Buchanan Says No (13 page)

She dropped her glance from his face to the newspaper
"
“
Wanted
.
" she read. " 'Nice-looking girl with good
shape to deal faro . .
“
That's me
,”
she told him. "I'm als
o
over eighteen, Mr. T. Buchanan, and I can stand all the
gaff Bella has to offer. When do I start?"

Buchanan leaned back in his chair, sat there surveying
her very frankly for a long moment. Then he smiled.

"I'll let you know, Mrs. Weston," he said.

"Let me know right now."

"There's other applications
,”
he said. "This little town
is popping at the seams with unemployed lady faro
dealers."

"Not with my qualifications."

Buchanan cocked his head. "They were easy to look at
.”
he said.

"Oh
,
come now, Buchanan. If you're really serious about
giving Troy's some competition, how could you do better
than with Frank Power's mistress?"

"That's a point, I guess, But what do you figure to
get
out of it?"

"Money," she said. "Independence. I want to know
what it feels like to call the plays the way you men do
.”

"Yeah," Buchanan said. "Us men."

"You wouldn't know about that, would you?"

"Lady, you are looking at the original monkey on the
stick. I don't even get to sleep where I want to lately." He looked beyond the girl in the doorway to the red-
haired Carrie James, who stood on the landing and stared into the room with open curiosity in her lively face. Then
Carrie and Ruby exchanged glances and the redhead
turned, disdainfully, and walked to her own room.

"The big attraction at Troy's
,”
Ruby said. "Do you
think I can compete?"

"You haven't got the job yet."

"But I want it very much."

"I'll let you know
,”
Buchanan evaded. "You still staying
at the hotel?"

"Yes,"
she said, "but
I
think
I’ll
take a room here.
C
l
os
er
to the Happy Times."

“
You're a lot surer than I am
,”
Buchanan said* "There's

other
applications."

And I'd have safe escort back home each night
.”
she

said
smiling,

Buchanan held her steady gaze, "There's safe
,”
he said,
"
a
nd there's safe."

Her smile became warmer, bolder,

“
You know, I have an idea I misjudged you last night,
Buc
hanan. You're more man than I figured."

“
I might even be more than you're figuring on
now,"

“
That would be interesting
,”
she said. "Something else
that’s
interesting is how you expect to fight Frank Power
an
d stay alive."

"Little Joe didn't say
,”
He
said, and Ruby laughed.

"The Happy Times Saloon won't be exactly dull
?
will it?"

"Not exactly, Mrs
.
Weston."

"You like to "Mrs. Weston' me, don't you? Rub my
no
se in it
,”

It's the only name I have for you
.’
Buchanan said.
“
M
r
s. Boyd Weston*"

"Say 'Ruby
.
"

"Mrs. Ruby Weston
,”

She moved from the doorway
,
came to stand directly beside the chair where he sat.

"When was the last time you kissed a woman
?
Bu
chanan?"

"A good-looking one?"

“
A
woman."

"Over
in
Yuma,"
he told her thoughtfully. "The eighth
of
June."

"How was it?"

"Real good."

This is the twentieth of July. You want to kiss another
one?”

"Sure
,”
he said, coming out of the chair, upsetting
it
as she moved up against him. Her arms encircled his neck and Buchanan treated himself to a deep whiff of musk-
perfume before kissing her as well as he knew how.

"Close that damn door," Ruby Weston said huskil
y
"Lock it"

Buchanan sniffed her again, "Kiss any men lately?" he
asked cheerfully,

"Just now. Are you going to close the door?"

"He most certainly
is
not
,”
said a determined voice behind them. It was the landlady, and she had in tow still another prospective faro dealer. "Just what is your
game?
Mr
.
Buchanan?" the landlady asked archly.

Buchanan grinned away her indignation.

"Wish you'd apply for the job, Mrs. Cole
,”
he told her. "Like to show you how these interviews go."

"Oh, no, you won't!" the woman protested, actually taking a step backward,

Buchanan turned to the girl with her.

"Afraid it's taken, honey
,”
he said. "Mrs. Weston here
fills the bill."

"In that case
,”
Mrs. Cole said, "I'll escort the lady
downstairs."

"As a matter of fact
,”
Ruby said
?
"I'd like a room in your house
,”

"We're filled up."

"Oh, it doesn't have to be fancy," the dark-haired girl
told her airily. "I'll go up to Bella House now and have
my things sent down."

Ruby left Buchanan's side and proceeded down the
corridor with such regality that the landlady's protests got
locked in her throat.

"I think I'm going to rue the day I ever set eyes on you," she said to Buchanan instead.

"The way business is picking up?"

"Hmph! Monkey business I call it."

He was left to himself then and he closed the door.
And
that defined the room's dimensions, made the tall
man
feel contained, boxed-in. That and the perfumed
wo
man scent in his nostrils made restlessness complete.
Buc
hanan had no place to go but he wanted out, and
he
w
ent from the Green Lantern boardinghouse to Signal
Street.

There was something heady and exciting down there,
too.
Something special in the very air of Bella itself. The
irde ad in the Bulletin proved to be the news item that
Editor Creamer predicted it would, and coupled with the
rumo
rs pronged activity at Little Joe's place and the Happy
7
res
taurant
, it set people to talking, got citizens to gathering in
st
reet-corner groups with something else to discuss but
th
e weather and bad times,

And whatever the excitement was, the handbills that Little Joe had created gave it a boost. They were throw
away
s, set in circus type and illustrated with a defiant
s
ty
le above crossed flags, dotted with pointing fingers and
generous use of double, triple, and even quadruple ex
clama
tion points. Most of all, there was something solid
and
reassuring about "The South Signal Street Merchants'
Association." It was a catch-all, and every man and woman
on
the wrong side of the deadline considered themselves to
b
e automatically members, with full voting privileges and
a
share of the responsibility.

