by Rue Allyn
Waving her hand dismissively, she added, “He has been a perfect tenant, always on time with his rent, unfailingly polite and clean in his habits. Whatever your argument with him, it is yours and not mine to know.”
“Would you happen to know when he is due home from work?” Alec leaned forward in anticipation.
“I think you gentlemen should inquire at the Old Abe Mine if you want to know more.” Mrs. Gallacher rose, her friendly air gone. “If you will excuse me, I have to begin preparing dinner for my tenants.” Indicating the door, she nodded her head. “Gentlemen. Good-day.”
“What do you think?” Hawke asked as the door closed firmly behind them.
“After my head stopped spinning from the different directions she flitted?” Alec smiled. He looked out at the street, then back. “It appears Tompkins is trying to convince people here he is a stalwart, sober fellow.” Alec stepped off the porch, put his hat on, and headed for the gate. “Our next stop should be the mine to speak with his supervisor.”
They retrieved their horses and after getting directions, set off for the mines.
The Old Abe was one of many gold mines surrounding the town, but was by far the largest and boasted one of the deepest dry mine shafts in the world.
“Did you try to contact Mr. Hewitt or any of the other owners of the Old Abe again?” Hawke asked.
“I thought they already turned you down.” Alec replied. “However, if you think they might be interested, I can certainly try again. If you sense a profit to be made, then I want to be in on the deal.”
“Gold mining is not always a sound purchase … but,” He looked at the hills around them. “With what has been coming out of these mines, I think it’s worth another look.”
The skeletal frame of the hoist house, where the men were lowered into the shaft and the ore was lifted out, was the first thing they saw. At the base of the hill was a small wooden building where they were directed to the mine supervisor.
They entered the small building, a shack. Alec noted the one room had a few desks covered with papers and tally books being filled out by clerks. An older man, his coat off and shirtsleeves rolled up in the warmth of the room looked up at the two men filling the doorway.
“Excuse me.” Hawke touched his finger to the brim of his hat. “I would like to speak to the mine supervisor if I might?”
“That’d be me.” The man stepped forward extending his hand, “Name’s Frank White. What can I do for you gentlemen?”
“We are trying to locate one of your workers, a Geoffrey Tompkins. We need to discuss some family business if you can direct us to him.”
“Family, huh?” White looked them over, eyes narrowed.
Alec stepped forward. “Could you direct us to him?”
“Sure.” The man laughed. “Just go to the top of the hoist house and tell them to drop you to the twelve-hundred foot depth, and there you’ll find him working the shaft.”
He turned them towards the door, still chuckling.
“If you want to talk to Tompkins, I suggest you wait until he’s done with his shift. He should be climbing out of the mine about ten-thirty tonight. After he cleans up, I imagine you’ll find him at Madame Varnish’s Little Casino in Hogtown. Now if you’ll excuse me, I have work to do. Good-day.”
The click of the door informed them no further questions would be welcome.
“Well, it looks like we will be spending the evening in Madame Varnish’s.” Hawke said. “I don’t suppose you happened to visit that establishment on your last visit?”
“Are you implying I was derelict in my duty and would while away time in such an establishment?”
“Alec, my friend, have you ever considered pursuing a life in the theater?”
“What? And give up being a man of leisure. I think not!”
• • •
After a relaxed dinner in the hotel dining room, they strolled over to Hogtown where the casinos and the majority of the saloons were located.
They entered Madame Varnish’s through thick carved wooden doors reminiscent of the gambling hells of London. A thick pall of cigar and cigarette smoke lay over the room. A long, carved mahogany bar dominated one wall; fluted columns flanked the large mirror behind the bar, the dark wood gleaming in the light of gas lamps. A variety of bottles of every shape and color sat on the counter behind the bartender, and several beer taps stood along the bar.
Three large crystal chandeliers were casting rainbows on the ceiling. Large windows covered with rich red velvet curtains, added to the illusion of luxury. Green, baize-covered tables were everywhere.
