by Brenda, Lady
Devlin looked away. “There is no pact, maybe there never was and if so the right souls, the ones that would have the power to free me, have taken a hell of a lot of time to cross my path again.”
Walking Ghost sat up straight. “You will need Walking Ghost again, I will be your shadow no one will suspect this lowly Indian.”
“This is not your fight, my friend, but if you choose to join me it will be an honor to have you watch my back.”
Walking Ghost looked him in the eye. “Our paths have crossed again. Two rivers headed for the same lake. There is powerful medicine in this. Since Red Bluff I have drifted like a leaf in the wind. It will be good to be able to face this enemy again and to finish it.”
The next morning in his office above the distinguished Washoe Club the object of Devlin and Walking Ghost’s conversation, Big Jim Diamond, was holding a meeting of his own. He sat in a large, stuffed leather chair and puffed on a big cigar while he addressed the unsavory characters that sat before him: The gunslinger Laredo, the oily carpetbagger Mr. Leonard White, and Miguel Cruz, a dark skinned, mustachioed Comanchero with a penchant for rawhide bullwhips.
“Listen up boys,” he said. “There’s a stranger come to town and he’s got something of mine. I want it back.”
“What’s that Mr. Diamond?” Leonard White asked.
“It’s the controlling shares to the Gilded Bird Mine. Anderson blew his brains out last night after he lost the mine to this stranger, a tinhorn gambler by the name of Devlin Winter.”
Miguel smiled slyly at Laredo. “Was he the one Laredo lost to in the Bucket of Blood last night? The tall black haired hombre that looks like El Diablo?”
Laredo flushed a dull red. “Shut yer damn mouth, Cruz!” he said.
Miguel laughed.
Big Jim nodded.
“That’s the one. So I want you three to find out what Winter’s business is in Virginia City and, what his purpose is and why he wants to take over that mine. I want to know every move he makes, who he associates with, even down to the whores he visits.”
White sat up and then fussed with the lapels of his plaid suit. He pulled a grimy handkerchief out of his pocket and wiped the sweat from his face. “Then what, Boss?”
Big Jim leaned forward with his palms flat on his desk.
“Well then White, he’s all yours. I’ll give one hundred in gold to the man who puts his lights out.”
“That there’s music to my ears,” Leonard White said.
After the meeting, when Laredo and Cruz headed to the first available saloon to toast their future success, Leonard White strolled down the boardwalk. He began by poking his head into the saloons that offered the best games. He saw many gamblers but none that matched the description of Devlin Winter.
He was not the only one to poke their head in to the saloons that day. His sour traveling companion from Carson City, Sara Fenn marched up and down the boardwalk carrying signs and flyers against the evil of drinking and gambling. She had begun her mission of recruiting women reformers to her cause.
She had come to meet with her contact, a fellow member of the Washoe Valley Women’s league, and a librarian by the name of Cleo. So far she was nowhere to be found. Sara marched into the Bucket of Blood Saloon. Moments later she was forcibly thrown out of the doors with her signs and flyers along with the hurled curses of the patrons tossed out after her.
She lost her balance and would have fallen down had not Leonard White caught her elbow. He steadied her just long enough for her to yank her arm out of his grasp. He tipped his hat.
“Miss Fenn, howdy ma’am. I’m glad to be of service.”
“You! I might of known I would see you here on the Devil’s Highway!”
He chuckled. “Why aren’t you full of piss and vinegar!”
She stepped back and her eyes took on a glazed look. “He’s here you know, Satan himself. I’ve seen him, full of wickedness, drink and gambling not more than an hour ago”
That same morning Devlin and Walking Ghost rode up to the hills above Virginia City to the Gilded Bird mine. When they arrived they saw that an undertaker’s wagon had pulled up at the front of the house and two men were loading a blanket wrapped body into the back. Word of John Anderson’s suicide had reached the town and within hours it had been dutifully reported in the local papers. A ragtag group of miners stood around as the body was loaded onto the wagon. They talked among themselves in hushed tones. There was fear in their eyes. Devlin hung back, then after the undertaker’s wagon had left, he rode up to the small group of men. They eyed him warily.
