A Different Trade (12 page)

Marching Kurt down the hall and up the next flight of stairs was arguably one of the best times Clint had ever had inside a cathouse. His conversation with the big bald man hadn't taken long. Since Clint wasn't outnumbered three to one and being held at gunpoint, the conversation went a whole lot better than the last one he'd had with Kurt. Sure, Clint was sporting a few fresh bruises and one small cut on his temple, but Kurt looked like he'd been run over by a locomotive.

All of the fight was out of the big fellow, and he stumbled with every other step. Whenever he faltered too much, Clint shoved him forward and grunted, “Keep moving.” There wasn't even a need for Clint to have his pistol drawn. Judging by the dazed expression on Kurt's face, he barely knew what was going on. He was so confused, in fact, that he didn't realize he was still naked.

After making it to the third floor amid a flurry of whispers and giggles from the girls they passed along the way, Clint slapped him on the cheek to wake him up a bit. “That room there,” he said while pointing to the door at the end of the hall. “That's the one you told me about?”

“Yeah,” Kurt groaned.

“That's the one where he is?”

“Yeah.”

“Is he in there now?” When he didn't get an immediate reply, Clint grabbed Kurt's face and shook him hard enough to hurt. “Don't lie to me! You make one wrong move now and I'll beat you worse than I did before.”

Finally, a spark showed in Kurt's eyes as he wheeled around to face Clint. He still couldn't hide the twitches of pain from all the fresh welts and cuts coming from the fight he'd recently lost. “I ain't lying!” he fumed. “He's in there. He's always in there except for when he goes out to gamble and that ain't until later at night. Every goddamn night!”

Clint nodded. “All right. I believe you.”

“Good. Are we done?”

“There's just one more thing for you to do before we're done.”

With that, Clint grabbed Kurt by one shoulder and the back of his neck. On any other day, the big man would have been able to pull free from that. But after the punishment Clint had given him in his room, Kurt was lucky to remain on his feet as he was shoved down the hall. When they got closer to the door they'd just been talking about, Clint launched him toward it with a powerful boot to Kurt's ass.

The big man staggered forward, and after the kick, he fell with all of his weight against the door. Clint stayed put just long enough to watch as the door wasn't just knocked open, but taken clean off its hinges. All he could see in the room past that door was a wide desk and a few slender figures scrambling to see who the hell was making such an abrupt entrance.

“What is the meaning of this?” asked a man in a shrill voice. As Kurt tried to get back to his feet, the other men in that room parted like the Red Sea so another could get closer to the busted door. “What are you doing just standing there?” the shrill voice asked. “Do what I pay you to do!”

Keeping his hand on the grip of his Colt, Clint backed down the hall. It took several seconds for anyone inside that room to get a look out because Kurt was so large and so unsteady on his feet that he blocked them from seeing much past him. Moving past him was next to impossible. Clint waited until Kurt was finally able to step aside. When he saw the spindly, angry old man from the Tiger's Paw, Clint whispered, “I'll be damned. He wasn't lying to me after all.”

The old man stood in the doorway and glared out as if he were angrily staring down the world and everyone in it. Clint wasn't the only one in the hall by now. There were half a dozen doors between the far end and the stairs, most of which were open so curious men and women in various states of undress could see what was happening.

Although his beady little eyes found Clint, the old man looked around at all the other faces staring back at him before shrieking, “Mind your own goddamn business! You,” he said while stabbing a bony finger at Kurt, “get your ass in here and explain yourself. You are a disgrace!” His tirade continued, but was partially blocked out when one of the other men in that room propped the door back against its frame.

When it became clear that nobody was coming through that door for a while, Clint made his way to the stairs and started climbing down. His steps remained steady and purposeful as he kept his ears and eyes open for anything that might tell him someone was coming for him.

The customers on the second floor were amused but eager to get back to their rooms, and the girls watched Clint with beaming smiles.

As he continued down to the first floor, Clint was certain he would hear footsteps rushing to catch up to him or someone shouting for him to stop and answer for what had been done to Kurt. None of that came, however. There was a bit more noise inside Miss Tasha's than usual, but it seemed about right considering the commotion. The front door was in his sight when Clint finally got one of the confrontations he'd been expecting.

“Wait right there,” Miss Tasha said as she stormed out of the back parlor. “I heard there was a fight, and you must be the cause of it. I can tell just by looking at you.”

Clint brushed a hand against a spot marking one of the few lucky punches Kurt had managed to land while in his room upstairs. “You're right, ma'am.”

“Get out,” she snarled while pointing to the front door. “And don't come back.”

