Deadman's Fury (The Deadman Series Book 2) Read online

  She winced once more as a trickle of saliva seeped over her split lip and then she fell into a light, dream-filled slumber. Her dreams roamed like translucent spirits, traveling far into the past, back into the present—and frighteningly—into the future as the last of the opium dissipated from her bloodstream and dampened her pillow.

  ~

  The Donnelly family went completely broke at almost the same moment Sean died of tuberculosis. At first, Patrick mourned the loss of his Da and huddled tearfully by his sister’s side. There was still some food left in the larder and another ten days before the landlord—a fat, smelly man who leered at Margaret behind her brother’s back—expected to be paid for next month’s rent.

  Still, they had to pay to bury their Da in Potter’s Field which left them with only a few dollars and some copper pennies to their name. Neither one of them knew what to do or where they would live when their meager funds ran out. The ten-year-old twins stayed in their hot, garret room like forgotten ghosts…lost and silent.

  A few days later, there was a knock on the door. Patrick got up to answer and saw three of his newfound friends, members of Ike’s Spikes gang, standing in the hall outside their room. An older man who Patrick had never met but had heard tales of, spoken in fearful whispers like a spook tale, accompanied them. His name was Syrus Monk and he was Ike Banyan’s right-hand man.

  Monk was in charge of new hires. It was his job to see that the newest members of Ike’s gang had the right training for whatever tasks were assigned to them. Young Patrick had already shown some talent in pickpocketing which was a good thing in itself. But Monk was more interested in the boy’s uncanny size; the ten-year-old was already almost five and a half feet tall, as was his sister.

  The thing his boss needed most right now was more strong-arm men. The Italians were spilling from the trans-Atlantic steamers in droves and Ike Banyan required willing and able men to deal with the spaghetti-eating upstarts that dared cut in on his territory.

  It will take some time yet, Monk thought, but this boy will do nicely with a little training.

  In truth though, Monk’s real interest lay in the girl. Margaret was already a beauty, with long black ringlets and clear blue eyes. She was also just as big as her brother Patrick. Knowing she was only a child did not deter Monk from measuring her weight in gold. She can work as a cleaning girl for the time it takes to reach her maturity, he decided, and then I will put her out to the highest bidder.

  Monk was a personable and handsome man with fancy clothes and a wide, sunny smile. When he asked the Donnelly twins if they would like to come to work for his boss, Ike Banyan, it seemed like a wish come true. Within days, Patrick and Margaret found themselves ensconced in a four-story brownstone in Brooklyn, dressed in worn but clean clothes, and filled up with good food in their bellies.

  Three years passed in relative ease. Patrick enjoyed his work as a pickpocket and general runabout, and Margaret did housework as well as some cooking and sewing for the prostitutes that lived on the second floor of the building. Whenever clients came to call, every day from 2:00 pm until midnight, Margaret was sent upstairs out of harm’s way and away from prying eyes.

  Then one day she became ill. Blood flowed from between her legs and her stomach cramped with nausea. She talked to her supervisor, a dour woman by the name of Mrs. Coyne, who said, “Its yer time, girl. Go and have a lie down. Today only, mind ye, and I’ll talk to Mr. Monk about yer condition.”

  Little did Margaret know that Monk had been waiting patiently for this day to arrive. He immediately gave orders for one of the whore’s rooms to be cleaned and made ready for a new occupant. He did not care that Margaret was only thirteen years old. He only knew that she would bring in an enormous amount of money from some of their wealthier clients.

  The girl was given a reprieve from work and her head swam with all of the sudden attention she received from Madame Winslow and some of the other women in the brothel. A seamstress came as well and took Margaret’s measurements for new frocks, dresses, underclothes and nightgowns. Parasols, umbrellas, feathered hats and button-up kid boots were delivered to her new bedroom—a fancy place with lavender walls, a large four-poster bed, gilded paintings and mirrors on the walls and ceiling.

  Over the last three years, Margaret had remained mostly innocent of what went on downstairs, although she was no fool and had heard some whisperings about the beautiful, painted ladies on the second floor who made a living “on their backs.”