“Good morning,” he said.
He tipped his hat. Walking Ghost remained silent in the background.
One of the miners stepped forward, a wiry man of undetermined age. His bright blue eyes shone like lamps in his grimy face. “Who ‘er you mister?”
“My name is Winter and this is Walking Ghost. I am the new owner of this mine.”
The rest of the miners shifted their feet uneasily. They were silent. The leader spoke up again. “Yer that gambler what won the mine from Mr. Anderson? Are ya aiming to work the mine? An’what’s to become of us now he’s daid?”
Devlin looked over the motley crew before him. Hard bitten men with stooped shoulders wearing dusty creased clothes. Devlin sensed their suspicion of him.
“You men can rest assured,” he said. “For now you still have a job at the Gilded Bird. I would like to assess the operation itself in the next two days. For the time being the mine is closed down however all of you will receive your full pay for the week.”
The miners talked among themselves. The leader stepped up to Devlin. “We’re to hold ya to yer word Mister, but we ain’t workin’ with no Injun.”
Devlin frowned. “You will take your orders from me. Walking Ghost is my right hand man. Anyone who has problem with that can clear out now.”
Two of the miners grabbed their packs and left. The leader, and five others, remained.
After they had left, Devlin took a hard look at the mineshaft, the heap of worn and rusted mining machinery and Anderson’s dilapidated shack. He could almost smell the malevolent energy that emanated from it. There was not a ghost of a doubt in his mind that he was looking at the vortex, the doorway and source of evil, the demon’s lair that fate had led him to. The question in his mind was how was he to stop it? In his way John Anderson had acted as a sort of human cork and blocked the flow of evil from seeping out of the mine. In the end by killing himself he had signaled his surrender.
Devlin was prepared to take up the fight. He would have to go down into the mine to assess what he was up against this time. Would the situation become another twisted fray? A free for all that would take all the arsenals in his possession? Would he triumph over it? Could he carve the heart out of another demon that sought to creep out of the earth and wreak havoc amongst the living?
He was not yet ready to lay a bet on the outcome of those questions.
Evil and its minions tended to have a will of its own and could be as slippery as a greased eel. The whole situation, he sensed, was primed and ready to go off.
Devlin’s premonition proved true that evening when the moon rose high in the sky and deep within the earth, in the bowels of the Gilded Bird, a sulfurous crevice opened up. Here a damp, mustard colored mist wound its way through the shaft. It made its way out into the moonlit night and streamed, snakelike through the night air towards C Street and the Barbary Coast.
It made no distinctions in its prey as it crept through the open window of a house of ill repute where a 15-year-old prostitute named Mary lay in her crib smoking a bowl of opium. She inhaled deeply. An hour later when her drunken john came to sample her charms she cut off his penis. In the morning he was found him lying in a pool of blood while Mary cooked and ate his shriveled glory with her morning whiskey. The papers reported it and for a space of one day there was anger and outcry.
When Esmeralda read the story dread filled her insides. Her favorite br
eakfast of burnt toast and orange marmalade curdled in her stomach. More than ever, she thought, she needed to start her work. She had begun the arrangements the day before to purchase a handsome two story house on B Street that was located just four houses down from Pipers’ Opera house. A purchase that had proved to be ridiculously easy once she had presented the owner with a bag of gold nuggets.
The house she had chosen was laid out perfectly for what she had in mind. It was a tall narrow, shotgun house with a large parlor and bay window in the front. The upstairs area of the house consisted of three rooms: A bedroom suite for her private use, a séance room with a large round table and thirteen chairs, and a private treatment room with a separate entrance and back stairs.
The front area and the parlor were large enough for her to set up card, roulette and Faro tables. Esmeralda was a gambler; a profession that had been thrust upon her from necessity and one that had allowed her to travel from town to town. Her game was Two Card Monte.
