Sin City: Sin City, #1

1

Saturday, April 9, 1966

Ruby Gordon stared out the window of her half brother’s El Camino as the desolate landscape passed by. It was as different from Abilene as could be, and worlds away from her birthplace in Mobile. It was like no one lived here and nothing could survive.

Buildings rose in the distance like cacti, and she shivered at the dark clouds forming behind them, hoping it wouldn’t storm. She glanced over at her brother Everett Rett Gordon, who was behind the wheel.

There’s the sign. He gestured forward.

Welcome to Fabulous Las Vegas, Nevada.

She frowned at the sign as they approached. She had no idea what she was being welcomed to, since there wasn’t anything there.

Ahead, a hotel called the Hacienda came into view. Small motels dotted the road, but soon other large hotels appeared—the Tropicana, the Aladdin, and the Dunes. It was all so strange. Bright signs lined with neon lights beckoned, promising a flashy show at night.

She glanced behind the El Camino—the horse trailer bobbed along behind them. Her daddy had hauled it behind a thirty-six foot trailer the entire way from Abilene to Phoenix, and Ruby was terrified it’d fly off and kill her horse. Everett had picked her up in Phoenix early that morning, hitching the trailer and reassuring Ruby nothing would happen to Bella. But she still worried even though he drove the speed limit.

She looked forward again, seeing an almost-finished building in a construction site on the left side of the road.

That’s the new Caesars Palace, Everett said. It’ll open soon. That’s the Flamingo. It was Bugsy Siegel’s place. Well, ‘til they killed ‘em.

Ruby glanced over at him, his hair kicking out behind his ears, and Everett shifted the cigar in his mouth, a grin on his face.

Mob had him killed out in Los Angeles, about twenty years ago. You ever hear about that?

I don’t make it a habit to monitor the mob, Ruby said.

He chuckled. Well, you’ll make it a habit here. You can’t throw a rock without hitting a wise guy.

Everett kept up conversation about Las Vegas as they headed downtown. He turned off Las Vegas Boulevard and onto South Main, heading north until they reached Fremont Street. There were casinos everywhere—McLaney’s Carousel, The Mint, the South Seas, the Calypso, Golden Nugget, Binion’s Horseshoe.

You won’t be able to gamble—unless you get a fake ID. You’re what, nineteen now? He didn’t wait for her to answer. I ain’t gonna boss you—told our old man that—so if you wanna go back to school or not, that’s your deal.

Ruby nodded. I’ll think about it. She had no intention of going back to finish high school. It’d probably be the same here as it was in Abilene.

Leaving Abilene was a mixed blessing. She was glad to be away from the high school and everyone in it, but it was like a knife in her heart having to leave the ranch. But her father wanted to go on the road full time. He’d been driving a truck since Korea, and he wasn’t going to change.

She’d gone with him on the road sometimes in the summers, keeping his paperwork and looking after the money, but there was never enough money. The sleeper cab barely fit two, and her father would make a bed for himself out of furniture blankets in the trailers. She always felt like an interloper on those trips, try as she might to make herself useful. They’d sold off as much of the land as they could, but the bank still came knocking.

Her father had called Everett, his son from an early and short marriage, and asked him to take Ruby in since there was no way she could afford to live on her own at nineteen. She had no high school diploma, and the most she could do was cook and ride horses, so she didn’t have much of a choice in the matter.

Rett was nine years older than her, and the most time she’d spent with him was the occasional week or so when she was a kid and his mother and stepfather would have her visit El Paso. She and Rett had nothing in common then, and she wasn’t sure they did now, despite his talk about having a ranch.

You can go and look over the ranch, Everett said, interrupting her thoughts. You can do what you like with your horse. She a rodeo horse?

She’s a trick horse, Ruby said. She still wasn’t sure what kind of ranch Everett had. She’d never seen him on a horse in her life despite the western shirt and bolo tie he wore. Will I look after your horses?

Got someone to do that. Jake breaks ‘em and trains some for stock companies. Wick looks after the stable and barn. He must’ve seen her expression because he pushed his hat back on his head. But maybe you could take care of the foals when they come. Got two mares expecting.

