Authors: Lady Brenda
Chapter Two
The King of Spades
T
he gambler Devlin Winter held a winning hand. For the past two hours he had sat at his usual table in the Bucket of Blood, an Irish saloon owned by a man named McBride. A saloon that was made famous for the bucket of bloody water mopped up after the nightly fights by its rowdy patrons.
As usual, Devlin’s cursed, good luck with the cards held out. Besides himself and the owner of the Gilded Bird mine, John Anderson he doubted that any other of the men that sat around the table had an idea of what he nearly held in his grasp. Or, if so, was there one of them that knew what the real stakes were in the game? That the winner would own the controlling shares of Anderson’s little slice of Hell? Or would the new owner of the mine know what would happen if the evil that dwelled beneath it fell in the wrong hands? And if so, then not even God could save them from it.
He poured himself another shot of whiskey then downed it in one swallow. The scuffed, green baize table before him was piled high with coins, bills, bags of gold dust and creased paper documents from IOU’s to mining shares. The other three gamblers at his table looked up from their cards then shifted fervently in their seats. Directly opposite him was a dandified cowboy named Laredo, all dressed in white with long blond hair and a beard tied under his chin. Laredo leaned forward his pale slightly protruding eyes fastened on the cards in Devlin’s hand.
“I’m calling you, mister, show us what you got,” he blurted out.
Devlin fanned out his cards on the table, a full house aces high.
The other two gamblers threw in their cards. “I‘m out,” said a black bearded miner. With an air of defeat the other man John Anderson threw in his cards as well. “Me too.”
Laredo looked hard at Devlin. “Ain’t natural the way youse been winnin’. No one’s that lucky.” The eyes of the black bearded miner shifted from Devlin to Laredo as he rose cautiously from the table.
Devlin smiled. He rocked back in his chair. “What do you think Anderson?”
Anderson swallowed his shot of whiskey. His mouth went dry and his gaze moved cautiously to Winter and his winning hand then back to Laredo.
Sweat dripped down his brow. “Let it go, Laredo.”
Laredo’s face turned beet red. “God damn it! I won’t let it go! I ain’t gonna be bested by no Tin Horn gambler!” He jumped up from his chair. His hand reached towards his gun. In a blink of an eye Devlin palmed his hideout and pointed it at Laredo. “Make a move and I’ll burn a hole in your brain.”
In the background the saloon went silent as the piano player hit a discordant key. The bartender reached under the bar for his shotgun. For a split second Laredo’s hand hovered over his gun then he dropped it at his side. He backed out towards the door. Laredo sneered. “This ain’t over, Winter, not by a long shot you mighta gotten a drop on me this time but yer gonna have ta watch yer back.”
Devlin laughed. “You want to finish something, Laredo? Why wait? If not you can crawl back into whatever hole you came from, I have a game to finish here.”
Laredo looked from side to side, the stale, smoky air of the saloon hung thick with anticipation. He backed out the door mumbling. “Ain’t over.” Then plunged into the night.
Devlin’s eyes narrowed. He watched him leave. He was damn sure that a man like Laredo didn’t hold with being bested.
Outside anger burned in Laredo’s belly. He walked down the boardwalk then up the hill to B Street. The boss would not be happy at his failure. He had been so close to winning it all, retrieving the final shares of the mine that his boss had wanted. Then along came that bastard Devlin Winter, like a damned shot in the dark, and who the hell was he anyway?
Laredo had seen his share of drifters but this Devlin Winter was different. He felt unsettled. It was if a cold wind whispered over his grave. That gambler was trouble, the kind of trouble he reckoned only a bullet in the back could cure.
After a couple of blocks he arrived at the Diamond mansion. The lights in the front windows were ablaze and he could hear laughter and music. He knocked and a young Chinese man in a dark suit answered the door. Laredo removed his hat. “Big Jim in?”
