All Men Fear Me (8 page)

Chapter Seventeen

“To provide for the establishment of a division of venereal diseases in the Bureau of the Public Health Service…For the protection of the military and naval forces of the United States.”

—The Chamberlain-Kahn Act, 1917

After a late supper, Henry Blackwood stepped out of his uncle's front door for a smoke and a breath of fresh air. It had been a hot, muggy day, but now that the sun was down things were cooling off. It looked like Rose's place was doing a pretty good business. Her grassless front yard served as a parking lot for an auto and several horses. The place was bright with electric lights, and Henry could hear Victrola music and laughter coming from the open windows.

He tossed away his cigarette butt and ground it into the dirt with the toe of his boot. He cast a glance over his shoulder and saw through the open screen door that his uncle was clearing away the supper dishes.

“Hey, Uncle Eric,” he called. “I think I'll take a stroll.”

Eric Bent looked up. His sharp expression indicated that he wasn't fooled. “Just remember that you're working the early Sunday shift at the plant tomorrow.”

“I remember. I'll be there bright-eyed and bushy-tailed,” Henry said. “Don't wait up.”

***

It was busy at Rose's, even for a Saturday night. She put it down to the fact that the draft lottery was next week and these brainless idiots who had not already fled to Mexico or hastily married their cousins to avoid conscription were feeling nervous about it. Whatever the reason, it didn't matter to her. If they wanted a roll in the hay before they were sent off to die, she was happy to provide a distraction for them. Then they could all go to Europe happy and get killed, for all she cared.

There were a number of men here tonight who had never frequented her establishment before. Mostly young fellows, including the blond-haired man with the beat-up puss who had asked after Eric Bent early that morning. That amused her. She had liked Gertrude Bent. Gert hadn't exactly been a friend, but she hadn't treated Rose and the girls like something you'd find on your shoe after a stroll in the barnyard. Unusual behavior for a proper housewife.

But the husband, Eric, was like all the rest of them. While Gert was alive, he cheated on her at Rose's whenever he thought he could get away with it. And while he had never mistreated any of the girls, he had never treated them with much respect, either. Not that they were respectable, but they were human, after all.

Rose decided that this nephew was cut from better cloth than his uncle. He didn't take anyone upstairs right away. Just spent a couple of hours on the sofa in the parlor, drinking enough to be sociable, but not enough to make a fool of himself. He spent much of the evening chatting with whichever girl was not busy with a client. He was intelligent, this one, which didn't make her feel any better about him. The smart ones could be more dangerous than the morons.

She stepped out onto the porch to greet some newcomers who were having a conversation with her bouncer. She knew Dutch Leonard, a dour, middle-aged local who was one of her regulars. But she didn't recognize the two who were with him. They were young, patched and ragged, but clean enough. She stated her prices upfront, expecting that would be the end of their foray into carnal pleasure, but Dutch assured her that he'd stand good for them.

“I don't know you fellows,” she said. “What brings you into town?”

The blue-eyed one in the overalls twisted his hat in his hands. “Were friends of Dutch's from Oktaha, ma'am. We're camping over to his place tonight. We're supposed to meet somebody…”

The dark-eyed one in the homespun shirt spoke over his companion. “Got to make plans because of the draft.”

Rose had been around long enough to know when someone was skittering around the point and she almost turned them away. If she had to guess, she would have pegged these two as draft-dodgers. She didn't need trouble. But there were already several strangers there tonight, and the two ragged youths looked pretty ineffectual. They had the money and she had no dog in this fight. “All right, but I'm making you responsible for these boys' behavior tonight, Dutch. Y'all keep your politics to yourself or you're out before you can spit.”

As soon as they were inside, Rose had a word with her bouncer. Dave was a giant Negro man from Taft who had been with her ever since she opened her own place. He was deadly efficient at his job, and he never asked to sample the wares. She didn't care why not, but she did appreciate his temperance.

“The minute anybody raises his voice, get rid of him.”