Any money in it?

In foals?

For me. Looking after the foals.

She knew her father gave Everett money for her room and board. She felt like one of those orphans in an English novel, like the ones Sue Ann Price liked to read at school.

Well, Everett said. I might be able to find something for you to do outside of the stables.

He kept his gaze on the road. She glanced at the plaid shirt dress she wore, wishing she was in her blue jeans. She didn’t feel like herself. None of this felt like her.

You sling a drink alright? Everett asked a moment later.

Depends what you want.

Whiskey highball.

She laughed. Whiskey and ginger ale.

Whiskey sour.

Rett, you ain’t even trying. Lemon juice, sugar, whiskey. Come on now, I come from a long line of drinkers, just like you.

Alright, you’re hired, he said. I ... I might be having some people in tonight, you can help serve drinks.

For money?

We’ll see how good you are.

Rett!

Alright, alright, I can toss a dollar or two your way for helping.

She was going to be a waitress. She wanted to cry for a moment, but remembered her life savings consisted of thirteen dollars. She sighed instead. If she wanted a new saddle—or anything for that matter—she’d have to pull up her britches and do it.

The houses they drove past were in disrepair; chain link fences were ratted with tumbleweeds, and there was no one around. Commercial buildings were butted up against houses. Everett turned back onto North Main and pulled off into a dirt lot pressed against railway tracks. Boxcars sat nearby, and the metal train cars screeched and thudded as they lumbered forward.

She looked around in confusion when Everett cut the engine. Across the tracks was a junkyard and the only thing nearby was a white three storey building, the paint flaking off the concrete, and a lopsided sign faded in the window.

Where are we? Ruby asked.

My place. Everett placed the straw cowboy hat on his head. Yours too now, I suppose.

Here?

‘Course here, you see anywhere else?

She looked around helplessly. I thought you had a house?

I do. He walked toward a set of concrete stairs and gestured at the building.

There was a broken window covered with plywood, and she saw no barn and no stable nearby.

The ranch is out of town some, Everett said sheepishly.

Of course it was.

She stared at the white building, the tall rectangular windows looking like empty eye sockets. A neon sign was in one window, and she took a breath when she saw it. She had a bad feeling about this.

Everett disappeared inside, a ripped screen door banging behind him. She grabbed her suitcases out of the truck bed and set them on the dusty gravel, leaving her boxes of riding gear. She carried her train case and record player up the concrete steps to what could barely be called a patio and inside the front door.

She paused—it was so dark inside it was like being in a coal miner’s lunch pail. She couldn’t see a foot in front of her.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she saw the end of a wooden bar in front of her stretching to the far wall, bar stools dotted along its expanse. There were tables and chairs off to her right, and a jukebox in the corner of the room. To her left was a room that looked like it wanted to be a kitchen but didn’t know how. The air was stagnant, and Everett turned on a fan that only succeeded in pushing hot air around.

Jesus, she breathed.

You like it? Everett grinned. I spent a whole year finishing that bar out and fixing this place up.

It’s a bar ... in your house? She put the record player and train case on a table. You run a bar?

Well, technically speaking just on the weekends and beer only, he said slowly. I don’t exactly have a proper license. But I got assurances from Sam Wyatt it was okay on the weekends and such.

Who’s he?

Runs a few casinos downtown, the South Seas and the Calypso. Texan.

Beer only? Didn’t you just ask me if I could mix a drink?

Rett shrugged. I’m not gonna be taking any business away from Sam Wyatt, so what he don’t know won’t hurt his bottom line, and it’ll sure help mine.

Ruby couldn’t believe her ears. She was going to be living on top of an illegal roadhouse. Somehow, she didn’t think their daddy knew about this.

Come on, I’ll show you upstairs to the living area, Everett said.

She grabbed her things and followed Everett up a flight of stairs to the second floor. Doors were shut up and down the hall.

What’re all these rooms? she asked.

He paused as he reached a second flight of stairs. Sometimes folks like to stay over if they’ve had a bit to drink or need a place to stay.