With the result that Little Joe and Billy Burke found
themselves overwhelmed with help and advice
.
Redecorat
ing both establishments became a community project.
Walls were not merely washed of their dirt, they were
painted over
.
Drapes were hung, rugs laid, and from the
st
orage room of the livery stable came a long-forgotten
but truly decorative back-bar mirror.

Buchanan looked in at the Happy Times, found it almost approximating the "New! Gala ! ! Glittering ! ! !
Saloon & Gambling Palace ! ! ! !" described in the hand
b
ills. He didn't know that his bosses, the founders of the
S.S.S.M.A., had also accepted help of a more personal na
ture, that the girls from Big Annie's were offering the
ir
services as barmaids for the duration of opening week as
a special accommodation for the overflow crowd of gents
expected. Or that the barber and the blacksmith's helper
volunteered their fiddle and piano playing.

Buchanan especially didn't know about the changes that
had been made in his own character. Whereas this morning he was generally known as a homeless drifter who'd
spent the night in jail for rough
-
necking, this afternoon
he'd been transformed into a champion. As he strolled the
street he was smiled at, nodded to. Total strangers patted
his back, gripped the hands that had felled Moose Miller
and Mike Sandoe both, and went on their way uplifted.
Buchanan was mystified by the first few encounters, then
—when he understood the role he'd been cast in—un
settled by it. Working off a debt for Little Joe was one
thing; being the rally-round in a saloonkeeper's war was
another.

The big man changed direction, started in search of
Little Joe to get the matter straightened out when his at
tention was caught by the sound of a horse pounding his
way, fast. He looked up, and recognition of Bill Durfee
was as swift as it was startling. Durfee, red-eyed from the
hard ride, his unshaven face gray with trail dust, reined
in abruptly.

"Buchanan, you with Frank Power or against him?"

"I'm not with him, Bill."

"Then, by God, lend a hand. Get a doctor out to
Indian Rocks, Some of the boys might still be pulled
through."

"Where's Sandoe?"

"Comin' back here to collect, the dirty murder
in
'
bastard!"

Buchanan nodded. "Grab yourself some rest, Bill," he
said I’ll
see what I can do."
Five minutes later he led a
d
octor and improvised ambulance wagon out of Bella.

C
hapter
Tw
e
l
ve

There was very little that happened that Bernie Troy
did
n
’
t know about—and he didn't like what he heard
a
bout the changed status of this Buchanan and the alli
es
he had made. There was nothing, in fact, about the
rebellious atmosphere across the deadline that pleased
him
. For despite the lighthearted, almost holiday spirit
alo
ng
Signal Street, Troy recognized the dead-seriousness
of
the competition, the solid support Burke and Little Joe
were generating among a group that had previously been
divided, unorganized, and easy to control.

Not that the Happy Times would survive. The place
s
h
ould be wrecked, of course, and the champion of South
Signal Street would spill his blood and die like any ordi
nary man. That was his partner's department, and there
w
as nothing Frank Power did so well as crush opposition.
Troy had no doubts about the future of their rival. What
bothered him were the symptoms being displayed, the
open defiance of the status quo.

There was an entirely different matter, though, that did
gi
ve the gambler malicious enjoyment. It involved Power,
an
d he was watching Power this very minute, studying
him
through the window of the office. It was all very much like a play, Troy thought, although one of the prin
cipal actors was not on stage right now. That was Boyd
Weston, and he had ridden away during Act One. Then
the newspaper had been published, carrying the little ad,
an
d that had been the cue for Ruby Weston's entrance.
She'd come out of Bella House and ridden down Signal
Street dressed to the nines. Ruby had returned shortly, looking mysteriously triumphant about something. Now
she was standing in the street before the hotel, where Frank Power had intercepted her. For Power's part, at
least, it was a heated conversation. But Ruby Weston had
only smiled that provocative smile of hers and coolly
shaken her head half a dozen times. Then she had
mounted her buggy a second time and driven away, to be
followed immediately by a porter's wagon taking her lug
gage away.

Power had glared after the little cavalcade, his face a
study in frustrated rage and as Troy watched him he
crossed back over to their own place with furious strides.
The gambler swung his chair away from the window,
picked up his copy of the Bulletin, and pretended to be
reading when Power burst into the office. Without a
word of greeting, his partner uncorked the decanter from
the side
boy and angrily poured out a tumbler
-
ful
l
.

"I see by the paper," Troy said conversationally, "that
stock prices are up in Chicago
,”

"To hell with Chicago!" He jerked the paper from
Troy's fingers, slammed his fist down squarely on Bu
chanan's paid notice. "The nerve of that raggedy-pants
son of a bitch! The colossal gall of the whole stupid lot
of them!"

"How you going to handle them, Frank?" Troy asked,
his voice a goad. "If Kersey and Bowen were available,
and if you'd kept that killer off Miller . . ."

"If, if, if! I'll handle the Happy Times. Mike Sandoe
is on his way back to town right now."

"On his way back from where?"

"None of your goddam business!" There was a sharp
knock on the door. "Come in," Power snarled, and then
his face worked itself quickly into something more pleas
ant. The visitor was his important customer for the beef.

"Could hear you clear out to the bar
?
" Wilson said,
"What's all the shouting for?"