Dave looked determined. “Yes, ma'am.”

“You making sure everybody who comes in knows the rules?” she said.

“Yes, Miz Rose, I always do,” Dave told her.

She nodded. He always did, but she thought it prudent to keep him on his toes. Rose's rules of the house were posted on a big piece of cardboard right next to the front door, but probably fifty percent of her clientele couldn't read. Neither did Dave, but he knew the rules by heart and recited them in his
basso profund
o voice to everyone who showed up at the door.

One: No guns.

Two: Ever man who wants to do bisness here has to have had a bath today or yesterday.

Three: No slappin around on the girls. Rioters will be thowd out and can't never come back.

Four: The proprietor can toss out anybody she wants. No argyin.

“Lots of business tonight,” Dave noted.

“Lottery coming up. I expect they'll all be back Friday night, celebrating that they didn't get called or that they did, one or the other. We'll probably be hopping all week.”

“Yes, ma'am.”

She cast him a curious glance. “What about you, Dave? Did you register? Am I going to have to find me somebody else to chuck out the drunks if your number comes up?”

Dave's expression didn't change as he continued to stare out into the night. “No, ma'am, I didn't have to register. I'm too old by a year.”

Rose seriously doubted that, but as long as she wasn't going to have to roust up another bouncer his lie was fine with her. But before she could comment, Dave nodded toward the lane. “Look who's come around, Miz Rose.”

Rose heaved a sigh. It was Emmanuel Clover. The little fusspot had shown up at her door at least once a week ever since he was named to the Council of Defense. He walked to the bottom of the steps but stopped when he caught sight of her.

“May I speak to you in private, Mrs. Lovelock?” he opened.

Rose didn't move. It suited her to look down on him. “Mr. Clover, why do you keep wasting your time?”

Clover took off his hat. “I'll keep appealing to your patriotism until my last breath, Mrs. Lovelock. Please, please do not ruin these poor boys who may shortly give their all for their country. Especially not now, just before their numbers are called…”

She didn't let him finish. “These poor boys, as you call them, are already pretty dang ruined without any help from me, Mr. Clover. Let them have their fun. They'll be facedown in the mud for their country soon enough.”

Clover was not deterred. Rose was not surprised. Clover had not been deterred for months. “We can't afford to send diseased soldiers into the fray, Mrs. Lovelock. What if they don't have the strength to stand up to those monsters who want to kill us all?” His pitch rose a note or two.

Rose's eyes widened. This was a new argument, and an insulting one, at that. “Are you saying my ladies are diseased?”

Clover's tone was pleading. “How can they not be? This evil practice is death to women and men alike. How can we meet the challenge if we cannot keep American womanhood pure and our boys away from temptation?”

Dave clinched his fists. “You want me to send him packing, Miz Rose?”

Rose shook her head in aggravation. The pathetic part of it was that Clover was so sincere in his concern for the welfare of not just the johns, but the hookers as well.

Before she could unleash Dave, Clover pulled a piece of paper out of his pocket and waved it at her. “Mrs. Lovelock, did you know that the House of Representatives has recently passed a bill…” He began to read. “…to study and investigate the cause, treatment and prevention of venereal diseases, and to control and prevent the spread of these diseases?”

Oh, this was too much. “Toss him into the street on his butt, Dave.”

Dave started down the steps and Clover started backing up. However, he didn't stop talking. “When the Senate passes this act into law, it'll give the government the power to quarantine any woman suspected of having venereal disease. You and all your women will have to undergo a medical test to determine if you are diseased….” 

Dave reached for him and he didn't have time to expound further.

“I'll be back,” he called, from his seat in the middle of the dirt road.

“I know you will,” Rose called back.

“It's my duty as a member of the Council of Defense to see that we all uphold this country's moral stance.” Clover dusted off the seat of his pants, picked up his hat, and strode off into the dark with as much dignity as he could come up with.