Paying folk. Ruby didn’t pose it as a question this time. She was also sure the city of Las Vegas didn’t know this was a hotel. She shook her head as she followed Everett up the rest of the stairs. God only knew what kind of room she was headed for.

She swallowed a lump in her throat the size of the Alamo and wished she was back in Texas. Tears pricked her eyes, and she did her best to hold them in.

Everett opened the door, and she walked in after him, her heart hammering in her chest.

It was a little apartment, complete with a kitchen, eating area, and living room. The doors looked like they might lead to actual bedrooms. She let out a breath. The place was clean and had plumbing. That was all she needed to know right now.

This’ll be your room, Everett said, walking to the bedroom on her right. Bathroom’s just down this hall here.

She looked into the bedroom.

There was a homespun rag rug on the floor, and a small dresser was nestled between two windows. A double iron frame bed sat against the wall to her right. There was plenty of light, and although the room was sparse, it looked clean. The bed was covered with a plain blue bedspread and she hoped clean sheets. Some tension left her shoulders.

She raised her eyebrows at the beer bottle with yellow desert dandelions in it on the dresser. Rett had really tried.

It’s real nice, she said, meaning it. She set her record player on top of the dresser and skimmed her hand over the worn wood.

Well, Everett said. He shifted from foot to foot, crushing his cowboy hat in his hands. I figure we should go and get your horse settled at the stable.

Okay, Ruby said, smiling.

* * *

Tim Kelly strode out of the Clark County Jail and took a pack of Pall Malls from his pocket. He struck a loose match with his thumb, watched it flare to life, then lit the cigarette and enjoyed the first taste of freedom.

He hadn’t been in jail long, but the moment his fist connected with the head of that asshole from Nevada Southern University, the siren blared. Arrested for assault and battery and waiting to see the judge, he was turned out of the jail that morning with no explanation.

The sheriff glared at Tim on his way out, and Tim only knew one thing that would make a lawman look that way.

He looked around and spotted the blue and white Chevy Bel Air at the curb. A muscular guy with greased black hair and sunglasses lit a cigarette as he closed the door with his hip.

Thought they’d decided to keep you for good. The man extended his hand.

Those boys know better. He shook hands with Bill Pearce. I take it you paid that kid a visit. I owe you one.

You owe me more than that. Bill’s knuckles were raw. I even dropped off the little weasel this morning to recant, and I’m sure you know how much I hate parking outside a sheriff station.

Tim shrugged. Small price to pay.

He opened the car door, studying the glass-etched flowers on the rear passenger window. Not many guys in a town like Las Vegas could get away with pansy shit on their cars, but most guys weren’t Bill Pearce. He tossed his leather jacket into the back seat and got in the passenger seat, waiting for Bill to start the engine.

Those two guys from Los Angeles are coming in tonight, Bill said as they got on the road. Our phone got turned off, so they called Rett’s two days ago looking to set up a meeting. I figured you wouldn’t be too interested in seeing a judge, so we’re meeting at Rett’s tonight.

Good, he nodded. He could always count on Bill to make the right calls. These Los Angeles guys needed someone to move merchandise for them. He used to have a nice set up going on the Strip, him and his boys placing bets for guys who got kicked out of the casinos—until the Chicago Outfit got wind of it.

He was ambushed at the Flamingo Wash before Christmas, two sets of headlights shining on him in the middle of the night and a wise guy with a voice like a meat grinder telling him to stay out of their business or else. Tim chose or else and came out with a physical reminder and a bigger chip on his shoulder.

His father hadn’t been happy to get the call from the hospital he was bloody and barely breathing. The old man spent his whole life trying to weasel into the Chicago Outfit, and Tim spitting in their eye didn’t do his father any favors. Tim respected the downtown guys like Benny Binion and Sam Wyatt, both Texans with places on Fremont. He respected them enough to ask permission when he wanted to work something. The Chicago Outfit ran the Strip and his old man, and that was enough for Tim to decide the Chicago boys could eat it as far as he was concerned.

