The Omaha Palace
Page 6
“What about Leo?”
“What about him?”
“He looks at me like he doesn’t like me.”
“Maybe he doesn’t.”
“Why wouldn’t he?”
Wright hesitated, then asked, “You want a beer?”
“Sure.”
He drew two and put them on the bar.
“Look,” he said, “the boss, I guess you know she likes . . . well, men.”
“Lots of women like men.”
“Well, she likes ’em a lot, and she’s tried out a few, but she can’t seem to find one she really likes. You know?”
“Was Leo one?”
“No,” Wright said. “She’s had ’em young, but not that young. But he’s in love with her, and he’d like to be one. I’m guessing he sees you as competition.”
“Well, you tell him he’s got nothing to worry about, okay?”
“Sure.”
“I’m not looking to get shot in the back by some lovesick kid.”
“Don’t think he’s got the nerve for that.”
“That’s good to hear. And what about you?”
“What about me?”
“Has she tried you out?”
“I’ve worked in a lot of saloons, Clint,” Wright said, “and for some women bosses, and you know what I’ve learned. Don’t sleep with the boss.”
“That’s a good lesson.”
“Or the boss’s wife.”
Clint grinned and said, “That’s even better.”
TWENTY-ONE
Clint went to his room, and as expected, there was a knock at the door a short time later. He had removed his boots and shirt, washed up in the sink, and was about to start reading. He grabbed his gun from the bedpost and approached the door. He hoped it wasn’t Ashley on the other side of the door. He didn’t want to have to go through his explanation again. Sleeping with the boss just wasn’t a good idea.
He cracked the door, saw red hair and freckles, and heaved a sigh of relief. He opened the door all the way.
“Come on in,” he said to Karen.
She was still wearing her work dress, smelled pleasantly of perfume and a hint of girl sweat as she passed him.
“You were expecting me?” she asked.
“Wasn’t I supposed to be?” he asked, closing the door.
“A girl doesn’t like to be too predictable,” she said. “But with a gun?”
“Don’t be offended,” he said. “I always answer the door with a gun.”
He walked to the holster hanging on the bedpost and slid the gun in, then turned to face her. She walked to him, put one hand flat on his chest.
“Mmm,” she said, rubbing her palm over his chest. “If we do this, will there be a problem with Ashley?”
“Does that matter?”
“I don’t want to get into trouble with my boss,” she said. “I don’t want to lose my job.”
“I’m with you on both of those things,” he said, “so no, there won’t be a problem with Ashley.”
“Oh good,” she purred. She slid both hands over his chest, up around his neck, and pulled him down into a kiss.
* * *
Jack Mackey opened the door to his house and said to Casey Deal and John Rosa, “Get in here quick!”
They darted in and he closed the door. He turned to face them, did not invite them any deeper into his home.
“How did the night go?”
“He had plenty of players,” Rosa said.
“They was standin’ in line,” Deal said.
“Damn it,” Big Jack said. “Did you hear what anyone was saying? What kind of dealer was he?”
“Well,” Deal said, “nobody left his table with any money.”
“They all lost?” Big Jack asked.
“All of ’em,” Rosa said.
Big Jack shook his head. He hadn’t yet decided what he was going to do. He might have to wait a few days to decide, maybe after the opening party.
“All right,” he said, “get out.”
“Do you want us to keep watchin’ him?” Rosa asked.
“No,” Big Jack said. “In fact, stay away from him. He’s bound to have spotted you by now.”
“He ain’t seen us—” Deal started, but Big Jack cut him off.
“Stay away from him, understand?”
“Sure, sure, boss,” Rosa said, “we understand.”
“Then get out! Quickly!”
The two men opened the door and rushed out. Big Jack slammed it shut behind them.
He walked back into the house, saw Janice coming down the stars. She was wearing a filmy nightgown that trailed behind her. Her breasts and nipples were plainly visible through the fabric.
“What’s wrong?” she asked.
“It was just those two idiots I had watching the Palace.”
She came to him, put her hand on his arm.
“Is something wrong?”
“I don’t know,” he said. “It’ll take me a few days to really decide.”
Now she moved her hand to the front of his shirt, slid it inside to touch his skin.
“Why don’t you come upstairs,” she suggested. “I’ll take your mind off all of this.”
He looked at her and smiled, putting his hand over her breast.
“You will, too, won’t you?”
“Oh, yes.”
He cupped her breast through the thin fabric of her nightgown and rubbed the nipple.
“Come,” she said. She slid her hand out of his shirt and took his hand. Without another word, she led him to the stairs and up to the bedroom.
