A Different Trade (6 page)

Leo's hand snapped out to grab Clint's shoulder and push him down. If Clint hadn't been in such rough shape from the night before, the barkeep never would have been able to do it.

“If you don't let go of me,” Clint snarled, “you'll lose that hand of yours.”

“You've obviously met that one, Clint. He's been watching this place and you've got to know he can gun you down before you make it halfway to his table.”

“Not if I shoot him from here.”

“I'll not have you turn my place into a slaughterhouse. Now if you want them answers, you'll follow me to where we can speak in private.”

Leo then let go of Clint's shoulder, stood up, and walked toward a narrow door near the back end of the bar marked
PRIVATE
. When he stood up, Clint's hand twitched toward the Colt at his side. His eyes shot daggers into the man sitting on the other side of the room, and every fiber of his body wanted nothing more than to cross that room and knock Samuel's head from his shoulders.

“Not a good idea, friend,” Henrietta said from a few paces away.

Clint shifted his eyes toward her. When he saw her looking up at him, he couldn't help but relax a bit. “How do you know what ideas are in my head?” he asked.

“Near as I can figure, there's only one at the moment, and it ends with me having to help clean up another mess in this place.”

He let out a sigh. “Doctor and fortune-teller, huh? Why waste your talents tending bar?”

“Free drinks.”

Somehow, the rest of Clint's anger drained away. He knew it would return easily enough if Samuel looked at him for too long, but the one-armed man seemed to be wrapped up in his game.

“Here,” Henrietta said while handing Clint a mug that was less than a quarter full.

He took it, sniffed its contents, and smiled. “I thought you said I was only allowed one helping every twelve hours.”

“You're in worse shape than most of my patients. Just don't even try to convince me to make any more for a while.”

“Saint Henrietta,” was all Clint needed to say as he accepted the mug and allowed the one-armed man to keep his teeth for one more day.

On the other side of the door Leo had used was a modest office complete with the wooden frame of a small cot and a round table with a washbasin on it that was drier than the desert floor. Leo sat next to a little desk that seemed ready to collapse beneath the weight of all the disorganized papers stacked on top of it. “If you want to put this place on the map,” Clint said as he made his way to the cot frame, “put that woman in charge.”

“You mean Henrietta?”

“Whatever you're paying her isn't enough.”

Leo nodded halfheartedly and stood up. “That man out there works with Westin Voss.”

“I put that together already.”

“So was it him that did that to you?” the barkeep asked while nervously waving a hand to indicate Clint's battered face.

“Him, Westin, and some bald ape with a thick neck.”

“That'd be Kurt.”

“Yes, it would. Westin said he wanted me to have a word with you.”

“About what?” Leo asked.

“Don't try to sound innocent,” Clint said as he took a breath that he felt all the way down to the pit of his stomach. He tried to keep from wincing, but the stabbing pain in his ribs made that next to impossible. “Westin said you'd know what he was after, and I'm inclined to believe him.”

“When you came along yesterday, Westin was trying to get me to pay him a sum of money that he says is owed to him.”

“For what?”

“For being a Voss.”

Clint took a sip from the mug Henrietta had given him. After the brew had helped ease some of the pain rolling through his body, he asked, “He's some important man in this town?”

“Not really, but his father had an eye for land speculation that allowed him to pull together enough money for a comfortable living. When the old man died, he left just enough to Westin for him to buy a new horse and a secondhand saddle.”

“How do you know so much about all of this?” Clint asked, already dreading the answer.

“Because that old man was my father, too.”

Clint swore under his breath. There were a few kinds of fights that were best viewed from a distance. Those on a battlefield and those between brothers. “So Westin Voss is your kin?”

“We're stepbrothers. His father took me in when I was eight. I'd lost my parents and . . . well . . . it's a long story, but the short of it is that me and Westin grew up together.”

“You were close?”

“Close?” Leo asked with a chuckle. “Westin started off hating me and only grew to hate me more. See, the old man always wanted to pass along his business to his family. He would always take Westin aside and try to teach him, but Westin wouldn't have any of it. As he grew older, Westin became . . . pretty much what you've seen. He struck out on his own when he was seventeen and would only show up at home when he needed money or at one of the old man's properties when he needed a place to lay low for whatever reason.”

“But the old man got along with you, right?”

“Yes,” Leo replied softly. “But it felt more like a friendship. A strained one at best. Westin hated him for it. He hated me worse.”

“So Westin is after a piece of his inheritance,” Clint said.

“That's right. The only problem is that there isn't one to be had.”

“There's nothing left?” Clint asked.

“That's right.”

“So why don't you just tell that to Westin?”

“I did!” Leo said. “That was the first thing I told him, in fact, and he didn't believe me. The last time he saw the old man was years ago and there was still a big family spread, horses, and plenty of money to go around. But property speculation, especially when it involves mining claims and dealing with the railroads, can be—”

“Tricky,” Clint finished for him.

“At best. By the time the old man passed on, he was close to broke. Fact is, that's probably what drove him into the grave in the first place.”

“How could Westin not know about any of that?” Clint asked.

