The Omaha Palace

by J. R. Roberts

  “We’re not,” Clint said.

  “So then no problem.”

  “Not for me,” Clint said, “but maybe for you.”

  “You gonna fire me?”

  “Nope,” Clint said, “just telling you to be careful. She tell you when to be at work tonight?”

  “Yeah, six.”

  “And I don’t have to tell you how to dress, right?” Clint said.

  Lukas just gave him a look.

  “Yeah, right,” Clint said. “Get some rest, Mike. See you later.”

  Lukas just waved as Clint went out the door.

  * * *

  If Ashley liked being with Mike Lukas, there might be trouble coming from inside. Clint was sure the other girls were going to like him, too. And for a man like Lukas, working in the Palace might be like a kid in a candy store. But that wasn’t his business. It wasn’t up to him to watch for trouble within; it was his job to watch for it from without.

  Clint went back to the Palace, recalling that Ed had locked the doors. If the bartender wasn’t there, he would be locked out. Luckily, that was not the case. One of the double doors was unlocked, and as he entered, he saw Wright behind the bar.

  “Hey, Ed. Get the job done?”

  “Sure did. You?”

  “Yup. How about a beer?”

  “Comin’ up.”

  Clint looked over at Leo, who was working on the floor with a mop. All the chairs were up on tables. That would be his next chore.

  “I see you found Leo.”

  “I did. I had to drag him back here. Seems he’s still a little miffed at you.”

  “How’d you get him back here?”

  “I told him he’d be lettin’ the boss lady down. He’s still in love with her, so he came.”

  “Poor kid.”

  “Yeah, poor lovesick kid.”

  “You better keep an eye on him,” Ed said. “Hickok had Jack McCall; you may have Leo.”

  “You think he hates me that much?”

  “I think he does.”

  “And he’s got the nerve to use a gun?”

  “That I don’t think he has.”

  “Even in the back?”

  “Especially in the back. Just the same, though.”

  “Yeah,” Clint said. “I’ll keep an eye on him.”

  “I got some cases of champagne in the back I got to bring up here.”

  “I’ll help you.”

  “That’s okay. I’ll get Leo—”

  “No, let him finish what he’s doing,” Clint said. “I’ll help you.”

  THIRTY-THREE

  Clint came down from his room just before the party started. He was wearing a new suit he had bought that afternoon. In each corner of the room were Otto, Atchison, Falkner, and a weary-looking Mike Lukas. They all had their shotguns and their side arms.

  Clint walked over to the bar, where Ed Wright was standing. The bartender was dressed in a white shirt, and his hair was parted down the center.

  “Beer?” Ed asked.

  “Sure.”

  As he poured, he said, “Doors open in ten minutes.”

  “I know. Is Ashley in her office?”

  “Still upstairs.”

  “Think she’ll be down?”

  “Oh, she’ll make an entrance,” Ed said. “That’ll leave you and me to entertain the guests until she does come down.”

  “Well,” Clint said, “I guess we might as well go ahead and open the doors early, then.” He finished his beer and put the empty mug on the bar for Ed to whisk away, then went to the door.

  * * *

  The first group to arrive were the merchants and well-off townspeople who had been invited. After that the politicians began to arrive: the mayor, the head of the town council, and the chief of police.

  “Mr. Adams,” the chief said.

  “Chief. Have some champagne.”

  “Don’t mind if I do. Oh, this is our mayor, Warren Wilson.”

  Clint shook the big man’s damp, soft hand and also invited him to the bar for champagne.

  Finally, Big Jack Mackey arrived—alone. He walked in like he owned the place, and smiled expansively when he saw Clint.

  “Fine place, Adams, fine place. And where is the lovely owner?”

  “Oh, she’ll be down directly. Why don’t you go to the bar and have some champagne?”

  “Don’t mind if I do.”

  The place was starting to fill up, and when Clint looked up, he saw Ashley at the top of the stairs, looking out over the place. This was what she had been waiting for. He walked over so that he was waiting for her at the bottom when she got there.

  “You look stunning,” he said, and she did in a scoop-necked green gown that showed off a swollen cleavage.

  “I can hardly breathe,” she said, “but it’s worth it.”

  She put her hand on his arm, and he escorted her around the room so she could greet her guests.

  First the mayor, then the head of the town council, both men looking properly impressed by her gown. Then some of the merchants, and the town doctor.

  Finally, they reached Big Jack, who was standing with a trio of town merchants.

  “Ah, Miss Burgoyne,” he said. “How beautiful you look tonight.”

  “Why, thank you, Mr. Mackey. How kind of you to say.” She included the other men in her gaze as she asked, “Have you all had enough champagne?”

  She waved over one of the girls, who were walking around the room with trays of champagne glasses. This one happened to be Karen, who came over and waited while the men replaced their empties. She met Clint’s eyes only once, but then lowered her gaze.

  “A toast, gentlemen!” Mackey said in a loud, blustery voice. “To the beautiful lady and her Palace! We wish her the best of luck!”

