Falcon had just about finished when a girl came down the stairs and stepped up to the bar. One eye was red and swollen.
“Good Lord, girl, what happened to you?” the bartender asked.
“Nothing,” the girl said, putting her hand up to cover the eye.
“Don’t tell me ‘nothing.’ You’ve got as big a shiner there as I’ve ever seen on anyone.”
“He ... he wants a bottle of whiskey,” the girl said, nodding back toward the bar and putting some money on the bar.
“What happened to you? Did that fella hit you?” The bartender reached up to touch the girl’s eye, but she pulled away from him.
“No, please,” she said. “I don’t want any trouble.”
“Honey, it looks to me like you’ve already got it. What’s going on up there? Listen, you want me to go tell him his time is up?” The bartender started toward the end of the bar.
“No, don’t!” she said. “It’s all right, nothing is going on.” She reached out to grab him. “Nothing, honest. Please, don’t start anything. There are three of them.”
That caught Falcon’s attention. “Three of them, you say?” he asked.
“Don’t get me wrong, they aren’t all three with me,” the girl said. “The other two are with other girls.”
“Why are you interested?” the bartender asked. “Do you know these three men?”
“I’m not sure. When did they get into town?”
“No more’n a couple of hours ago,” the bartender said. “At first, we was glad to see ’em ’cause they’re spendin’ money like water. But the drunker they got, the meaner they got, and right now I’d like to see ’em be on their way, money or no money.” Then, to the bar girl, he said, “Honey, you don’t have to go back up there. Not if he’s beating you.”
“It’ll be all right,” the girl insisted, taking the whiskey. “I just don’t want any more trouble, that’s all.”
She started for the stairs, but by the time she reached the bottom step, Dagen, wearing only his trousers and gun belt, appeared at the railing on the upper balcony.
Falcon recognized him at once as one of the men he had seen back in Calabasas, and he turned toward the bar and pulled his hat down. Because Dagen was standing on the landing above, Falcon’s hat had the effect of preventing the outlaw from getting a clear view.
“Hey, you! Bitch!” Dagen called down to the girl. “I sent you down there to get a bottle of whiskey, not to have a quilting bee. You’ve been down there long enough. Get back up here!”
“Mister, she’s already been up there long enough,” the bartender said.
“What do you mean, she’s been up here long enough? I decide when she’s been up here long enough.”
“Well, you know how it is,” the bartender replied, forcing a laugh. “I mean, she is a working girl. There’s other gents in here wantin’ her time too. I can’t let one man just have all her time. Why, how’d it be if you was waitin’ on her right now?”
“Yeah? Well, I ain’t waitin’ on her,” Dagen said. “But I want to be fair about it,” he added with a mirthless smile. He looked down over the floor of the saloon. “Who’s waitin’?” he asked. “Who else wants her?”
The bar girl looked out over the floor, her eyes showing an expression of desperate hope that someone would back up the bartender. There was absolute silence. The other men, who didn’t want any trouble, managed to avoid the girl’s pleading look.
“Well, now, that’s just what I thought,” Dagen said. The smile left his face. “They don’t nobody but me want her, ’cause she’s nothin’ but a worthless slut. Now, you get back up here.”
The girl shut her eyes tightly, squeezing out a tear. She started up the stairs, then stopped. Clenching her hands into fists, she shook her head resolutely.
“No,” she said. “No, I’m not coming back up.”
“What do you mean you ain’t comin’ back up? I paid for you! Do you hear me, girl? I paid for you! You belong to me.”
The girl put her hand down in a dress pocket, then pulled out two crumpled bills.
“Here is your money,” she said. “I’ll give it back to you.”
Dagen pulled his pistol and pointed it toward the girl.
“I don’t want my money, bitch. I want you. Now you get back up here or else I’m goin’ to put a bullet right between your eyes.”
The room was now deathly quiet, so quiet that the loudest sound to be heard was the steady tick-tock of the clock that hung from the back wall. And because of the silence, Falcon’s quiet words resonated loudly.
“Miss, if you’re not busy now, I’d like a little of your time,” he said.
Dagen looked toward Falcon, then, recognizing him, gasped.
“You!” he said. “You’re Falcon MacCallister, ain’t you?”
“I am,” Falcon said.
There was a gasp of recognition among many in the saloon, for though none had met him, all knew about him.
“I thought we killed you.”