Dave looked concerned when he rejoined her on the porch. “You 'spect he's telling the truth? You 'spect we might end up getting shut down, Miz Rose?”

Rose tried not to appear worried, but Clover's information had chilled her. “Nothing surprises me anymore, Dave. But it ain't happening tonight so I don't aim to fret over it.”

Chapter Eighteen

“Yesterday marked a golden date on the calendar; a date when the law-abiding people of the community…rose in their mighty wrath and drove from their midst the ‘Wobbly.' As a house cleaning makes for better conditions in the home, so does it in the city, and the returning Bisbbites, yesterday noon, sniffed the air with a keen realization that their hope had been realized.

The ‘Wobblie' is no more.”

—Bisbee Daily Review
,
Bisbee, Arizona, July 13, 1917

He couldn't breathe. He couldn't move. The cattle car was packed with humanity, pressing him into the corner. He was thirsty. His mouth was so dry he couldn't speak. The floor of the car was covered with cow manure. The smell of shit and urine and flop sweat and terror was overwhelming. Don't lose consciousness, for God's sake. Don't faint. They're all looking at you. They're all looking to you to know how to behave, what to do.

Tell them that if we die, we die for something. Do no violence, no matter what indignities they heap upon us. No matter how much you want to retaliate. To smash those vigilantes into the dust. To kill that sadistic bastard in the bowler hat…

Rob jerked upright, gasping for air. It took him a moment to orient himself, to remember where he was. He was safe.

He glanced over at his nephew in the other bed, relieved to see that his nightmare hadn't disturbed the young man. He wiped the sweat off his forehead with the end of the sheet and swung his legs around to sit on the edge of the bed.

It was a hot night, noisy with insects. The apron-curtains stirred in the slight breeze. Rob leaned forward and perched his elbows on his knees. Maybe he hadn't realized just how tired he was. How many times had he thought that he was going to end up shot or beaten to death or dangling at the end of a rope? How many times had he been jailed or run out of town? He should be used to it by now. The thought caused him to chuckle.

He still believed. His religion was a living wage, an eight-hour day, safe working conditions. But after Bisbee he realized that if he kept it up, without a doubt he was going to end up dead. He sighed. Maybe he'd just get tarred and feathered.

He wasn't going to sleep again anytime soon. He stood up and reached for his trousers.

Gee Dub stirred and sat up. “What's up, Uncle Robin?” His voice was hoarse with sleep. “What time is it?”

“It's late, slim. Go back to sleep.” Rob pulled on a shirt and fished his tobacco pouch out of his pocket. He began rolling a cigarette, eyeing his nephew's dark form, still sitting up, watching. He was going to have to come up with an explanation. “After that fine supper your mama fixed us, I'm too full to sleep. I'm feeling in need of some air.”

“Want me to come with you?”

Rob shook out his match. “No, thanks, I'll try not to get lost. I won't be gone long. It's been a while since I was able to enjoy a quiet night on my own. I'll try not to wake you when I come in.”

Chapter Nineteen

“…few people yet understand the real nature
of the enemy and the real danger to America.”

—Oklahoma Council of Defense, 1917

It was nearly one o'clock in the morning and Scott Tucker, town sheriff of Boynton, Oklahoma, was exhausted. There were only a few details left to be worked out with his deputy, Trenton Calder, on the logistics of getting the draft numbers from the Western Union office to the Masonic Hall in a discreet and orderly manner, and Scott was longing for his pillow.

He would be relieved beyond understanding when Friday's Liberty Sing and draft lottery were finished, but as it was, there was no end of preparations to make. Feelings had been running high on both sides about this draft ever since Congress had instated it, and if the town could get through the day without a riot or a brawl, Scott had promised providence that he would become a religious man. He had already deputized eight or ten likely fellows to help keep the crowds in order at the Liberty Sing. Though he never picked exactly the same deputies twice, he did always pick men he trusted, which usually meant his own relatives.

“How many folks know when the wire is supposed to come through?” Trent asked him.

