Blood on the Verde River by Dusty Richards Page A

name?”
    â€œAw, hell. She was so damn scared, she was shaking, but she told me his name. It’s Bernard Whittle.”
    â€œDoes he live here?”
    â€œShe didn’t seem to know that.”
    â€œDoes he work for old man Clanton?”
    â€œNever said.”
    Chet held up his hand. “I can check him out with Marshal White. We have a name. That’s something. What did you learn, Jesus?”
    â€œCarlos Ramaras.”
    Chet nodded. “I heard about him today, as well. What do you know about him?”
    â€œHe is a white slaver who lives in Sonora, but they doubt he would take a white woman from up here.”
    â€œWhy not?” JD asked.
    Jesus shook his head and turned up his hands. “He is not afraid of Mexican authorities, but he fears a gringo backlash. He could buy off any official below the border, but couldn’t hold off against an attack by angry gringos before the federales could stop them.”
    â€œYou guys can hang around. I’m meeting a waitress who says she can answer our questions tonight about Bonnie Allen.”
    â€œOh?” JD laughed.
    â€œIt isn’t funny. We’ve learned lots already that even the law couldn’t find out. If she has some information we can use, we’ll even be more informed.”
    â€œI just thought it funny, you meeting a saloon girl.”
    â€œI know. We’ve been walking around like blind sheep trying to get some answers. But we’re finding out some things and if she knows something we may need it.” Chet sure didn’t need to get angry at the two young men helping him. They were doing their part under less than perfect circumstances. They’d lost a lot of time already, so speeding things up was essential.
    He left the two young men and was waiting when she stepped into the cat-infested alley from the lighted back door. He noticed her looking around—ready to spring back inside if threatened by anyone.
    â€œOver here.” He waved to her. From where he stood, he had a good view of the alley in both directions. No need to take any chances no matter how sure he felt about her.
    â€œMy name is Valerie.”
    â€œMine’s Chet.”
    â€œCome on. We can’t talk here. I live a few blocks away.”
    He fell in a little behind and followed her. “Did you know her? Bonnie Allen, I mean.”
    She nodded.
    Chet explained, “Her mother helped me when I came to Arizona two years ago. She’s a very nice lady. That’s why I’m here. I told her I’d look for her.”
    Valerie shook her head warily. “Bonnie Allen and I worked together in another café when she first came to Tombstone. She told me she wanted to work in a parlor house. We both went to see about a job up there, but I didn’t want to do that. When it got down to it, I chickened out. She always teased me about that, but I didn’t care.”
    She opened the door to her small house. “Actually, I tried it, but I guess my conscience got to eating at me. I quit and went to a Protestant church. They took me in. I went back to work as a waitress. I was threatened if I didn’t come back that I might be raped and beaten up. I borrowed a loaded pistol and let them know I had it.”
    Inside, Valerie lit a coal-oil light then closed the door and barred it. “Sit down. Bonnie told me about this guy who said he could get her work for some big money. I was suspicious. I am not an angel, but night after night I hated having them smothering me, and as I said, I quit.” She clearly shook with her revulsion.
    â€œCan you tell me where this guy is if he took her?”
    â€œNo one has heard from him.” She shook her head and sat down across from Chet.
    â€œThere is a white slaver in Mexico named Ramaras. He in this deal?”
    â€œI don’t know. But I have heard of him.”
    â€œWas it Bernard Whittle?”
    She stood up and hugged herself. “Damn Chet,