Fargo waited the man out, and after a long minute of silence, Tom said, “If you’re half of what old H.D. says, maybe you can help me. Hell, maybe you can save us all.”
5
For nearly an hour, Fargo sat and listened while Tom Anderson told the story of his rise to power as the mayor of Storyville. He’d started off with the very saloon they were sitting in, and not long after, he’d added the “lady companions,” which seemed like an awful fancy way of saying whores, until Anderson explained that there were many wealthy men and tourists who came to New Orleans every day.
“Some come for business, or the horse races, or even to invest in the riverboat business,” Anderson said. “But all of them like to have sex and they’ll pay top dollar for the kind of girls I employ.”
“So what’s gone wrong?” Fargo asked.
Anderson sighed. “Everything,” he said. “First, Senator David Parker from Winn Parish—which borders this one—came in here, talking on the one hand about cleaning up the city, making it respectable, while on the other, he was financing places like Hattie Hamilton’s Blue Emporium and lining his own pockets at the same time. Then Senator Richard Beares followed suit, bringing our own Catahoula Parish into the fight.”
“And the newspapers,” Fargo guessed. “Attention you didn’t want, but the politicians crave.”
Anderson nodded. “Exactly so,” he said. “So now there’re three of us vying for control of Basin Street, but I don’t hang my head in shame when I talk about what I do. I’ve built most of this area up from nothing. When I first got here, what fire hadn’t gutted, the swamp was trying to take back. Now, there are businesses, jobs, trade—it’s a real community.”
“A real dangerous one,” Fargo said. “It’s not a pretty place, at least as far as I’ve seen.”
“No, it’s not pretty. But it’s more than what it was. If those two get their way, all of the brothels will go underground, and the blue book trade will be legally banned. These girls won’t be working in a decent place like mine. They’ll be on their backs in the alleys, taking whoever will service them for two bits and a bite to eat.”
“You don’t paint a pretty picture,” Fargo said. “But what about the poker game?”
Anderson started in surprise. “How’d you know about . . .” His voice trailed off. “Are you working for one of those bastards?”
“I met Parker on the riverboat, coming down from St. Louis,” Fargo said. “He told me about the game, offered me a job.”
“What kind of a job?” Anderson asked, his voice filled with suspicion.
“Told me he wanted me to keep an eye on things, keep things fair, watch out for cheating, that sort of thing,” he said. “He offered a pretty damn good wage, too.”
“I just bet he did,” Anderson said. “But you can be damn sure that there’s something in it for him, if he asked you. David Parker would skin a starving cat for a new pair of gloves if he liked the color of its mangy fur.”
“He sort of strikes me that way, too,” Fargo said. “But a man in my position can’t afford to turn down money like he was offering.”
“If you do what he says—keep the game fair—then you’ll have earned your wage and then some,” Anderson said. “I think the whole thing is some kind of setup. I just haven’t figured it out yet.”
“What do you mean?”
“Look, David Parker is one smart fella. He likes to gamble—loves it, in fact—but he also likes to win. Out at the racetrack, the odds change when he takes a seat in the clubhouse. This game was his idea. We’d all sit down, play a high-stakes game of poker. The money is part of it, but the real stakes are unspoken. The winner gets Basin Street and Storyville. The losers can find somewhere else to play.”
“I figured it was something like that,” Fargo said. “The problem is that the whole game has to be rigged. Somehow. Otherwise, Parker wouldn’t have suggested it.”
“You think he’ll cheat?”
Fargo shook his head. “I don’t reckon he’ll be that obvious about it. There must be something else involved. He likes the odds to favor him.”
“Fargo, H.D.’s told me the story about what happened out in Kansas. He says you’re the hardest man he’s ever met—but you’re also fair. Will you help keep the game fair at least?”
“If I spot anyone doing anything out of line,” Fargo said, “you can be sure I’ll say something. There’s more than money or a business on the line here, I think. There’s all the folks who live and work in this area. Seems to me like you’ve tried to do right by them, much as you can. I’m not sure Parker and Beares are so high-minded.”
“They aren’t,” Anderson said. “Ask around and you’ll learn the truth.”
“I intend to,” Fargo said.
He was about to add something more, when Anderson stood. Coming through the door were the two men who’d left earlier, dragging another man between them.
It was the man who’d stolen Fargo’s horse.
“Ahhh, if it isn’t Slick Willie Smith,” Anderson said. “How are you, Willie?”
Willie’s eyes were wide and frightened. It didn’t look like the men had roughed him up too much, but his coat was torn and his lip was bleeding. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson. I didn’t know he was a friend of yours! I swear it! I just thought he was passing through!”
“Willie, we’ve talked about this before, haven’t we? You aren’t supposed to be stealing at all. What happened to that job I got you over at the stables?”
“I got drunk,” the man said. “Ol’ man Simms, he fired me on the spot.”
“I would’ve, too,” Anderson said. He looked up at his men. “Did you retrieve Mr. Fargo’s belongings?”
One of the men nodded. “Yes, sir. Willie was trying to sell the tack when we caught up with him.”
Fargo breathed a sigh of relief. He and the Ovaro had been through a lot together. Losing his tack and gear would be one thing—those were replaceable—but a great horse like the Ovaro would be all but impossible to find again.
“Well, Fargo,” Anderson said, “what do you want done with him?”
Willie was all but gibbering now, and Fargo shook his head. “Let him go,” he said to the men. They released him and as Willie started to backpedal, Fargo snatched his coat lapels and yanked him forward, lifting him off his feet.
“Don’t hurt me, please, mister!” Willie screeched.
“Stealing is a sorry-assed way to make your way in the world, Willie,” Fargo said. “Mr. Anderson here gave you a shot at the straight life—got you a job—and you ruined it. Now I’m going to give you one: get sober and get a job. If I find out you’ve been stealing again, from anyone, there won’t be a second chance. I’ll hang you from the nearest post I can find and spare the world a lot of grief.” Fargo shook him until his bones rattled. “You understand me?”
“Yes, sir,” Willie said. “Yes, sir, Mr. Fargo. I understand. ”
Fargo shoved him away. “Now get out of here,” he said.
Willie ran for the door and Anderson chuckled. “I thought he was going to wet himself for a minute there.”
“So did I,” Fargo said. “I’d best get going. I still need to see to my horse and meet up with H.D., and I still haven’t gotten a room yet.”
“Where did Parker tell you to stay?” Anderson asked.
“The Bayou,” he said. “Across from the Blue Emporium. ”
“I know it,” Anderson said. “He owns it, but it’s a decent enough place.” He looked at Fargo seriously. “This is a dangerous bit of business you’re in, Fargo. A lot of money and lives are on the table. Watch your back, and if you run into trouble, come find me. Otherwise, I’ll see you at the game and pray that you’re as straight an arrow as you seem.”