“When I say Westin left home, I mean it in every sense of the word. He was gone and didn't give a damn about what happened while he was away. When he came back, he stuck his hand out and said whatever he needed to for someone to put a few dollars into it. Then he rode off to rob or carouse or whatever else he did. Honestly, I never knew exactly what he got up to. I was just glad he was gone.”

Clint noticed that the expression on Leo's face was similar to that of a dog that had been whipped for most of its life. His eyes never stayed in one place for long, and his head's natural position was at a slightly downward angle.

“When we were boys,” Leo continued, “Westin never missed a chance to knock me down or bloody my nose. As we got older, I thought things would get better. That was foolish. He just grew stronger and carried a gun. One time when he came home, he saw how much closer me and the old man had gotten. He cornered me one night and beat the tar out of me. At one point, I swore he was going to kill me. The next day, he apologized and blamed it on him being drunk.” Leo shook his head as he stared at a point far beyond that office. “But I know it was more than that.”

“What was your father's name?” Clint asked.

Although he seemed grateful to talk about something else, Leo was also confused. “His name?”

“Yes. All I've ever heard you call him is the old man.”

As soon as he saw the shadow fall over Leo's face, Clint knew why he hadn't heard the elder Voss's name.

“Jarrett,” Leo said as if he'd just heard about his stepfather's death. “His name was Jarrett. He was a good man. Even though he never truly looked at me with pride or compassion, I know he thought of me as a . . . well . . . that he cared.”

“I'm sure he wouldn't have wanted any of this to happen between you and Westin.”

“He knew the two of us butted heads. He always just told me we'd work things out eventually.”

“Can you appeal to some of the other family members?” Clint asked. “Maybe get some sort of proof that you don't have the money Westin is after?”

“It won't matter. I already told him that right before you walked in. He wasn't interested in what was left over or what I might have. He wants to take everything from me, plain and simple, and I doubt he'll be happy with just money.”

“What is he trying to get from you?”

“Well, money is a part of it, that's for certain,” Leo admitted. “Whatever sum I was willing to pay, he wanted more. Knowing him the way I do, I can tell you that even if I came up with that new sum, he'd tack more onto it. What he really wants is Madeline.”

Clint laughed. “Can't he just come to watch her sing?”

“That's not it. He wants me to hand her over to him.”

Any trace of humor on Clint's face disappeared when he heard that. “What?”

Leo drew a deep breath and let it out in a labored sigh. “He wants me to draw up a contract with her that ties her to me legally so I can then hand her over to him.”

“You mean like a slave?”

“I mean like a whore. There are plenty of soiled doves who accept money in advance to pay for them to come out West or to a different city or even to a different country. In exchange, they're required to work off their debt in any number of ways. On paper, it's all spelled out in prettier language but it all boils down to the same thing.”

“You seem to know quite a lot about this sort of thing,” Clint said.

“I've discovered many unsavory kinds of men making offers for various goods and services to be featured in my saloon. Men like that make the rounds, peddling everything from women to opium and—”

“And vodka?”

“If you're thinking of Gregor, I can put your mind at ease. I've dealt with him for years, and the reason for that is because he's got scruples. He may work in some shady areas, but he's an angel compared to the scum that try to shackle young ladies with contracts and threats of violence.”

“That's good to hear,” Clint said. “Because it's my experience that scum of that sort usually come to a bad end.”

“Them or the people around them,” Leo replied. He stood up, walked over to one of the dusty boxes piled in a corner, and removed a slightly less dusty bottle. “When I got into this business, it was to put some of what I'd learned from the old man to good use without dealing in the cutthroat circles that he did. I won't say that running a saloon is as risky as what he did, but it's a much more difficult trade than I imagined.”

Clint stood as well, mostly because sitting on the cot frame was playing hell with his already aching bones. “Tell me what Westin proposed exactly.”

“I didn't ask you back here to heap my problems onto you. I wanted to thank you for stepping in the way you already have and repay your kindness as best I can.” Brushing off the label stuck to the bottle in his hand, Leo treated it as a collector might treat a fine work of art. “This here wine is older than the both of us, and I'm guessing it came from a much fancier house than we've ever lived in. Take it,” he said while handing it over.

Clint took the bottle just to get a look at it. The label was in French, and the cork was sealed in place with dark red wax. “I'm not much of a wine drinker,” he said.

“You can sell it for a mighty healthy profit. It'll have to be in a town bigger than this one, but I can think of a handful of merchants in Gregor's neck of the woods that would be willing to let you name your price. I'd give you more, but that's the last bottle I have, and the last thing I own that's worth much of anything.”

“What about the vodka?”

“You want one of those bottles?”

“No. I mean why bother with the vodka when you've got something like this to draw a crowd?”

Leo laughed. “Have you ever tried to serve wine to a bunch of dusty cowboys and ranch hands?”

“No,” Clint replied.

“Well, I have and it ain't pretty. They demanded something with kick, and I'm hoping what you brought from Gregor will be just the thing.”

“I appreciate it, but I was just doing the job you and Gregor hired me to do.”

“Keep the wine,” Leo insisted. “You earned it.”

“I will, but I haven't earned it yet. Tell me everything about Westin's demands,” Clint said.

