The Sporting House Killing by G. Powell (free ebook reader for pc .TXT) 📗

“What’s that?” Harley asked.

“Bud Orman’s a convicted murderer.”

Chapter 14

Harley settled at his desk facing the colonel and Papa, who were together on the floor, an empty bowl nearby. Papa had a cigar hanging from his mouth, and a trail of smoke drifted up until the fan caught it. Miss Peach’s typewriter rattled away through the open door between the reception area and their inner office.

Harley spread his notes out before him. “You were right about Bud Orman. I did some checking in the county records, and he was convicted not only once but twice.”

William R. Orman, known around town as Bud, was a tinsmith by trade but had engaged in a number of different enterprises over his many years in Waco: gambler, saloonkeeper, land trader. He’d owned the Kentucky Saloon on Second Street at the time he was involved in the murder; since then, he’d operated in the skin trade, owning a number of bawdy houses between Washington Avenue and Barron’s Creek.

“Do you know him personally?” Harley asked.

“Met him once, and followed his trials in the newspaper, of course. Scrawny little fella, maybe about forty or fifty. Likable enough on the surface, but if you scratch him a little, you find a cheat. Scratch deeper, you find a liar. Go all the way to bone, you find a skunk.”

Papa raised his head to blow smoke upward, then went back to watching the hound dog enjoy a good belly rub. That was Papa’s way—to chew on facts until they were well digested. Colonel Terry and a White Owl both seemed to aid his catabolism.

“Remind me about the murder,” he added.

Harley glanced back at the news article. “It was in ’85. He shot a hack driver named Bud Houghston.”

“Oh yes, Bud Houghston.” Then Papa snickered. “Probably needed killing anyway.”

Houghston had claimed Orman was spreading a lie about him sleeping with a colored madam named Annie Brown, so Houghston told people Orman’s mother and sister prostituted themselves to colored men. This little feud went on for a day or two until Orman shot him in broad daylight while he was driving his hack down the street. The state tried Orman the first time and the jury found him guilty, but the court of appeals reversed it. They tried him again, and the second jury found him guilty. That got reversed too. The third time around, the jury acquitted him.

“If I recall,” Papa said, “George Clark represented him in that case. No wonder he won on appeal.”

Harley nodded. “Judge Clark was one of his lawyers on the appeal, but maybe you forgot. It was Captain Blair who defended him in the first trial.”

“No, really? Tom Blair . . . Isn’t that something?” Papa had a big grin. “I bet our county attorney won’t appreciate the irony if his old client turns up being involved in this murder too.”

“Herring and Kelley were also in the first two trials. He hired every lawyer in sight. They did a good job. They convinced that third jury he wasn’t guilty.”

“The jurors probably heard the judges in Austin didn’t think Orman was guilty. That’s cockeyed, isn’t it? First time I’ve ever heard Austin folks utter a kind word for anybody in Waco, and it’s Bud Orman, of all people.” Papa paused in thought. “He have any other trouble with the law?”

“One other criminal case. It was against his brother, who apparently didn’t care for the woman Bud married. This was his second marriage in ’89. The brother—his name is Richard—hit the woman with a brick, and Bud filed assault charges against him.”

“Assault with a deadly brick, huh?” Papa grinned and reached for the colonel’s floppy ears. “Colonel, that’s a disagreeable family, and you ought to be thankful you’re not theirs.”

Colonel Terry arched one eye open but quickly closed it again.

Harley flipped through his notes for another case. “And there’s a few civil cases he filed. You’ll be interested in this one.”

“Tell me.”

“He sued two whores.”

“For what?”

“For rent money.” Harley shrugged and grinned. “On the bawdy house Miss Jessie runs now.”

“No?” Papa’s eyes widened. “You telling the truth? He sued Miss Jessie?”

“Not her.”

Papa looked confused.

“Let me back up a little. A couple of years ago, he built that house and rented it to a whore named Josie Bennett.”

“Josie? You think the paper got it wrong and it was actually Jessie?”

“No, it was Josie for sure. She turned madam, but then for some reason sold her lease to another madam named Ada Davenport. In March of last year the place burned, as the newspaper article said. The same day as the fire, Josie sued Ada for the loss of her furniture. The madams had some insurance on the furniture but not enough. Orman’s security in the lease was the furniture, which burned up of course. They couldn’t pay Bud the rent they owed, and he didn’t have the furniture to foreclose on. So he sued them. Ada had moved on to Fort Worth by then. This lawsuit is still pending in county court.”

“So Miss Ada moved on to Fort Worth …”

Harley nodded.

“What became of Miss Josie?”

“According to the city directory, she’s now boarding in a place just around the corner from the house, on First Street.”

“It’s peculiar, Colonel.” Papa scratched the dog’s head before turning back to Harley. “You might pay her a call and see what she knows about Miss Jessie and Bud Orman.”

Another visit to a bawdy house. He could still smell the perfume from the first. “Right—oh, and daylight, Papa?”

“Daylight, son.”

“Yes, sir.”

The colonel let out a moan about that time. Papa rubbed the hound’s head vigorously with both hands, eyed something on his chin, and pulled the colonel’s jowls back to inspect him more closely.

“Look at that,” he said. “He’s got some gray hair.”

Harley laughed. “Are you surprised? He’s been with you too long.”

“May be.”

Papa went back to thinking and scratching. Harley sighed.

He was ready to go see Miss Josie, but Papa hadn’t moved.

“What’d you find in the deed records?” Papa asked eventually.

“Huh?”

“Does Orman have a mortgage on Miss