The manservant nodded and took his hat. Laredo followed him to the parlor. He sat down gingerly on one of the gilt and velvet settees. He stole a glance towards the front window where a busty blond woman played idly at a piano. A few moments later Big Jim Diamond, owner of Diamond J Mines, came forward to meet him. His corpulent form was stuffed into a yellow silk waistcoat and striped suit. His wiry red hair was slicked back with pomade and he sported an impressive set of side-whiskers. His eyes gleamed like blue pebbles set deep under bushy ginger colored eyebrows.
“Well Laredo, sit down and let's have a drink.”
He motioned for his manservant to pour them some whiskey from the sideboard.
Laredo took the glass of fine whiskey that was handed to him and once more he glanced lasciviously at the big bosomed woman who sat at the piano.
"Yeah, she's something, ain't she?" Big Jim drank his whiskey then puffed on a cigar. “Hope you’ve got some good news for me.”
Laredo gulped the fiery liquid then shook his head. “The rest of them shares, well I ain’t got em, there was this gambler, name of Winter I swear to God he cheated, weren’t natural the way he kept winnin’.”
“You friggin’ idiot! I needed the rest of those shares.” Big Jim’s skin flushed a dark red and he hurled his tumbler into the fireplace. Startled by the noise the woman at the piano jumped and her breasts jiggled like a bowl of aspic. He waved at her to leave and she disappeared through the parlor doors. He advanced towards Laredo pointing his cigar like a dagger. “Listen here Laredo, I want the rest of Andersons shares. If that gambler, Winter, has them I want them and I don’t give a rats ass how you get them, even if he ends up at the bottom of the shaft.”
Laredo nodded. “Yes Boss, shouldn’t be that hard, as a matter of fact it will be my pleasure.”
Big Jim got up from the settee an indication that their conversation was over. Without another word Laredo walked out of the room. He retrieved his hat from the waiting manservant and left.
When Laredo had gone Big Jim sat down again and puffed furiously on his cigar. He was a man of great appetite; coarse or refined his tastes were voracious. Beyond rich food, drink and voluptuaries he lusted for gold. He had been systematically buying up claims from Gold Hill to Virginia City. He needed the Gilded Bird Mine. It drew him and the crouching, greedy beast that lived within him, like a lodestone.
After that first incident in the Gilded Bird mine Anderson had refused to sell him his shares at any price. He had to resort to getting them in other ways. The controlling shares to the mine were almost within his grasp when that fool Laredo failed him. He felt like he was surrounded by incompetence. He was not used to losing and certainly not to a mysterious gambler that had just come to town.
It was obvious he would have to get personally involved and pay this Winter a visit. It was also clear to him that his lust for the Gilded Bird was undiminished. He fantasized about the day when he could lay her bare and plunder her like the teasing whore she was. He knew what was required of him and believed he was up to the task. He was fully vested in the type of sinful depravity it would require.
He glanced towards his silent Chinese manservant who stood in the shadows. Big Jim gestured to him. Moments later the servant returned with an elaborate wooden tray, a long bamboo pipe and a strange, chimney shaped oil lamp. Big Jim watched as he reached into a silk pouch and pulled out a long thin needle and a tiny resinous round ball. He then lighted the lamp and pierced the ball then pushed it into the bowl of the bamboo pipe. He held the long pipe sideways over the lamp until a thin curl of smoke rose from the bowl. He handed it to Big Jim.
Big Jim reclined sideways on the settee. He took up the pipe and inhaled deeply. As the first puffs hit his brain the red haze of his anger expanded, dissipated, and he surrendered to euphoria. He found himself floating through a dark dream. One in which he traveled down into a shadowy abyss. A foul smell assailed him; he welcomed its putrid essence. Through an oily mist he could see two flaming red eyes and a glimpse of sharp scales.
“Human worm,” it said. “Listen to my words. You will free me from this earthly prison and I will reward you…”
Big Jim drew hard on the opium pipe. Looking down at his hands he saw them change before his eyes into reptilian claws. Instead of being horrified at the sight he was fascinated. A surge of power rose through his chest; dark twisted thoughts spiraled out of him like the curls of opium smoke.