Hawke was impressed with the variety of the games of chance offered. Wandering between the tables, serving drinks and entertaining the gamblers, were several scantily clad women.
Walking up to the bar, Hawke saw one of the women staring intently at Alec and him, mouth open. Her tousled hair loosely knotted on the top of her head was an unnatural shade of yellow, and her eyelids were garishly painted and outlined with heavy kohl. Ordering whiskey, he turned, trying to ignore the woman.
In the mirror, he watched as her eyes roamed greedily over them. He had seen the predatory gleam in her hard eyes as she began moving towards him. He’d seen many women like her before, in many different parts of the world. Whores, who thought their worn-out overblown charms were worth more than a man’s pity. Any beauty she might once have possessed had long since fled from too much alcohol. Not like the firm flesh he had felt in his arms last night. Reining in the stray thought, he looked towards Alec, hoping to discourage the woman’s advance. He could see from the amusement in his friend’s eyes that his luck was about to run out.
“Hey, mister,” the woman licked her crimson painted lips. “Would you like some company, maybe someone to share a drink with?”
He winced; her voice was flat and deep, almost masculine.
“Maybe you’d like some company, being a stranger in town.” She tried again to get his attention.
He shuddered; her voice raked his nerves like nails drawn across a chalkboard.
“Yep, mister, why not take ole’ Mona up on her offer,” a small man at the end of the bar piped up. A lopsided grin crossed his face. “That’s our Mona — the village bicycle.” He laughed, raising his beer. “Know why we call her that, mister?” Not waiting for a reply, he continued, enjoying the woman’s growing aggravation. “We call her that, cuz everyone’s had a ride.” Laughing harder, the man slammed his hand down on the countertop. Others, overhearing him, joined in the laughter.
“Mark Jenkins, why don’t you just shut your mouth, before I tell your wife where all your pay goes.” She cleared her throat, patted her hair, and turned again to Hawke. “Don’t listen to him, mister, he don’t know what he’s talking about.” She tried unsuccessfully for an innocent expression. “I ain’t that kind of woman.”
He saw Alec turn his head to hide a grimace.
“Of course you are,” the small man replied coldly, “shit, Mona, everyone in town knows what a whore you are. Ain’t met a pair of pants you wouldn’t crawl into for the right amount of change.” He snickered viciously. The woman turned from the bar, charging over and slapping him soundly before running from the room.
“Care to join in a hand, gents?” A dark-haired man gestured to empty chairs at the poker table. His black vest was shot with silver threads, and a large diamond winked among the folds of his cravat. The shirtsleeves on his fine, frilled, white shirt held up with black satin garters declared him a professional gambler.
“James Gray.” He held out his hand to the men, an easy grin showed under a thick handlebar mustache. “I would guess by the cut of your jackets.” He gave them both an assessing gaze. “You gents aren’t from around here.”
Introducing themselves, they sat at the table.
“Brits or Scots?” The gambler kept up the easy conversation while shuffling the deck of cards. “And by the looks of it, I’d bet you’re not remittance men either.” A glint of avarice l
it his eyes.
“No, we are not,” Alec replied testily.
“But maybe,” Hawke interrupted, smiling easily. “You might be able to give us some information about the remittance men that live here?”
Hawke didn’t like the man across the table. The hairs on the back of neck stood up as he recognized the look in the other man’s eyes. The gambler thought them easy marks.
Despite Gray’s oily demeanor, Hawke still thought he might be of use. Gamblers seemed to know all the dirty laundry in the towns they called home. With a little incentive they were usually ready to share.
“It just so happens I deal cards.” Gray’s voice lowered and he leaned forward. “And information. What’s your pleasure?” He leaned back in his chair, the sound of cards tumbling against each other in the cage of his hands, as he continued to shuffle. “Poker, stud … .”
“Poker.”
