“You knew of Dennis Clifford. Do you know him?”
“The filibuster fellow?” He settled back onto his plank bed and worked to arrange the blanket again. “He’s a powerful lot of trouble. You don’t want anythin’ to do with the likes of him.”
“The man’s in town for a reason. I think he’s forming a new expedition to overthrow a foreign government. I want you to join up with him.”
“I don’t want to overthrow no furrin government. Muckin’ stalls ain’t great work but it’s safe, ’less you get kicked in the head. Even that’s better ’n tanglin’ with Clifford. He’s a bloodthirsty killer.”
“All I want is for you to pretend to join his army. Find out what he’s up to. What country he’s planning to invade, if he has allies, that kind of intelligence.”
“Intelligence?”
“That’s what the soldiers call it. You’ll be a spy, getting intelligence from Clifford and his men about what they’re up to.”
“I don’t know, Lucas. Like I said, they don’t kid around. They think I’m spyin’ on them, gettin’ intellygence, they’d kill me. And it wouldn’t be too pretty.”
“All you have to do is listen to them. Men like them will talk freely if you get them liquored up.” Lucas pulled out twenty dollars and stared at it. This reduced what he had made working for Amanda even more, but the reward would be immense. Gold. Lots of gold. Gold enough to finance a revolution in Russia. “Here, take this. I’ll have another twenty for you when you get the information.”
“Well,” Gallatin said, weakening. His shaky hand touched the bill, then snatched it away as if Lucas would retract the offer. “I don’t make no promises.”
“I know some of what they’re up to. I need to check it. Make sure it all matches.”
“You would know if ’n I was I makin’ up whatever I told you?”
Lucas said nothing. He knew some, but if Gallatin reported that Clifford was trying to invade Canada, he would know it was his attempt to take the money without risking his dirty neck.
“You got my word, Lucas. I ain’t much of a human bein’, but my word’s as good as gold.”
“Gold,” Lucas said, the image of an entire mountain of the shiny metal in his eyes.
“When you want me to go?”
“As soon as you can. I’ll talk to Mr. Justin for you if you like so you won’t lose your job.”
“You always was a sweet talker,” Gallatin said. “Talk the clothes off any woman, talk the—”
“If you know where Clifford is camped, head on out now. You might want to pick up a couple bottles of whiskey for sitting around the campfire with his men.” Lucas knew one bottle would be drained before Gallatin ever reached the camp.
“It’s a ways off, from what I heard tell. Might be better to wait till tomorrow afternoon. That way I kin talk to Mr. Justin myself. If I got trouble with him, I’ll let you know.”
“That’s good, Lester, that’s real good,” Lucas said, but his mind was drifting far away, back into the foothills of the Front Range and Vera Zasulich’s camp. Without knowing it, he did a quick dance step, spinning around as he thought of her.
“You headin’ over to the dance?”
Lucas stopped and looked at Gallatin, not really seeing him. His reverie died, and he returned to reality.
“What dance is that?”
“The Palace? Not sure but I heard folks who stabled their horses this afternoon soundin’ real sad they wasn’t invited. Big affair. You’re always gussied up like you’re headin’ out on the town.”
“I’m not sure. What do you know of it?”
Gallatin shrugged. “All I know’s I’d rather be hobnobbin’ with the likes of the governor and Jubal Dunbar and their ladies than pumpin’ Clifford’s boys for information.”
“We each play a role.” Lucas settled his bowler at a jauntier angle and went to find the dance. If the governor was there and Jubal Dunbar was there, then Amanda Baldridge might be there, too. That suited him just fine.
He might even ask if he could have a dance with Tovarich, but the dog would have to let him lead.
16
Lester Gallatin was wrong. Lucas wasn’t dressed for this soiree. He stood across the street from the Palace Ballroom, watching carriages pull up and elegantly dressed women step out. The sight of so much jewelry sparkling in the gaslight ignited his avarice. Trying to go straight, or as straight as a professional gambler working at the Emerald City could be, was something new for him. His days of working confidence schemes with the Preacher, Little Otto, and others out on the street weren’t that far behind him.