So could guys like Bobby Tafani, a hood with aspirations. He cozied up to the low level guys in the Chicago Outfit, and the last thing Tim wanted was a cocky Tafani thinking he was the shit because he was associated.

The Outfit didn’t let street gangs run around the city, but he kept things quiet with his boys and stayed downtown. As long as no one interfered with the Outfit’s casino operations things were okay, but without something big to catapult him into the big time he was low man on the totem pole. This meeting might make it otherwise.

He watched the scenery speed by, blue sky stretching over pale, dusty scrub as far as you could see. If all went right with these Californians, it would put him on the map in Sin City.

Bill dropped him a block from his place, and he walked up the street to the yellow row house. He cut through the dirt patch that served as a front yard and opened the screen door. The front door wasn’t locked, and when he pushed it open hot air assaulted him. It was quiet inside, no television blared, and that meant his father wasn’t home yet.

Frank Kelly had moved from Chicago before Tim was born, chasing some kind of flimsy association with the Chicago Outfit. His Irish-American father always chased after the Italians, hoping some of their association would rub off on him. The only thing his father had going for him was the bottle.

The air in the house was stagnant, and he propped open the front door to let the air circulate. He tossed his jacket onto the couch and headed for the icebox. There were a few bottles of beer inside, and he cracked one open and took a long, satisfying drink.

Oh ... you’re out.

Tim turned around and saw his little sister Diana in the kitchen doorway. She wore white go-go boots, a tight blouse and a short skirt—shorter than their mother would let her wear, he could bet on that—and she looked bored and disappointed at the same time.

Thought the old assault charges would stick this time, she finished.

Where the hell are you going in that?

She glanced at her outfit. Out.

Out where? You’re sixteen, there’s no place for you to go in this town, especially not dressed like that.

She deftly rolled her eyes and flipped the ends of her brown hair over a shoulder. Tim suspected she’d tried to lighten it over the last few weeks. I’ll find some place. And I’m seventeen in August.

Where’s mom? She won’t let you out in that.

Third shift at the casino tonight, she won’t be home until past midnight, Diana said. She moved toward the front door.

You better stay out of the casinos, Tim said. I hear you’ve been in there I’ll—

You’ll what? Diana countered. You don’t do shit as it is. Living in some abandoned building and pretending you’re living the high life. All I ever hear is how you’re ‘working on’ getting me outta here. Well, you’re lousy at it!

He spied the red marks on her wrist as she crossed her arms and tried to hide them. He walked over to her, her gaze looking everywhere but him, and he pulled her arm free.

Ol’ man do that?

No, the Pope did. Sarcasm was one of Diana’s greatest talents.

He do anything else?

Her eyes rolled like slot machine reels. No ... he was just normal drunk, mean and ornery. Not like that. I would’ve gone to Grace’s if he was like that.

Tim huffed, then paced the room, nursing his beer.

There’s a baseball game over at the high school tonight, Diana offered.

And you gotta dress like a prostitute to watch?

Diana stared him down. I dress like every other girl out there.

The only girl he knew that dressed like that was Carolyn West, and it unnerved him to think his own sister dressed like her.

Are you staying here tonight? Diana dabbed lipstick on her already red lips.

He shrugged.

You should, she said. She stowed her compact. It’d make mom happy.

She slammed the screen door on her way out, and he sighed. He needed cash, and he needed it now. Maybe those Los Angeles boys would be a windfall in more ways than one.

2

Saturday, April 9, 1966

Ruby was pleasantly surprised by Everett’s ranch, even if it was a ten minute drive away. The stable was well kept, the horses happy, and the barn tidy. Everett’s stable man, Wick, was a bit crotchety, but he knew what he was doing. Ruby didn’t miss the fact he’d stuffed a bottle of something under his bedding in a small room in the barn, though.

She let Bella out of the horse trailer and into a paddock, where she danced around until settling and seeking out shade. She stowed her gear and set a stall up for Bella, making sure she’d be comfortable. She felt better about everything once she had Bella sorted.

Rett had a handful of horses in the stalls, and he took to telling her all about the dough he was going to make selling the colts and fillies to stock companies and rodeo riders. His horse trainer stable hand was nowhere to be found.

