inside Madame Eleanor’s damn near blinded him as he walked into its parlor.
“Gotta leave yer gun at the door,” came a voice from his left. “Don’t need no trouble here.” He adjusted his eyes to the light, then reluctantly handed over his gun before entering the room. It was a right pretty place with dark green wallpaper and lush oriental rugs. There were real crystal chandeliers like in his plantation back home, before the Union soldiers had burned it to the ground. He looked around the room, at a fancy bar and poker tables. A darkie was playing a fine piano off in the corner. Soiled doves lounged on sofas, with rouged cheeks and redder lips, as they waited for customers looking to scratch their itches. There were blondes and brunettes and redheads, skinny ones and curvaceous ones and fat ones. And there was a Chinese girl with long black hair and tiny bound feet who couldn’t have been more than fourteen. And a high-yellow negress in a bright red silk dress.
Off in a far corner was a woman who had to be Madame Eleanor. Not even the most desperate of men would have bedded her, not even for free. Ugly as a javelina she was, but dressed in Paris’s best with fancy jewels and a feather boa wrapped around her fat neck and a toothy smile on her face.
But it was the woman sitting with her that caught Caleb’s attention. She was the most beautiful creature he’d ever laid eyes on. Her hair was the color of midnight with eyes just as dark and mysterious. Perfect white teeth contrasted with a complexion as burnished as the desert landscape. She didn’t need that one lone feather in her hair to tell what she was. She was a half-breed for sure, but the prettiest damn injun he’d ever seen.
Before the night was over, that was the lady he wanted to take upstairs!
Caleb headed off for a poker table, sat down, and joined the game. Those games kept his stomach full and Shenandoah in oats through their long journey and his wallet needed some fattening. He kept looking over at the exotic woman, distracted, knowing he’d gladly empty every last penny from his pockets just to be with her close up and naked. She had a face that promised she was as wild on the mattress as she looked.
“And I heard the rocks were falling from Picket Post Mountain,” said the man sitting across from him as he toyed with his handlebar moustache.
“Biggest damn quake ever,” said another.
“The earth was shakin’ from Mexico to all the way up past Superior,” said the first man.
“I heard that the top of Picket Post Mountain fell right off,” said the scrawny third guy in his squeaky voice. Awed, he was, like it was some kind of magic instead of merely nature doing what she does best. Just when you start thinking things are gonna be easy nature comes along and slaps you alongside the head with an earthquake or a flood or whatever else she can muster.
“I saw fissures on the desert floor,” said Caleb. “All the way from Tombstone to here.”
Name’s Caleb,” he added. “Deal me in gentlemen.”
They played their hands and exchanged their stories. Caleb won enough for what he needed, careful not to win so much as they’d suspect he was playing with something hidden up his sleeve. These men would likely be his new neighbors, after all. Finally, he stood and scooped up his conservative winnings.
“I’m thinking it’s time to go upstairs,” he said with a wink and turned in the direction of the raven haired beauty. The man with the moustache caught him by the arm.
“I better fair warn you,” he said. “That there is Mrs. Wembly and she’s hands off unless you want to get yerself shot.”
“She ain’t one of the girls,” said another with a snicker, “Not no more anyways.” The other men laughed as they held their cards, shaking their heads like they were in on some inside joke.
Caleb didn’t understand.
“She comes here to hide away from her husband,” said the man with the moustache. “And he’s the most powerful man in these parts. Rich as a sultan he is, and deadly as a scorpion. He ain’t nobody you want to mess with, if you know what’s good for you.”
The front door flew open and a man entered the parlor. Nobody asked him for his gun as he strutted into the room. Caleb could see from the man’s clothes and his badge that he was a sheriff’s deputy so he expected all hell to break loose. But everyone just glanced at the man then went about their business. The whores just smiled and whispered in each others ears. The deputy was a tall one, a good six foot three at least. He appeared even taller and more intimidating as his eyes scanned the room before landing on the beauty who sat in the corner conversing with Madame Eleanor.
“Venus!” The deputy called out. “Venus Wembly, get yerself over here! Roscoe’s looking for you and he’s spitting nails.” He stomped across the room and grabbed her roughly by the arm, jerking her up from her chair.
“Leave me be,” she protested, then looked over and straight into Caleb’s eyes. It was like a jolt of lightening stabbed through him and time froze. Her expression was pleading but there was something else in the way her mouth turned up in the corners as she faintly smiled at him. Something stirred deep inside of him and damn near made his heart stop.
The deputy yanked her arm and escorted her to the door.
“Don’t you dare tell Mr. Wembly where you found me!” she protested.
And they were gone.
The men at the poker table laughed.
“The deputy won’t tell Wembly nothing.”
“Hell, everybody in town knows she comes here.”
“Everybody but Mr. Wembly hisself.”
“I’ll wager she’ll be back within two days.”
“That ain’t no bet. You know well as the rest of us that she always comes back.”
And when she comes back I’m gonna be here waiting, Caleb thought to himself.
* * * *
The next three days in Caleb Crosby’s life was filled with images of the beautiful desert Venus. Every day he walked down to Madame Eleanor’s bordello and sat at the end of the bar, sipping whisky and listening to the piano and waiting for her to walk through the door. On the evening of day two one of the fallen angels caught his eye. She was a cute little thing named Miss Dixie, with bright blue eyes that sparkled and a line of freckles that marched across her turned up nose like fire ants. But it wasn’t her sweet good looks that had attracted him. It was the soft southern accent that reminded him of home, evoking memories of the genteel world he’d left behind.
He’d watched her backside wiggle to and fro as he followed Miss Dixie up the stairs and into her room. She undressed, exposing a pert little bosom with nipples as pink as a newborn babies lips. She was delightful and charming and tight as a virgin, but the whole time he was rutting her he was haunted by the face of the beautiful half breed.
He didn’t bother taking another girl upstairs after that.
By day three everyone greeted him when he came through the door, just like he was an old friend. He was liking Tucson and found it downright friendly. He took his place at the end of the bar and the barman set down a bottle of his favorite whiskey. By early evening the sin palace was alive with laughter. It was in full swing as patrons crowded in and music played and the poker tables
