FIVE

oooooooooo

"Did he write the letter?" Ahab demanded.

His current Jezebel – it amused him no end to call all of the trollops he took under his wing that – shook her head as she sidled over to him.

"I heard Ben Cartwright bred them tough," she sighed. "Joe Cartwright may look like a pretty boy, but there's nothing soft about him."

Ahab's salt and pepper brows peaked toward the stocking cap he wore pulled low on his wrinkled brow. "Nothing, eh?" he asked, leering.

"So I get to enjoy my work from time to time." The slut's full lips pursed and then a slow sneer spread across them. "He didn't."

Jezebel's real name was Hadley Marie Jones – or so she said. A name as ordinary as she had once been. When she was child, her family had moved to California to homestead. By the age of eleven, she knew it wasn't for her and ran way. Of course ol' Jez had no idea what life was like for a woman alone in the West and by the age of fifteen, she was selling herself to stay alive. When he found her she was a cheap whore turning tricks in a crib. That was where he trolled for his companions, picking up women who had no hope and would snatch at any morsel of life offered them. He'd take them under his wing, train them and use them in his schemes, and then – when he got tired of them – offer them a way out.

A permanent way.

His current Jezebel had been with him for about six months and he figured she was good for a few more. The girl knew her stuff. The cathouse he'd lifted her from was run by Orientals who dabbled in the crimping game. The Madame there was known for her...unusual appetites. She taught her girls well. They knew how to bring pleasure and inflict pain.

It was the latter Jez excelled at.

She was turned to one side now, looking back toward the room that held Joe Cartwright. Ahab eyed her up and down. Hadley was no heavyweight in the brains department, though what she lacked on the upper floor was more than made up by those below. He kept her fed and clean and she made a good show. He fought the vile laughter that bubbled up in him as he watched her take a step toward the back room. In spite of everything she had seen and done, Jez was naive. She'd actually believed him when he assured her he had no intention of killing the Cartwright kid. Just like every other damn female on the face of the earth, her head had been turned by the brat's good looks.

At least as a woman she couldn't help it. Women were plain no good. Never could depend on one. His father was another story. The old man had chosen to save Joe Cartwright's life and damn him to Hell and there was just no excuse for that.

He knew. He'd been watching.

"You're very quiet, Ahab," Jez advanced, a slight tremble in her low, husky voice revealing her apprehension. "Are you mad at me because I didn't get Joe to write the letter?"

Ahab rose and moved closer to her. Once there, he stopped and waited, enjoying the scent of her rising fear. She had no idea if he was going to cuff her or kiss her.

He liked that.

Reaching out, Ahab took the girl's chin in his hand. He waited until her deep brown eyes met his.

"Nah," Ahab said. "That just means now it's my turn."

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Joe Cartwright woke to a world of pain such as he had never known. As he rolled from his back to his side and curled into himself, he remembered their father's warnings about visiting the Barbary Coast. It was the first time they'd gone to San Francisco on a business trip as a family and they had an evening free. Pa had spoken sternly to the three of them before he let them go their way, telling them of the dangers of the coastal city and its less than admirable districts. As they started to leave, he caught him by the arm and pulled him aside to give him a special warning. He'd been pretty young at the time – still in his teens – and he'd bristled at the fact that his father singled him out.

That had been nothing compared to how embarrassed and mortified he'd been when the older man explained why.

'Joseph,' Pa began, 'this is going to be hard for you to hear, and – in truth – for me to say. I know you're angry. If you ask your brothers, they will tell you this is not the talk I had with them when they were younger.' When he'd started to protest, his father continued, "Facts are facts, young man. You have a slight build like your mother and,' Pa had held up a hand to stifle his protest, 'while I have every confidence that you can handle yourself under normal circumstances, the Barbary Coast is anything but 'normal'. It is the bottom of the barrel – the place where the flotsam and jetsam of humanity coalesces and rots. A young man like you..." Pa reached out to touch his face before starting again. 'A beautiful, slender, and seemingly vulnerable young man like you will be a target for every slaver and crimper on the coast. These are people who will not see you as a human being with worth, but only 'worth' what they can get from and for you. There will be woman – stunning, enchanting women. Some of them will be what they seem – poor abused creatures who have been reduced to selling themselves to make a living. The threat from them is bad enough. But there will be others, son, women who belong to men who use them for their gain and in their games. Women who are schooled in...certain things. Women who can bring a man incredible pleasure and will do so to possess him.