The drive back to the house didn’t take long, and Rett said he’d give her use of the El Camino if she wanted to go out each morning.

Folks’ll start arriving soon, he said. He pulled out a Smith and Wesson revolver from below the counter. You know how to use this?

I’m from Texas, even the mosquitoes know how to use that, Ruby said, giving Everett a sidelong glance. Been awhile since I shot a pistol, though. Daddy kept ours in the truck and had me keep the rifles when I was at home, I’m better with those.

Well, this is a .357, might be a bit much for you to handle. It shoots .38 Special too, so I’ll pick up some cartridges when I remember, and I’ll see how you are shooting it. Double action and it’s loaded. Someone comes in to rob this place, blow their head off.

She raised an eyebrow, but said nothing.

She followed Everett out from behind the bar and into the room that didn’t know how to be a kitchen. There was a wash basin, a bunch of cabinets, and a locked pantry. He opened the pantry to show her aluminum tubs filled with ice and beer.

The good beer’s back here. I’ll give you the keys since Jed won’t be here tonight. Watch that door, guys like to walk off with the good stuff, so make sure you lock it up. You don’t give them one of the good ones unless they ask for it by name, otherwise it’s from the keg behind the bar, got it?

She nodded.

Gin, scotch, bourbon, and mixers behind the bar, don’t let no one back there but me, Jed, and Irene, he said. Jed’s out of town, so you won’t meet him tonight. Irene’ll take care of washing stuff, but nobody that comes here cares much about how clean the glasses are, I’ll tell you that.

He handed her a set of keys and walked toward what he called the back room.

This room stays locked unless someone needs it, Everett said. "And I don’t mean need it for anything like … well, you know. They want that, they rent a room upstairs. Anyone wants to rent a room, you tell ‘em to talk to me."

Jesus, she was gonna be running a bordello.

The room past the stairs held a pool table and two slot machines, along with a few tables and chairs.

Best get dressed. He looked her up and down. It’s a tough crowd. You wanna make some tips you’ll have to dress for it.

She threw him a dirty look—she was dressed. She looked at her jeans and t-shirt. They were new ones her daddy’d let her order out of the Montgomery Ward catalogue, and apparently it wasn’t good enough for Las Vegas cowboys.

She sighed and went upstairs. All her shirtwaist dresses made her feel like she was headed to school or church, and she had none of those shorter skirts the girls liked to wear. She put on a western blouse instead of the t-shirt.

Music and loud laughter drifted from downstairs, and she prepared to head into the fray. She passed a couple arguing on the stairs and tried not to stare—the girl had more makeup on than any human she’d ever seen, and she wore a fitted bodice covered in sequins with a pair of blue jeans pulled over it, like she was half in costume, and maybe she was.

Who’s that? Ruby asked her brother.

Everett glanced at the couple on the stairs. Darla, she dances at a casino on the Strip. And that’s Jake Wheeler. He’s the one breaking the horses.

"He is?"

She stared at the guy who argued with Darla. He wore jeans, a tight black t-shirt, and an aviator jacket, his dark hair military short. He looked like he didn’t know what a horse was.

Come on, Rett said.

He introduced her to Irene, who looked to be about a hundred years old, though Everett said she was only in her late thirties. She was the type her father would’ve said was rode hard and put away wet.

Holler if you need me.

He weaved his lanky frame through the party-goers. Ruby didn’t think she’d ever seen a group so strange. There were older blue collar men, used to hard work and hard living. There were some cowboy types, and a group of bearded bikers had arrived on motorcycles and commandeered a handful of tables.

What surprised her most were all the young people. There were girls there that couldn’t have been any older than sixteen, all wearing too much makeup and too little clothing. There were lots of teenage boys, but most were in their twenties, with slicked greased hair and leather jackets. They were smoking, playing cards, and making no move to hide their admiration of any half-decent looking girl that walked by.

She was so busy staring around the room she didn’t notice the guy approaching the bar until he was right in front of her. He had a knowing smile on his face, and his dark hair and eyes were a bit of a dream. She noticed more than one girl staring at him. She took in a breath as he approached her.

