Thirty-one

 

After work at the bank the next day, Gillom hit the Bonanza just as his pal was finishing up his day shift. Ease pulled them two drafts and they sat at its long oak bar.

“Goose is bothering her, Ease, least once or twice a week, trying to get her to go up to Clifton, work in his brothel,” Gillom peeved. “She thinks it’s just a saloon.”

“Well, she has to drink tea with all kinds of customers, bad men even, to make a living in that dance hall.”

“I know, but Anel says he’s become more bothersome, trying to get her to go upstairs at the Red Light.”

“Can’t she tell the manager there?”

“She did, but the owner doesn’t want to bother Luther. He spends too much money.”

“Huh.” The young barkeep turned to another customer. “Hey, Mickey! You ever work the mines up in Clifton?”

A wiry Welshman down the bar nodded. “Certainly did. Phelps Dodge pays better down here, though, and Bisbee’s mines are better run, safer.”

“Uh-huh. You ever frequent a joint up there called the Blue Goose?”

“Yep. Snootiest saloon in eastern Arizona.”

“Was it a whorehouse, too?”

The roughneck rubbed his chin stubble, remembering. “Yes, it was. Upstairs. Never ascended to those heavenly chambers, though. Too expensive.”

“See?” Gillom nudged his pal. “He wants to turn Anel into a painted cat, pimp her.”

“What are you going to do about it?”

“Warn him off. Like he did me, when his sidekick caught me in the men’s room at the Orpheum. This time I’ll have my guns on and it’ll be public. No sneak attacks.”

Young Bixler looked worried. “Ummm. Trouble. Bad for our business.”

“Not in here, Ease. Luther won’t be back in the Bonanza after he braced your faro dealer for cheating, remember?” Gillom was aggravated. “I just need your support. Like I backed you when that footpad attacked us.”

“Yeah, yeah, all right. I don’t want any shooting, but I better borrow a pistola, just in case. I don’t wrestle any better than you can.”

They clapped each other on the shoulders and Ease went off to borrow a sidearm for the evening.

Soon Bixler carried a ’78 Colt Frontier .45 double-action revolver in the side pocket of his black cotton coat as the boys stepped onto the boardwalk heading up into the netherworld of upper Brewery Gulch. A warm dusk was gathering along with a crowd of miners just coming off the day shift in the Copper Queen or Irish Mag shafts. The boys scouted the St. Louis Beer Hall with no luck. Ease had heard Luther Goose was still in town and he was a known high roller, so they decided to stalk him in Bisbee’s best saloons, where there was slightly less chance of gunplay.

Their second stop, the Senate, they hit pay dirt. The Senate was Bisbee’s fanciest restaurant, which offered wild game along with regular beef and chicken dishes, served on silver platters by white-jacketed waiters. The brothel owner from Clifton idled at the back bar, hoisting whiskeys with William and a couple other hard cases in coarse wool suits. Mr. Goose, anticipating further trouble, had beefed up his protection.

William spied Gillom and Ease stalking through the front barroom, peering about at the customers dining.

“It’s that pissant kid and his pal, boss.”

Gillom halted fifteen yards away from the smaller bar in the Senate’s back room, where few were dining midweek that warm early summer evening. In the bar’s mirror, Luther Goose watched Gillom drop into his gunfighter’s stance, feet apart, long fingers dangling at his sides. His work coat was pushed back behind two gleaming gun handles, butts forward, leaving them ready for fast work. Luther’s henchmen put down their whiskeys, leaving their own hands free.

“If it isn’t the kid gunslinger.”

“Mister Goose, you’ve been bothering my friend at work. I want you to leave her alone.”

“Who might that be?”

“Anel Romero. Works the Red Light.”

The hefty gambler finally put down his tumbler, turned slowly round to face his accuser. He saw Ease’s right hand fingering his coat pocket.

“She’s a saloon girl. Belongs to anybody with a dollar for a dance.”

“No, she’s my girlfriend! She dances with anybody she chooses to. And that’s no longer gonna be you, since you’re constantly bothering her. Anel doesn’t wish to see you again, here, or in Clifton, or anywheres else.”

Luther’s mouth twitched upward into a false smile. “She needs to tell me that herself.”

“I’m telling you. Right here, right now.” Gillom saw that Luther’s three henchmen had slumped into partial crouches, ready to spring. His were the only guns on display, though.

“Kid, you ever grow up, you’ll see she’s just two tits, a hole, and a heartbeat, like all the rest of those dance hall whores.”

“Not my sweetheart.”

The big gambler started rubbing his mole over his right eyebrow with an index finger, a nervous tick. At frantic waves from the bartender behind the short counter, the saloon’s owner came striding up.

“Gentlemen. No trouble here?”

Luther was gruff. “No. He’s spoken his stupid piece.”

The restaurateur was curt, sensing the threat. “Good. Because if there is a disagreement, please take it outside or the sheriff will be called. The Senate’s a fine dining establishment, as I’m sure you’re aware, Mister Goose, owning a saloon yourself.”

Luther nodded, his eyes not straying from Gillom’s gun hands. “It used to be.”

Ease tapped his buddy in the arm, breaking Gillom’s glare, and the boys backed off. As they were walking slowly back through the now quiet front room, the big man from Clifton got in a final jab. “Walk careful, sonny. I will see you around!”

The young men passed out the Senate’s front door, trailed by the owner to see that they did, and watched by the now silent diners in that restaurant.

In the back bar, Luther Goose gathered his men close.

“Take ’em down tonight. Break something this time. Don’t kill ’em unless you have to, since you boys are no use to me in jail. I don’t wish to be called out in public by either of ’em again. You know where they live?”

“Near each other up Youngblood Hill. We can ambush ’em up there,” offered William.

“That two-gun kid is dangerous; he’s ready to scrap. I think his bartender buddy is packing, too. Saw him fingering his right coat pocket.”

William the wrestler nodded, speaking to the other two rough miners. “If they split up, Frankie and I will trail the gun boy. Duggan can follow the nervous one.”

Luther interjected. “Anybody armed?”

Duggan edged a revolver from his coat pocket. Frankie flashed a small pistol, too.

“Good.” Mr. Goose passed his .41 Remington derringer to William Pascoe with a couple extra rounds. “Hurry. Before they reach home.”

Grunting, his henchmen left their boss to finish his excellent whiskey.