by Jon Sharpe
Fargo was there in time to grab the man’s wrist with enough fury to damn near snap it in half. The man groaned and tried to grab on to Fargo with his free hand. But Fargo was too quick. His fist hit the man squarely on the jaw. The man fell over backward.
Fargo tended to the girl. He helped her up. ‘‘You all right?’’
‘‘He’s no gentleman.’’
‘‘What the hell’s going on here, anyway?’’
‘‘Do you have to swear?’’
Fargo smiled. ‘‘You come into a saloon where no ladies are allowed. You have a gun and you get smart-mouthed with the bartender. I guess I didn’t figure you for having such delicate ears.’’
‘‘I hate vulgarity.’’
‘‘What happened to your gun?’’
‘‘I took it away from her,’’ said the man who was just now getting to his feet. ‘‘Otherwise she would have killed me with it.’’ He grasped his jaw with long fingers. ‘‘You could do all right for yourself in a boxing ring.’’
The man surprised Fargo. No anger in his voice, no anger on his moon-traced face. He even put his hand out. They shook. ‘‘I’m Theo Mason. This little hellcat is Bonnie McLure. We’re having a disagreement.’’
‘‘A lot more than a ‘disagreement.’ ’’
‘‘I’m sure this man doesn’t want to hear about our personal problems.’’ To Fargo he said, ‘‘I shouldn’t have hit her. But I got mad when she pulled the gun on me. I always get mad when I’m scared. I thought she was actually going to shoot me.’’
‘‘I was going to, too, Theo.’’
Moonlight glinted off the .45 that lay next to the small loading dock. Fargo went over and picked it up. Looked to be the same gun she’d been toting in the saloon.
‘‘I don’t usually hit women.’’
‘‘You sound like you deserve a medal.’’
Mason laughed. Though he was a dude in a three-piece suit, a boiled white shirt and a tan cravat to match the brown of his attire, there was a muscularity in his face and body that marked him as capable of defending himself. A lot of drunks had probably underestimated him, to their later dismay.
‘‘You look like a man with a sense of humor. A medal for not hitting a woman. Did you hear that, Bonnie?’’
‘‘Yeah. Real funny.’’
Fargo looked from one to the other. ‘‘So am I through here?’’
‘‘He cheated on me.’’
‘‘I’m too much of a gentleman to share some of her sins in public, Mr.—?’’
‘‘Fargo.’’
‘‘Fargo, it is. Her father raised her to be a lady, but you can see that it didn’t quite work out that way.’’ Mason was mad now and had been ever since she’d brought up his cheating. Fargo figured Mason was right. None of this was Fargo’s business. In fact, it was embarrassing to stand there and have to hear it.
He looked wistfully to the head of the alley. He just wanted to pick up his saddlebags and mosey over to the hotel.
‘‘If you two try to kill each other later on, please leave me out of it, all right?’’
Bonnie frowned. Mason laughed. ‘‘I’d feel the same way, Fargo. The same way exactly.’’
This was the first time Fargo had run into them together.
Unfortunately for him, it wouldn’t be the last.
By the time he got to his hotel, Fargo was restless again. He found another card game in a room off the hotel taproom and sat in. No better luck this time than earlier in the evening.
After a couple hands, one of the older players said, ‘‘No way I’m lettin’ that little gal sit in again.’’
‘‘She shouldn’t be allowed in here anyway,’’ another said.
‘‘I still say the only way she won was she cheated,’’ a third offered.
‘‘Cheated and used those nice sweet breasts of hers.’’
‘‘Not to mention those big blue eyes.’’
By now, the men were laughing.
‘‘She take you for a lot of money?’’ Fargo said.
‘‘She sure did, mister.’’
‘‘But we deserved it. We were watchin’ her instead of our cards.’’
‘‘Exactly what did she look like?’’ Fargo asked.
And, just as expected, the description he got fit perfectly the young woman he’d seen in the alley with Theo Mason. He’d seen Mason strike the girl but the girl didn’t seem hurt. In fact, there was a feeling of ritual to the whole thing, as if this happened to the two of them many times over.
‘‘You know her?’’ one of the players asked.
‘‘Met her briefly.’’
‘‘She’s an eyeful, ain’t she?’’
‘‘I’ll give her that,’’ Fargo said. ‘‘She’s an eyeful, all right.’’
‘‘She take you for any money?’’
Fargo laughed. ‘‘She didn’t have the time. Otherwise, she’d probably have my horse and saddle by now.’’
‘‘Women like her are a menace to society,’’ said the first man. ‘‘They always get their way by cheating.’’
‘‘That’s ’cause we’re stupid enough to let ’em,’’ said the second.
‘‘They never get hanged, either,’’ said the third man. ‘‘Knew a gal over to Denver. Opened up her husband’s throat with a butcher knife while he was sleepin’. And what did she serve for it? Three years. Judge and jury said her old man didn’t treat her right. Made her real nervous all the time, see, what with his temper and whatnot. So she served three years and they let her go. And guess what?’’
‘‘What?’’ said the first man.
‘‘Couple years later she got herself another man and did the same damned thing all over again.’’
‘‘Cut his throat?’’ the second man said.
‘‘Ear to ear,’’ said the storyteller.
‘‘How much time did she serve for the second one?’’ the first man wanted to know.
‘‘Take a guess,’’ the storyteller said.
‘‘Ten years?’’
‘‘Nope.’’
‘‘Twenty?’’
‘‘Nope. Four years.’’
‘‘Four years for doin’ it a second time?’’
Fargo pitched his cards and stood up. The boys were now more interested in talking than playing. But he’d learned one thing—the young woman he’d seen in the alley sure was some piece of work, slick, slippery, and probably dangerous as all hell.