I’ll have an Old Milwaukee. He tapped his fingers on the bar. Locked up in back.

He gave her a winning smile, and Ruby figured he was a regular since he knew about Rett’s stash.

Coming right up, she smiled. She went into the kitchen, opened the pantry, and grabbed the beer, hurrying back. She paused before she went back into the bar room, took a breath, then smiled and walked toward the bar.

He was leaning against it, watching her approach, and her nerves jangled. She put the can down and searched the bar for something to open it.

I got it. He pulled a church key out of his pocket.

She blushed as she slid the can over to him, hoping he didn’t think she was a complete idiot.

He winked and held out some coins, touching her hand with his fingers as he gave her them. He locked gazes with her, smiling.

I’ll catch you later? He winked again, and moved into the crowd.

Who was that? Ruby asked, a little awed.

Name’s Ray, Irene said. He’s a sleaze ball. Of course half the hooligans in this place are sleaze balls.

Irene disappeared into the back with a tray of dirty glasses. Ruby tried to spy Ray in the crowd, but he’d vanished. Her night was looking up if the guys around here were like him.

* * *

Bill pulled the car into the lot at Everett’s at seven-thirty. It was already filled with motorcycles, souped up cars, and people.

Tell the guys to keep their eyes open, Tim said. I want eyes all over in case this goes south. Go get some drinks when we get in there, I’ll find a table.

He got out of Bill’s car and walked inside.

He thought the decibel level might have dropped slightly when he walked in, but he wasn’t sure. He glanced at the bar, then looked toward the back corner, past the jukebox, and saw some people crowded around the table he liked. As he walked toward it, people moved out of his way.

He stood at the table, a round one tucked into the back near a window. The folks there looked at him for a moment, then the two couples moved out of the seats quickly.

Tim sat with his back to most of the room. He could see everyone reflected in the window. Most people might think he was stupid for sitting with his back to the door—you never did that unless you wanted to get jumped from behind—but they’d be surprised if someone tried it. He’d see them coming easy.

He lit a cigarette and took a long drag, then slowly looked to his right, appraising the crowd around a raucous poker game. He hadn’t been to Everett’s in a couple of months, spending most of his time at the Lucky Lady, an Irish bar off Fremont run by Jimmy Lewis’s old man. Not much had changed at Everett’s, but the girl behind the bar was new. He could see her reflected in the window, busying herself serving drinks. She was small, with almost-black hair, and he’d never seen her in here before. Things might be looking up if Everett had decided to hire waitresses that looked more like her and less like Irene.

He spotted Darla huffing towards the door, half in costume and half in a rage. That meant Jake was probably nearby since he was usually the cause of her temper. He didn’t spot Carolyn West, and he was both relieved and disappointed. He didn’t like mixing business with pleasure, and her ripe lips and dangerous curves were definitely pleasure. It sure would’ve been nice to have her waiting upstairs when he was done with his meeting.

Bill came to the table and handed him a beer, and Tim sat back and lazily watched everyone. He liked to tune out the noise and the people and observe. There was a lot you could tell by looking at people, even their reflection in a window.

Pamela Kingston was hard up for Jimmy Lewis, but he was so thick into his poker game he wouldn’t notice until he lost, which he was going to with a hand like that. Tony Cochrane was worried his girl Elaine was stepping out on him from the way Tony was watching her chat up Eddie Demarco by the jukebox. Ray Roth was hitting on a girl near the hall, and from the looks of it, striking out. Through the window, he could see his cousin Jesse Lennox outside in a scrap with someone. Carl Hamilton and Adam Barnes were arm wrestling at a small table nearby. Carl put Adam down twice in a row.

Tim glanced at the clock above the bar. Quarter to eight. He cracked his knuckles in anticipation. His boys better be on their toes and ready for trouble when those LA boys showed up.

* * *

Ruby handed two beers to a chatty guy in sunglasses, and as he took off into the crowd, Everett handed her a pad and pencil and told her to go see if anyone needed more drinks. She figured that was what Irene was for, but he made her go anyway.

