The Omaha Palace Read online

  “I want him out of town, Chief,” Mackey said. “I don’t want him working in that saloon.”

  “Now you relax,” the chief said. “I haven’t given up. At the first sign of trouble, I’ll throw him into a cell.”

  “I want him out of town, not in jail.”

  “Well, once he’s in my jail, I can get rid of him,” the chief said. “It’s up to you to make sure that trouble happens.”

  “Yes,” Mackey said, “yes, I suppose I can take care of that. But I can’t use any men who are already connected to me.”

  “So get some new men,” the chief said. He waved to a waiter. “I’m ready to order.”

  “Enjoy your meal,” Big Jack said, standing up.

  “Not staying?”

  “I’m particular who I eat with, Chief,” Mackey said, and walked out.

  * * *

  On the street Big Jack put his hands in his pockets and started to walk. He wasn’t in a hurry to get back to his place. He needed to do some thinking, come up with some names, and a plan. Probably the best way to get rid of Clint Adams would be to make sure he killed somebody. And if he was going to get some men to brace the Gunsmith, he was going to have to offer them enough money to make it worthwhile.

  How much, he wondered, made it worthwhile for men to die?

  * * *

  The chief sat still while the waiter served him his chicken dinner. He’d managed to hold his temper in the face of Big Jack Mackey’s insults. He usually did. Mackey’s money made it worth it. And the chief had his own plans for Big Jack Mackey when the time came.

  He cut into his chicken breast, found it moist, as usual. The chief usually got what he expected, and dealing with men like Big Jack Mackey and Clint Adams would be no different.

  No different at all.

  * * *

  Clint stopped into the kitchen, where Old Man Brennan was getting his stove ready.

  “Saw your boy today,” he said.

  “That a fact?” Brennan asked without turning.

  “Yes. He seems like a fine young man. I’ll bet he’s going to be a good lawman.”

  “He is a good man,” Brennan said. “Sure don’t deserve an old man like me.”

  Clint didn’t know what to say to that, so he turned and left the kitchen.

  SEVENTEEN

  When business started up that night, it was brisk from the get-go.

  Apparently, the word had gotten out that the Gunsmith was dealing faro at Ashley’s Palace. Men lined up to try their luck.

  It hadn’t been a long time since Clint had held cards. After all, he played poker very often. It had been quite a while, however, since he’d dealt faro, although it didn’t take him long to get back into it.

  Somewhere along the way he expected trouble. Either Big Jack or the chief himself would be sending somebody in to start something, maybe accuse him of cheating. All he had to do was stay alert. He wore his gun behind the table, but when the trouble came, he wouldn’t be able to use his gun to handle it. Once he fired it, the chief would be able to justify putting him in a jail cell.

  Clint had to find a way to recognize the trouble before it came, and handle it without drawing his gun.

  * * *

  Ashley came out of her office and liked what she saw. Business was booming—largely, she knew, because of the presence of Clint Adams.

  She walked to the bar, where Ed Wright put a beer on it for her.

  “How’s he doin’?” she asked.

  “He ain’t losin’,” Wright said.

  “What about our other tables?”

  “Not much goin’ on there,” Wright said. “They’re waitin’ in line to play him.”

  She looked at Wright.

  “That’s not good,” she said. “I wanted to take in extra money by having people play him. I don’t want them ignoring the other tables.”

  “Whataya wanna do, boss?”

  “Get him to take a break and come to the office,” she said. “We’ll have to figure somethin’ out.”

  “Want me to come, too?”

  “No.”

  “But . . . I’m the manager, right?”

  “Just do what I ask you to do, Ed,” Ashley said. She picked up her beer and carried it back to her office.

  * * *

  Ed Wright came out from behind the bar and walked to Clint’s table. He circled around and leaned over to speak into his ear.

  “Boss wants you to take a break and go see her.”

  “Where?”

  “Her office.”

  “Okay.”

  “Should I get somebody to spell you?”

  “No,” Clint said. “When I get up, they’ll go to the other tables.”

  That was what the boss had said, Wright thought. Adams knew his stuff, but that didn’t change the fact that Ed Wright was supposed to be the manager.

  “Okay, folks,” he said to the assembled men, “Mr. Adams is takin’ a break, but the other tables are still open.”

  “When’s he comin’ back?” somebody asked.

  “He ain’t goin’ nowhere,” Wright said. “He’ll be here all night. He’s just takin’ a break.”

  Clint covered his table, walked to the bar, and waited for Wright to get back behind it.

  “Beer?” he asked.

  “Comin’ up.”

  Wright put the beer on the bar.

  “You handled the crowd just right,” Clint told him.

  “Thanks. I wish the boss knew that.”

  “She probably does; otherwise why make you the manager?”

  “Hey, she needed a manager,” Wright said. “I was there. She still handles the day-to-day operations.”