  Clint marveled at how good a liar Big Jack Mackey was.

  Anybody watching him and listening to him would think he was telling the truth and he really wished Ashley well.

  All the men in the room drank to the toast, and Clint noticed that the only women in the room were Ashley and the girls who worked for her. None of the men had bothered to bring their wives—or the wives had refused to come.

  The party went on, with Ashley trying to pay attention to all of her important guests. At one point Clint noticed Big Jack standing on the side with the police chief. The younger Brennan was nowhere to be found. Clint wondered if the police chief knew that his young officer was also a confidant of Big Jack Mackey.

  Clint grabbed a glass of champagne from a passing girl’s tray—not Karen—and carried it over to where the two men were standing.

  “Doing business at a party, gents?” he asked.

  Both men looked at him with guilty expressions, as if they were caught doing something they shouldn’t be doing.

  “No business,” Big Jack said. “We’re just commenting on how lovely our hostess is.”

  “A lovely, lovely lady,” the chief said.

  “Well,” Clint said, “you fellas have something in common.”

  “What’s that?” the chief asked.

  “You know a lovely woman when you see one.”

  “That doesn’t take much,” Big Jack said.

  “You’re right,” Clint said. “You’ve got something else in common, too.”

  “What’s that?” the chief asked.

  “Secrets,” Clint said. “You’ve both got secrets.”

  “Lots of people have secrets,” Big Jack said.

  “Yeah, but you two share them,” Clint said. “You’re both after the same thing. Only you”—Clint pointed at Big Jack—“you’re in charge.”

  “Now see here—” the chief started.

  “Why don’
t you go and get yourself some more champagne, Chief,” Big Jack said.

  “But he can’t—”

  “Go on,” Mackey said more forcefully.

  Clint could see the chief wanted to protest, but in the end he walked away.

  “Does he know you’re also using his man, Brennan?” Clint asked.

  “No, he doesn’t,” Big Jack said. “But how do you know?”

  “I keep my eyes open, Mackey,” Clint said.

  Big Jack looked around.

  “I see you’ve got yourself some new security,” he commented.

  “I do,” Clint said. “I’ll bet I’ve got three men here I can trust.”

  “Three?”

  “Well, yeah,” Clint said. “I’m pretty sure one of them works for you.”

  The man just looked at him.

  “I haven’t figured out which one it is yet, but I will. Don’t worry.”

  “I don’t know what you’re talking about, Adams,” Big Jack said. “Excuse me.”

  The man walked off to join another group of men, who were deep in conversation.

  Clint looked at each of his men in turn. Gerald, Atchison, Falkner, and Lukas. He was now certain that one of them worked for Big Jack. He was going to have to talk with Ed again the next day, go back and find out how each of the four men was sent to him, and how much the bartender really knew about each of them.

  “Champagne, sir?”

  He turned to see Karen holding a tray out to him.

  “No, thanks.”

  “Oh, please, sir,” she said. “The tray is so heavy.”

  He grinned and said, “All right, then,” and took a glass.

  “Ah, that’s better,” she said. “Thank you, sir.”

  She went off to distribute more of her burden.

  THIRTY-FOUR

  The party went on and Ashley continued to share the room. Clint continued to watch his four security men to see if any of them spoke with Big Jack, or even exchanged a glance.

  He found himself at the bar with Ed Wright, decided to broach the subject right away rather than wait until the next day.

  “Wait,” Ed said. “Say that again?”

  “I figure one of our four new security men works for Big Jack Mackey.”

  “What makes you say that?”

  “I suspected it,” Clint said, “so I braced him about it. His answer convinced me.”

  “Well, which man?”

  “That’s what I want you to help me figure out,” Clint said. “How well do you know the four of them?”

  “Pretty well,” Ed said. “Look, Clint, if I didn’t think we could trust them, I never would have sent them to you.”

  “I know that, Ed,” Clint said. “But one of them is still on Big Jack’s payroll. We’ve got to find out which one it is.”

  “Why don’t you ask them?”

  “Well, first, whoever it is will lie,” Clint said. “I would. And second, I don’t want the other three to think I suspect them.”

  “But you do.”

  “Yeah, but I don’t want them to know,” Clint said. “So we’ve got to figure this out ourselves.”

  “When?”

  “Tomorrow,” Clint said. “We’ll get together and go over what you know about them.”

  “Okay.”

  One of the girls came over with a tray of empty glasses. She gave Clint a pretty smile while Ed removed the empties and replaced them with full glasses.

  “Off you go, sweetie,” Ed told her.

  “Should I bring some to the guards?” she asked.

  “No,” Clint said, “they’re not drinking.”

  “Okay.”

  She turned and walked away with a saucy swish to her butt.

  “Now that one . . .” Ed said, watching her.

  “I’ll leave that to you, Ed,” Clint said. “But let’s talk at breakfast tomorrow morning.”

  “What if the boss is there?”

  “She won’t be,” Clint said. “She won’t rise early, not after tonight.”

  “Are we gonna let her know what we suspect?” the bartender asked.