'These women, son, can also bring incredible pain.'

That talk was part of the reason he fought so hard – why he pushed himself so far and went out of his way to prove he was tough and just as strong and physically powerful as his big, brawny brothers and father. He'd been taken advantage of before – by men like Sam Wolf, by John C. Reagan...

But never as he had just been taken advantage of.

He was no innocent. Oh, even though he'd hinted enough about dalliances with the women who populated Virginia City's pleasure palaces, that was just talk. His pa had taught him better than that – to use women just for a moment of pleasure. But there had been the women he meant to marry. Women he loved deeply and had known joy with, even though they'd taken care. Julia. Amy.

Laura.

A tear escaped Joe's swollen eye to trail down his battered cheek. He didn't know if he would ever know that kind of joy again. If he ever could...

Not after Jezebel.

Joe lay on his back, fighting to calm his breathing. It wasn't like they'd made love. It was...what she'd done while makin' him feel the things he'd felt before. He groaned as he felt the myriad inch long slashes on his skin – some in places she had no right to go. The thought of what she'd done to him brought tears to his eyes, which shamed him, and then –

It made him mad.

Closing his eyes, Joe fought for control and then pushed it all to the back of his mind. Lifting his head, he studied how Jezebel had left him. He was still tied to the chair, but there was a little give in the ropes on his wrists. Probably because he'd struggled so much. His ankles were still bound tightly, but if he could get his hands free, maybe – just maybe- he could escape. Nothing that woman had...done...had really harmed him. At least, not so's he couldn't make an escape attempt. No, what she had done could be put aside to be dealt with another day.

A day when he was slingin' a sledge hammer and drivin' posts into the rock-hard ground might be a good one.

Uncurling his fingers, which had formed themselves into fists, Joe began to work at the loose rope that was hanging down onto his palm. His hands were slippery with blood from the trails left by those little itty-bitty irritating cuts, but he did his best to work around that. He'd been cut before when he was bound and he'd never let it stop him.

He was Joe Cartwright. He never let anything stop him, and he wasn't about to begin now.

After all, he had people counting on him. His Pa had already been through so much with what happened with Dan. And Lee, she was probably beside herself. If Lee sent word to Pa, then it would be last month all over again. And then there was Adam.

Even though he didn't exactly know 'where' Adam was where he was concerned.

Still, older brother had left his all mighty important job in San Francisco to come sit with him while he recovered. That had to mean something.

Even if they did still fight like hell-roosters.

So, for Pa, for Lee, for Hoss – and especially for Adam, he had to escape. He couldn't – he wouldn't put all of them through it again.

Not if he could help it.

Joe had just freed one hand when the door to the room he was in opened. He looked up expecting to find Jezebel standing there, eying him like a slab of meat ready for the butcher's knife.

Instead, it was Ahab.

Looking at the hulking brute of a man , Joe swallowed hard over his fear.

'God', he thought as he gritted his teeth and steeled himself for the first blow. 'Please, help me help it.'

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The beautiful young woman who, once upon a time, had been Hadley Jones, cringed as she watched the man who owned her step into the room that held Joe Cartwright and close the door. She knew what Ahab was capable of.

She'd borne the brunt of his anger all too many times.

She also knew what he wanted from her and she gave it to him – the fierce proud look, the saucy swing of her hips – the hard, cruel words that bespoke of a heart just like his, one without mercy; with no pity.

The truth, hers was a heart with no hope. In the forest of her life, it was very dark.

All the butterflies had broken wings.

Hadley shoved a lock of her raven-black hair back from her slightly oval face. She'd had no hope since the first man who pretended kindness and then betrayed her, shattering her dreams. She'd been a child set adrift on the streets of a city that swallowed up children. The man – she didn't even remember his name – had taken her in. He'd fed her and clothed her and given her a warm place to live and promised her a job. 'The work is easy. You're just right for it," he said. "You'll make a good wage for doing practically nothing."

The young woman sighed. 'Practically nothing'.

Just selling her soul.

At first, she'd worked inside where the lights were red and the beds soft. But then she'd fallen ill and been unable to work. Every day she missed was another year added o to her sentence. By the time she recovered she'd lost weight and, with it, her figure. Her hair had been cut off to speed her recovery and so she looked like a boy. No one wanted her.

That was when they sent her to the cribs.

She knew from experience that the crib girls had short lives. They either died of disease or were murdered by the men who used them – and no one cared. Not their owners. Not their families.