Hawke pulled out a handful of twenty-dollar gold pieces and piled them on the table. Gray’s eyes widened. Alec added his own pile of gold pieces to the table. Hawke saw greed glowing in the gambler’s eyes. It shouldn’t take too much to get the information they were looking for.
“Poker it is.” Gray smiled confidently and began dealing. His hands were a blur, tossing the cards unerringly to land in front of each man, including himself.
Hawke picked up his cards, spreading and arranging them to his satisfaction.
“What can you tell me about the remittance men around here?”
“Well, there have been several through here in the past few years.” He nodded his head towards a man sitting by the stage looking morosely at the musicians, his clothes rumpled and dirty. “That’s Peavey, or ‘Lord’ Peavey, as he likes to style himself.” Gray added with a snort. “He showed up about three years ago, nothing but condescension and arrogance towards everyone here. He tried a few jobs, but like a lot of his brothers, decided to live in the bottom of a cheap bottle of rotgut whiskey.”
The men threw their discards on the table.
“About a year ago another man, Tompkins, I believe his name, came to town,” he paused. “He has proven to be different from the others.”
“In what way,” Alec asked, as he anted another coin into the growing pile on the table.
“Well … he works,” Gray answered. “Call.”
Hands were shown. Gray cursed quietly as Hawke pulled the pot to his part of the table.
“What else?” The man was good. As he shuffled the deck again, Hawke leaned back to give the impression he wasn’t intently watching the agile fingers of the gambler manipulate the deck. “What else do you know about him?”
The cards were dealt out. Hawke knew Gray would eventually try to cheat; it wasn’t a question of if, but a matter of when.
“He hasn’t shown the arrogance of most the young men that find themselves in America unwillingly. He has worked hard at being personable and trying to fit in to our little community.”
“What about his habits?” Alec queried, throwing his cards down in disgust. “Fold.”
Smiling across the table, Gray looked at Hawke, “That will cost you.”
“I’ll pay if I’m satisfied the information is worth something.” He laid down his hand. Full house.
“At this rate, the only money I’m going to make will be from information.” The gambler said, with a mirthless bark of laughter.
Dealing out the cards, the money was again anted up.
“I don’t know too much of his habits, beyond the time he spends here.”
“Does he spend much time here?” Hawke watched the shifting of the gambler’s eyes.
“He’s a regular … not very good.”
The men threw in their discards.
“Are his losses great?”
“No, he’s conservative in his spending and his speech. Doesn’t really talk too much.”
Standing quickly, Hawke reached across the table grabbing the gambler’s wrist. Chairs scraped across the floor as nervous men anticipating a fight moved away. The gambler dangled by his shirtfront, a large arm holding him aloft.
“I don’t abide cheaters, sir.” Hawke said, his voice deadly calm. Glaring at the gambler, he kept his other hand wrapped around the man’s wrist, the deck still firmly in his grip.
“Now,” Hawke lowered the man. “You might want to rethink the way you were dealing those cards.” He slowly let go of the gambler’s shirt, sure his point had been made. He could hear the noise of the gambling house returning to normal, the other patrons, sensing an easing in the tension, settled back down to their business.
Shrugging and raising both hands, Gray smiled at Hawke across the table. “Not a fighter. I will be most happy to deal that last hand again. My apologies, gents.”
Insincerity dripped from his lips; his jaw was clenched with anger. He sat smoothing his wrinkled clothes, snapping his arms out to reset his sleeves and garters.
Several gold pieces slid across the table and stopped in front of him.
“For the information you will be giving us and to repair any damage to your clothing.”
Reaching slowly across the table, Gray dragged the gold pieces back towards his side of the table.
Settling down into his chair, he began shuffling the cards once again.
“Tompkins should be in shortly. He always comes in after he’s finished at the mine. He’ll walk to the bar, order a drink, play a couple of hands at Marina’s table.” He nodded towards a table to his left. A pretty little dealer in a low-cut black satin dress smiled as she dealt cards to a table full of eager men.
“He only plays at her table. Three hands, then he leaves.”
“Every night?”
