who disobeys my orders.”
“Aww, but Senator—”
“Shut
“Fine,” Puncher snapped, spinning on his heels. “I don’t need no doctor. Just pay me and I’ll go.”
“Very well,” Beares said. He picked up a small bell on the bar and rang it. In moments, Charles appeared at the doorway.
“You rang, sir?” he asked. Fargo noted that his voice held the very slightest of accents, as though it had been worn away by years of disuse.
“Yes, Charles,” Beares said. “Please pay Puncher for two weeks’ work, and see to it that he takes his horse and gear out of the stable. He is leaving my employ.”
“This is all
Fargo eyed the man and nodded. “Maybe we should settle it right now, Puncher, though I reckon you’re more the type to sneak up on a man from behind than you are to face him straight on.”
“You calling me a coward?” Puncher snarled.
“No,” Fargo said. “You
“That’s it!” Puncher snapped, his hand flashing toward his gun.
Fargo reached for his Colt, but before he could clear leather another shot rang out. He looked to see that Charles was holding a small pistol in his hands. Puncher blinked—once, twice, like he was thinking about something real hard—then fell dead at Fargo’s feet.
“You dumbass, Puncher,” Ratty said. “Why’d you have to go and do that?”
Fargo made eye contact with Charles, who simply nodded. The man was lightning fast, and suddenly Fargo realized why he was so close to Beares. He was his bodyguard and some kind of a shootist to boot.
“A clear case of defense,” Beares said. “Well done, Charles.”
Fargo stepped over the prone body of Puncher and stopped in front of the butler. “You’re more than what you seem,” he said quietly, pitching his voice low. “Who are you?”
“Aren’t we all, Mr. Fargo?” Charles replied. “The senator said you would not be harmed while you were here; I was simply ensuring that his word remained unbroken.”
“Ratty, carry Puncher here outside, then clean up the mess,” Beares said. “Mr. Fargo, can I pour you a whiskey?”
Nodding coolly to the so-called butler, Fargo turned his attention back to the man who’d brought him here. “All right,” he said, realizing that Charles—whoever he really was—wasn’t going to answer his question. “Make mine a double.”
Fargo and Beares sat quietly, sipping their drinks and not saying much of anything, while Ratty and Charles removed Puncher’s dead body and cleaned up the mess. Once they were alone, Beares nodded in satisfaction.
“Nothing is ever easy, is it, Mr. Fargo?” he asked. “I simply wanted to have a few words with the man who’s the talk of Storyville tonight, and instead, things got . . . complicated.”
“They have a way of doing that,” Fargo replied. “What do you want with me, Senator?”
“I hear interesting things about you, Mr. Fargo. You show up, apparently working for Parker, then ride off for a while, come back, break up a fight in which some of my men were teaching that Anderson boy a thing or two about manners, meet with that upstanding beacon of justice Timmons, and finally wind up here—beating up another one of my men before my own butler had to shoot him dead.” Beares sighed heavily. “You’ve had a long day, Fargo.”
“True enough,” he admitted. “But you’re forgetting something, Senator.”
“What’s that?”
“I was having my dinner and not bothering you or anyone else, when your men found me and ‘asked’ me to come along. My original plan had been to try to see you tomorrow.”
Beares laughed. “You shoot straight, don’t you, Fargo? I like that in a man, and it’s how I prefer to behave myself.”
“Is that right?”
“It is. It is,” Beares said. He pointed to the lion’s head above the fireplace. “I killed that creature myself, Fargo. On safari in Africa. And do you know what I learned there?”
“What’s that?”
“That despite all our so-called civilized advances, the law of the jungle still applies. The strong survive. The weak die off or are killed. Man is superior to animals, Fargo, but only because of intellect. And despite your appearance, you seem to me to be a man of intellect.”
“How’s that?” Fargo asked.
“You may not boast a superior education, but you think things through. You like to know about everything going on around you—the people, the land, everything—so that you can judge for yourself what is of value and what is not.” He took a sip of his bourbon. “You are your own man, even if you are working for that conniving bastard, Parker.”
“Is everyone here crooked?” Fargo asked bluntly. “So far, not a single person I’ve met has a decent thing to say about the other, and I reckon you’re about the same in that regard. As you said, Senator, I’ve had a long day. Can we skip the part about how Parker and Anderson are thieves and bad men and all you want to do is help Storyville? Can we just get to what you want from me?”
Beares laughed long and loud. “As I said, you shoot straight.” He stood and poured himself another drink. “All right, Fargo, I’ll do the same. There are three of us vying for control of Storyville—the parishes of Winn and Catahoula, to be precise. We all think we’re entitled, and none of us is really better than the robber barons of England or the pirates that ply the Caribbean. I know you’re working for Parker, and I wanted to see what I could do about that.”
“Not much,” Fargo said. “I’ve taken the man’s money and given him my word.”
“To do what, precisely?” Beares asked.
“To keep the game fair,” Fargo said. “He suspects that one or more of the players may cheat, and he wants me to keep an eye on it, catch the person if I can.”
Beares brought the bottle from the bar and offered Fargo a refill, but he shook his head. “I’ve had enough, thanks.”
“And will you do it, then?” Beares asked. “Keep the game fair?”
“As much as I can,” Fargo replied. “The game will be fair so long as everyone plays by the same rules.”
“And since when,” a familiar voice said from the doorway, “is a lady required to play by the rules?”
Fargo looked up, more than a little surprised to see Hattie Hamilton framed in the doorway.
Beares rose to his feet, and Fargo followed suit. “Ah, good evening, my dear,” he said. “Can I pour you a drink?”
“Do you even have to ask?” Hattie said, striding into the room. “I’ve been dealing with David all day.”
“Understood,” Beares said, moving to the bar and pouring her a stiff jolt. “This should help settle your nerves.” He handed her the glass and she took a long swallow, then sighed in pleasure. “Better?” he asked.
She nodded. “It’s a start,” she said, then turned to Fargo. “You’ve had a busy day yourself, Mr. Fargo,” she said. “The parish talk is all about you—fighting in the streets, running into old friends, even giving my young Fleur a ride back from her little outing to the countryside.”
Fargo winced inwardly, knowing that the young lady had not wanted to be seen. For a town with so many secrets, it seemed like very little went on that the people in power didn’t know about. “I’ve been busy,” he admitted. “Now I’m curious.”
“And what are you curious about, Mr. Fargo?” Hattie asked, settling herself on the long leather couch and leaning back in a provocative pose. Once again, her eyes screamed seduction, but he reminded himself of H.D.’s warning.
“Based on what I saw down at the docks, you and Senator Parker are an item,” Fargo said. “I’d go so far as to say he seemed very possessive of you. And now you’re here—with a man he would say was an enemy.”
Hattie laughed, and the sound reminded Fargo of some wind chimes he’d once heard—light and melodic—and warning of the coming storm as the winds rose. “Well, Mr. Fargo, a lady does need more than one patron if she’s