No one.

Ahab cared. He'd treated her kindly that first time and then, a few days later, offered to take her away from it all. He was hard man – she'd known it then – but he seemed fair. He wasn't young or a looker, but that was okay. Too many young lookers had used her and not looked back. Ahab was of middling height, with blondish-gray hair and a face that looked like he'd spent most of his youth in brawls. He had a bandy-legged sailor's walk and a mouth to match. His eyes were pale – some might have called them gray, though she thought they were blue – and he had a hard mouth, like a piece of twine pulled taut as it would go. He seldom smiled or laughed.

When he did, you paid attention.

She'd been with him about half a year now and in that time they'd taken several rich men for all they were worth. It had been kind of fun at first and definitely better than the cribs. Of the men who had used her, the rich ones were the worst. They expected everything and paid nothing. She and Ahab would enter a town and cast out a line and then, when they found their mark, arrange an 'accidental' meeting between her and the son of some banker or lawyer or railroad president who had thousands to spare. Once they had the fish on the hook, they would either blackmail the son or take him hostage and demand a ransom from his father. It was an old game for Ahab. One he had been playing for years. She knew there had been other 'Jezebels' before her. He did nothing to hide it.

She didn't ask what happened to them.

Walking over to the window, Hadley looked to the West. In some ways she missed the big city with its noise and excitement. Being out here – in the wilderness with nothing to do – left too much time to think. She still didn't really understand it. They'd been in San Francisco back in the spring, working the game and making money hand-over-fist, when suddenly Ahab pulled up stakes and headed east. He didn't tell her why, but one of the girls she knew from before told her there was a man after him. She'd hated the cold mountains and the rough journey, but Ahab assured her that once they hit the West there would be fresh pickings; new-made men whose fortunes made those of the men in Frisco look like a penny-ante pile on the table. Simple naive rich men they could fleece. Timber barons. Mine owners.

Ranchers.

She thought now that their departure might have had more to do with the young man tied to the chair than with the promise of that money. For whatever reason, Ahab hated Joe – and his family. She'd thought he was half-crazy when they were on the Coast. He liked to play it fast and loose. Ahab took chances.

Now she knew he was all crazy.

Hadley started as she heard the sound she'd been expecting – that of a hard fist slamming into flesh. There was a grunt. Then, a shouted curse – it didn't come from Ahab. The curse was answered by an inhuman sound, like the bellow of an infuriated grizzly.

Then, Joe screamed.

Hadley closed her eyes and her heart to the sound.

There was nothing she could do for the young man Ahab's fury was being spent on; nothing she could do for Joe Cartwright.

As there was nothing she could do for herself.

Except walk a little deeper into that forest.

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Joe was doing his damndest to remain upright in the chair. His freshly bound hands were in front of him, braced on the table as if in an aspect of prayer. He was breathing heavily and fighting to remain conscious.

He didn't want to write a note to his father.

He had to write a note to his father.

Pa would never forgive him if he got himself killed.

Joe stiffened as the shadow of his tormentor loomed over him, casting his broken body and the table into darkness. He'd taken it – everything this man and his Jezebel before him had handed out – and he hadn't given in. After all, he'd been beaten before. Badly. In a way, he supposed, he'd even been tortured. He wasn't afraid of dying. He knew who was waiting on the other side. He could see his mama standing with her arms out, welcoming him.

Unfortunately, the image of his father standing with his head hanging low; tears on his cheeks and one quaking hand on the gravestone that bore the inscription 'Joseph Francis Cartwright, beloved son, gone too soon', loomed larger.

'There are times, Joseph, when a man has to humble himself,' he could hear his pa saying. 'A neck that is too stiff, too soon snaps.'

A pen was inserted between his bloody fingers. Ahab's hand remained wrapped around his own.

Joe bit his swollen lip. He spoke, cleared his throat, and tried again. "What do you...want me to write?"

"You won't catch me so easy, lad," the brute replied. "Use your own words – and no tricks." The pressure increased on his injured fingers. "I know all of them."

'Pa wants you to live,' he reminded himself. 'Those who run away live to fight another day,' he heard Adam say.

Hoss? God, Hoss...

'Pa,' he wrote. 'I'm sorry. I was stupid. I'm being held and they want money. Ten...' Joe looked up at Ahab who sneered as he nodded. 'Ten thousand dollars." He closed his eyes for a second, wondering again about this next part. It made no sense to him. Or he didn't want it to make any sense. "The man who has me says to send Dan Tollivar with the money. No one else. Anyone else and," his hand trembled, 'he'll kill me.'

