The Last Kind Words Saloon: A Novel Read Online Free PDF Page A

stock, and barrel.”
    “Harry Tammen, the son of a bitch,” Goodnight said. “He don’t own me, but he’s done me some bad turns.”
    “He is a son of a bitch,” Nellie said. “I can’t afford to go to jail—who’d look after my girls—but if I could I’d shoot him for what he’s done to Bill Cody.”
     

 
    - 11 -
    Goodnight was startled by Nellie’s cussing. He had never heard the term son of a bitch employed by a female. He coughed to hide his embarrassment, but he needn’t have, because Nellie was heading over to chat with Doc Holliday, who was thinking that he might have overdone the quail’s eggs.
    “Where’s Wyatt?” Nellie asked.
    “He seen you coming and hid,” Doc said. It was hardly even a lie. “I’m not so quick on the uptake, or else I’d be hid too,” he told her bluntly.
    “You two could be nicer to me—it wouldn’t require much effort. Because like me or not I’m here to stay.”
    She sighed. Men were a pain.
    “When Wyatt comes out of hiding, tell him I need to ask him something,” she said.
    “It might be next week,” Doc said, improvising.
    “No it won’t, unless Jessie has finally left him. What’s the odds on that?” she asked.
    Before Doc answered Nellie observed that Lord Ernle was making toasts—and she wanted to listen. The English were good with toasts. She listened to a few and had to admit that Lord Ernle made splendid use of the English tongue. He toasted the president, and the governors and his new partner Goodnight, and the cook and the newspapermen and plenty of others. Nellie half expected to be toasted herself, but she wasn’t, and neither was San Saba, who was watching the proceedings quietly, along with Flo, the Creole girl who did her hair. Later in the afternoon Nellie spotted San Saba going into the Orchid, a hotel known to be a whorehouse, and followed her.
    “San Saba, I’m Nellie—could I take a few minutes of your time?” she asked.
    San Saba turned at once.
    “Let me ask the first question—is Mr. Cody really your lover?” she asked.
    “Nope,” Nellie said. “I’ve never been his mistress, although there’s been just a little kissing and some other stuff.”
    “What other stuff?”
    “He likes to feel my titties—he’s harmless now.”
    “Well, I’d say Mr. Cody is lucky to have such a considerate friend.”
    “Excuse me, but since we’re on the subject, are you Lord Ernle’s mistress?”
    She was afraid she might never have a better chance to ask that question, and she wasn’t going to succeed in newspapers if she didn’t ask the big questions when she could.
    “No, I’m merely his best madam,” said San Saba. “And to some extent his foreman. Benny Ernle saved me, schooled me, trained me, but then look where he put me? I deserve New York, Paris, Bombay, don’t you think, Miss Courtright?”
    “You sure do,” Nellie said, wondering what she would find out next.
    “He stuck me here because he’s afraid to risk putting me in one of the capitals,” San Saba said.
    “Why?”
    “He’s afraid someone richer might snatch me. Now he’s sending me off to Texas with your cattle, so I won’t run off.”
    “Good god,” Nellie said. “I didn’t think anybody was rich as Lord Ernle.”
    “There’s a few challengers,” San Saba told her. “Maharajahs and such.”
    “You’re probably the most interesting woman I’ve ever met,” Nellie said. “I wish you’d let me do a magazine piece on you.”
    “Not a chance,” San Saba told her. “I’m a madam, remember—I have to be discreet. But I will invite you to visit us in our Texas house, when it’s complete.”
    They stood for a minute, with Flo, the Creole girl, standing just behind San Saba.
    “That’s an interesting sign for someone who wants to be discreet. Do you really measure customers?”
    “Flo usually measures them, when there’s some question of length. Though I am familiar with the procedure,” San Saba said.
    Nellie could not imagine