“I was just on my way out,” he replied, tipping his hat. “Good evening to you, Miss Tasha.”

“Expect a bill from me when I get a look at the damage you caused.”

Clint walked outside and found both Ingrid and the woman who'd escorted him upstairs waiting for him on the porch. Ingrid smiled and said, “Don't you pay a cent for no damages. Me and the girls will take up a collection.”

“Much obliged,” Clint said.

“I suppose I'll be coming to you to have that talk we mentioned earlier instead of you coming here.”

“That'd be a good idea,” he said.

Before Clint could take one more step, the redhead took his face in her hands and planted a kiss on his lips. “Cassidy,” she said when she came up for air. “My name's Cassidy. I'll be coming as well.”

“Now that sounds like a mighty good idea.”

“Oh no!” Henrietta said as soon as she took a look at Clint's face. “They got to you again?”

Clint had barely made it through the front doors of the newly renamed Howling Hound Saloon before he was noticed. “Is Leo around?” he asked.

“Yes,” she said from where she stood in the middle of a short row of tables being carried away. Two of the young men doing the carrying were Will and his brother. Upon seeing Clint, Will nodded once. Slapping the boy on the shoulder, Henrietta said, “Get back to what you were doing. That goes for all of you. And as for you,” she said while approaching Clint, “get down here so I can get a better look at that mess you call a face.”

“It's not as bad as it looks,” Clint said as he stooped down so the short woman could put her hands on his cheeks.

“That's only because the last time you got your face messed up, it was a whole lot worse.” Leaning back just a little, she asked, “Why are you smiling?”

“Because this time I gave a whole lot better than I got.”

Henrietta smiled as well before letting go of Clint's cheeks so he could stand fully upright again. “Well, at least that's something.”

“What's going on here?” he asked while nodding at the short procession of tables headed toward the back of the room.

“We're opening a storeroom in the back and turning it into a parlor for faro and private card games,” she told him. “In place of those tables up front, we're going to be getting a roulette wheel. Should be arriving on the stage later today or tomorrow.”

Leo poked his head out from his office. He barely got a chance to nod to Clint before he was needed to oversee the placement of tables in the next room.

“How's he doing?” Clint asked.

Taking a quick glimpse toward the office, Henrietta was just in time to see Leo's back as he started issuing orders to the boys moving his furniture. “A little better. At least he's not moping so much. All things considered, I'd say it's a good improvement in a short stretch of time.”

“Yeah, well, we don't have much time to work with. I'm going to have a word with him.”

“Are you going to tell me what happened to your face or not?”

“Not,” Clint said. Before she got too riled up, he added, “I'll tell Leo and he can tell you. When he does, I'm sure you'll understand why I'm in a hurry.”

“I suppose that'll do for now.” Fortunately for Clint's sake, she became distracted by an argument that sparked up between two gamblers at a poker game near the stage.

Madeline was up there practicing, and when a bottle was thrown by one of the gamblers, she quickly stepped down and rushed over to Clint. “Mr. Adams,” she said while hurrying to catch up to him as he crossed the main room. “Mr. Adams, please can I just have a moment?”

Clint stopped at the bar and turned to her. “What's on your mind?” he asked.

“I want to thank you for what you're doing. I know the things Mr. Voss has been saying about me.”

Clint had to think for a moment before he chuckled and said, “Oh, you mean Westin. It's difficult to think of him as a mister.”

“Yes, well, he's a terrible man who looks at me like I'm a slab of beef on his plate. I shudder to think,” she continued while actually shuddering, “what he would ever do to me if I took him up on his offer.”

“Has he actually made the offer directly to you?”

“Yes. He told me I could come and work for him if I wanted to make more money. All I'd need to do is stop by his place over on Bale. Lord only knows what would happen if I ever went there.”

“What place on Bale?” Clint asked.

“I think that's where he's staying. All I know for certain is that I can't go anywhere with him, and even if I held out for a while on my own, it would only be a matter of time before he tried something even bolder.” Madeline's features may have been delicate, but she showed a strength deeper inside when she added, “If he can't get me, he'd just go after someone else. I can't allow that to happen.”

“Well, neither can I,” Clint assured her as he put his hands on her shoulders while looking her straight in the eyes. “Westin is already on the run. He just doesn't have anywhere to go yet. Before long, all you'll need to worry about is that pretty voice of yours.”

Madeline smiled at that. “If there's anything you need me to do, just say so.”

“All I need is for you to tell me exactly where Westin told you to go on Bale Avenue if you wanted to find him.”

