.
The bartender gave a raised an eyebrow, pulled a bottle from behind the bar, and poured two shots into a pair of dirty glasses. “Feeling generous, eh? What are you after?”
“Not much,” Jack said taking the glass from the bar, and looking dubiously into it.
“I haven’t seen you here before. Most of my customers don’t have the time or money to buy me a drink. Well, here’s to your health.”
“And here’s to yours,” Jack replied, quickly downing the low quality whiskey with a short gulp. Afterwards he placed the small shot glass back on the bar. “Well, that wasn’t too bad,” he lied, holding back a grimace. ”Let’s have another drink, friend, now that you’ve got the bottle out.”
“I’m no friend of yours,” the bartender said with contempt. “You can call me Mister Tinen if you need to call me something. I own this place and don't take shit from anyone.”
“Well, Mister Tinen, you will learn that I’m a good friend to have. I always buy the first round, and I usually buy the second.”
“I’m not the kind to have many words with strangers, even if they are throwing money around.” He began to look at Jack more closely in the gloom. “What do you want here?” he snarled.
“Now hold on. I’m just looking for someone. Take a look at this picture and tell me what you know about him.” He pulled out the small photograph of Lawrence that he had gotten from the family and slid it towards the barkeep. “I’ll be paying for good information, my friend. So last Tuesday night, did you see this gentleman here?”
The bartender squinted at the picture but stopped short of picking it up. He then quickly glanced around to see if anyone was overhearing the conversation. The volume of his voice dropped to a throaty whisper. “How much money are we talking about?”
“How much do you want?”
“For twenty dollars, I can tell you everything I know.”
Jack shook his head. “Let’s make it ten for now. If I like what I hear, I’ll give you ten more.”
Tinen shrugged his shoulders in resignation. “Okay, I’ll talk,” he whispered.
Jack gave him a ten dollar coin.
“That boy was here alright, but he didn’t stay long. Now again, why exactly do you want to know?”
“All you need to know is that his family is looking for him. Keep in mind they can give even more money to the man who helps me find him. Now what do you remember about that night?”
Tinen again kept his voice low enough so the other customers could not hear his words over the din. “It was a busy night. I think he was here for just a short time to meet someone. I’m not completely sure since I was busy tending my customers.”
Jack slid over another five dollars. “If you could think a little harder, then you’ll get the other half.”
In the low light of the bar oil lamps, a small man leaning against the rough wall could be seen trying to listen in to the conversation. After a moment, he stood up and walked towards Jack and Tinen. The bartender quickly glanced towards him and gave a quick, almost imperceptible nod. Jack did not notice this interaction.
“Let me see,” the bartender suddenly smiled. “By the way, my friends call me Patrick, and they all know that I've never steered them wrong.”
Jack was surprised by the sudden turn of friendliness. “Well, Patrick, exactly who did this man Lawrence see that night?”
“I saw that gentleman talking to a local money lender - a Mister Brinker. They had a most animated conversation, and then they both left in a hurry. Brinker appeared to be angry with Lawrence. I’m not sure what they were talking about since they were too far away for me to hear what they were arguing about.”
“Brinker? Are you sure about that?” Jack asked in surprise. He had been certain he would hear Abbott’s name mentioned and was wondering how this new character could be involved with Lawrence.
“I’m positive. He is rather well known around here since he has done business with just about everyone in this neighborhood. Go ahead and ask anyone.” Tinen spread his arms wide and some of the customers scowled at him before returning to their drinks.
“What do you know about a man named Lewis Abbott? Was he here that night?” Jack asked impatiently. He had been sure that Abbott was lying and this information Tinen was so willing to give contradicted what he knew so far.
“Abbott? I don’t think I’ve ever heard of anyone named Abbott coming around here,” Tinen said with finality.
Jack changed his line of questioning. ”Was this Mister Brinker a regular customer here? What more can you tell me about him?”
“He’s been in a few times. Drinks a little, talks a lot, and usually leaves before we close. He lives in a rooming house just near the river. I can even tell you the address.”
Jack frowned and gave him the other five dollars. “Go ahead.”
Tinen smiled as he picked up the coin. “As I said, everyone in this neighborhood has done business with him. It’s 171 Ninth Street, just a few blocks from here. ” He pointed eastward, in the general direction of the street. “He has a room on the upper floor.”
Jack got ready to leave. “Thanks again for your help tonight. If your information is any good, I’ll see that you get a few more dollars for your trouble.”
“That would be much appreciated,” Tinen said with a grin on. “Now make sure you are careful out there. This neighborhood can be a little rough this time of night.”
“Will do,” Jack replied as he turned to leave. He was pleased with his good luck. He now had a solid lead on one of the last people who had been seen with Lawrence the night of his disappearance. He pushed his way out of the saloon and stepped into the darkening street. Instead of riding over, he decided to walk the short distance to Brinker’s apartment.
Along the street, dirty trash hid in shadows near the buildings. The tenements spilled forth the foul smell of poverty. Not wanting to draw attention, Jack kept his eyes forward as he made his way down the untidy road. Nearby, a local prostitute tried to drum up some business with a drunken soldier, while a gang of men looked on in amusement.
As he came to the street corner and turned onto Ninth Street, Jack tried to see the address numbers on the door
s. The road was strangely quiet and he looked warily for trouble. From around the corner of a house, a small rat-faced man in a dirty jacket who was carrying an old battered leather case strode towards him.
“Evening,” the man said, looked searchingly at Jack. Without warning, the little man suddenly swung the case and missed as Jack jumped back in surprise. He then whistled twice with his fingers and began stalking the detective again. This time his approach was more cautious. The sound of heavy footsteps could suddenly be heard coming from behind. Before Jack could tell what was happening, a sharp blow landed on his shoulder.
He turned to counter this new attack, his fist smashing into the face of a club-wielding, pug-nosed man. Jack then quickly stepped back to pull his Starr out, but the small man struck quickly with the case, hitting his gun arm. The pistol fell on the dirt of the street and disappeared into the shadows. Jack dodged towards where he had heard the gun fall, but the club lashed out again, forcing Jack back as he clutched his hand in pain. He stumbled into a broken fence.
The man with the club came toward him, a grim smile curling on his thick lips. He swung again, narrowly missing Jack, but striking the fence instead. The wood splintered. Jack kicked him as hard as he could, the blow hitting the man solidly in the stomach. His attacker dropped down to the dusty ground on all fours. Jack kicked again, driving his boot hard into the man’s ribs. The man grunted and sprawled out on the dirt, clutching his side in agony.
The rat-faced smaller man then shouted, dropped his case and charged wildly at Jack. He grabbed Jack hard around the waist and tried to pull him over. Jack bent over, grabbed him and twisted hard. The small man fell and sprawled on top of the pug-nosed man who was trying to stand up. They both fell down in a heap, now both groaning in agony.
Jack stopped to get back his breath and looked down on the two men. “You’re both damn fools if you think you can take me” he gasped. “I’m harder to roll than the gutter drunks you normally rob.”
Both of the men on the ground slowly pushed themselves up, and smiled wickedly, their eyes looking past Jack. He quickly spun around, but before Jack could even see his assailant, a heavy blow landed on the side of his head, forcing him down to his hands and knees. The club lashed out again, hitting Jack squarely in the head. Jack fell down onto his stomach. He nearly passed out from the sudden, red flare of pain.
Jack’s vision swam in front of him. He vainly tried to twist away as the new assailant stood over him with the club. The man took careful aim at Jack’s bloodied skull and prepared to strike again with a single, killing blow. Jack could no longer focus and found his consciousness slipping away. A clatter of hooves and a distant shot was the last thing he heard.