“May you rot in hell,” Paunch Stevens growled.
“I still don’t get what she has to do with our card game,” Joe Gentile admitted.
Club Caine’s ruggedly handsome face split in a triumphant grin. “It is simple, young man. Harriet Fly has had me around to her apartment every night for the past week, and Paunch can’t stand the thought of her favoring me over him.”
“Is this true?” Joe asked Stevens.
Paunch Stevens’s jaw twitched and his hands opened and closed. “Harriet Fly would have been mine if this randy goat had not come along and begged her to be his.”
“I have never had to beg a woman in my life,” Club Caine said, and smiled. “I can’t help it if she thinks I have more to offer her than you do. In every respect,” he stressed.
Pushing his chair back, Paunch rose. “Enough. Let us settle this like men should.” He swept his jacket aside to reveal his Smith & Wesson. “That is, if you have the sand.”
“I have more sand than you do,” Club Caine said. “More sense, too. Whoever prevails is bound to wind up behind bars. The marshal has been making a point of late of cracking down on malefactors.”
“On who?” Aces Weaver asked.
“Lawbreakers,” Club said, enlightening him. “Especially those who break the ordinance about not wearing firearms in the city limits.”
“Which no one abides by,” Joe Gentile mentioned.
Paunch Stevens sneered at Caine. “Your excuse won’t wash. If you were half the man Harriet thinks you are, you would go for your gun, ordinance or no ordinance.”
“Not when there is a better way,” Club said. “A way to satisfy our honor and not be arrested afterward.”
“I am listening.”
“Coffin Varnish,” the Brit said.
“I saw the newspaper, the same as everyone else,” Paunch responded. “It’s a lot of bother to go to when we could walk out into the alley and get it over with here and now.”
“Coffin Varnish,” Caine repeated. “We might as well do it legally. Unless it is you who does not have a spine.”
“Oh, I have backbone,” Paunch spat. “More than you will ever have.” He motioned. “Let’s go. We can be there by dark if we hurry.”
“Tomorrow morning. Will ten do?”
“What is wrong with right this minute?” Paunch Stevens asked. “I will never be more ready.”
Club Caine stood and grinned. “I want to spend the night with Harriet.” He gathered up his chips. “You would do well to find someone you care for to keep you company, Yank, for tomorrow you breathe your last.”
“I care about me,” Paunch said.
Joe Gentile was a study in anxiety. “I wish you two would reconsider. An insult is not worth dying over. Nor is a woman.”
“What is, in your estimation?” Paunch demanded, and did not wait for an answer. “You are, what, twenty? That’s the problem with the young today. You are not willing to die for anything.” He turned and tromped off, saying over a shoulder, “See you in Coffin Varnish, Brit. I will be there promptly at ten. Don’t keep me waiting.”
“I can stop this, you know,” Aces Weaver said. “I bet if I go to the sheriff he will send deputies to arrest the two of you.”
“You do that,” Club Caine said, “and the first thing I will do when I am released on bail is come looking for you, and it won’t be to shake your hand.”
Aces Weaver gestured in resignation. “You try to help some people and that is the thanks you get.”
Chapter 13
For Coffin Varnish the day started like any other.
Out at the Anderson farm, Dolph was up before sunrise to trudge to the barn to milk the cows. Filippa was dressed by first light and went out to the chicken coop to gather eggs. She had breakfast ready when Dolph finished milking and let the cows out to pasture. After breakfast he always hitched up the wagon and took their surplus milk and eggs into town to sell to Chester Luce.
In the Giorgio household, Gemma was a firm believer in early to bed and early to rise. She always roused Minimi and their sons out of bed as dawn broke and insisted they wash up and dress before sitting at her table. Their breakfasts were small, as was the Italian custom. Coffee for her husband, milk for her sons, and eggs and a roll for everyone. The milk and eggs she bought each day at the general store.
Placido and Arturo were seldom out and about before ten. Arturo always swept out the stable while Placido fed and watered the horses. They owned three, which they rented out on those rare occasions when someone wandered in wanting to rent one.
At the general store, the mornings started punctually at seven whether Chester wanted them to or not. Adolphina was always first up but not for long. She would wake him and, after he dressed, send him to the kitchen to make breakfast. It was a secret only they shared, since the woman was expected to do the cooking, but Adolphina hated to cook. By eight breakfast was done, Adolphina usually went back to bed, and Chester hung the OPEN sign in the front window. Usually Dolph arrived to sell his eggs and milk by eight thirty.
Winifred Curry did not stick to a routine. He got up when he felt like it, usually between eight and ten, and opened the saloon. Then he treated himself to his first drink of the day and ate if he was hungry.
Sally Worth slept in as long as she wanted. Some mornings she was up early; other times she did not appear until early afternoon. Whether she had plied her trade the night before had a lot to do with when she stirred.
On this particular morning Sally couldn’t sleep, so she was up and dressed by nine. She had Win pour her a drink and went out and sat in one of the rocking chairs to enjoy the relative coolness while it still lasted. She was peacefully rocking and sipping when a rider came up the street from the south and drew rein at the hitch rail. He had a big belly and wore nice clothes, which told Sally he made a decent living at whatever he did, which piqued her interest. “Good morning, there, handsome.”
Paunch Stevens smiled. “I have been called a lot of things, lady, but that is not one of them.” He stiffly dismounted and swore. “Why can’t someone invent a comfortable saddle? My backside is killing me.”
“Would you like it massaged?”
Paunch blinked, and regarded her with renewed interest. “A fallen dove, here? You must be rich and do it for the fun.”
Sally laughed. “I wish. I scrape by, barely, and only by the good graces of the gent who owns this saloon.”
“Ah. He is your man,” Paunch said.
“Not how you mean, no. He is a friend, a good friend. Him and me go a long ways back.”
“You don’t say.” Paunch came under the overhang and swatted dust from his suit. “Perhaps after I conclude my business here today, you and I can get together. I will be in a mood to celebrate.”
Sally came out of the rocking chair as if she had been shoved. Beaming, she hooked her arm in his. “Mister, I am all yours.”
“Not until I conclude my business.”
“What would that be, if you don’t mind my asking?”
“I am here to shoot someone,” Paunch informed her, and headed into the saloon. He wanted to fortify himself before Caine arrived. His anger of the day before had faded and been replaced by a cold dash of reality. “I understand it is legal in this town.”
“Oh my,” Sally said. “I was beginning to think the mayor wasted money on that notice in the newspaper.”
“How is that again?” Paunch asked as he steered her toward the bar.
“You are the first person to come here to kill, mister. Congratulations, I guess.”
Win was wiping the counter. He greeted Paunch Stevens, poured him a rye, and listened to him explain why he was there. “So it has come to pass. You better go fetch the mayor, Sally.”
Grumbling, Sally went out.