  Clint sipped his beer, looked around at the two men seated in opposite corners of the room, with rifles across their laps.

  “What do you think of the security guys?”

  “Not much,” Wright said. “If there’s trouble, I think they’ll just start shootin’.”

  “Without thinking?”

  Wright nodded.

  “We need thinkers more than we need shooters,” Clint said. “Why don’t we interview for some new men?”

  “You want me to put the word out?”

  “Sure, why not. And I’ll want you to interview them with me.”

  “You throwin’ me a bone?” he asked.

  “You’ll know the men we interview better than I will,” Clint said. “Is that a problem?”

  “Nope,” Wright said, “no problem at all.”

  EIGHTEEN

  Clint walked back to Ashley’s office, knocked, and walked in.

  “Have a seat,” she said from behind her desk. “We need to talk.”

  “Yes, we do.” He sat, holding his beer.

  “You know what I’m going to say?”

  “Long lines at my table, not enough players at the others.”

  “How do we change that?”

  “Well, we can wait for the novelty to wear off.”

  “No good. What else?”

  “I’m going to interview for new security men,” he said. “I don’t like the ones we have. I think we should have them work the floor, keep the aisles between tables clear. Tell the players they need to play where there are openings, and not all line up for the same table.”

  “You think that’ll work?”

  “I’ll still have people at my table.”

  “Okay,” she said. “When will you start interviewin’?”

  “Tomorrow.”

  “Good.”

  “I’ll want Ed to be there with me.”

  “Why?”

  “Well, for one thing, he’s supposed to be your manager,” Clint said. “That means you shoul
d be letting him manage.”

  “And for another thing?”

  “He’ll know the men we’re interviewing better than I do,” Clint said.

  “Good point.”

  “You have to give him more to do, Ashley.”

  “You’re probably right,” she said. “Okay.”

  “One more thing.”

  “What’s that?”

  He told her about his meeting with the chief of police.

  “He tried to run you out of town?”

  “That’s right. And he didn’t succeed. I also heard that he has a connection to Big Jack.”

  “You think Mackey put him up to it?”

  “I do.”

  “So what’s next?”

  “They’ll probably try to push me into doing something that will get me arrested.”

  “Like a fight in the street?”

  “They might come in here and start something,” Clint said. “Maybe accuse me of cheating.”

  “How do we avoid that?”

  “We need good security.”

  “Well, you’re going to take care of that tomorrow, aren’t you?”

  “I am.”

  “Then that’ll be a good start.”

  “I better get back out there,” Clint said. “We don’t want to lose any of our players to Big Jack’s place.”

  “Before you go . . . I was wondering if you . . . like your room?”

  “I do.”

  “And your bed?”

  “It’s very nice.”

  “But mine’s better,” she said, arching her eyebrows. “You’ve already tested it out.”

  He turned to her and said, “Ashley, I don’t think that would be such a good idea.”

  “Why not?”

  “Because you’re the boss.”

  “So? What’s the point of being the boss if I can’t have what I want?”

  “Look,” he said, “I thought you brought me here to help with your place, not warm your bed.”

  “You didn’t object before.”

  “That was before you hired me. You’re going to have to let me do my job, Ashley, and not expect me to . . . to perform for you.”

  She frowned, and he thought she was going to lose her temper, but to her credit, she didn’t.

  “All right,” she said. “I see your point. But can I ask you one favor?”

  “What?”

  “Can you call me . . . Ash?” she asked. “Nobody does, and I kind of like it.”

  “I’ll call you that when we’re alone,” he agreed. “How’s that?”

  “That’s good,” she said. “Now get your ass back out there to work before I fire you.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  As he opened the door and walked out, she came up behind him, caught the door before it closed, and watched him walk to his table. She also watched the other girls on the floor, watched how they watched him.

  Had he found someone younger already?

  Which one? she wondered.

  NINETEEN

  Leo watched Clint Adams go into Ashley’s office, and then come out. He also saw her looking after him. He didn’t like Clint Adams being here, didn’t like the way she looked at him. But what could he do about it? The man was a gunfighter, and what was he?

  But there had to be something he could do. He just had to be smart about it.

  * * *

  Karen Kearn also watched Clint as he walked back to his table. She was twenty-five, red-haired with freckles where a redhead should have freckles. She and the other girls had talked about Clint Adams, but none of them had really gotten to know him yet.

  She was hoping she could change that tonight. As he sat back down behind his table, she started working her way over there. She darted away from grasping hands as she went, laughing and teasing. She was one of the more popular girls in the place.

  * * *

  Clint was back behind the table dealing when the redhead he’d been looking at all night came sidling up alongside him.

  “Can I get you anything, Mr. Adams?” she asked, pressing her hip to his shoulder.

  He looked up at her. “Karen, right?”

  “That’s right.”