The pen dropped from his shaking fingers.

Ahab pressed it into them again. "Sign it!" he demanded.

Joe closed his eyes. He knew he was signing his death warrant. Money or no money, Ahab intended to kill him.

"Sign it!" the brute yelled, punctuating the order with a slap on the side of his head.

Tears fell from his eyes, striking the paper and mingling with the drops of blood that dotted it – blood that would make his father do just what this horrid man wanted him to do.

'Your loving son,' he wrote. "Joseph Cartwright'.

Ahab snatched the note from under his fingers and then he began to laugh.

No, laughter was a gift of God – a beautiful, joyous gift – and one he had been blessed by his entire life. Ahab chortled, nearly choking on his immoral glee, and then he bellowed out his triumph. Seconds later a pair of burly hands caught his shoulders, turned Joe in his chair, lifted him up and threw him across the room. He struck his head on the wall and slumped down into near darkness.

"That will teach the old man!" Ahab roared.

As Joe lost consciousness he wondered – which old man?

His Pa.

Or Dan Tollivar?

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Hadley had been outside the cabin when Ahab finished with Joe Cartwright. Her owner struck her for her cowardice in passing, just before he mounted his horse and took off into the darkness, headed for the nearest town. The note he had forced Joe Cartwright to compose would be delivered before dawn. Ahab had a way. She didn't know how he did it, but he always did. While in San Francisco, she'd learned about the Free Masons. They were a group of men that supported one another no matter what. You never betrayed a fellow Mason, even if he'd broken the law. While Ahab wasn't a Mason, he was a member of a fraternity of men just as secretive but, instead of being sworn to do good, they were the servants of evil. No matter what town they went to, they were there – liars, cheaters, pimps and crimpers, thieves and worse. They helped one another – until they turned on one another.

Ben Cartwright would know one more night of peace. Tomorrow his world would change forever.

The weary young woman ran a hand along her neck before turning back to look at the cabin they were holed up in. Joe Cartwright had a family that loved him. She'd heard about the Cartwrights in Reno. They were well known and liked there. Ben Cartwright had three sons by different mothers – Adam, Hoss, and Little Joe. The oldest had been gone for a while, or so the gossip went, and just returned. Rumor had it that he and his powerful pa had fallen out and that was why he left. She'd wondered at first, when Ahab chose the Cartwrights as their next mark, which son he would use to make his play. After scouting out the Ponderosa, they'd gone to Virginia City and rented a room. Then they went to the local saloon and occupied a table at the back where they could keep watch. No one paid them any attention. Who would notice a gnarly old wreck of a man and his whore? The second night the Cartwright brothers made an appearance. The eldest, Adam, was a handsome man in his thirties, self-assured and well-controlled. And, even though he was not as big physically as Ben Cartwright's middle son, Hoss, who accompanied him, he looked like a dangerous man. Joe Cartwright had come in shortly after his brothers, laughing and carrying on with his friends. When she saw him up close, she understood why Joe was the one Ahab chose as their 'mark'. 'Little' Joe, as they called him, was the youngest and slightest of the trio, just the type Ahab liked – and liked to pound. Still, it was odd. The moment Ahab saw Joe something overcame the man she often called her 'procurer'. She would have named it 'anger', but it went way beyond that.

The only word for it was 'hate'.

This job was different for the brutish man. It was personal. Hadley shuddered and wrapped her arms about her shoulders. It was going to end like it had that 'other' time – the time it all went wrong. She just knew it.

Joe Cartwright was as good as dead.

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The sound of the door opening and a soft footfall as someone moved across the floor didn't wake him. He'd been awake before. But it did surprise him.

And terrify him.

Joe shuddered and inched back toward the wall – away from the beautiful and venomous woman who had just entered his torture chamber. As he did, he heard someone whimper.

Shame flooded through him when he realized it was him.

A moment later a hand brushed his cheek moving the curls, which were clotted with blood and sweat, away from his face. It was followed by a cool cloth.

What new treachery was this?

Joe shifted back again but came up short when he ran into the cabin wall. Something snapped in him when that happened and he struck out with his bound feet, catching the woman in her stomach and thrusting her away.

Pa would never forgive him.

He struck a woman.

Panting, breathless, Joe turned eyes filled with hate on his tormentor and found her crying.

Crying.

Jezebel was crying.