“Most, I imagine. It'll take a long while to get all the numbers drawn in Muskogee, and then for the reporter to get the wire sent. If the news comes in before nine o'clock, I'll be surprised. Probably a lot of families will have already gone home, especially if they don't have any close kin who registered. I hope it'll be a skimpy crowd at the hall when the list is posted.”

Billy Claude Walker burst in through the front door, putting an abrupt end to their conversation.

“Fight! Fight!” he yelled. Billy Claude's staggering gait suggested that he had had more than a few.

Scott and Trent leaped to their feet and grabbed for their gun belts. “Where? The pool hall?”

“Over to Rose's! Hurry up! It's some fellow named Pip and Win Avey. The fellow's got a razor! I reckon there's like to be a killing!”

Rose's. Scott's heart sank when he heard that. Scott had run the girls in a couple of times, whenever the neighbors complained of the traffic or the church ladies got on their high horses, but mostly Rose ran a tight ship, keeping the noise and mayhem to a minimum. Scott didn't bother her if she was discreet. And most of the time she was discreet. Many people in town didn't even know there was a bawdy house at the end of Kenetick Street.

Since the house of ill repute was only a few blocks away, the two lawmen took out on foot. Billy Claude had a good head start on them, but being fifteen years younger, Trent outpaced him easily. Being thirty years older than his deputy, Scott brought up the rear.

Trent got to Rose's just as the fight spilled out into the street. Pip's razor had done its job, for Win's clothes were shredded and his arms were slashed. The bloody wounds just seemed to have made him mad, though, for he was chasing Pip all around the yard with an ax handle in his hands, bellowing with rage. Several working women were standing on the porch, taunting and generally doing nothing to help the situation. The yard was full of amused bystanders. One fellow in a bowler hat, standing by the lane, was practically doubled over with mirth.

By the time Scott arrived, Trent had pulled out his Colt and ordered the two to drop their weapons and reach for the sky. Scott jerked the razor out of the young stranger's hand and cuffed him.

One of Win's pals, Victor Hayes, suddenly decided to take his friend's side in the fray and smacked Trent in the jaw. Trent went down, and Victor and Win fled into the night.

Pip began to struggle, but Scott had had enough foolishness to last him, so he parted the man's hair with the butt of his .45 and went over to check on his deputy.

Trent was sitting on the ground, rubbing his jaw, with two or three solicitous ladies of the night bent over him. He looked up at Scott, sheepish. “Sorry, Boss.”

“Never mind.” He straightened and cast a look around for Rose. He saw her kneeling on the porch, leaning over her bouncer, who was out cold. “Dave all right?” Scott called.

“I reckon he'll be okay,” she said. “No thanks to Avey. I've told him a dozen he ain't welcome. But he marched up here with a bunch of his cronies, bold as brass, and started a fight, so I told Dave to toss him out. He aimed to split Dave's skull with that ax handle. Then that boy took it upon himself to even the odds.” Her tone was sullen. “I hate that Win Avey.”

“You want me to fetch Doc Perry for Dave?”

Rose shook her head. “We'll take care of him.” Dave was clutching his sore head and moaning.

Scott rather liked Rose Lovelock, if that was really her name. She was a middle-aged woman, still attractive if somewhat faded. What little he knew of her life story was both interesting and depressing.“Do you want to press charges?”

Rose did not look happy, but she shook her head again.

Scott nodded. Having your clientele arrested for battery was not good for business. “I'm taking this one in for disturbing the peace. I'll go out to Win's house in the morning and arrest him.” he said. “I reckon you're closed until further notice, Rose.”

Rose straightened with indignation. “Me and the girls got to make a living, Scott.”

“Sorry. After this it's best y'all lay low for a while. Now, I have to run this yahoo in.”

As soon as they were gone, Rose turned toward Dutch Leonard, standing behind her on the porch, half-clad, with his arm around a soiled dove. “I warned you to keep your pals in line, Dutch. Find your other sidekick and get out. And don't come back.”