LATE THAT AFTERNOON, QUINTIN walked through the door of the Bella Union. He was trailed by Frank Purdy and Bill Johnson. They halted midway down the bar.
A single bartender was on duty. With the noon rush come and gone, the place was virtually empty. Three men occupied a table, conversing in low tones. To the rear, the gaming room was dimly lighted and appeared deserted. Quintin signaled the barkeep.
“Where’s your boss?”
“You mean Mr. Brannock?”
“He owns the joint, don’t he?”
“Sure,” the bartender said quickly. “He’s back in the office. Want me to get him?”
“Don’t bother.” Quintin glanced around at Purdy and Johnson. “You boys have a drink. I’ll be back directly.”
At the end of the bar, Quintin turned down a short hallway. Halting before a door marked PRIVATE, he heard muted voices from inside. He opened it without knocking.
Earl looked up from his desk. Monte turned from a file cabinet on the far side of the office, her expression startled. Neither of them spoke as Quintin closed the door. He crossed to the desk and stopped.
“How’s tricks, Brannock?”
Earl’s eyes narrowed. “You have some business with me?”
“The name’s Jack Quintin. You might’ve seen me around.”
Leaning back, Earl folded his arms. His right hand slipped underneath his suit jacket, touching the derringer pocketed in his vest. He had no doubt that it was Quintin who had ambushed his brother last night. The odds that today’s visit was somehow related seemed to him a virtual certainty. He watched the other man carefully.
“I know who you are,” he said. “You and your friends play our tables pretty regular.”
“That’s a fact,” Quintin said agreeably. “Miz Monte can vouch for it better’n most. I don’t recollect we’ve ever beat her.”
Monte forced herself to smile. “Your luck is bound to change sometime, Mr. Quintin.”
“Yes, ma’am, you’re surely right. Way I see it, today’s the day.”
“How so?” Earl inquired.
Quintin laughed too loudly. “ ’Cause today’s the day I move around to the other side of the table. I’m here to buy you out.”
Earl shook his head in mock wonder. “You want to buy the Bella Union?”
“That’s the general idea.”
“What makes you think it’s for sale?”
“Anything’s for sale”—Quintin paused, staring at him—“ ’specially for the right price.”
Earl returned his gaze steadily. “What would you call the right price?”
“Five thousand,” Quintin said with a straight face.
“Little low,” Earl observed. “Nowhere near what it’s worth.”
“All the same,” Quintin said with a tight, mirthless smile, “you’d be wise to take it.”
“Why is that, Mr. Quintin?”
“For one thing, you’d save yourself a lot of grief. For another, it’s the only offer you’re gonna get.”
Earl kept his tone light. “What if I told you the Bella Union’s not for sale—at any price?”
“Wouldn’t matter,” Quintin said indifferently. “You’ll sell.”
“Let’s suppose I won’t,” Earl said with a half-smile. “What sort of ’grief are we talking about?”
Quintin laughed. It was an odd laugh, harsh and rough. “Well, for openers, somebody’s liable to wreck your joint to hell and gone. Wouldn’t be all that hard to get a brawl started.”
“Wouldn’t be all that hard to stop it, either. I keep men on the payroll for just that purpose.”
“There’s ways and there’s ways. Some would cause you more grief than others.”
Earl looked him straight in the eye. “And if none of them worked—what then?”
An angry spark flashed in Quintin’s eyes. “Then you and your lady friend oughtn’t to hang around. Things would get real hairy real quick.”
Monte stiffened. “Listen here—”
“Stay put!” Earl silenced her with a sharp command. His gaze was level and cool, fixed on Quintin. “Take your threats and be on your way. We’re through talking.”
Quintin jabbed a finger in his face. “Damn right we’re through talkin’. You got till tomorrow to wise up. After that, it’s tough titty!”
“I’ll try to remember,” Earl said dryly. “Close the door on your way out.”
Quintin slammed the door behind him. There was an uneasy silence and neither Monte nor Earl spoke for several moments. Finally, Earl let out his breath in a low whistle. “I’d say we’ve been put on warning.”
Monte looked stunned. “It doesn’t make any sense. Why would he barge in here and put the arm on us?”