She circled around, taking a few orders, and earning more than enough wary looks from some of the girls, even the ones younger than her. She hoped it was because she was new. Looks like that were why leaving high school was a relief.

She approached a table at the back where the chatty guy sat, the sunglasses now in his pocket. Her gaze was on his friend, a guy a bit older than her with brown hair.

His hair was darkened from the hair oil he used. He had a sharp profile and gazed out the window every so often, as if he wasn’t in the room with everyone else. She had the unnerving feeling he was watching her as she approached.

He turned his head slowly, tilted his chin up to look at her, and she inhaled sharply. The right side of his face was as handsome as she’d anticipated from his profile, but something was off about the left side. It looked uneven, one cheek a little off, and she could tell his nose had been broken at some point. Scars danced along his hair line and circled toward his eye, another trailing around his nose. A deep scar started below the left side of his lip and curved like a crescent moon along his chin. She locked gazes with him and swore she saw mirthful amusement in his, as if he’d expected her surprise. She recovered quickly and put on a smile.

Can I get you boys anything else?

The one with the scars stood slowly, only inches away from her.

Can we talk?

She backed up, nervous about how close he was to her, but she managed to nod. She inhaled sharply, afraid he was angry she’d reacted to his lopsided face. He was so close she could smell his aftershave, and butterflies swirled around in her stomach.

He moved away from her swiftly, cutting through the crowd, and people parted like the Red Sea to let him through. Ruby looked around, watching everyone watch this guy. He stopped in the hallway and turned around looking for her. She hurried over.

I need that back room, he said. For a meeting.

Oh, well … um, you should talk to—to Rett, she said, her face hot at how awkwardly the words tumbled out of her mouth.

You’ve got the keys.

She looked at him in surprise and followed his gaze. He was looking toward her right hip, the keys nestled in her right back pocket. She wondered what he’d been looking at to notice them there. She picked the keys out slowly and looked up again. His eyes were large and moss green, holding a hint of malice along with amusement. He held her gaze without breaking it, neither challenging nor pressuring.

She walked past him to the locked door and it took a minute for her to find the right key and open it. He walked into the room, and turned to face her.

My buddy’s gonna bring two men in here with him around eight. You follow them in, take drink orders and bring them right away, then don’t so much as breathe on the door.

He faced her, like a general giving orders. She wasn’t sure she liked it.

And if I happen to breathe on the door? she asked archly.

He stepped toward her and bent his head close to hers. She shivered in spite of the warmth.

You’re not gonna wanna do that, he whispered. She took in a sharp breath and backed away, but relaxed when she saw the hint of a smile on his face. She was about to smile back, but he shut the door on her, and she was standing in the hallway alone.

* * *

Hey Rett? Ruby asked, wandering behind the bar where her brother stood counting change. Who’s the guy with the scars?

All on the side of his face? That’s Tim Kelly, and you’d do best to stay away from him, Everett said. Chicago mob gave him that, and he probably deserved it. He’s in jail more than not. A pile of trouble.

He’s using your back room, she said, watching the door.

Nothing unusual about that, Everett said. She watched him clumsily move around behind the bar and figured he was pretty drunk. A lot of good he’d be in a pinch.

Tim Kelly runs with that kid Ray that was hitting on you, if you could call it that, Irene said. All a bunch of hoodlums. Dunno why Sam Wyatt let’s them run around like they do.

Ruby kept an eye on the front door, and soon she spotted two men come into the bar and figured these were the ones Tim Kelly was waiting on, since they were too well dressed to fit in at Everett’s. One wore a big cowboy hat and a fancy belt buckle, while the other wore a tailored western jacket and bolo tie with a silver clasp. Despite the outfits, they didn’t look like cowboys to her—just men playing the part. The chatty guy shook hands with both of them and walked them to the back room.

She skimmed her fingers over the gun under the bar, then grabbed a pad of paper and a pen and followed them.

* * *

The two men from LA came into the room introducing themselves. The dark haired girl had followed, and she looked more than a little nervous. The gun