Caleb made his way to the St. Charles and looked around. It was just as busy in there as it was in the Flush, which put a proud smile on his face. “Is Charlie around?” Caleb asked the hulking man in the clean white shirt working the front door.
The bouncer stood a whole head taller than Caleb and looked down as if he meant to squash him under his heel. After a moment, the giant shook his head.
“Well, I’m supposed to meet him. You know when I can come back?”
Rather than answer that question directly, the giant lifted his arm and pointed toward the back of the room. When Caleb turned to look in that direction, he spotted a man at one of the card tables waving him over.
Caleb walked across the room and stood behind the single empty seat at the table. The man who’d waved him over wore a black vest over a white shirt, which was practically the uniform of a professional gambler. His bald head appeared to have been recently polished, and the pencil-thin mustache was impeccably groomed. Compared to him, the other men at the table looked like common riffraff.
“Take a seat, Mr. Wayfinder,” the man said.
“I’m to meet Champagne Charlie,” Caleb replied curtly.
“I’m Charlie’s partner. The name’s Bret Weeks. Since I’m the one who sent for you, why don’t you join me in our game?”
Caleb studied everyone at the table and quickly found that all the other men were wearing guns. “How about you say your piece so I can get back to my own business?”
“Fair enough. Sit down.”
When it became clear that Caleb had no intention of sandwiching himself in between the others at the table, Weeks flicked his hand a few times to shoo them away. The gunmen got up and quickly found somewhere else to be. From there, Weeks extended that same hand to the empty seats.
Unable to decide whether or not he felt safer having the other men out of sight, Caleb took a seat opposite Weeks. He would have simply left if not for the questions nagging at the back of his mind.
“So you’re the silent partner I’ve heard about,” Caleb said. “Would you also be the one backing that humpback and his idiot cousin before those two killed each other?”
Weeks smirked but made no other move. “I’m a businessman, much like yourself. In fact, it seems that you’ve been doing pretty well for yourself with that little place of yours.”
“It pays the bills.”
“You ever think about taking on a partner?”
“Already have one.”
“Oh yes,” Weeks said. “That would be Hank. I’m referring to the kind of partner who can actually do you some good.”
“Let me guess. Someone like you?”
“Exactly.”
“Not interested,” Caleb said as he started to get up.
“I’m not your enemy,” Weeks said. “In fact, I’m the one that made your little problem with the Deagles clear up like the rash it was.”
Stopping before walking off, Caleb asked, “How so? I read in the paper that they got into a fight and tore each other apart.”
“You haven’t heard from that old miner for awhile, have you?”
“No.”
Weeks held up both hands like a magician after making a coin disappear. “And I can assure you, he won’t be bothering you, either.”
After checking to make sure those other men were still keeping their distance, Caleb lowered himself back into his seat. “I’d say it’s even money that you had something to do with stirring up all that shit in the first place.”
“If I did, I can assure you it was a mistake. I had no way of knowing how far those two cousins were willing to go. Please, accept my apologies.”
“Done. Can I go now?”
“You can leave anytime you wish. Just let me know when you’d like to discuss signing me on as a partner in the Busted Flush.”
Placing both hands upon the table, Caleb leaned forward and said, “Never. Is that a quick enough answer for you?”
“You get a few good weeks of gamblers’ profits, and you think you’re at the top of the heap? Those gamblers come and go, my friend. A good partner is a smart, lifetime investment, unlike your friend, Holliday. He doesn’t have anything to lose.”
“I worked my ass off to get the Flush off the ground, and I’m not about to hand it over because some dandy in a suit asks me to. I appreciate the offer, Mr. Weeks, but I think I’ll pass.”
As Caleb spoke to him, Weeks didn’t move a muscle. It was more than a man sitting still to let another talk. It was akin to the way a snake freezes every muscle in its body just before snapping forward with fangs bared.
“You’re making a mistake,” Weeks said in a way that hardly even moved his lips.
“A mistake would be handing over a cut of my profits when business is better than it’s ever been.”
“Then perhaps you’re not looking at this the right way.” Weeks shifted in his chair until he was perched on the edge of it. “I’ve extended this same courtesy to every saloon owner in Dallas, and it never fails to amaze me how many times the gesture is slapped down. But, when push comes to shove, those same saloon owners take me up on my deal. Of course, some of them took more convincing than others.”
“I was wondering how long it was gonna take for you to threaten me,” Caleb said. “So what happens if I say no to your offer? You send these boys after me? Maybe you have them bushwhack me some night when I’m leaving my place?”
“I’m not promising anything. What I can promise is a certain kind of insurance that would prevent any such unfortunate things from happening to you.”
“Then it’s a protection scheme you’re running? I’ve got to tell you I’m not impressed.”
“Then perhaps you will be impressed when you realize that the hell I can inflict upon you is ten times worse than what you’re thinking. You see, Mr. Wayfinder, I think on a grander scale than just running saloons and selling liquor. I think more along the lines of a battlefield general. The smaller skirmishes have already been fought, and this is what you might call our first peace talks. If these fail, than the battles only grow in size, and more people will be caught in the crossfire.”
At that moment, Caleb spotted a familiar face lurking in one of the nearby shadows. It was a face that seemed to be melting into the darkness while also oozing out of a wall. He thought his eyes were tricking him at first, but then he realized that the man he saw was the same as the one who’d been in the Flush a while ago. The blue bandanna was gone, but that face was as ugly and twisted as ever.
Weeks glanced over his shoulder to see what had captured Caleb’s attention. When he spotted that same face in the shadows, he smiled and settled back into his chair. “Funny you should be drawn to my associate. Mr. Grissom over there has been frequenting your establishment for some time now. My guess is that you’ve only seen him once. You know why that is? Because Mr. Grissom’s orders were to only be seen once.”
“What’s he got to do with this?” Caleb asked.
“Harking back to my battlefield analogy, Mr. Grissom might be my artillery squadron. If you’ve been in Dallas for very long, you might already be familiar with his work. You remember the big fire back in October?”
Caleb’s eyes narrowed, and he nodded. On the morning of October 8 the previous year, a fire had started in one of the stores at the corner of Main and Market. The cheaply crafted buildings went up like kindling, and the fire quickly engulfed an entire block.
“That fire wasn’t an act of God,” Weeks said as if he could hear the very thoughts running through Caleb’s head. “And it wasn’t an accident that it spread all the way to the Alhambra and Thompson’s Varieties.”