Read The Dirty Parts of the Bible for Free Online Page B

I still had $29 and some change. A ticket to Fort Worth would only cost $10. That left me plenty of money to burn, and I had the urge to burn it. No more train berths for me. Tonight, I’d sleep in luxury.
    And tomorrow—? I didn’t know what I wanted to do next. Why go to Texas at all? Why did I owe it to my father? He brought this mess upon himself. Maybe I’d stay in St. Louis and get a job. Or head out to California, where I could pick oranges and sleep under the stars. But there was free money to be had in Texas. Maybe I’d get the money first, then go to California. I’d live like a king, sleeping in swanky hotels every night.
    It was all too much to think about now. I could barely keep my eyes open. The first order of business was finding a place to sleep for the night.
    I walked over to a hot dog stand. The proprietor was a red-haired, pimple-faced boy about my age, and I figured he’d know this town as well as anybody. “Excuse me,” I said. “I’m not from around here and, well, what I’m wondering is—what’s the best place to bed down around here?”
    I always get nervous asking for help, so I was relieved when he gave me a friendly smile. “Out for a good lay tonight, eh pal?”
    “That’s right, someplace nice. Not a seedy flophouse—I mean someplace ritzy.”
    “I know just the place,” he said. “Follow Grand to Market and hang right. Keep on for a couple blocks till you come to a pink house. Pink and purple, really big. You can’t miss it.”
    “What’s it called?”
    “The Palace.”
    “You’re sure it’s nice?”
    “The swankiest joint in town, pal. I can vouch for that myself. All the Harvey Girls stay there.”
    It sounded too bizarre to be true. Then again—if they showed movies in a Hindu temple, why wouldn’t they sleep in a pink palace? I wanted to stay far away from those Harvey Girls, but it wasn’t like I’d be in the same room with one. I tossed the pimple-faced boy a penny for his help and headed up Grand Avenue.
     
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    I’d never stayed in a hotel before, so I wasn’t sure what to expect. Remus had only one hotel—the Remus Inn. It wasn’t really an inn, though, just two spare rooms above Bob’s Barber Shop. Bob Rufus—“Blind Bob,” everyone called him—presided over a vast conglomeration of enterprises. His two-story brick building served as barbershop, movie theater, inn, and meeting hall. Bob wasn’t truly blind, but he kept a bottle under the counter and would sneak a few nips in-between customers, which produced a similar effect. His barber business dried up for a while after he sliced off the top of Albert Denslow’s ear—and that’s when he cleared out two spare rooms and opened the inn. The inn turned out to be a bust, since nobody travels though Remus except the occasional northbound hunter. But if fleas and rats were paying customers, Bob would’ve been the richest man in town.
    I hiked down Market Street for at least five blocks with no pink palace in sight. I began to have my doubts; but even if the boy was fooling with me, I figured, some other place was bound to turn up. The district was teeming with people, mostly colored. Doors opened and closed, spilling laughter and music out onto the street. Black men in white undershirts leaned against lamp poles, puffing on cigarettes and whistling at women. Old ladies leaned out of apartment windows and shouted gossip at each other. Street vendors hawked their wares. All this excitement, and I could barely keep my eyes open.
    I trudged on, past bars and clubs and cabarets with dancing girls and blaring horns. More than anything, I wanted to go inside, order a drink, and take a load off, but I didn’t have the courage. I wasn’t even sure if white folks were allowed.
    Then, passing by an open door, I heard a sound that stopped me in my tracks. There was no wild laughter, no raucous music here. All was quiet except for a tinkling piano and a woman’s voice.
     
    Love for