Glittering diamonds delighted him, but the colored stones drew him like a moth to flame. Rubies, emeralds, star sapphires. Their crystalline depths stirred him in ways he hardly understood. Possessing them was a worthwhile pursuit, but the women wearing them proved an impediment. Almost as much an impediment as the men whose arms they held. More than one of the men had come through the Emerald City to see the shows, but seldom did any of them gamble. Their games were more private, more exclusive. Lucas doubted he had played even one hand with as high a limit as these men would demand to feel alive, to make the slip of playing cards across a table worthwhile.
He knew the mentality. These men were rich and powerful. They wanted others to cater to them, kowtow as the Celestials in Hop Town might say. Whether they lost or won fabulous sums mattered less than their surroundings and how the game was conducted. They had their private clubs with fancy imported champagne to drink and ladies whose beauty put even Carmela’s to shame.
Lucas swallowed hard as the thought hit him that Amanda fit well into the milieu of the politically connected, wealthy sons of bitches. He could easily picture her serving these men drinks, pouring champagne, and making witty comments with just a touch of biting wit that those she served—serviced?—overlooked or simply didn’t understand. Perhaps a woman offering rebellion would excite them since they need only snap their fingers to have any woman in Denver they wanted.
He caught his breath when the governor and his wife arrived. A flock of well-wishers rushed forward and swallowed him in the press of tuxedos and gowns made prominent with flouncy crinoline until discreet bouncers moved to separate the parasites from their host. His wife sported a necklace with a diamond as large as a goose egg. Even from a dozen yards away, that stone pulled at Lucas as if it were a magnificent magnet and he were a helpless iron penny nail.
He took an involuntary step and then halted in the middle of the street. He wore an expensive coat and his pants held knife-edged creases. His shoes needed shining but were passable, but that was the problem. He was richly dressed—for the Emerald City. For a gala like this, he looked like a vagabond. Even if he still owned the coat ruined by Dunbar’s thugs when they threw him in the sewage canal, he would have seemed like a poor country cousin. This was what happened when a territory became a state. Limitless money flowed in and was put to use by the men inside the ballroom.
At the point of considering a way of sneaking in through the servants’ entrance, he heard a lilting laugh and a voice he remembered well. He stepped back and used the gaslight to partially hide him as Jubal Dunbar climbed from a four-wheeled carriage, then helped Amanda to solid ground. Dunbar thought nothing of leaving his wife at home with the hired help, it seemed.
Walking quickly, Lucas crossed the street and peered into the carriage as it rattled away. It was foolish to believe she had brought Tovarich with her, but it cost Lucas nothing to sneak a quick look. As far as he could tell, there wasn’t even a strand of wolfhound hair on either of the plushly cushioned seats. He stepped back to keep from getting his toes run over by the wheels.
He was never quite certain how the plan formed. His days with the Preacher returned, complete with all the skills he had been taught.
Another carriage pulled up. A gruff man, huffing and puffing
, helped his matronly wife down. There was no one to help what had to be their daughter, so Lucas stepped forward and extended his arm.
“May I, miss?”
She looked at him in surprise, then grinned. Her teeth were crooked and her acne rivaled a bad case of smallpox. The former went untended but her face and bare shoulders had been powdered over until every step she took caused a chalk-like dust to rise. Too much rouge on her cheeks made her look like a circus clown. Mascara around her eyes changed that aspect to more like that of a raccoon. She might have been pretty enough without the inexpertly applied cosmetics, but Lucas guessed she had done it all herself to spite her mother and father. If she was much more than fifteen, it would have surprised him since she moved with the gawky, coltish gait of a tomboy not yet inducted into the society of boys seeking to do more than dip her pigtails in a school desk inkwell.
