Louisiana Laydown by Jon Sharpe Read Free Book Online Page B

Trailsman. He’d find the man—and his horse and gear—if he had to track them all the way to hell itself.
    “Tell you what,” Tommy said. “You helped me. Now I’ll help you. It’s the least I can do.”
    “What do you mean?” Fargo asked.
    “Let’s get over to my father’s place and I’ll tell you,” Tommy said. “I’ll bet you that five dollars we can have your horse and your gear, every last bit of it, back before sundown.”
    Fargo looked at the young man and saw he was completely serious. He stuck out a hand and as they shook, he said, “Done. And along the way, you can explain to me just what kind of vipers’ nest I’ve landed myself in. This city smells bad and is more dangerous than Dodge, Wichita and Cheyenne combined.”
    Tommy laughed again. “The West may be rough, Mr. Fargo, but I guarantee you that it’s got nothing on the city of New Orleans, least of all this area of town. The locals call it Storyville.”
    “Storyville? How come?”
    “Because of all the places in the city, the best stories come from here. They aren’t usually appropriate for kiddies, though.”
    “I reckon not,” Fargo said, his eyes traveling over the rough buildings and dark alleyways filled with trash.
    “The West must be better than this place,” Tommy said. “At least out there, the bad guys eventually get caught and hung. Here in town we have another name for them.”
    They started down the street, Fargo’s eyes constantly moving for sign of his horse. “Oh, yeah?” he muttered. “What do you call them?”
    “Citizens,” Tommy said. “The fine citizens of Storyville. And most of them would steal your teeth while you were getting a shave if they thought they could do it.”
    “What a nice place,” Fargo said.
    Tommy pointed. “That way,” he said. “And no, sir. It’s not a nice place at all.”
    “Then why stay?” he asked. “You’re old enough to make your own way in the world.”
    “True enough,” Tommy said. “But out there, I’d be a nobody. Here, at least, I’m kind of a somebody.”
    “How’s that?”
    “My father is Tom Anderson, the mayor of Storyville, ” he said, grinning proudly.
    The name meant nothing to Fargo and it must have showed. He shrugged noncommittally.
    Tommy just laughed. “Lots of people around here would like to run Storyville, Mr. Fargo. Lots of folks think they do—or will—if they play their cards right. But the real power in this part of the city is my father. ” He pointed to a corner building with the words ANDERSON’S ANNEX printed in bold on the sign. “You’ll see in a minute.”
    Suddenly, Fargo understood just why Parker and Beares were at odds. Why this whole wretched place felt so tense. Everyone was gearing up for a fight to see who was going to run this part of the city—and get the money and power that came with it.
    Parker might have called the game poker, but Fargo knew the stakes were a lot higher than he’d suspected.
    Tommy’s father was seated at a corner table, a potted palm providing extra shadows and allowing him to watch the room almost unobserved. The place called ANDERSON’S ANNEX wasn’t luxurious, but it was by far one of the nicer saloons Fargo had ever been in. A mahogany bar ran the length of one entire wall and a massive, gilt-edged mirror backed it.
    Bottles of booze—many of which Fargo had never even heard of before—were stacked in tiers, along with numerous types of wine and other spirits. A quick count showed eight different taps for beer, and he detected the smell of steaks and potatoes grilling in the back kitchen.
    At the tables, and along the couches lining the walls, women of every size, shape, and color waited to be escorted upstairs. Many of them had coffee-colored skin—some of them were probably mulatto, like Mary, while others were most likely poor Creole girls who didn’t have any other way to make a living. These were no backwater whores dressed in cheap clothes and charging a dollar a