Chapter 2

Carl was deep in the mine with his pappy’s shotgun. He had dealt with those creepy rotting miners earlier, though he was displeased at using so many salting rounds on the hopeless fools. This mine was empty and hadn't produced anything in decades.

His clients didn’t need to know he was using the shotgun to salt the walls in random places with silver. That was beside the point. These diseased lepers were obviously desperate if they were this deep looking for precious ore to fund a snake oil salesman’s false cures.

‘Everybody knows that medicine man couldn’t cure sobriety with eighty proof, let alone any more serious sickness. And what’s with that top hat? Doesn’t he know it doesn’t go with the bones and feathers? It’s the 30’s, for god’s sake.’

Carl returned to trudging through the ragged tunnel, occasionally retrieving another pair of shells from his satchel and blasting the walls with pappy’s problem solver. His dear ol’ daddy had always said,

“Few things in life can’t be solved with this here iron, especially if a body takes exception to your learned ways. Remember that boy, when bullshittin’ fails, blastin’ will get you the rest of the way.”

His father had been an excellent family man. Teaching his son the family business of how to take the rubes for all they were worth with a gentle, guiding talent. He started with simple sleight-of-hand hustles and then moved on to the more complex cons. He had even gifted Carl this shotgun when he told his Pa he was heading west.

Carl smiled at the memory of the pomp and ceremony his old man had used to convey the weapon to him as he entered a larger room. The walls glistened wetly, reflecting the flickering light from his helmet. He’d need to replace the battery soon.

The door against the far wall was carved with unusual symbols and surrounded by rotted hunks of abandoned wooden crates and debris. He brought his mind back to the work at hand.

The “investors” should be satisfied with the next assay “report” he gave them and fork over the money relatively quickly tomorrow. He had even consulted with that fancy gogolist feller from Virginia to make the report more “accurate.” His thoughts turned downright generous for a few moments,

‘They’ll never know how lucky they are to buy such a “valuable” mine so close to that gubment project startin’ down near Boulder,’

Even Steve, one of Carl’s buddies workin’ on that thing, thought it was a shame they couldn’t graft on that scale,

“I tell ya’ Carl, this is the biggest scheme I ever did see. Them government bigwigs got a sweet ride, makin’ up projects that show us for small potatoes. They already have the money. They can make out of whole cloth any reason for spending it willy-nilly.

“No matter, I’ll toil along for their dime while the money’s good. You be careful in that mine, you hear? Bill went up that way last week, and nobody’s seen him since.”

Carl stopped walking as some white-colored gas started flowing out of the crack in one of the walls near a strangely marked door in the room. Carl panicked. What had that gogolist feller said?

“You won’t see the gasses that will kill you.”

Carl figured it was even worse than death coming out of that hellish ground if he could see it. So he raised the problem solver and let loose with both barrels at the cloud. Maybe he could collapse the crack and shut it off at the source.

A horrible wail assaulted his ears as the silver-laced buckshot collided with the cloud, sending sparks everywhere. The sound rattled his brain and sent shivers up his spine. The cloud stopped coming from the crack as it was consumed in a small fireball.

Carl was panting in fear as he cracked open the shotgun and, removing the spent shells, reloaded. No more gas escaped. It seemed he was safe enough for now.

“Must have been a small pocket. Got lucky, I think,”

He said to himself as he slowly approached the crack near the door. He scanned the crack warily, looking for any more trace of whatever gas that had been. No more of it showing up. Carl turned his attention to the door.

Its frame was of a different wood than the timbers he had spied throughout the mine, darker, with an interlocking grain visible to the naked eye. It was finished, dark and glossy, starkly contrasting the rough-hewn fir timbers he had seen throughout the mine. The symbols carved into the door’s wood were strange, almost a picture.

A faint sound came from behind the door as Carl cast his memory back,

‘What had that gogolist been rambling about after the mining talk? Something about a country named Egypsi? Are these those hero-glyphs he had rambled about? It's a tomb! GOLD!’