  She had an idea what that meant and, to her way of thinking, that didn’t sound so hard. After all, what could be so hard about looking pretty and lying on your back all of the time? She did not fully comprehend the mechanics involved in lying on her back for paying customers. Margaret had been kept mostly ignorant by design; Monk knew that in order to train a prize filly, one should not strap her into the traces too early in her career lest she turn “gate-shy” or mean.

  A week later, Madame Winslow came to her room. She had ordered a bathtub filled to the brim with warm, sudsy water and helped Margaret wash her hair and scrub her body until it tingled. Then she helped the girl put on a gown in the deepest shade of purple so that her eyes gleamed like amethysts in the candlelight.

  The woman rubbed oil on the top of Margaret’s breasts so they glowed and dabbed spots of rouge high on the girl’s cheeks and lips. Finally, with help from one of the scullery maids, Winslow wove Margaret’s glossy black locks into a waterfall cascade of ringlets that fell over her small bosom and down her back.

  Margaret gazed at herself in the mirror and thought she looked like a fairy princess. She turned to the woman and tried to hug her in thanks but Winslow stepped away from the girl’s embrace, her expression cold and remote.

  The first fluttering of fear tickled Margaret’s innards. What is wrong? she wondered. All I have to do is lie on my back and look pretty. Is there something else I need to do?

  It was too late for answers and, before she knew it, Margaret was walking down the hallway dressed in her new finery. There were many men standing there, including her brother, who stared at her with dead eyes.

  Her heart was beating fast now in dread and worry. Something intangible had changed and she felt that everyone, except herself, was sharing a secret. She panicked and tried to turn around but Madame Winslow barred her path, blocking her escape. Winslow grasped Margaret’s upper arm and her long, painted nails sunk into the tender flesh like talons.

  “You move forward now!” the older woman hissed. “You do yer duty or you and yer brother will be out on yer asses by sunup tomorrow.”

  Giving the girl a little shove, she saw Margaret stop for moment, square her shoulders and step into the main parlor.

  Margaret hesitated at the threshold of the room and stared in amazement at the twenty or thirty men who stood and sat around the parlor’s exterior. As far as she could tell, they were all gents dressed in fine, black suits, cravats and silk vests. They stared at her with bright eyes and wide, grinning lips. A strange sort of communication started when she entered the room…men raised their fingers, hissed at each other in derision and sneered in triumph.

  Winslow led the confused and frightened girl up onto a raised dais where one piece of clothing after another was removed and taken away until the only thing left on her body were her kid boots. Margaret tried to cover her breasts but the madam glared at her with such venom, she let her arms drop. Trying to stop the tears of shame that sprang up into her eyes, Margaret stared across the room at her benefactor, Syrus Monk.

  He was grinning with pride and excitement. This little girl is fetching the best price this house has ever seen, he thought. Mr. Banyan will be most pleased.

  He did not see the look of betrayed trust in Margaret’s eyes nor the smoldering resentment in his best runner’s gaze. Monk did not realize it but his ultimate fate had just been sealed.

  ~

  Margaret awoke with a start when she heard a soft voice whisper, “Hel…hello? Is anybody ther
e?”

  The girl was awake and it was time for Margaret to go to work. She picked up a canteen of water and a small plate of yesterday’s biscuits. She had no doubt that Amelia was famished and probably still somewhat ill from the overdose of ether she’d been given. Margaret walked over to the hay-filled stall where the girl was handcuffed to the wall and opened the wooden gate.

  “Shhh. I am here with some food and water. I expect you’re not feeling so fine but, if you behave, I will bring you a powder.”

  She stared down at the rumpled young woman who stared back at her with wide brown eyes.

  “Oh,” the girl whispered. “Are you ever going to be sorry for taking me against my will!”

  Margaret heard the young woman’s words but she just smiled. She and Patrick had done this countless times and were well past getting rich from the endeavor so Amelia’s words rang with false bravado.

