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chamber where Mrs. Smithfeld now bathed. Duval quietly removed a picture from the wall revealing a peephole. Leaning forward, she set her eye to the hole.

CHAPTER FIVE
    Dutch slipped a piece of chocolate into his mouth, opened the door then crossed the threshold of the one establishment on earth he’d sworn never to enter again. The building was new but constructed on the ashes of a past as sordid as any in San Francisco.
    With his first breath of smoky, perfume laden air, memories threatened of soft skin and a honey on steel voice ordering him to suck harder , boy . He nearly turned tail. But his lying, drunken, pandering father claimed to have information about how the Tong gained access to Trahern-Smiley ships. The note even implied that Trey might be involved. Dutch recognized a lure when he saw one and thought Trey’s complicity unlikely but couldn’t discount any threat even vaguely connected to Duval.
    She knew that he despised whores in general and her in particular. She knew that coming here endangered his reputation and his business, so the lure had to be strong. She also knew he would cross hell to eliminate any threat to his brother. Trey’s well-being was the only thing that could induce Dutch to pay heed to his father’s note. If Dutch wanted to know what the madam was up to, he would have to meet his parent here and now.
    So he would locate the judge as quickly as possible. Then he would persuade His dis- Honor to leave town before the man and his association with Cerise could drag Trey back into the gutters.
    Dutch passed the stairs leading to the upper floor and halted in the entrance to the front parlor. Beyond that lay the saloon and card parlor with French doors opening into a third large room used for events and private parties. A long, mahogany bar formed the rear wall of the front room. A piano filled a near corner. The pianist was losing the battle to be heard over voices and the chink of coins. Beneath the perfume, the scents of sweat, whisky, and cigars churned Dutch’s gut. He bit into the chocolate, letting its dusty sweetness soothe him. A smoky haze obscured his vision. He concentrated on finding his quarry.
    Conversation thronged the large room as Dutch wove between obstacles. Man-sized settees trampled Turkish rugs and competed with over-stuffed chairs for the floor space that wasn’t occupied by patrons ogling the girls who served drinks. Scattered on the various seats, men bent singly or in pairs over the picture books from which they might choose a companion, or two, for the evening.
    As he searched for the blond hair, so like his own, Dutch savored the chocolate. He had to give Cerise credit. She struck just the right note to attract most of San Francisco’s upper crust — halfway between high-class and risqué.
    “Whoo-eee. Will ya look at that pair a tits.” A well known bonanza king stared at a picture album. “Wonder if that Boston virgin up for auction t’night has teats like that?”
    Dutch might dislike whores, but he was man enough to appreciate a shapely female. As he stepped further into the room he couldn’t resist glancing at the image that garnered so much appreciation.
    “I’d sure like to stir me some of that fresh honey,” said the king’s young companion. The voice belonged to the son of a business associate. Dutch gave a moment’s thought to sending the young man home, but the safety of his own lamb took priority.
    “Saw you gambling last night. Lost half o’ that money your daddy gives you every month,” the king remarked. “You’d need all of it just to make the first round of biddin’ on that there hoity-toity virgin Madame says came to Frisco jest to get her a real man.”
    Dutch had to admit that the woman in the photograph was magnificent, and he wondered how any prostitute posing as a hoity toity virgin could be better. He swallowed then wished he hadn’t. He’d just consumed his last bit of chocolate.
    He coughed to clear smoke from his