“Damn good question,” Earl said, clearly perplexed.
“Something stinks.” Her voice rose quickly. “Quintin wouldn’t pull a stunt like that on his own.”
“Probably not,” Earl said, almost to himself. “But who the hell put him up to it—and why?”
“I could make an educated guess.”
“Go ahead.”
A loud crash cut short her reply. The sharp, explosive noise was followed instantly by the sound of shattering glass. Earl bounded out of his chair, turning back toward Monte. He pushed her aside and pulled a sawed-off shotgun from behind the file cabinet. On the way out the door, he thumbed both hammers to full cock. She followed a few steps behind.
In the barroom Quintin roared with laughter. A hurled whiskey bottle had reduced the back-bar mirror to shards of broken glass. Frank Purdy and Bill Johnson looked on with admiring approval as Quintin loudly demanded another bottle. The barkeep, who had retreated toward the front of the bar, took a gingerly step through the debris. He stopped as Earl emerged from the hall entryway.
“Hold it!”
Earl stood with the buttstock tucked into his shoulder. His eyes were steely, and the bore of the shotgun barrels looked big as stovepipes. Halfway up the bar Quintin and his men went immobile. Behind them, the barkeep took a stubby-barreled scattergun from beneath the counter and cocked both hammers. Nobody moved.
“You just bought a mirror,” Earl said quietly. “All three of you empty your pockets and be damn quick about it. Careful with your hands.”
“Go to hell!” Quintin bristled. “You’re not gonna shoot us over a lousy mirror.”
Earl wagged the snout of his shotgun. “Open your mouth once more and I’ll make your asshole wink. Pay up—now!”
Purdy and Johnson hastily turned their pockets inside out. Coins and greenbacks spilled onto the floor in a bright shower. Quintin hesitated only a moment, then followed suit. He kept his hand clear of the holstered pistol on his hip.
“Turn around,” Earl ordered. “Walk out slow and easy. And don’t come back.”
The three men complied without delay. Earl and the bar-keep kept them covered until they passed through the door. Monte stepped from the hallway as Earl lowered the hammers on his shotgun. She touched his arm and he looked around at her. He read in her eyes what he was thinking himself.
Jack Quintin would be back.
“I winged one of the bastards.”
“Small consolation,” Virgil said soberly. “It’s a wonder you weren’t killed yourself.”
Clint smiled. “Hell, I thought you knew. I carry a lucky rabbit’s foot.”
“Don’t joke about it! We’ve got to find a way out of this mess. Things have gone too far!”
“You’re right there,” Clint agreed. “I don’t care for a second dose of last night.”
Virgil snorted out loud. “Then you’d best stay off the streets at night. Assassins love the dark.”
They were seated in Virgil’s office. All day Clint had put off dropping by, knowing how it would end. And now, after recounting last night’s shooting, he saw that his instincts hadn’t played him false. Virgil was in a highly agitated state.
“Way it looks,” Clint said at length, “I’ve played out my string. I’ve got to get them before they get me.”
Virgil frowned, shook his head. “Why not swear out a warrant, deputize some men? You could have them in jail before nightfall.”
“I’ve got no proof. It’s still my word against theirs.”
“Then try the U.S. Marshal again. He’d have no excuse not to act now. They tried to kill a lawman.”
Clint smiled bitterly. “Wilbur Smith won’t lift a finger. He’s already made that plenty clear.”
The door opened and Earl hurried into the office. His manner left no doubt that he was in a foul mood. To Virgil’s question, he indicated that the problem was Jack Quintin. He briefly outlined the gang leader’s visit to the Bella Union.
“Nothing’s settled,” he finally said. “I got the drop on him and he had to back off. But he’ll try again.”
“Damn right he will,” Clint said coldly. “You should’ve killed him while you had the chance.”
“For breaking a mirror?” Earl countered. “That’s not exactly a killing offense.”
“For Christ’s sake, he threatened you, didn’t he? What more do you want?”
Virgil separated them with upraised palms. “What’s done is done. Let’s not squabble amongst ourselves.”
“Suits me,” Earl said. “We got all the trouble we can say grace over, anyway.”
“And all from one man,” Clint said vindictively. “The sonovabitch pops up everywhere you look.”