The door’s wood burst from the center as a bony hand exploded through it, grasping Carl’s neck in an iron grip. His air was cut off as he was hoisted off the ground by a thin, naked figure who stepped through the door’s remnants, carrying him like a flailing doll.

Carl had dropped the shotgun in his attempt to free his neck from the thin fingers of iron trapping his breath. The skeletal man kicked the shotgun in his stride. It skittered across the floor away from the pair. The skeletal man glanced at the weapon with faintly glowing eyes. Then, dismissing it as a threat, the figure’s attention snapped back to Carl, who was still struggling to free himself from the grip.

“Silver shot? Do you have any idea how long Brian has been in my employ? How much of an inconvenience it will be to replace him? He was a mere century away from retirement!”

Loyd the Lich throttled the man dangling from his grip, furious. Brian had been the one he was counting on to be around still after he had reconstituted. There was no telling how long he had been drifting in the ether, waiting for his phylactery to rebuild him from the corpse and soul he had stored nearby. He needed answers,

“What year is it?”

Loyd lowered the man in his grasp just far enough to the floor of the room for the toes of the grifter to support his weight. Loyd loosened the hand holding him enough for the man to cough and wheeze for a few moments before strangling out a few words,

“Thirty-one-“

“Sufficient.”

Loyd reasserted his grip and lifted the man. A rather acute lack of air ended the struggle quicker than Loyd expected. He must have broken the neck. That would be inconvenient the next time he had to come back. Now he couldn’t harvest the soul either.

‘Damnably inconsiderate of the man. Oh, well.’

Using a spell to manipulate the corpse he was now holding, Loyd saw his assumption was correct and fused the vertebrate he had crushed in haste. He towed the corpse into his sanctuary, undressed it, and stashed the naked corpse under the altar near his phylactery. He retrieved a set of gems and a small pyramid-shaped stone from a small chest under the altar, resting at the head of the corpse.

Loyd dressed in the corpse’s clothes, pocketing the objects he had taken from the chest. That solved his issue of another body should he be killed again and strangers seeing him waltz around naked, not that it mattered to him. The clothes hung from his skeletal frame.

Loyd exited the sanctuary, withdrew an object from his pocket, then concentrated as he cast another spell while holding the stone pyramid in hand. The floor flowed like a waterfall in reverse, covering the entrance to the room containing his phylactery with thick stone. It blended seamlessly over the frame with the surrounding wall, hiding the room. Now he needed a soul.

Loyd did a quick survey of the mine on his way out. The man who had stumbled across his sanctuary had been lacing his mine with silver. The stench of sanctified metal could be found throughout the mine,

‘Regular silver would have annoyed Brian but not ended him. Why was he lacing the mine with sanctified silver, though? He probably stole the metal from a church, accidental success for him, I guess.’

Loyd dismissed the thought from his immediate concerns, prioritizing it to the bottom of the mental checklist. He needed to find…

‘Jimothy? No, Jim. Upside to the new body, the memory for mortal connections is fresher. Sixteen years isn’t that long. Jim should still be around, somewhere.’

All of his miner zombies had been destroyed by the entrepreneur who had so callously invaded his home. Unfortunately, that would set him back a week when he had more time to replenish the guards. Loyd sighed at the future delay in returning to his project. Brian would be much harder to find a replacement. You couldn’t corrupt a priest daily, and Loyd disliked divine retribution as an additional inconvenience.

Loyd exited the mine and took the horse tied near the entrance. It shied away at first but could not escape the reigns Loyd held in his inhumanely firm grip. Loyd tossed the packs of supplies tied to it aside before mounting in the fading light of the setting sun and heading toward town. It was a long ride, but the glimmering town in the distance was easy to spot in the flat valley.

A few hours of riding later, Loyd was impressed. The town had grown. As he rode calmly down the main thoroughfare, an idle curiosity at the new structures and a higher population of humans present cropped up in him.