* * *
Karen helped Clint out of his trousers, and stood still while he undressed her. Then he ran his hands over her body. Her flesh was smooth, firm, and hot, her breasts like ripe peaches. He thumbed her nipples until she sighed, then he gathered her into his arms for another kiss, their naked bodies pressed tightly together. She felt his hard penis between them and reached for it. She got down on her knees, took him in both hands, and sucked just the head, wetting it. She stroked the shaft and balls while she continued to suckle the spongy head, and then abruptly took him wholly into her mouth.
“Oh, God,” he said, reaching for her. She tried to resist but he pulled her to her feet, then lifted her and dropped her onto the bed.
“Whoa!” she said as she bounced.
He got on the bed with her and kissed her neck, her freckled breasts, her belly, working his way down to the tangled red hair between her legs. When he plunged his tongue into her, she gasped and gathered up the sheet in her hands.
“Jesus . . .” She panted as he continued to lick her, enjoying her juices, which were both tart and sweet.
Suddenly she cried out, “Oh, God, yes!”
“Shhh,” he hissed at her.
She put both her hands over her own mouth, then took them away and whispered, “I thought you weren’t worried about the boss.”
“Why take chances?” he asked.
That seemed to make sense to her, so from that point on, she bit her lip rather than cry out . . . and she did a lot of biting . . .
TWENTY-TWO
Clint came downstairs the next morning on rubbery legs. Karen was young, and it was all he could do to keep up with her.
“Breakfast?” Ed asked.
“Please. And plenty of coffee.”
“Comin’ up.”
Clint sat down at a table while the kid, Leo, continued to take down chairs and set up tables.
Ed came out with two cups and a pot of coffee and sat opposite Clint.
“The old man will bring out breakfast,” he said. “Steak and eggs.”
“That’s great.”
“I slept okay . . . when I slept.”
“Ah . . .” Ed said with a nod.
“Ah, what?”
“Never mind,” the man said. “Not important.”
The old man, Brennan, appeared carrying two steaming plates.
“Thanks, Mike,” Ed said as he set them down.
Brennan grunted and went back to the kitchen.
Clint cut into his steak, picked up a chunk of it with some eggs, and forked it into his mouth.
“Today you’ll go out and spread the word that we’re interviewing men for a security detail,” Clint said.
“What will you do?”
“I’ll wait here for them.”
“So I go out and collect and you stay here and interview?”
“That’s the plan. You got a better one? After all, you know the men of Omaha better than I do. Send me the ones you think are capable and trustworthy, and I’ll choose the four I think are best suited.”
Ed shrugged and said, “Now that sounds like a plan to me, too.”
They finished their breakfast, and as Ed Wright was leaving the saloon, Ashley came down the stairs.
“Where is he off to?” she asked.
“He’s going to start picking out men for us to hire,” he said.
“Mike!” she called out. “Breakfast!”
“Comin’ up!” the old man called back.
She sat opposite Clint, and Mike Brennan brought out a cup and a fresh pot of coffee. He poured it out for both of them and then returned to the kitchen.
“How many men are you going to hire?” she asked him.
“Four.”
“And how much will that cost me?”
“Don’t forget,” Clint said, “we’ll be letting go the two men you have now. So it will only cost you for two more.”
“And you think this is necessary?”
“I do, or I wouldn’t do it.”
“All right,” she said. “I’ll go along if you think it’s right.”
Brennan returned with a plate for her, eggs and bacon, but no steak.
“When will you begin interviewing men?”
“Anytime now,” Clint said.
“Well,” she said, “hopefully, I’ll be able to finish my breakfast first.”
Clint drank his coffee and sat with her while she ate.
“You know,” she said, “I almost came to your room last night.”
Happy she hadn’t, he asked, “Why didn’t you?”
“Because I thought you meant what you said,” she answered. “And I think I need you more here in my Palace than in my bed . . . for now.”
Good, Clint thought. They were on the same page. For all the assurances he’d given Karen that there would be no trouble with Ashley, he wasn’t sure how she’d react if she had found him with the younger woman.
* * *
After breakfast Ashley told Clint she was going upstairs to get dressed.
“I’d like to see some of the men you hire,” she told him.
“I’ll run them all by you before we actually hire them,” he said. “After all, you’re the boss.”
“Yes,” she said, “I am.”
He watched her walk up the stairs. When she was gone, he cleared off the table, taking the remains of her meal to the kitchen.
“Here’s the boss’s plate,” he told Brennan. “Where do you want it?”
The old man turned and, without a word, took the plate from Clint.
“You’re welcome,” Clint said, and walked out.
TWENTY-THREE
The first man came walking through the batwing doors, saw Clint seated at a table, and approached.
“You Adams?”
“I am.”
“Ed Wright says you’re lookin’ for good men.”
“He’s right,” Clint said.