Chapter Three
The Gilded Bird
Devlin Winter and John Anderson sat at their table in the Bucket of Blood Saloon. They shared a bottle of whiskey between them. The air was thick with smoke, the whirr of the roulette wheel and the tinny sound of the player piano.
Dim light from the many colorful oil lamps that hung from the ceiling cut across the faces of gamblers, drinkers and miners. They etched hard planes and angles into Devlin Winter's features.
A man, prone to fantasizing and jumping at shadows, as was Anderson, couldn't help observing that the gambler looked odd, otherworldly as if he did not belong in this place or era even.
He thought that Winters’ confrontation with Laredo had been too smooth, easy as if he would be only too happy to snuff out the cowboy’s life in the blink of an eye.
Anderson took out his handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his brow. “Well stranger, it’s all yours now. The controlling shares in my Gilded Bird mine, good luck to you. You are not from around here so you wouldn’t have heard the rumors.”
Devlin raised an eyebrow. “Rumors?”
John Anderson shook his head. A shadow passed over his face. “The mine is gol’darned cursed an that’s the plain truth, there have been deaths, unexplained deaths and the gold, well it’s there but she won’t give it up easy.”
Devlin gathered up the money and mining shares and stuffed them into a pair of saddlebags.
“Cursed or not this mine will suit me. Don’t worry you can clear out when you are ready. I just have a feeling that Laredo and the man he works for are not going to take this sitting down.”
Anderson nodded. “I’ve seen Laredo gun a man down in broad day light, an he’s in cahoots with Big Jim Diamond, a pack of yellow bellied bushwhackers the lot of them.”
Devlin picked up his saddlebags and rose from the table.
“I have no doubt that Diamond and his hired assassins will come gunning for me after seeing the mine slip through their fingers. A man like Laredo is predictable, he’ll tip his hand, charge in blind and then well…we will see.”
Anderson looked hard at Devlin. “I don’t know you stranger but I feel obliged to tell you, those rumors, well, they are all true, if the Devil lived anywhere on earth he would live in the Gilded Bird.”
Devlin paused then he reached into his vest took out a cheroot and lit it. “Think of me as a hunter, Anderson. The mine is just a lure, for purposes of my own, and don’t worry I don’t scare easy.”
Anderson nodded. He watched the man fling his saddlebags over his shoulder and then leave the saloon. After he left Anderson sat alone rooted to the chair staring into his half full glass of whiskey. All he had wanted tonight was one last game. He needed money. Just enough to work the mine for a little longer and a chance to win a stake that would get him out of this damned town. After the latest cave in John Anderson was busted, flat broke. He had seen the vein of ore running through the walls of the mine but every time he was within a hairs breadth of it something happened.
There were bizarre, sinister events that he almost dared not speak of. He had to pay men extra to work his mine and more often than not they were a surly lot, soaked in rot gut whisky. Word had spread and every bank in town turned him down as a bad risk. The mine was now in the hands of a stranger, a gambler, a man with cold dark eyes and a dangerous air about him. Even though the Gilded Bird was Winter’s problem now he could not shake the feeling of guilt as if in losing the mine to the stranger he had made a deal with the devil himself.
Devlin stepped out of the saloon and onto the boardwalk. He paused and looked up into the star filled night. A bone gnawing hunger settled in his gut. He was satisfied with the night’s events but the bottle of whisky he had consumed had only taken a slight edge off of it. He now held Anderson’s shares in his hands, the bait that would bring his prey to him. The only sour note and the one that set his anger to boil had been seeing
her
again. A feeling of Déjà vu crept up his spine as he untied his black stallion from the hitch rail and swung into the saddle. He then rode the short distance north on C Street to the corner of Union then turned right and down the hill to D Street.
The Bawdy houses and red light shacks of D Street were all doing a brisk business as he rode down the dusty street. Devlin however was particular. His destination lay at the very end of the street to a narrow, two-story wood frame house with a red front door and a discreet sign that proclaimed it the House of the Rising Moon. This brothel, he knew, catered to more than just the flesh. He trotted his horse along the short block, then pulled up in front of a hitching post, swung out of the saddle and then knocked on the red door.