Her true purpose however, was very different. She performed exorcisms, healings and purging souls of unspeakable evil to remove demons and whatever malevolent spirits had taken hold of mortal beings. A talent she had honed early under the wise teachings of the old witch Annie.
It was here in her new B Street house that Esmeralda planned to create a sophisticated and alluring web. The Emerald Salon, a place that would draw the most interesting cross hatch of the Virginia City populace both mortal and immortal, to her door. She had spared no expense in hiring the best skilled laborers. In just a few days her new Salon would be ready for her to move into but she needed the help of someone who knew the city. When young Jamie came to take her bags and check her out of the hotel she decided to make him a proposal.
“Jamie,” she said, “do you like your job here at the International Hotel?”
Jamie shrugged “It’s an honest job ma’am, them’s hard to find around here.”
Esmeralda looked in his earnest blue eyes. A vision flashed before her mind’s eye. She saw a young frightened Jamie in a cold barren shack, a shadowy figure of a woman lay lifeless on a dirty mattress.
Jamie squirmed under her gaze. He was eighteen years old and from the look on his face she thought he would jump at the chance at a new job. Esmeralda wondered if, as well as the bellboy job at the hotel, he worked nights in the saloons alongside other youngsters sifting through the soiled sawdust for any gold dust that might have fallen to the floor.
“I have need for someone at my new house, someone to be my eyes and ears here in Virginia City”
Jamie frowned. “What kind of house is it? I ain’t working for no bawdy house, no ma’am.”
Esmeralda smiled. “You need not trouble yourself over that. I plan to open a fine Salon. One that caters to distinguished tastes."
Jamie’s stance relaxed. “Well then, I would be right honored to work for you.” he said.
Leonard White was obsessed. Ever since he had laid his eyes on Esmeralda Jones on the stagecoach he’d been filled with lust. So much so that he found himself hanging out in the lobby of the International Hotel just to get a glimpse of her. He had seen her kind before. She was an adventuress. He also knew that she would not give him a second glance unless his pockets were lined with gold. She might come across as snooty as one of those destitute southern belles that he had dealt with during the war. So high and mighty until they had only him to turn to when their confederate dollars became worthless chaff. Then, they were only too happy to hike up their crinolines and give old Leonard a taste.
This time he had decided that he wanted more than a taste. Virginia City was a place where a man could make a name for himself even if he did have a less than spotless past. The gold that Big Jim promised him was only the beginning for an enterprising man such as himself. It would not be long he fantasized, before he had that red haired beauty on his arm and in his bed.
He looked up from behind his newspaper just in time to see Miss Esmeralda Jones sail by him with a tow headed youth carrying her bags. He got up and followed her.
Devlin sat once more at his usual table in the Bucket of Blood saloon. He played poker with an ancient white bearded sourdough named Boots. Boots, with his long white hair and beard, had come to Virginia City in’49 with the first big strike. He knew everything and just about everyone in the town.
Devlin found that whiskey enhanced the flow of information so he had bought a bottle of the finest Old Overholt Straight Rye whiskey for his companion. “Tell me about this Big Jim Diamond,” he asked.
Boots screwed up his face. “He ain’t nothin’ but a vulture that un, rolled into town a year ago this July, been buying up evr’ claim he can git his hands on, an sometimes he don’t pay fer um.”
Devlin poured him another shot. “And why do you say that?”
Boots downed his shot before answering. “He’s got him some hardcases, you don’t sell him yer claim, and well I’m just saying, folks have a way a turning up daid.”
Devlin poured him another shot. “And what do you know of his business with Anderson and the Gilded Bird mine?”
Boots downed his shot then shook his grizzly head. “That there ain’t a story fer tender ears. Big Jim went down into that mine with two others, only he come out and well, all they found of them other two was jus’ pieces.”
“Yet Big Jim survived?”
Boots nodded. A shadow passed over his rheumy blue eyes.