"I know what...you are!" he shouted.

She said nothing. Jezebel just stared at him; the bloody cloth still in her hand.

His strength was ebbing. "I know...what you are," he repeated, quieter this time and with more meaning.

Tears slid down her cheeks. "I know what I am too," she replied.

He knew the game. Brutalize a man and then pretend sympathy. It was a way to break him.

Well, Joe Cartwright would not be broken!

"Get..away from me!" Joe snarled as he forced his badly abused body into a seated position. "Don't touch me! Don't you ever touch me again!"

She started as if he had struck her. The girl's eyes went to the bloody cloth she held and then she looked over her shoulder toward the door. A moment later she came to a decision. Rising, Jezebel went over to it and pushed it to.

Joe panicked as the key turned in the lock.

"Get out!" he cried. "You...get out of here!"

Jezebel turned to look at him. Her near coal-black eyes were wide with expectation and they were fastened on him. Joe grew physically sick at her approach and fought to rise to his feet.

He would go through her and the door before he let her near him again.

Halfway across the room, the girl halted. He couldn't tear his eyes from her. She was beyond beautiful with her silken black hair, pale skin, and wide pensive eyes; not to mention her full lips and curvaceous hips and breasts.

Beautiful as a rattler in the sun.

She met his gaze and said, her tone curiously flat. "He's gone. Let me help you while I can."

He'd written that he was stupid, but he wasn't that stupid.

"Once bitten," Joe snarled between clenched teeth.

The girl winced and then nodded. "I understand. You have no reason to trust me. What I did..." Her jaw grew tight. "He was watching. I had to –"

"Humiliate me? Debase me?!" Joe blinked back the tears that formed. God, he hated her for what she had done!

Jezebel took another step. "He would have killed me...and you..."

"Maybe I'd rather be dead."

Another tear fell. "I know I would. But you have to understand." She opened her hands wide. One of them still held the bloody cloth she had used on his face. "I have nothing – no one else. I have to do what he tells me. I don't want to, but I have to..."

Joe sneered. "...dance with the Devil?"

It was one of Adam's quotes. 'If you dance with the Devil, then you haven't got a clue. You think you'll change the Devil, but the Devil changes you.'

He could see she knew it.

Knew it all too well.

With sudden inspiration, he asked, "Is Jezebel your real name?"

"It's what Ahab calls me," she replied. "It's what he calls all his girls."

"Then you...made a...choice." He was breathing hard, damn it! So much for not showing fear before your enemy. "You have to f ace it, it's who you've chosen to become."

Her head shook. "I had no choice."

"You had a choice. You made a bad one." Joe sucked blood from his lip and spit it out. "Bad choices usually come out of fear."

She was looking at him like he'd grown two heads. So maybe, just maybe, he was getting through to her.

"What's your name – your real name?"

The girl took a step back. "I...I don't have one."

"Yes, you do," he pressed. "What is it?"

"No."

"Yes. Tell me...what it is." Joe tried to stand but gave up as fresh pain shot through him, threatening to take him out again. "Look, Jezebel or whatever your name is, I think I...might be dying." He was saying it for effect, but still – the way his insides felt – he wasn't so sure it was far from the truth. "When I meet Saint Peter at the Pearly Gates, is that what you want me to tell him? That the woman who killed me was a scheming, conniving whore with no heart?"

She glanced at the door again and then back at him. "I don't want you to die."

"Well, I'm gonna and...you know it. Ahab isn't gonna let me...go. He can't. I've...seen him, just like I've seen you." It was a desperate game he was playing. If she wasn't what she appeared to be – and was instead what he had experienced a while back – then he was falling right into her trap and she was going to hurt him like he'd never been hurt before. "Why don't you kill me right now?" Joe sucked in air against renewed pain. "Kill me, Mrs. Maybe Jones, or set me free."

For a moment she remained where she was and then, haltingly, moved toward him. Then, just as quickly, she turned and ran toward the door.

It opened on Ahab.

Joe watched helplessly as the brute's hand shot out to take Jezebel by the neck. He held that pose for several seconds and then drew her into an embrace and kissed her hard.

At that moment Joe knew he had been had. It had all been a game, meant to break him. Ahab had been outside the door, listening – and probably laughing – all along.

Ahab took Jezebel by the shoulders and thrust her out the door and then slammed it shut behind him. He locked it before turning back into the room.

"Bet you missed me, didn't you?" he sneered. "Pretty boy."