California Woman (Daughters of the Whirlwind Book 1) (40 page)

After the plan took form in Esthers mind,
she continued observing Charles Cora and following Mosby, carefully, on foot
and in her carriage. For two more weeks she weighed the possibility of an
alternative, but none presented itself. Mosby's hotel room was inaccessible
except by its door. The lobby and hallways were never empty, even late at
night. In his hotel any move she made would be detected immediately. There was
a staircase up the side of the wooden building in which Mosby had his office,
but he never stayed past sunset. During the day, there was simply too much
activity, too many potential witnesses in Sacramento Street. And the saloons
and gambling dens he frequented were out of the question.

In mid-December, when she was certain
there was no other place where he was as vulnerable, she waited until dark in
her hotel room, put on one of her heaviest veils, and went across the street to
Arabella Ryan's front door.

Cora's bad luck at the gambling tables
had remained unchanged during the month Esther had watched both him and Mosby.
As she raised the bordello's doorknocker a second time, there was no question
in her mind that the madam would jump at almost any chance to obtain money to
help Cora. She had no doubt, after watching him come and go, after seeing them
locked in each other's arms through the second-floor window, that Charles Cora
was Arabella Ryan's lover. It was plain to see that she was almost frantic
about his predicament. And it was virtually indisputable that Luther Mosby had
a sexual appetite of mammoth proportions. More than once Esther had seen him go
into this house on his daily visit, then return later in the evening, stay for
another hour, and then leave with a Chinese prostitute on his arm. On occasion
he took a tall girl with long, dark hair and Latin features back to his hotel.
Mosby's taste for the unusual was not lost on Esther. The hat, veil, and gloves
she planned to wear when she finally confronted him might just prove to be
pivotally disarming distractions.

Esther held her breath for a moment as
Arabella Ryan opened the door a few inches and stared at her. The only nagging
doubt she had about her plan lay in the possibility that Arabella would somehow
recognize her. More than six years had passed since that night when the madam
thought she could rifle Esther's bag after drugging her tea in the converted
stable on Montgomery Street. Despite that, and the heavy veil Esther was
wearing, she trembled as she watched for the slightest sign of recognition.
There was none.

"Thought you said you had the wrong
address."

"No, I merely lost my nerve last
month. May I speak with you privately?"

Arabella sized her up and decided from
the conservative cut of Esther's clothing that there was no money to be made
from her. "I'm awful busy, dearie."

"It's about Charles Cora."

The madam's eyebrows rose. "What
about him?"

"I think I can help you—him. He owes
a considerable amount of money, does he not?"

"How did you…?" Arabella
glanced over her shoulder, then turned back, still skeptical but too desperate
about Cora to ignore even the remotest possibility of extricating him from the
hole he had dug for himself. "Come in, dearie. Please come in."

The madam ushered Esther through a dimly
lit foyer and then a parlor done up in red flocking, second-hand couches, and
frayed soft chairs. A half-dozen women lazed about in undergarments and
flowing, diaphanous nightgowns. One of them yawned as Arabella opened a
curtained French door at the rear of the room and let Esther into a small
office. An oil lamp fitted with a green eyeshade sat flickering on the madam's
desk.

"Can I get you some tea, miss?"

"Missus," Esther said as her
eyes adjusted to the darkness. "No, thank you kindly." The irony of
it struck her, and she almost laughed. She noticed the rumpled cot pushed up
against one wall.

"I was just takin' a nap," Arabella
said defensively. She gestured to a chair. "Sit down, sit down."

"A nap? Your friend Mr. Cora was
here just a while ago, wasn't he?"

"Now look here! That's my… How
did…?"

"I didn't mean to pry. I know you
are lovers. And I know how much you want to help him. How much money does he
owe?"

"Why should I tell you that? I don't
even know you. What's this all about?"

"Let me explain. I'm a newly married
woman. I… I'm inexperienced in the ways of… sex. My husband has… demanding
tastes, and I do not wish to lose him. I want to learn a few things by
observation, and I'm willing to pay for the knowledge. Enough to help your Mr.
Cora with his difficulties. Now, how much does he owe?"

"Who are you?"

"Don't be ridiculous! I'm certainly
not going to reveal my identity. If my husband ever found out…"

"Yeah, I can see what you mean. How
much does Charlie owe? I'd say in the neighborhood of seven thousand
dollars."

"And he could lose his life if he
doesn't repay it?"

Arabella winced. Her fingers moved
nervously. "Yeah. It's possible." She sobbed and put one hand over
her eyes. "Oh, Jesus, what am I gonna do with him?"

"I can help you."

"Seven thousand's a lot of money to
pay for…"

"I didn't say I'd pay all of
it."

"I see. How much are you willing to
spend?"

"Two thousand dollars. Initially…
There may be an opportunity for you to the balance by performing
another—favor—for me."

"What kind of favor?"

"First things first. I promise you
I'll give you the opportunity, and that it will not be a burden. It will be
easy, in fact. But first there are things I must learn. Is the Oriental woman
who works for you the most skilled of your… employees?"

The madam's eyebrows rose again.
"You know an awful lot about—"

"Does that matter? Beyond the fact
that you must know by now you are not dealing with a fool?"

"No, I suppose not. But you sure
been studyin' up, all right." Arabella hesitated, thinking a moment.
"Yeah, I'd say Ling Wu is right up there with the best of them. Maybe one
other girl here's as good."

"The Latin girl?"

"No. French. She's dosed up,
though." A look of apprehension followed by one of relief passed across
her face. "She sure as hell won't be workin'
here
no more."

"You looked troubled for a moment.
Is something the matter?"

