Ralph Compton - Bluff City

His establishment was the premier gambling den not only in Bluff City but in that part of the Rockies. Paintings of naked women adorned the vaulted ceiling, cast in intimate relief by large chandeliers. The walls were paneled in mahogany and the floor was thick with plush carpet. The ground floor, which covered an entire city block, was devoted to games of chance, everything from poker to faro to roulette. In the galleries were lavish suites where those so inclined could indulge carnal tastes. Higher up were private rooms for private games and other doings.

Nightly the Bluff City Emporium was filled to over-flowing. The rich and the almost rich came as a matter of course simply because it was “the” place to be. But many with far less money also dared its doors to spend an excited hour or three wallowing in luxury. Most went home broke, but considered the time spent well squandered.

The patrons were generally carefree and friendlier than at, say, the Rusty Spittoon. Unlike some gambling dens, where fights and knifings and shootings were common, the Emporium was touted as the safest nightspot in town. Barker made it known that anyone who started trouble would be banned, and no one wanted to be banned from the Emporium. That, and his staff, which included the toughest bouncers anywhere, kept the Emporium largely violence-free.

Clay Adams nodded at the doorman and strode in with his derby at a jaunty angle. Hooking his thumbs in his vest, he made the rounds of the tables. He smiled at everyone and offered greetings if greetings were offered to him. His meandering eventually brought him to where the best of the professional gamblers and those with a lot of money to lose played high-stakes poker. The section was roped off from the rest of the floor. Admittance was by Harve Barker’s invitation only. His private club, was how the people on the street referred to it.

Each night the purple rope was lined with gawkers who would point out the rich and the powerful to one another, and often applaud when large pots were won.

Clay joined the gawkers. He contrived to stand near the table reserved for Harve Barker and the select few who nightly joined Barker for friendly games that lasted well into the wee hours of the morning.

Barker always sat with his back to the wall in a chair that was more like a throne. A purple-clad minion was always at his elbow, ready to supply his every whim. Barker’s age was hard to gauge. He looked to be in his mid to late thirties. His brown hair was fluffed in a crest, his chin clean-shaven. His suit was the pinnacle of tailored artistry. Gold rings gleamed on several fingers. His pocket watch and fob were gold.

Clay recognized two of the other players. One was the president of the First Bank of Bluff City, the other the owner of a prosperous mercantile. Neither showed the least interest in the onlookers.

Taking a quarter eagle from his vest pocket, Clay began flipping and catching it. He flipped it over and over, seemingly not paying much attention to what he was doing, so it appeared to be by accident when he flipped the coin high and missed, and it fell inside the purple rope and rolled toward the exclusive table.

Almost instantly, the man in the purple uniform at Harve Barker’s elbow moved to pick up the coin and return it.

Clay said thanks more loudly than was necessary.

Play at the table had not been interrupted, but Harve Barker’s gaze did drift toward the rope. Interest animated him when he saw Clay. Barker leaned toward his purple-clad minion and said something.

The minion came back to Clay. “If you would be so kind, sir, Mr. Barker would like to talk to you.” He unhooked the purple rope.

“Me?” Clay said.

“Yes, sir. You.”

“What for?”

“Mr. Barker did not take me into his confidence, sir,” the man said. “Now please, if you would be so kind.”

Clay followed the man over. The other players gave him a curious scrutiny but did not greet him.

Harve Barker was dealing. Pausing, he smiled and said, “Mr. Adams. A pleasure to make your acquaintance.”

“You know who I am?”

Barker’s smile was lordly. “I make it a point to know most everything there is to know where Bluff City is concerned. For instance, the day you arrived you were hired at the Courier. Jerome tells me you are a diligent worker and have shown an interest in becoming a journalist. Or should I say, in a journalist.”

“Sir?” Clay said.

Harve Barker looked up. “We’ll let that pass for the moment. Right now, how would you like to sit in?”

Clay shifted his weight from one foot to the other. “I am afraid the stakes are too high for me.”

“Well then, sit anyway, and we can talk while I play. Charles, bring my guest a chair.”

The man in purple scurried to obey. Clay sat with the derby in his lap and commented, “This is quite an honor.”

“Is it?” Barker finished dealing and leaned back. “I pull on my pants one leg at a time, the same as you do.”

The president of the First Bank of Bluff City chuckled. “Modesty from you, Harve? I didn’t think you had any.”

“Next he’ll start attending church,” said the owner of the mercantile, and the players all laughed except for the professional gambler.

Barker smiled a polite smile while studying his cards. “Tell me, Mr. Adams. Where did you live before you came to our fair city?”

“Here and there,” Clay said.

“How did you make your living?”

“This and that.”

“I see. It’s none of my business.” Barker placed the cards facedown on the table and turned in his chair. “But there is something that is my business. Or should I say someone? A person I am quite fond of. And I do not take kindly to your intrusion. I do not take kindly to it at all.”

“Would this have anything to do with Melanie Stanley?” Clay asked.

“It has everything to do with the delightful Miss Stanley, yes,” Harve Barker said. “You will stop seeing her or I will have every bone in your body broken.”

Chapter 8

Harve Barker waited for a reply. He drummed his fingers on the table. He arched an eyebrow. Finally he snapped, “Didn’t you hear me?”

“I thought maybe you were pulling my leg,” Clay Adams said.

“In case you were not aware of the fact, I have a personal interest in the beauteous Miss Stanley.”

Clay flicked a piece of lint from his jacket. “I seem to recollect Deputy Wiggins saying as how you were fond of her.”

“So you do know? Yet you have gone out with her anyway.”

“Like you say, Melanie is right pretty,” Clay said. “What man wouldn’t leap at the chance to escort her out and about?”

“You are not paying attention,” Harve Barker responded. “Melanie Stanley is mine to court, not yours. I have been wooing her since she arrived. God willing, she will one day become more than a good friend. Much more.”

“I was thinking the same thing,” Clay said. “She has a way about her I admire. A man could do a lot worse.”

Barker resumed drumming his fingers. “I’m wise to you now. You are doing this on purpose. You are trying to get my goat.”

“All I am trying to do,” Clay said, “is savvy why you think you have staked a claim to her. She’s not wearing your ring, is she? She’s not even your betrothed.”

The other players had laid down their cards. They were listening but trying to act as if they were not. The only one bold enough to openly stare at Barker and Clay was the gambler, who was grinning.

“I don’t need to propose to stake a claim, as you so quaintly call it,” Harve Barker said flatly. “The mere fact she and I have gone out together a number of times is enough. Ask anyone in Bluff City and they will tell you Melanie Stanley is my woman.”