Leo looked at him suspiciously. “Why?”

“Because the only thing worse than giving in to a spoiled brother's tantrum is harming a woman as fine as Madeline.”

“I agree.”

“So let's do something about it.”

An hour or so later, Clint emerged from Leo's office. He went straight to Henrietta and asked, “Where can I find Madeline?”

“Probably in her house,” the short woman replied.

“Where's that?”

“If I had a dime every time a man asked me that same question, I'd be a very wealthy woman.”

“When will she be back here again?” Clint asked.

“She's supposed to sing tonight around eight.”

“Tell me one thing at least. Wherever Madeline is, is she safe?”

Henrietta thought about that. “She's a good girl, Mr. Adams. I won't do anything to bring her to harm.” Lowering her voice so as not to attract much attention, she added, “I've heard about Westin's intentions toward her, and even he's not stupid enough to track her down and kidnap the poor thing.”

After all the mad dogs and bad men that had crossed Clint's path over the years, he doubted that very much.

“I've made it my business to keep an eye on her,” Henrietta continued. “And if I find even the slightest cause for alarm, I'll let you know. How'd that be?”

“That would be just fine. I'm staying in a hotel down on Linden Street at the south end of town.”

“I know the place.”

“I'll be there in a short while, and I'll come back here to see Madeline sing.”

“I'll tell her you're coming.” Henrietta reached up to gently pat Clint's swollen cheek. She clucked like a mother hen while fussing with some strands of hair that had stuck to the dried blood on one of his cuts. “You've got to see a doctor.”

“I've had worse.”

“You'll also get another batch of my coffee when you come back. Until then, try to get some rest. Is that a deal?”

“Yes, ma'am.”

“Good. Now I've got work to do.” With that, she turned her back on him and was immediately flagged down by one of the other customers.

Clint couldn't help but notice how the folks in that saloon responded to her. Every one of them seemed anxious to catch her eye and hear what she had to say. For the first time since he'd arrived, the Dig Dog seemed like a proper saloon where folks wanted to be instead of being stuck there because they were too drunk to walk away.

As soon as he stepped outside, Clint pulled in a breath of fresh air. There was something about the dry desert winds that soothed a man from the inside out. He wasn't sure how much stock he put in those who said climate could cure everything from consumption to black lung, but it sure did wonders for a man's spirit. In that single breath, Clint could smell a few different flowers while also savoring the sun's rays in a way that was distinct to the desert. He pushed his luck, however, by inhaling deeply enough to swell his chest to the point of straining his tender ribs. The breath that had started out so nicely was ended with a series of wheezing coughs as Clint walked slowly toward Third Avenue.

Although stretching his legs didn't do much to soothe his aching body, it allowed Clint to focus his thoughts on the task at hand like sunlight being narrowed to a burning ray through the lens of a magnifying glass. Every bit of pain he felt made him think that much harder about what he and Leo had discussed. That kind of focus took its toll, however. By the time he arrived at the stable where Eclipse was boarded, he felt as if he'd walked a few miles just to get there.

The Darley Arabian stallion noticed Clint as soon as he entered the drafty barn. Stepping up to place his chest against the lowest section of his stall, Eclipse waited for him to come over and rub his nose.

“How you doing, boy?” Clint asked as he scratched the horse's muzzle and neck. “Are you getting the royal treatment?”

“His owner didn't exactly pay for the royal treatment,” Danielle said as she walked in through the back door, “but I doubt he's got any complaints. Ain't that right, big boy?”

Eclipse was quick to turn away from Clint to receive some affection from the curvy woman tending to him. Danielle wore her thick brown hair in pigtails that day to keep it out of her face. Her plain red shirt was tied at the midsection, and even though she wore a thin white undershirt beneath it, the lines of her body could still be clearly seen thanks to the sweat from her skin. She turned toward Clint and raised her eyebrows. “I was gonna say that your horse was getting treated better than you, but now I see that's even more true than I thought. What on earth happened to you?”

“I tripped over a loose floorboard.”

“Unless you tripped through a third-floor window, I doubt that very much.”

“If you don't mind, I'd rather not talk about it,” Clint said. “I just came by to throw a saddle on Eclipse and take a ride.”

“You need to see a doctor.”

“Why does everyone keep saying that?” Almost as soon as those words came out of him, Clint added, “Don't answer that. I don't need a doctor. I'll be fine.”

“What happens if you fall from your saddle when you're out there alone somewhere?”

“This boy has plenty of tricks up his sleeve,” Clint said as he patted the side of Eclipse's neck. “He'll come up with something.”

“If you're too stupid to go to a doctor in the shape you're in, then at least let me ride along with you. That mare over yonder could use a good run.”

While Clint wasn't the sort who was quick to accept pity, he would have been truly stupid to pass up an offer like that from a woman like Danielle. Even if he'd had any argument against her coming along, it wouldn't have lasted long when he saw her lean over a gate into another stall to retrieve her saddle. Knowing full well that he'd been enjoying the sight of her backside, Danielle turned and asked, “Are you going to help me with this?”

“I don't believe I've got a choice.”

“Damn right you don't!”