A large black man answered it immediately.
“Is your mistress in?”
“Who can I say is calling?” he asked.
Devlin smiled. He pushed back his hat. “Tell Madame that Devlin Winter has come to call.”
The doorman nodded then walked back into the house. Moments later the proprietress of the Rising Moon came to the door. She was a tall, pale woman with raven hair, dressed in a satin gown of vivid scarlet. When she stepped out into the light of the foyer and saw Devlin, she paused. Her eyes narrowed and she took a drag from a cigarette held in a long ivory holder. She blew the blue smoke out into the night air; displeasure marked every inch of her haughty aristocratic face.
“Devlin Winter, I heard you had come to town, you are the son of Satan, a pestilence. I know why you have come and I should turn you away.”
Devlin reached out and lifted one of her pale hands to his lips. “Ligea, my dear you have not changed, your beauty is beyond compare, ravishing, deadly. You know what I need.” He drew her slightly forward then kissed and nipped the inside of her wrist. Ligea pulled her hand away. He could see a glint of stubbornness in her eyes. Eyes like dark black onyx. His hunger grew and expanded within him. He pulled her towards him by her tiny corseted waist. She pushed him away
“You forget yourself, Devlin, I won’t be swayed by your charms nor will I let you interfere with my business here.”
“Then if it is business, then business it is. Show me what you have my dear I am confident that you won’t disappoint me. I would rather be civilized about this than have to hunt.”
“When have you ever been civilized? You mock the very word, Devlin.”
Devlin nipped her wrist again but this time Ligea pulled her hand away.
“Come now my fine Cossack She Devil you won’t dare turn me away. We have some business to do.”
Ligea did not answer. She turned from him with a huff and a toss of her hair. Then she led Devlin through the narrow hallway of the house and into her parlor. Inside was a seductive room papered in red and gold flocked wallpaper. A cut crystal chandelier shed its golden light on several pale beauties that languished upon a couple of rose colored settees. They were indolent, exotic beauties in various stages of undress with feverish eyes wearing scarlet ribbons around their necks.
Ligea gestured to them. “These are my special little doves, Devlin. I will not have them harmed or turned, I warn you.”
Devlin perused them all. Sitting at the end of one of the camelback settees was a beautiful girl with porcelain skin, glossy black hair and celestial blue eyes. He reached out to take her hand. “What is your name, my dear?”
The girl smiled, a gold front tooth set with a diamond winked at him. “Dahlia.”
Devlin inhaled her musky perfume. As he held her delicate hand he could feel the blood that coursed strongly through her veins. He needed blood and she would suit his purpose just fine. He nodded to Ligea who averted her eyes and then left the room. Devlin took Dalia’s hand in his.
“Show me to your room, little dove,” he said.
Dahlia looked up at him. A faint pink flush made her pale face glow and she trembled slightly. She led him out of the parlor and up the stairs to her bedroom. In the yellow glow lamplight he undressed her then removed the scarlet ribbon around her neck. He unbuckled his gun belt and hung it on the bed post then removed his own clothes. Dahlia lay passively on the lacy sheets when he joined her. Devlin set his teeth upon her slender pale neck and drank deeply. The girl, Dahlia sighed and clutched him close. He caressed the silken skin of her small girlish breasts then parted her thighs beneath him. Her hot slick feminine core welcomed his thrusts and his powerful release.
When Devlin had fully and truly satiated his hunger he left Dahlia where she lay. She sprawled across the sheets, pale as dawn and as hollow as a donor should be. Her eyes fluttered open as he dressed to leave.
“Will I see you again mister?
He thought he saw desolation in her eyes.
Without a word he tied the scarlet ribbon around her neck again. He buckled his gun belt and jammed his hat on his head.
“Be careful of what you wish for, these encounters, you must know, will surely have consequences.”