Clint walked into the storeroom as Will and his brother were coming out. Stepping aside so another young man could get past him, Clint looked around at a dusty room with cobwebs hanging from the rafters. It was twice as long as it was deep and had enough room to comfortably fit another two or three tables before becoming cramped.

“I didn't even know this room was back here,” Clint said.

“Well, what the hell would you know?” Leo replied. “You barely been here for a week or so.”

“Fair enough. How's the hand?”

“Lighter than it used to be.”

Clint put his hands in his pockets. “So I guess you'll have to call for reinforcements if someone orders two fingers of whiskey?”

Leo wanted to be angry, but he just couldn't keep it up for long. Finally, he shook his head and muttered, “Damn it all to hell.”

Clint walked up to him and gave him a pat on the back. “I know exactly what you mean. This isn't the sort of thing you expected you'd have to deal with when you decided to open your own saloon.”

“Yeah, but what do I know? I thought the Dig Dog was a good name for the place.”

“Maybe you should leave the bigger decisions to Henrietta.”

“Not a bad idea.”

“And neither is this,” Clint said as he looked at the tables that were sloppily arranged on the unswept floor. “More gambling means a bigger house cut. And it seems you'll have something else to offer that'll make this place stand out.”

“Please, Clint. Don't try to make me feel better. You've obviously got something to say, and it ain't about the new card room.”

“You're right about that.”

“And,” Leo said in the silence that followed, “you're not too eager to tell me whatever it is you got to say.”

“Right again.”

“So just spit it out. My patience with pretty much everything has worn a bit thin.”

Unable to come up with a better way to phrase it, Clint said, “Your problem with Westin may be bigger than we thought.”

“We?”

“I told you before that I'm involved in this,” Clint said.

Leo nodded before asking, “How much bigger?”

“I did some poking around and found one of Westin's men. The bald fellow. He was at Miss Tasha's.”

“Not too surprising. She runs the cheapest whores in town.”

“He was there for more than just the whores,” Clint continued. “Miss Tasha is the one behind Westin for certain. She's getting her place set up to take over as much of your business as she can after you're gone.”

“That'd make her the one who wants to use my place for a warehouse for whatever contraband she wants to smuggle and as a front for the girls she wants to turn into slaves?”

“Partly. This is where things go from bad to worse.”

Leo pulled in a deep breath and let it out with a huff. “Don't bother with the sweet talk,” he said. “Just spit it out.”

“Miss Tasha isn't working alone. In fact, I'm thinking she's actually working for someone else.”

“Who?”

“An associate of Ki Dhang.”

Leo's head hung forward like a puppet that had just gotten its string cut. “What the hell would Ki Dhang want with me? Or is this just another way for God to punish Leo Parker for some crime I committed in another life?”

“It may not be as bad as all of that.”

“Ki Dhang is one of the richest men in New Mexico,” Leo said. “He can snap his fingers and put a bullet into anyone he chooses. I mean, it was bad enough that my stepbrother had anyone at all backing his play. Now he's got Ki Dhang on his side?”

Leo paced the room. Every step he took brought another emotion to his weary face. “Why the hell didn't Ki just buy me out? That'd be a deal anyone could live with. Instead, he's got to go through all this trouble just to use me as a front for God knows what? That don't even make sense!”

“Exactly!” Clint said. “That doesn't make sense. I spoke with Ki Dhang for just a minute or two, and I could tell he doesn't do anything if it doesn't make sense. I've got a real good idea of what's going on, but I need to make certain, and once I do, this whole house of cards is going to fall.”

Leo had been staring at the floor, taking in what he was hearing. As he watched the barkeep slowly nod, Clint wondered what was going through his mind. If he wasn't willing to go any further, there wasn't a good reason for Clint to do more than see to Madeline's safety. If Leo was ready to see this through to the end, then that was a different story altogether. Clint didn't have to wait long to know which way the pendulum was swinging.

Looking up and wrapping his good hand around his bad one, Leo asked, “What do you want from me?”

“Things could get messy,” Clint told him. “Messier than they've been so far. When your fingers were taken from you, that was meant as a taste of how bad things could get if—”

“I know what it was meant to tell me,” Leo snapped. “I got that message real good. What I asked is what you want from me.”

“I need you to keep an eye on Madeline just in case someone tries to take her the hard way. Be ready with that shotgun and keep your eyes open for the next day.”

“Just one day?” Leo asked. “What happens after that?”

“One way or another, by that time this mess should be sorted out.”

Leo didn't say anything after that. He didn't have to. The steely look in his eyes told Clint that he was in for the whole ride. Clint just had to make sure that ride didn't take them both to a shallow grave.