  “No,” Clint said. “After we figure it out, we’ll tell her what we know, not what we suspect.”

  “Okay.”

  Clint took a full glass of champagne from the bar and moved away.

  * * *

  Later, as the crowd began to thin out, Clint found himself standing next to the mayor.

  “Mayor Wilson.”

  “Mr. Adams, isn’t it?”

  “That’s right.”

  “So how long will the Gunsmith be in our fair city?” the man asked.

  “I don’t know,” Clint said. “As long as I’m needed, I suppose.”

  “And how long might that be?”

  “I guess that’ll depend on your friend.”

  “My friend?”

  “Big Jack.”

  “What does Mr. Mackey have to do with it?”

  “I think you know, Mr. Mayor,” Clint said. “I won’t allow him to run Miss Burgoyne out of business.”

  “I don’t know anything about such things, Mr. Adams,” the mayor said.

  “I’ll stop him,” Clint said, “and I’ll take down anyone who’s on his side. Understand?”

  The mayor frowned and said, “I’m sure I don’t—”

  “Yeah,” Clint said, “you understand. You tell him what I said.”

  “Mr. Mackey is an important man in this town,” the mayor said, “and you are just passing through.”

  “That’s what he keeps telling you, right? That he’s important? And you believe it.”

  “I believe it’s time for me to go.”

  “I think so, too, Mr. Mayor.”

  The mayor put down his unfinished drink and headed for the door. Along the way, Big Jack joined him then looked over his shoulder at Clint, who tossed him a salute.

  THIRTY-FIVE

  Outside, the mayor said to Big Jack, “That’s a dangerous man.”

  “Don’t worry, Mayor,” Big Jack said. “I’ll handle Clint Adams.”

  “You’d better,” the mayor said. “After all, it looks like you’re the reason he’s in town, so you get him out of town”—he poked Mackey once in the chest—“before he does any damage. Irreparable damage.”

  “Don’t worry, Warren,” Big Jack said. “I’ll handle it.”

  “Good night,” the mayor said, and walked off to go home to his fat wife.

  Big Jack thought the mayor was right. Adams was too dangerous to leave on his own. Tomorrow he and Chris were going to have to discuss different scenarios for getting rid of him.

  He stepped off the boardwalk and headed home, where Janice was waiting.

  * * *

  Inside, Ed locked the doors and then returned to the bar.

  “Good night, girls,” Ashley said to her three saloon girls.

  “Night, boss,” one of them said, and all three went up to their rooms.

  She walked to the bar, where Clint was drinking a beer to wash away the taste of all the champagne. At the other end of the bar the four security men were also having a beer each, to close out the night.

  “Is she any good?” she asked.

  “Who?”

  “Karen,” Ashley asked. “She is the one you’re sleeping with, isn’t she?”

  “And how’s Mike?” Clint asked.

  “Oh, I think he’ll do,” she said, “for a while.”

  Clint wondered if she’d still think so if it turned out that Mike Lukas was the one working for Big Jack Mackey.

  “You clean up, Ed,” she said. “I’m going to bed. Good night, boys.”

  “Night, ma’am
,” Otto said, and the others echoed him.

  They all watched her as she went up the stairs, and it was obvious—given the sway of her hips—that she knew they were watching.

  “Finish up, boys,” Ed called out. “Gotta start cleanin’ up.”

  The four men downed their beers, then followed the bartender to the front doors.

  “Night, Clint,” Falkner called out.

  Clint waved and the others waved back.

  Ed Wright locked the doors behind them and returned to the bar.

  “That was some party,” he said.

  “Really?” Clint asked. “I was expecting more.”

  “Like what?”

  “I don’t know . . . entertainment? Maybe somebody singing a song, doing some dancing? I don’t know . . . something.”

  “We’re not a dance hall, Clint,” Ed said.

  “That’s true enough,” Clint said.

  “I saw you jawin’ with Big Jack and with the mayor,” Ed said. “What was that all about?”

  “Just letting them know what’s going on,” Clint said. “I want them fighting among themselves.”

  “It ain’t only the mayor that Big Jack’s got in his pocket,” Ed said. “You gotta think about the town council, and the police chief—”

  “Not to mention Pete Brennan.”

  “What?” Ed asked. “The old man’s boy?”

  “Yep,” Clint said. “I saw Police Officer Brennan in a restaurant with Big Jack.”

  “I wonder if Mike knows about that.”

  “I don’t know,” Clint said, “but I ain’t about to ask him. If he does know, he’ll tell his boy I asked. I don’t want to let that little cat out of the bag yet.”

  “So we can’t trust any of the four of ’em?”

  “Nope,” Clint said. “Not until we know.”

  “And we can’t trust Mike, because of his son?”

  “Right.”

  “So who can we trust?”

  “Well, Ashley . . . and me.”

  Wright looked surprised.

  “Not me?”

  “For all I know, Ed, Big Jack put you in here before I got here,” Clint said. “And you helped him put one of the other men in. How’d you get this job?”

  “I came in and interviewed for it.”