Earl’s voice was thoughtful. “I’m not so sure it’s one man . . . not anymore.”
“How’s that again?”
“Stop and think about it a minute. Quintin wouldn’t have pulled that on his own hook. Somebody put him up to it.”
“By somebody,” Clint remarked, “you mean Ed Case, don’t you?”
“Nobody else,” Earl acknowledged. “Nothing happens in the sporting district without Case’s approval. Seems pretty clear he gave Quintin the go-ahead.”
“Yeah, you’re right. But why would they team up on you? That doesn’t make a helluva lot of sense.”
“Maybe it does,” Virgil interjected. “And it’s not altogether coincidence, either. I’ve got a sneaky hunch who’s behind it.”
Earl looked at him. “Sounds like you know something we don’t?”
A tight fist of apprehension hammered deep in Virgil’s stomach. He realized with dark fatalism that their enemies had at last joined forces. Hughes and Case, and now Jack Quintin, had somehow been brought together. And without being told, he knew only too well what it meant. All that he’d worked to build was in danger of collapsing.
Quickly, without elaboration, Virgil revealed what he’d uncovered. Earl and Clint listened attentively as he outlined the scheme to bilk the railroad. Their faces registered first surprise and then admiration as he recounted the meeting with Hughes and Evans. Neither of them interrupted the entire time he spoke.
“That’s it,” he concluded. “I did what I thought best for the town.”
Clint gave him a reproachful look. “You should’ve told us, Virge. We’ve never kept secrets before.”
“It’s not that,” Virgil said. “I more or less gave my word to Hughes. I felt obligated to wait until the week was up.”
“But he didn’t,” Earl said with sudden insight. “You gave him a week and he put it to good use. The crafty bastard rigged a setup!”
Virgil’s face went blank, as if cast in metal. “No question I made a damnfool mistake. I should’ve known he wouldn’t honor the agreement.”
“Wait a minute,” Clint cut in. “Are you saying he sicced Quintin on Earl?”
Virgil nodded solemnly. “Hughes works in roundabout ways. He probably ordered the mayor to strike a deal with Case. And Case worked his own deal with Quintin.”
“So he’s using Earl to get at you. Is that the idea?”
“It’s more than that,” Earl said grimly. “They’re out to get all three of us!”
“I’m afraid so,” Virgil said with studied calm. “Case wants you out of the way. Quintin has a score to settle with Clint. And Hughes figures I’ll get caught in the middle. It’s damned ingenious.”
Earl cleared his throat. “Let’s make sure we’re saying the same thing. They’re not trying to run us out of town or just put us out of business. They intend to kill us.”
After a marked silence, Virgil inclined his head. “It appears Hughes is a bit more sinister than I suspected. With the stakes so high, I guess he couldn’t take any chances. He has to shut me up for good.”
Clint fixed him with a strange, unsettling look. “Virge, you almost sound like you admire the bastard. Aren’t you a little ticked off he’s trying to get you killed?”
“Of course I am,” Virgil said. “I’m just sorry it’s come down to this. Once I expose him, Denver loses its best hope for a railroad.”
“Expose him?” Clint’s voice dropped. “Wouldn’t it be smarter to kill him?”
Virgil shook his head in stern disapproval. “We might be able to work a trade-off of some sort. It’s just possible we could still save the railroad. I’ll have a talk with Walter Tisdale.”
A sudden anger welled up in Clint. His mouth set in a hard line. “The time for talk is long past. I don’t like people shooting at me.”
“Neither do I,” Virgil said. “But Walter Tisdale carries a lot of weight in this town. There’s a chance he could work it out.”
“You talk all you want,” Clint said, getting to his feet. “I think I’ll put an end to the shooting.”
“How do you propose to do that?”
“I’ll brace Quintin. Without him, the whole scheme falls apart.”
Virgil forced himself to stay calm. “Clint, listen to me. There’s no percentage in going up against Quintin and his bunch. We still have—”
“Save your breath.” Clint’s eyes went pale and vengeful. “You’ve stopped me once too often already. Don’t try it again.”
“Goddammit! You’ll get yourself killed.”
“The hell I will.”
Clint laughed and walked out the door. He didn’t look back.