When the sourdough Boots had done spilling his town gossip and was slumped against the wall snoring, Devlin rose and went out to the boardwalk. From the corner of his eye he saw her, Bianca Snow; her disguise of a sophisticated dress and red hennaed hair did not fool him for a minute. Her lush body that haunted his waking dreams was still the same one that he saw whisking around the corner at Union and C. He also noticed the dandy in a brown bowler hat that followed her at a not so discreet distance. Curious he crossed the street and intercepted him.
When a dark figure blocked Mr. Leonard White’s view, his lustful musings over a tempting bustle were blown clear away. He skidded to a halt. “Hey there mister…” He sputtered and then looked up. He saw the lean figure of the gambler dressed all in black. He took in how the man casually placed his hand on his hip near a deadly looking gun.
Oh shit, he thought.
His voice came out as a squeak. “Stand aside.”
The gambler smiled. “Where are you going in such an all fired hurry?” he drawled.
Leonard stood up straight and adjusted the lapels of his plaid suit. “It’s – It’s none of your business, mister. Now let me pass.”
The gambler looked though him with cold eyes. Leonard felt a chill as if the stranger could see into his soul and witness all of his nasty misdeeds. Could actually see him as he scoured the steaming, smoke filled battlefield to cut off the fingers dead soldiers for their wedding rings and pull out the teeth from their mouths for their gold fillings.
The gambler sneered. “I am making it my business when I see a low sidewinder like you sniffing around after a lady.”
Leonard felt heat in his gut at those words, and his hand itched for the hideout gun in his vest. “Who th’ hell r’ you?”
“Devlin Winter, and go ahead, yank that hideout.”
Jesus fuck! thought Leonard.
It looked as if fate had put him face to face with the object of Jim Diamond’s reward. His taste for the gold nearly made him go for his gun but his sneaky weasel sense of self- preservation stopped him.
Devlin saw his hesitation. He was mildly disappointed because for a spilt second he had looked into this vermin’s soul and seen its rot. He would’ve liked to blast him straight to Hell. At the same time he had also sensed a connection and knew that this low character was a part of the events that were about to unfold.
“You don’t know who yer talkin to, who I’m working for,” Leonard said.
Devlin shrugged. “Just turn your yellow tail around the other way and give my regards to Big Jim Diamond.”
As Devlin watched him go, a gust of wind blew down the street. A paper handbill fluttered through the air and came to rest down at his feet. He picked it up and read:
“Now open for business The Emerald Salon, 22 B Street, Gentleman’s pleasure, Monte, Faro, Poker, fine liquors, music and dancing, featuring Miss Esmeralda Jones, The Queen of Montebank.”
He smiled and tucked the paper into his vest. This was an interesting development. It looked like he would be paying a visit to the Emerald Salon very soon.
Chapter Five
The Queen of Montebank
Esmeralda hired an army of painters and carpenters to refurbish her house on B Street. It was amazing what a handful of gold could accomplish in 48 hours. She had the outside painted forest green trimmed with gold and violet. In the interior she had expensive crystal chandeliers put in and, furnished it with fine sofas and chairs. In the very back of the house she converted a room into a small theater. The gaming tables and roulette wheel were all set up in the front parlor. The salon was equipped with a billiard table and piano along with a small ornate bar stocked with liquor.
This was their first night open for business. Eager gamblers already surrounded the card tables and roulette wheel. In the corner by the bay window an olive skinned young man played a lively tune on the piano.
Esmeralda was dressed elegantly in a patterned silk gown of emerald green. Her hair was curled and piled high and she wore a jeweled comb with a flirty green feather in it. Smiling, she presided over her own Monte table. Women gamblers, who were rare in the west and often, extraordinary beauties as well, drew men to them like bees to honey. She was immune to their covetous gazes as her hands flew deftly over the cards never missing a beat. She smiled as she scooped up their bills and gold. All evening a steady stream of gentlemen flowed into her parlor.
Things are off to a nice start.
Jamie had spent the last week handing out flyers up and down the boardwalk. He took his new job seriously and now stood just inside the parlor and watched over her.