The horseless carriages were a nice touch of innovation. He had heard of them before he had taken his forced vacation, but they weren’t widespread yet at the time. The plentiful amount of new roads was also a nice touch. Much more efficient than the packed, hardened earth he had been used to.

‘Will this many more humans be helpful in constructing the dam?’

Loyd followed the logical conclusion that it would not, as in his undeath experience, humans let bureaucracy and personal avarice get in the way of progress once a critical mass of participants was reached.

‘Always with the politics. It triples the time it takes to get anything done, but they keep embracing it. I miss the simplicity of them just killing each other more often over trifles.’

The new buildings and horseless carriages slowed his progress through the bigger town, but the main roads had only been expanded, so he didn’t get too lost as he rode.

Passing through the town with fresher mortal eyes than the last time he had been in Vegas, he noticed more minor details that would have been unimportant in the past. Public poster boards calling for the end of something named “prohibition” were plastered on almost every building. Loyd could get behind whatever that was.

‘Few things should be prohibited.’

Numerous new saloons with ladies of the evening hanging from the second-story balconies extolling the value of their services. The ladies weren’t new, but the fashion had changed considerably.

A child near the general store with a dirty face was licking a gigantic lollipop on the stoop while his parents argued loudly with the proprietor about the definition of free samples. Loyd judged the argument still spurious, considering night had fallen, and the kid should be in bed at home.

Loud music and raucous laughter spilled from the doors of a few saloons he passed. However, they decreased in a noticeable lack of care for their upkeep as he progressed down the strip.

He was gaining odd looks from being one of only a handful of horse-riding individuals on the street. Finally, he pulled up in front of one near the end of the street he was on. He tied the reins of his horse to a nearby lamp post. A hand-painted, faded sign above the door proclaimed it Liberty’s Last Stand.

Loyd attempted to purse his desiccated lips in distaste, but he failed.

‘My office seems to have been appropriated. How tiresome.’

The building was much reduced from the size it had been the last time Loyd had seen it, as if someone had cut the entire thing in half. Whoever had stolen his property had plastered over the missing half with corrugated sheet metal to cover the wound to his building.

A few shabby tables had been placed against the side of the building with seating up to the same quality as the now-not-so-fine establishment. Debris and detritus littered the ground around the tables.

Loyd was approaching the door when a group of three men came around the side of the building and stepped in front of him, blocking his path.

“Evening Carl, where you goin’? To buy us a drink with some of the money you owe us, I hope.”

Loyd did not advance on the trio, glancing around for witnesses to the encounter. No one in immediate sight. He would have to be fast. One of the men spoke up in disagreement with the first.

“Frank, that doesn’t look like Carl. Or at least if it is him, he’s sick as hell. Look how thin he is.”

The first man took another look at Loyd’s thin frame and started to speak as Loyd rushed him. He was cut off as Loyd seized him by the throat and carried him around the side of the building from where the trio had come. The other two latched onto Loyd’s arms, trying to free their friend with shouts of anger. Children draped around their father’s legs would have been more effective at slowing the monstrous progress.

The mass of bodies vanished around the corner, and screams of terrified rage rang through the night. The commotion died down quickly.

A pause of about a minute took place, punctuated by muffled groans of pain and short, distorted screams. Finally, a quick series of three green flashes could be seen, faintly flowing from around the corner.

This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

Mild swearing could be heard. After Loyd finished his disagreement with the unfortunate trio, he attempted to open the storm cellar doors to his old office. Someone had filled the entire damned thing with gravel and dirt. He glared at the mound of dirt hidden by the storm cellar doors.

Frustrated, Loyd closed the doors and walked around the corner to the front of the building, settling his new possessions into place. The fellows he had a disagreement with had been generous.

He was sporting a new hat, a gun belt with a six-shooter in either holster around his waist, and a halfway decent duster jacket. He brushed some dust off his frame and shoulders.

‘Appearances help…sometimes.’