Lucas held out his arm. The girl looked at it, then up at her mother on her father’s arm, and realized what was necessary. She let Lucas help her down. As if he belonged, he turned and walked slowly down the carpet toward the door.
“Who’re you?”
“I am your escort for the evening, miss.”
“Papa didn’t say anything about this. He specifically forbade Phillip from accompanying me tonight.”
“Your beau?”
She blushed, even under the plastered-on makeup, and averted her eyes. She giggled just a little.
“Yes. He’s a nice boy, but Papa won’t even let him into the house. He says he’s not good enough for me.”
“Your father is a wise man.” She jerked away, but Lucas held her on his arm with his right hand clamping firmly on hers. “What boy could possibly be good enough? Please allow me, wretched replacement though I am, to substitute for your Phillip.”
“You think I’m pretty?”
Lucas divided his attention between fielding the girl fishing for compliments and the two gatekeepers keeping riffraff from the ball. Her parents had already passed through, not bothering to even show an invitation. Whoever her pa was, he was a powerful, well-known man.
“Your invitation, sir.” The strong hand on his shoulder bit down just enough to warn him how a fight would go.
“We’re with them,” Lucas said, pointing to the couple now melting into the throng within the main ballroom.
“No invitation, no entrance. Sorry, sir.”
“Well, my dear, this means that you must take your leave of me and perhaps spend the evening with Phillip.”
The girl squealed in joy at the prospect. Her joy halted her father, who looked back. He scowled, then impatiently motioned her forward.
“Don’t keep us waiting, Hannah. Come along now. Right away.”
“I’d rather be with Phillip.”
Lucas gently told her that her father wanted them inside, then watched the reaction of the two guards. As much as he wanted to make a sarcastic remark, he knew that silence worked to eat out their resistance.
“Hannah!” This time her mother called.
“Enjoy the cotillion,” said the man on Lucas’s right. His tone relayed how his cotillion would be perfect if he could tear off the arms and legs of those trying to get in without the proper fancy printed invitation.
Lucas bowed slightly to the man, appreciated the feeling of power and triumph for a brief instant, held up his arm for Hannah, and forced himself to walk slowly although he wanted to run inside to get away from the two guards. He felt their eyes boring into him, but as with holding back his sarcasm, he knew better than to look. To do so would have alerted them to an intruder. Pretending he belonged, in spite of his relatively shabby clothing, mattered more than anything else.
The swirl and gaiety around him caught at his senses and carried him to a world he barely knew existed. The perfumes mingled with sweat from overweight men struggling to dance with their wives or, in some cases, Lucas suspected, their much younger mistresses. He sought out Dunbar and Amanda, but the throng provided a curtain of gems, silk, and whirling couples he could not penetrate.
“Would you care to dance?”
Hannah sounded scared when she agreed.
He spun her about and stepped out into the waltz. To his surprise, the girl followed his lead with the quickness of youth and the assurance of a woman much older.
“You dance well,” he complimented. “How often do you practice?”
“The dance master comes once a week, but I have been taking lessons for almost a year. He says I am a clumsy oaf and sticking one foot in a bucket would only improve my dancing.”
Lucas laughed easily. He whirled her about and got a better look around the dance floor. Nowhere did he see Amanda or Dunbar, though he caught sight of the governor dancing with a woman half his age. That it caused no furor told him this was part of the governor’s dance card, making the wives and daughters of important men see his way—and influencing husbands, lovers, and fathers that way.
“He is not much of an instructor. Look around. What do you see?”
“I don’t want to see anything but . . . you,” she said shyly.
“Up with the chin, back with the head.” He spun her about furiously so her hair came a little undone and formed a fine brown mist around her head. Here and there sparkled a pearl, but compared with the other women, Hannah wore no jewels at all. That, if nothing else, made her stand out. But he exaggerated the waltz step, sweeping a path through until the girl finally noticed a gaggle of swains watching her every step.