  Still, there was a certainty in the girl’s voice that gave the older woman pause. What was so different about this particular young woman that she would speak with such certainty?

  Staring out at the large barn with its fifteen stalls, eight of which were occupied by girls of every race, creed and color, Margaret replied, “Maybe so. But, for now, you better keep a civil tongue in yer mouth because yer ass is mine.”

  Chapter 6

  Matthew and His Deputies

  Matthew and his deputies stepped off the train in Ellensburg at 8:42 pm. Except for a few departing passengers and one old man slowly loading sacks of flour onto the back of a wagon, the station was deserted. Looking past the depot building, Matthew noticed a woman sweeping the boardwalk in front of a café/post office about sixty feet away.

  According to eyewitnesses, that was where Amelia had vanished. Picking up his rucksack, Matthew turned to his deputies and said, “Go ahead and unload the livestock. I’ll go see if that woman knows anything about Amelia’s disappearance and if there’s a place to stay the night around here.”

  Roy and Abner walked toward the back of the train where they could hear old Sam kicking the sideboards in equine frustration. While they led the mule and horses down the ramp and let them take some water out of a nearby trough, Matthew walked up to the woman who was sweeping mud and fallen leaves.

  Displaying the sheriff’s badge on his vest, Matthew tipped his hat and said, “Good evening, Ma’am. I wonder if you heard anything about the kidnapping of the young girl who was here earlier today.”

  The woman was as thin as a hickory switch and her careworn features arranged themselves into a defensive frown. “I am done being questioned by the law, young man. I don’t care whether you’re a sheriff or not! My man and I had nothin’ to do with that girl’s kidnapping.”

  Matthew set his valise down on the ground and smiled. He thought the woman protested too much and wondered what she “and her man” were guilty of, but he doubted that their crimes were related to his niece’s abduction. They were probably just skinflinting their paying customers for everything from hay to coffee as, from the look of things, they were running a monopoly.

  “I was not accusing you, Ma’am,” he said politely. “I just wondered whether you might have some information to help me and my deputies in our search. That girl is my niece.”

  The woman stopped sweeping and for the first time her hard expression softened. “Oh…I am sorry to hear that, Sheriff.”

  The train started chugging down the tracks with a toot and a puff of sooty smoke just as Roy and Abner walked up with their mounts and tied them to a rail. The old man and his wagon were heading toward the restaurant as well. One of the flour sacks must have torn open as his face and arms were as white as snow and he was swearing under his breath.

  “Dangit, them bags are gettin’ flimsier by the minute,” he muttered. The stern-faced woman stared at her husband and then broke into a genuine smile. “Hank, you look like a haint!” she chortled.

  The old man waved one arm at her in disgust and trudged around the back of the building with his horse and cart. Looking amused, the woman said, “We’re closed, but you boys look tuckered out. Why don’t you step inside? I made a fresh pot of coffee since this is a late night for us on account of the flour delivery. There’s even a bit of rhubarb cobbler left…”

  Placing her broom against the doorjamb, she stepped inside. The lawmen followed and noticed Hank carrying the sacks through the back door. Matthew and his men pitched in and made short work of the task which brought a grateful smile from the old man and his wife.

  Finally, they all sat down at one of the tables with steaming cups of black coffee and a square of rhubarb cobbler each. Hank had washed most of the flour from his face and arms. After wolfing down the dessert and taking a few sips of coffee, he looked up from his plate and said, “We really don’t know nuthin’ about what happened to the girl but the wife and I have been hearing some strange rumors lately.”

  “What kind of rumors?” Matthew asked.

  Hank sat back and rubbed the gray whiskers on his cheeks. “Been hearing that a lot of girls have gone missing, not just this one…did you say she’s your niece?”

  At Matthew’s nod, he added, “Well, I am surely sorry about that, Sheriff.”

  Hank stared up at the ceiling, then said, “It seems to me there have been at least a half a dozen girls disappeared the last few months.” Glancing at the sheriff and his deputies, he added, “Not from here, of course…just around this general area. A number of men have come in asking after their daughters, sisters, what have you. It’s like those girls just went up in a puff of smoke.”