“Whataya need ’em for?”
“He didn’t tell you that?”
“Just that there was a job that needed good men,” the man replied.
“We need some security for this place,” Clint said.
“You expectin’ trouble?”
“I am.”
“From where?”
“Anywhere.”
The man frowned. “What I mean is,” he said, “you expectin’ trouble from Big Jack?”
“Do you think I should be worried about him?” Clint asked.
“He don’t like that this place opened,” the man said.
Clint studied the man. He was in his thirties, wearing worn trail clothes and a well-used gun on his right hip. It was clean, though, and a man who kept his gun and holster clean always scored points with Clint.
“What’s your name?”
“Gabe Falkner.”
“Live in town?”
“I been around awhile,” Falkner said. “Don’t live here exactly. Got a room in a rundown hotel in the south end of town. Just not ready to move on.”
“How much do you know about Big Jack?”
“Just what I hear,” Falkner said.
“Do you know Big Jack?”
“No.”
“So he didn’t send you over here to get this job?”
“Naw,” Falkner said, “I ain’t never met him. But that would be a good idea, wouldn’t it? I mean, on his part?”
“Yeah, it would.” Clint studied the man again. For some reason, he believed him. Also, he had to take into account the fact that Ed Wright had picked him out.
“You drink here?” Clint asked.
“Usually.”
“You can still drink here, but not on the job,” Clint said.
“Sittin’ around with a shotgun in your lap is dry work.”
“An occasional beer,” Clint said. “No whiskey. That okay?”
“That’s fine.”
“You got your own shotgun?”
“I do.”
“You take as good care of it as you do your handgun?” Clint asked.
Falkner looked down at his gun, then said, “A clean gun is a happy gun.”
“Okay,” Clint said. “The pay is five dollars a week. And meals, if you want to eat here.”
“Suits me,” Falkner said.
“You know anybody else who might be a good fit? Or should I just count on Ed to send me the right men?”
Falkner shrugged and said, “He sent me in, didn’t he?”
“You got a point there,” Clint said. “Be back here at four with your shotgun. You’ll meet the boss. She gets final say.”
“She should,” Falkner said. “She’s the boss.”
The man turned and left. Clint liked his attitude, and his comments. He hoped the man was as good as he was confident.
* * *
The second man came in about half an hour later, which suited Clint. Apparently Ed was taking his time choosing men to send in.
“What’s your name?”
“Ben Atchison.”
“Can you use that gun?” Clint asked.
“I can hit what I aim at.”
“What about a shotgun?”
“What about it?”
“Can you use one?”
“Sure.”
“Do you have one of your own?”
“No,” the man said. “That gonna cost me the job?”
“No.”
“What is the job?”
Clint explained.
“We gonna be goin’ up against Big Jack?”
“Maybe,” Clint said. “Is that a problem.”
“Not considerin’ I’ll be on the side that’s got th
e Gunsmith,” Atchison said.
“You’ll have to do your part.”
“I’ll hold up my end.”
“Okay,” Clint said. “Come back at four to meet the boss.”
“Okay.”
The man was in his late twenties, tall and gangly, with a heavy beard stubble.
“And get a shave and a bath before you come back.”
“A bath?”
“A bath.”
“Jeez . . .”
That was the only complaining he did. He turned and walked out.
* * *
While waiting for the next man to show up, Clint wondered idly what Big Jack would do if and when he heard that they were hiring. It would make sense for him to try to get a man in there. When Wright returned, Clint was going to have to ask him very bluntly how he’d found these men. If any of them had approached him, and not the other way around, Clint would have to look at that man a second time.
He stopped thinking about that when the third man came through the doors.
TWENTY-FOUR
The third man’s name was Otto Gerald. He was not a gunman, but he was solidly built, knew how to use a shotgun and had his own. He was also older—in his fifties—and Clint liked that about him.
“You look like you can handle yourself,” Clint said.
“Yeah,” Gerald said. “I got big hands, and I know how to use ’em.”
“So if we need some heads busted . . .”
“I’m your man.”
“Okay, Otto,” Clint said. “Be back here at four with your shotgun.”
“Yessir. Thanks.”
Clint sat back as Otto left, wondering who the fourth man would be.
* * *
About half an hour later Leo came through the doors. He had finished setting up all the chairs and had disappeared. Now he approached Clint.
“I wanna job as security,” he said to Clint.
“Son, do you even have a gun?”
“I can get one.”
“Do you know how to use a gun?”
“Whataya gotta know? Pull the trigger.”
“Can you pull the trigger and kill a man if you have to?” Clint asked.
“Sure I can.”
“I don’t think so, Leo. You better stick to the job you’ve got.”
“But I wanna—”