Lucas circled the floor once more and timed the end of the dance so they stopped directly in front of the four young men. From the cut of their tuxedos, they all came from money. And all had noticed her for the first time.
“Miss, thank you for being so gracious to dance with an old man.” He bowed and stepped back. It took only a few seconds for all four to block him from Hannah, each vying for her attention. She might have been an ugly duckling before but the figure she cut on the dance floor drew the unattached boys like flies to honey.
Lucas quickly moved away from being the center of attention. He had gotten strange stares because of his clothing. He doffed his bowler and tucked it under his arm as he made his way around the fringe of the crowd. He saw that bouncers moving restlessly through the dancers, whether looking for him or simply intending to keep out the riffraff, whoever it might be, hardly mattered. The men had worn top hats; he wore a bowler. They had tuxedos. He had a fine brocade coat far gaudier by their standards than any peacock. His one advantage now that he had abandoned Hannah to her new suitors lay in not going to the food table or asking for a drink. Either would identify him as an interloper wanting only to live off the generosity of others. As thirsty and hungry as he was, he would make a spectacle of himself.
He edged along a wall, found a staircase, and slowly ascended until he had a better view of the dancers. It took a few minutes of patient watchfulness, but he finally spotted Amanda. Like Hannah, she had quite a coterie of admirers, but Jubal Dunbar was nowhere to be seen. To speak to her would require him shouldering his way through men likely to take offense. If nothing else, there would be a disturbance that would draw the wards to evict him.
If he was lucky, that would be all that happened. Being tossed into the street was nothing new for him, but the level of political power and wealth represented in this room told him he was likely to be interrogated. That meant the same thing as being squeezed dry, then discarded. This time he wouldn’t be alive when tossed into the sewage canal.
He reluctantly took a few steps down to go speak with Amanda, no matter what the attention it caused, when he heard a familiar voice booming up the stairs.
Lucas dared not face Jubal Dunbar or the half dozen men with him. They were arguing about something and would only hasten his death if they found him. Making his way to the head of the staircase allowed him a better view of the dance floor. Amanda spun out with
a handsome young buck. A knot formed in his throat. She was a splendid dancer, and the couple looked as if they belonged together, every move liquid and perfect.
Dunbar and the men with him trooped up the stairs. Lucas darted for heavy hangings behind a table, almost knocking over a piece of statuary. He steadied it and ducked out of sight as the men walked past.
“. . . it can be done. All we need to do is be men, dammit!”
“Speak of that in the room where we can have some privacy, Jubal. For God’s sake, man. You’ll have us all on the gallows if you aren’t more careful.”
Dunbar snapped back. Most of his words became too muffled as they went down a corridor and found their meeting room. Lucas slipped back out, gripped the polished mahogany railing, and saw Amanda accepting a flute of champagne from her dancing partner. For an instant Lucas caught his breath. She looked straight at him and seemed to lift her glass in silent salute. But she touched glasses with her partner and allowed him to put an arm around her waist and guide her to chairs at the edge of the dance floor. Lucas swiped at his forehead. The mere thought that she had acknowledged his presence had caused him to break out in a sweat.
He knew going back to the ground floor and leaving while he was still in one piece and relatively free of bruises from a beating was the smartest thing to do. Instead, he cautiously went down the corridor, pressing his ear to each heavily paneled door in turn until he found one vibrating from the argument raging inside. The wood prevented coherent words from escaping. Opening the door a crack would allow him to spy on those inside. It would also put him at jeopardy of being seen.
Lucas went to the next room and warily opened the door. The smartly appointed room stood empty. He scooped up a wineglass from a table and went to the wall separating this room from the one where Dunbar conducted his clandestine meeting.
Placing the rim against a bare spot on the wall and pressing his ear into the base amplified the sounds. The words came to him muffled but clearer than before. With a little imagination he worked out what Dunbar said and the objections the others presented.
The Great West Detective Agency Page 15