He placed two gold coins on her bedside table and then left the room. On his way out Ligea met him at the bottom of the stairs, a silent communication passed between them, and he placed a hefty gratuity in her pale hands.
Once outside he mounted his waiting horse. The taste of Dahlia briefly lingered on his lips but he was far from satisfied. His hunger no longer clawed at his insides but he felt that he was no less damned than before. For a brief moment in time with
her,
the woman who haunted his dreams and who might very well be right here in Virginia City at this moment, he had begun to think that mortality was possible. In the end those hopes had turned to ashes. Once again he found himself on an endless wheel like the stars of the zodiac forever turning, never sleeping, never dying. His curse and his purpose lay before him once again this time in a new, more sinister form than before. This time he sensed that his battle would be with an even greater evil. An evil even more hideous, more sinister, and one that would show him many faces.
Devlin nudged his stallion into a canter. The moonlight cast his shadow across the dirt street. Up ahead he could hear the sound of a scuffle, cursing and a grunt of pain. As he neared the source of the sound a faint glow of a lamp shone hard on a bundle of human rags struggling in the dark of the alleyway. The ragged, dusty wretch looked strangely familiar to him. He rode closer to investigate.
Walking Ghost lay in the filth of the D Street alley wrapped in a tattered flea ridden blanket with a half full whisky bottle cradled in his arms like a baby. He dreamed of the old witch Spider Woman and her warm cozy shack and the bubbling cauldron of rabbit stew. A searing jolt of pain brought him back to reality as a hard boot made contact with his side.
“Filthy Paiute son of a bitch!”
Walking Ghost curled into a fetal position protecting his precious bottle as the hard blows rained all over his body. Despite his leaden arms and legs he tried to scuttle away. The blows suddenly ended with the distinct click of a pistol. He opened one eye. A dark shadow passed between him and his tormentors.
“Back off!”
He heard the voice of a dead man. It was one that he thought he would never hear again. He opened his bloodshot eyes to see his red-faced tormentors backed up on their heels. Devlin, the dead man, followed after them the long barrel of his gun leading the way.
“This ain’t none o’ yer bizniss mister!” The man with the red face sneered.
“I am making it my business,” Devlin countered.
“He’s jus a filthy injun, a murderin’ Paiute.”
Devlin lifted his pistol. In a flash he fired at the miner’s feet.
“Sheet-it!” They shouted jumping away.
“Run, you rabid dogs. The next one will put a period to your miserable existence.” The miners scuttled backwards and disappeared.
Devlin knelt down and held out his hand.
“Walking Ghost? You’re a sorry mess, my friend.”
Walking Ghost blinked. “I saw you die.”
Devlin smiled. “I live again.”
“But how?”
Devlin laughed. “That is quite a tale. One that would be best told over breakfast. Come; let’s get you out of here”
It was midnight and Esmeralda, a dark cloak covering her head and Jamie with his cap pulled low, walked north down the boardwalk. The gas streetlamps illuminated their journey past the open doors of the saloons and the stares of drunken patrons who lounged in the doorways. At the corner of Union and C Street they turned right down the hill towards Chinatown. The night was clear. A large lemon yellow moon hung over a town that came alive at night and rang with the frantic sounds of excess. Sounds, like the whine of the hurdy gurdies, the player pianos and the raucous revelers that by day conveyed an aura of fun, bonhomie and mischief. By night those same sounds changed into bacchanalian babble, full of anger and desperation.
They walked past places where at any given night fortunes were won and lost at the faro and card tables. By 1877 one hundred and fifty saloons had sprouted like poisonous mushrooms from C Street and beyond. The evil twin of its predecessor, the Barbary Coast of San Francisco, Virginia City’s own Barbary Coast district surpassed it in pure unadulterated wickedness fueled by rotgut whiskey, gold dust and opium. Located on the southernmost stretch of C Street it was lined with red light districts and bawdy houses, a place where fancy women could be seen by daylight so inebriated they literally crawled through the alleyways between C and D Street.