The Sporting House Killing G. Powell (best free novels .TXT) đ
- Author: G. Powell
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Sporting on credit wasnât the usual course of business. Bill probably wasnât his real name. âHarley, maybe somebody over at the TPA knows him. Why donât you ask around at Post H and see if anybody knows a bald drummer named Bill whoâs got an eye twitch?â
âRight.â Harley made a note.
âWhatâs the TPA?â Miss Peach asked.
Catfish tapped his cigar over the spittoon. âTravelers Protective Association. Sort of a cross between a fraternal order and a trade association for traveling salesmen. Big outfit all over the country.â
âThey had a convention here the week of the murder,â Harley added.
âSadie and I talked about him and about Georgiaâs death,â Miss Peach said. âShe didnât act like he had anything to do with it. I think she wouldâve spoken differently if she feared he was the killer.â
âMaybe.â Catfish tilted his head. âOn the other hand, if heâs somebody important and he did have something to do with the killing, sheâd likely keep it to herself.â
âEven if heâs not the killer,â Harley added, âhe might know something or have seen something.â
Catfish was anxious to hear what they learned about the madam. She was the key to the case. âLetâs talk about Miss Jessie.â
Harley pulled some papers from his case. âLet me jump in here a minute.â He unfolded one, which appeared to be a telegram. âI heard back from my friend in Orleans Parish. He didnât know of any whores named Jessie Rose.â
âWell, thatâs a big place. Maybe she used a different name there.â Catfish turned to Miss Peach. âSadie tell you anything about the madam?â
She nodded. âLike you suspected, Miss Jessie doesnât own the house. A man does, but Sadie didnât know his name, or at least she didnât tell me. She told me the owner is well-to-do and Miss Jessie calls him âBoss.â He clearly wasnât Winky-Blinky, though.â
Catfish sat up. A rich owner made sense. He smelled a killer. âHeâs more than just a landlord if Jessie calls him âBoss.â And that explains how sheâs able to afford the house after only a year in town.â
Harley looked puzzled. âHow do you know sheâs only been here a year?â
âMade a call at the city secretaryâs office this morning. The bawdy house register shows she was a prostitute last year and a madam this year. She wasnât in the 1892 city directory or bawdy house register at all, so if she was here then, she wasnât set up yet. Somehow in one year she went from a working girl to running her own houseâand a fancy one at that.â He eyed them both. âSome rich fellaâs backing her.â
âWhy are you so interested in who owns the house?â Harley asked.
âMiss Jessieâs hiding something, but she didnât kill Georgia herself.â
âWhy do you say that?â Miss Peach asked.
âDoesnât make sense Jessieâd kill one of her own girls. For running the place, she probably gets a cut of the total take, makes as much money off her girls as she does herself. And besides, if she did kill Georgia for some reasonâor if Big Joe did, or Miss Sadieâtheyâd probably just dump her body in the river and let somebody find it downriver, far away from the sporting house. Leaving her there and calling the police wouldnât make sense.â
He rose and paced around the worktable. Killers lied, but just as often they got their underlings to lie for them. She was protecting the money man, and poor Cicero was how she was doing it. There wasnât any other explanation. Find the boss, find the killer. But if he wasnât Winky-Blinky, who?
He stopped pacing. âAnything else, Miss Peach?â
âNo, sir. Thatâs all. Sorry I couldnât find out more.â
âThanks, darlinâ, good work.â Needed to give her a raise in pay. He turned to Harley. âI expect we should track down who actually owns that building.â
Harley smiled and reached for another paper from his case. âI might already know who he is.â
Thatâs my boy. âWho?â
âI found an article in the Evening News back in March of last year, and I copied it.â Harley read it to his father. ââThe three-story brick building in the Reservation, occupied by Josie Bennett, was destroyed by fire between the hours of two and three oâclock this morning. The framework of the building is a total loss, but the walls remain standing. It was the property of W. R. Ormanâââ
Catfish tensed. Orman?
ââand was insured for $5,000 in the following companies: North British, $3,000; Dockery & Co. Agency. $2,000, Phoenix of London; J. H. Sturgis & Co. Agency. The insurance on the building covered the loss. The insurance on the furniture will not cover the loss. Most of the inmates of the establishment were out of the building at the time the fire broke out.ââ
Some things didnât make sense. âThe sporting girls were gone at three in the morning?â
âThatâs what the article said.â
âThat building was three stories, but Jessieâs is only two,â Catfish said. âWhy do you think itâs the same one?â
âI drove through the Reservation after I left the paper. Thereâs only one other brick house, and itâs on Second Street across the creek. Itâs a two-story too, but it doesnât look as though it was burned in a fire. I figure they cut Jessieâs place down to a two-story after the fire. Some of the top-story walls might have crumbled from lack of support.â
âProbably right.â He couldnât hold it back any longer. âAnd the rest of the article makes sense too.â
âWhat do you mean?â Harley asked.
âW. R. Orman is Bud Orman.â Harley apparently didnât recognize the name. âNever heard of him?â
Harley seemed uncertain.
âHeâs in real estate, and he owns most of those run-down sporting houses on the alley near Miss Jessieâs. Iâve even heard it called Ormanâs Alley. Iâd forgotten all about him until now.â
He scratched his head, knocking his locks over his forehead, and looked from Harley to Miss Peach. He smiled. âAnd then thereâs
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