  “I don’t need anything right now, darling, but thanks for asking.”

  “I can come back later,” she said, “and ask again.”

  “Later . . . when?”

  She leaned over and said into his ear, “Later, like when we’re both finished working?”

  “That sounds interesting,” Clint said. “But you’ll have to call me Clint.”

  “I can do that . . . Clint.”

  “Hey,” a sour-faced man who had been losing for hours asked, “are we playin’ here?”

  “We’re playing,” Clint said to him. He dealt out some cards, said, “You lose, friend.”

  “Shit!”

  Clint looked at Karen again and said, “See you later, sweetie.”

  “All right,” she said, and sashayed away.

  Clint didn’t know how Ashley would react if he slept with Karen, but the red hair and freckles were kind of hard to resist.

  He went back to dealing.

  * * *

  By the end of the night Clint had gathered for himself a tidy sum. Turns out the very players who were anxious to play faro against the Gunsmith were also intimidated to play at the same table with the Gunsmith. For this reason they played badly, and lost . . . and lost . . . and lost . . .

  Clint closed up shop, and covered his table, even though the saloon would still be open for a couple of hours, serving drinks.

  He walked to the bar with his profits in one pocket, and Ashley’s cut in the other.

  “Beer,” he said to Ed Wright.

  “Comin’ up.” He set it down in front of him. “How was the action tonight?”

  “Brisk,” Clint said after a sip of beer. “There are a lot of bad faro players in Omaha.”

  “There are a lot of bad gamblers in Omaha,” Wright said. “All of which is good for us, right?”

  “Right.”

  Karen came to the bar to get a few drinks, then carried them off after giving Clint a hot look.

  “Oh, my God,” Wright said, “she is so pretty.”

  “Yes, she is.”

  “And she likes you.”

  “You think so?”

  “Did you see the way she just looked at you?”

  “Maybe you’re right,” Clint said as both men watched her walk away and serve the drinks.

  “But you better watch out.”

  “For what?” Clint asked.

  “The boss.”

  “What about her?”

  “She don’t like sharin’.”

  “She wouldn’t be,” Clint said.

  “You mean you and the boss ain’t . . .”

  “She’s the boss, Ed,” Clint said. “That wouldn’t be smart.”

  Wright leaned on the bar and asked, “Does she know that you and her ain’t—”

  “She knows,” Clint assured him.

  TWENTY

  Ashley came out of her office as Ed Wright locked the front door. She converged with him and Clint at the bar. The two security men and their rifles had left earlier, which Clint didn’t mind. They would not be back once he and Wright interviewed new men the next day.

  Wright poured whiskey nightcaps for himself, Clint, and Ashley.

  “By all accounts, your first night was a success,” she said, raising her glass to Clint.

  “Not for the players,” Wright said with a smile.

  “Can’t tell anything from one night,” Clint said.

  They finished their drinks, set the empties dow
n on the bar.

  “I’ll be working on the guest list for the party in the morning,” she said.

  “You still have Big Jack on it?” Wright asked.

  “Definitely,” she said. “He’s been sending spies to look my place over, so we might as well let him come in and have a good look himself.”

  “You know about his men coming in here?” Clint asked. He had noticed them more than once during the night.

  “Oh yes,” she said. “Ed?”

  “Their names are Deal and Rosa,” the bartender said. “He sends them in here all the time.”

  “I guess he thinks we don’t see them,” Ashley said.

  “Don’t kid yourself,” Clint said. “He wants you to see them.”

  She looked at him in surprise.

  “He’s trying to make you nervous,” Clint said.

  “Well, he’s not succeeding,” she said.

  “Good,” Clint said. “I think it’s a real good idea to invite him to the party. Let him know he’s not making you nervous. But we’re also going to increase our security.”

  “How?” she asked.

  “I’ll hire four men. They’ll sit two on and two off, and they’ll always have shotguns and pistols.”

  “Why both?” Wright asked.

  “The shotguns are for show,” Clint said. “We don’t want them firing them off in a crowded saloon. Too many innocent bystanders will get hurt. If they have to use a gun, it’ll be the handgun. So they’ll have to be good with both.”

  “Well, you’d be the best judge of that I can think of,” Ashley said.

  “We’ll get started early, Ed,” Clint said.

  “Sure thing.”

  “After breakfast,” Clint added.

  Wright grinned and said, “I’ll tell Brennan to get it out early.”

  “Okay,” Clint said.

  “Well, boys,” Ashley said, “I’m gonna turn in. I’ll see you both tomorrow.”

  “Good night, boss,” Wright said.

  “Night, boss,” Clint said.

  “Good night.”

  They both watched her walk to the stairs and up until she was out of sight.

  “You want some help cleaning up?” Clint asked.

  “No,” Wright said. “I’ll just clean up the bar. Leo will come in and do the rest in the morning.”