  The old woman glared. “That’s why I forgot my manners earlier, Sheriff. You’re not the first lawman to come to us asking for information and treating us like we’re criminals to boot.”

  Hank patted his wife’s hand and murmured, “Now, Elmira, no need to get all puffed up over spilt milk.”

  The woman nodded. “I just didn’t want these men to think I don’t have a heart, that’s all.”

  Matthew thought for a moment and said, “Do you remember which direction these men come in from? Maybe, if we knew that, we would have a better idea of where to search.”

  Hank closed his eyes in concentration. Then he sat up in his chair, eyes wide with recollection. “By God, son, that’s a good idea! I do remember that a couple of those men came in from the Wenatchee area, places like Leavenworth and Cashmere…so, from the north.” Scratching at his chin, he grimaced in frustration, adding, “On the other hand, one man and his sons came through here looking for a lost girl about a month ago. They claimed they was from the Othello area and that’s southeast.”

  Glancing at his deputy and best friend, Matthew asked, “Did you bring that map in?”

  Roy stood up and walked over to his leather valise. Rummaging around, he pulled out a state map of Washington and placed it on the table in front of the sheriff. Matthew pulled a pencil out of his vest pocket and commenced to drawing lines from Ellensburg to Leavenworth and from Odessa to Waterville. Finally, he sat back in his chair with a grunt.

  Three large triangles now marked an area encompassing over three hundred square miles. The worst part: train tracks interspersed all three sections, assuring the kidnappers many avenues of escape. Matthew’s head suddenly throbbed with tension. Iris’s niece could be anywhere in that huge area of wild territory. Or she could be long gone by now…lost in the city of Seattle, on her way to Portland, Oregon or even San Francisco.

  Roy muttered, “Well, if those rascals do catch the train every time they nab a girl, they must have a lot of cash.” Looking into Matthew’s eyes, he added, “Train tickets are expensive, Matthew. At least for most folks. I think whoever is kidnapping those girls has a hidey-hole somewhere in this general vicinity so I would be willing to bet they don’t use the rails to transport their victims.”

  Matthew smiled. If he had a character flaw as a sheriff, it was impatience. He liked to cut to the heart of a matter and follow a straight path to an outlaw and his lair. Ro
y, as usual, had circumvented Matthew’s frustration. Taking a circular path, the deputy had arrived at the correct conclusion.

  Nodding, Matthew replied, “You’re right. Their operation must be around here somewhere…but where?”

  Bending over, he drew a large, charcoal circle around the three triangles on the map. Then he stabbed his pencil in the middle and the point marked the Palisades area, east of Wenatchee. Looking up at his two deputy’s faces, Matthew shrugged and asked, “What do you think?”

  Abner put his hands in the air, clearly reluctant to weigh in on the matter, but Roy agreed. “Yeah, I don’t like it any more than you do, boss. Though I think their hideout will be within a day’s ride of wherever they do their mischief.”

  “I think you’re right. Which means we wasted time coming here. No offense, Ma’am,” he said. “That rhubarb pie was worth the trip.”

  Hank said, “The northbound gets here tomorrow at 7:00 am, boys. Elmira and I have an old bunkhouse out back; we lived in it while this place was built. Why don’t you stay there for the night and then you can head out. Only takes about an hour to get to Wenatchee by train. You can start the real chase tomorrow when you’re fresh.”

  Matthew agreed and laid a couple of silvers under his napkin for the old woman to find. Then he and his deputies followed Hank out the door to a clean but chilly shack behind the outhouse.

  ~

  Early the next morning, Matthew and his deputies got up from their bunks and dressed for the coming day. It was still dark so Matthew grabbed a lantern to light his way to the outhouse.

  Once inside, he hung the light up on a wooden dowel. He used the necessary and then pumped the handle for some fresh, cold water. Something about the way the shadows flickered on the walls and floor caused the sheriff to look down. He saw a strange shape behind the sink and bent down to take a look.