The madam sighed. "No. But there could'a
been. One of my steady customers sees the French girl from time to time. It's
just lucky he hasn't had a taste for her the last few weeks. He's a mean
one."

Esther had no doubt who the customer was.
"Well, in any event, I'd like to observe the Chinese girl… at work. Would
that be possible?"

"For two thousand? You bet your life
it is!"

"I wouldn't want the girl, or
whoever is with her, to know."

"'Course. 'Course. That's no
problem. You're not the first—well, person—wanted to watch. We got men come in
here do nothin' else. You're the first woman, though."

"How is it arranged?"

"We got a peephole—behind one of the
pitchures—upstairs in one of the bedrooms. Looks right into the next
room." The madam laughed. "Through the eye in another pitchure—of an
angel—on the other side."

"There is no chance of
detection?"

"The girl might know. But like as
not, the  man'll be too interested in her and what he's doin'. We've never had
no problems."

Esther reached into her purse and pulled
out a thousand dollars in large bills. "Half now, half after I've seen all
I want to see."

"Suit yourself," Arabella said,
counting the money. "You set your mind to something, you sure—"

"When will I be able to watch?"

"Tonight? Tomorrow? Ling's got
customers regular, every night."

"Tomorrow night, then. I'll be here
at ten o'clock. And I'd like to be let in through the back door." She
thought again of Arabella Ryan's attempt to rob her six years before and the
madam's present desperation. "Remember, if all goes well, I'll find a way
for you to earn the balance of Mr. Cora's debt—at a later date."

"Everything'll
happen just like you want. Trust me."

Esther stared through the peephole and
watched the Chinese prostitute working on a fat man she recognized as an
officer of the Adams and Company bank. She was disappointed that it was not
Mosby but realized there was less risk the way things were.

Beside her in a second chair, Arabella
Ryan peered through another opening she had drilled into the wall that morning.

"You notice the way she wet her
fingers with spit?" Arabella whispered. "Before handling him? That
drives 'em crazy. She's smart, that one. She knows enough of  that—and what
she's doin' now—with her mouth, see?—'ll get 'em to shoot their spunk all the
quicker." She laughed. "Less work for mother."

Esther felt herself stirred as the
Chinese girl ran the tip of her tongue along the lip and cleft of the man's
glans. The customer reached out and fondled her breasts. Esther experienced a
vicarious tremor along the inside of her thighs. She reminded herself that this
was simply a weapon she would be using, a lure. There would be no pleasure in
it. She forced herself to contemplate the customer's enormous, flabby stomach
until disgust at the sight of him wiped away her awakening desire.

" 'Course, the business with the wet
fingertips, and what she's doin' now—My Christ! He's gonna gahamuche her. I
don't believe it!"

"You were saying?" Esther
whispered.

"The finger and tongue work, the
mouth business, it can be drawn out. It don't
have
to bring 'em off so
quick when they get in you. Careful like, it just gives 'em more
pleasure—before and during."

The Chinese girl eased the customer's
head from between her thighs, rolled him over gently and mounted him.

"See how she rotates her…?"

"Yes."

"That, and tightenin' the muscles of
your, you know, snapping it, gives 'em a great deal'a pleasure, too."

Esther marveled at the Chinese girl's
virtuosity, astonished by the number of things that could drive a man to look
and sound like a helpless child. Finally the customer lay back, spent. Esther
could not determine how much of the excitement she felt was from what she had
just witnessed and how much sprang from envisioning how she would use the new
knowledge. She smiled.
Woman's ultimate weapon
, she thought.
And it
is all so obvious, so simple, if one is merely armed with full knowledge of a
man's sexual anatomy and uses her imagination!
Between what she had seen
and what Arabella had explained, she doubted there was much more she needed to
learn.

She turned and handed the madam an
envelope. "The second thousand dollars. Easily earned, since I feel no
need to watch any more."

Arabella got up and handed Esther her
coat. "Any questions?"

"No. You've been more than
helpful." Esther wondered whether now was the time to broach the subject
of the additional five thousand dollars Cora needed. She hesitated for a
moment, then decided to let the bait hang in the air unmentioned, at least
until they were down at the door to the back stairs. The more eager Arabella
was, the better it would be. "Well, I must be on my way. Will you see me
out?"

"You won't be comin' back for
another look-see?"

Esther walked toward the door. "That
won't be necessary. You've taught me more than I need to know."

"Wait a minute," Arabella Ryan
cleared her throat. "You… I… There was a mention of my… You said I might
be able to do you another favor."

"Oh, yes. I hadn't really forgotten.
It's just… difficult for me to speak of it."

"Come on. We're friends now, ain't
we?"

"Why, yes, Arabella. We are. And
surely, if anyone could understand, you would."

"What is it, dearie? Tell me."

"I don't know how to begin. There
is… a man. A man I have an unquenchable lust for, I'm ashamed to say."

"Nothin' to be ashamed of."

"But I'm a married woman. And I wish
to…"

"Get into bed with someone who ain't
your husband."

Esther feigned embarrassment. "Yes…
With someone who is a regular customer of yours."

"Well, ain't that a bitch! Who is
he?"

"I don't know his name. He's tall,
of a slender, muscular build, darkly handsome, sharp-nosed, and wears a
moustache."

"Luther. You must mean Luther
Mosby."

Esther steadied herself. "The name
means nothing to me. I've seen him in Sacramento Street and been seized by an
uncontrollable urge to…"

"I understand. But what do you want
me to do? I can introduce you to him."

"No. No. That would never do. I'm
married. I can only indulge myself once without fear of being detected by my
husband. Mr.… Mosby, did you say his name was…? Must never know."