“Unless he’s working a night shift, yes.” Once again, Gray lost the game. “Gentlemen,” he smiled sadly at the two, “I’m afraid I must close this game. My losses have been too high.” Standing, he picked up the gold pieces on the table, bowed slightly to the men, donned his jacket and ambled over to the bar.
“I suggest we find a less obvious spot to wait.” Hawke stood, gathering his winnings. Looking towards the bar, he saw Gray watching them in the mirror, his expression unguarded.
“We best watch that one.” Alec nodded towards the bar. “He’s not a gracious loser.”
Hawke agreed. He had not missed the anger in the man’s eyes at being caught. He could be a problem if pushed too far. Gray tossed back his drink and left the casino. They moved to a small table in a dark corner at the back of the room.
Nursing a scotch, waiting, Hawke let his mind wander to Kara. Just the thought of her made him tighten with need. Remembering the feel of her lips and the soft curvature of her breast brought a low groan from his chest.
“Thinking about Miss Jonston?” Alec’s eyes twinkled. “You can’t possibly think of getting involved with her? You’ve estates and businesses in Britain to manage, so I know you aren’t thinking of staying in this Godforsaken place.” He waved his hand to emphasize his point. “I know you won’t dally with this woman and then leave. You are too honorable. Besides, her father would kill you.”
Hawke squirmed under Alec’s sharp gaze.
“Don’t tell me you have developed a tendre for her?” Leaning forward, he shoved his finger into Hawke’s shoulder. “You have! Dear God, anyone but her. She’s a termagant. You can’t possibly be thinking of marrying and taking her back with you?”
“Leave it, Alec.” Hawke growled low. He wasn’t about to discuss his feelings with anyone. He didn’t even know what they were. He hadn’t really thought about what he was going to do.
Marry! When had that possibility wormed its way into his mind? Her father’s words echoed. He put his head in his hands, but the specter of sapphire eyes and lips sweet as honey appeared. He wished the whole situation to perdition.
He tossed back his drink and signaled one of the waitresses to bring another. Alec told her to bring the whole bottle.
A short time and several glasses of scotch later, he felt Alec ta
p him on the arm, drawing his attention to the entrance.
Tompkins.
He had finally arrived.
Looking at the man walking across the room to the bar, Hawke knew him, but time had changed him. He wasn’t the soft spoiled youth he remembered. The man he was looking at, was that … a man. His slender frame had filled out and hardened with labor in the mines. He walked with a confidence and assurance that hadn’t been there before. Well, Hawke thought, it will be interesting to see if the changes are only on the outside.
• • •
Geoffrey was leaning on the bar, talking companionably with the bartender, when the two men walked up on either side of him. Looking up, he felt the blood drain from his head. Pryce. He looked to the other side. MacCairn.
A large hand rested on his shoulder, a quiet whisper at his ear. “We’re going to walk back to that table over there.” Alec indicated with a nod. “And have a nice little chat, Geoffrey. You’ll be nothing but civil,” he said evenly. “Or Pryce might not be able to stop from killing you here and now.” Tompkins looked over. There was death in those steel gray eyes. A barely leashed fury emanated from the large frame.
The three men sat down. Hawke poured himself another drink. The initial shock had worn off, and Tompkins, while worried, no longer felt frightened. He returned Hawke’s look with a level stare of his own.
“My brother wired me. Said you were trying to find me,” he said, his voice even as he looked at the two men across from him. All his life, he had been in awe of them. They were the fortunate sons. The first-born, the heirs, always secure in their future; resentment flared. How arrogant they looked, how self-righteous in their anger.
“You have no right to hunt me down. You know nothing of what happened. Yet here you are.” He sneered, all traces of fear replaced by anger. “Ready to be judge and jury and damn me out of hand. Well, this isn’t Britain, and I’m not the callow youth I was then.”
Standing up, he placed his hands flat on the table and leaned towards them. “I have nothing to say to either one of you.” Back stiff, he turned to leave.