A man in a dirty apron burst out of the front door, shotgun in hand.

“Damn it, Frank! I told you not to start nothin’ near here- Oh, howdy stranger, I thought I heard shouts. I run a clean saloon, didn’t want that git messin’ the place up.”

Loyd waved away the Saloon keeper’s concern,

“Frank, his associates, and I had a little dust-up, but that’s dealt with. They won’t be bothering to come around anymore.”

The saloon keeper paused at this, taking in the gun belt at Loyd’s waist.

“I didn’t hear gunshots, and I don’t condone body’s rotting near my saloon, mister…?”

“Marshal Loyd. And there will not be any bodies to be found.”

The saloon keeper snorted in derision,

“Better not be. Name’s Billy… Marshal, eh? And what be your take on prohibition ‘Marshal’?”

“I am against any prohibition. A man should not be limited.”

Billy nodded at this, thoughtfully fingering the shotgun in his hands before sticking out a hand towards Loyd,

“I like that. Odd for a marshal to say it, though. Between you and me, maybe don’t spread around that lawman’s title too much in these parts. Folks are twitchy about the law stickin’ its nose where it doesn’t need to be.”

Loyd shook the proffered hand with a thin smile that showed too many teeth,

“Odd, coming from the owner of a building that used to be a government-sanctioned residence of law enforcement.”

Billy laughed,

“So a stranger, but not to Vegas, eh? You ain’t been around for a long spell, I take it. This hasn’t been a “residence” of law for nigh on twenty-six years. Not many would even remember that.”

Billy scratched his head in thought before continuing,

“Deputy Jim sold this place off after the old Marshal moved out of town. Good riddance to em’ I say, had some dark rumors following him around, I heard. That was a quarter century ago, and folks still remember him. No, I bought it from a feller, who bought it from a feller, an so on.”

Loyd thought on this information for a few moments,

“You happen to know what happened to the deputy? I have business with him.”

“I might run the red light district here on block sixteen. What’s in it for me? Stranger.”

Loyd smiled again, his faintly glowing eyes peeking out from under his newly acquired hat,

“One less dust up around your place.”

Billy took a step back from Loyd and raised his hands, one holding the shotgun pointed away from Loyd carefully,

“Easy, partner. No need for any…misunderstandings. I appreciate the cleaning up you already done. Deputy Jim’s married to the Madam down at the Arizona club. He plays the piano there most nights. About a half mile back down towards the center of the strip.”

Loyd let the light in his eyes fade slowly as he stared. He paused then tipped his hat to the man,

“How reasonable of you, Billy. See you around.”

Loyd untied his horse from the lamp post, mounting. He headed back down the strip the way he had come, ignoring Billy scrambling back into the saloon. He did admire the new hardened road. Much better than the dusty mess he had to deal with in the past. He would have to ask Jim about the wires strewn from poles everywhere.

‘Had telegraphs become that popular? Thought they were slowing down?”

The building's qualities reversed as he got closer to the center of town, observing the boisterous people flitting from one saloon to the other or conducting shadier deals in dark side alleys than they could during the day.

He spotted the sign for the Arizona club in a much fancier large print style. Set into the well-maintained brick building's front face, large glass windows with decorative ironwork covering them presented a much higher class of establishment. The two-story building reminded him of some of the playhouses he would frequent back when he was alive. Those had had gas lamps instead, though.

Electric lights seemed to have become more popular, or at least common, while he was out of sorts about existence. Humans controlling lightning so easily couldn’t be a good thing. The building was lit up like an over-excited, boisterous constellation.

He would have to be a bit more circumspect with this place. Innovation in architecture was costly. Money meant people would want to protect their investments. Violence or destruction could draw attention faster than he could deal with it quietly.

Tying his horse to another nearby lamp post, Loyd entered the almost ostentatious doors to find a stereotypical saloon. Clouds of tobacco smoke swirled through the air with the sounds of poker chips being stacked repeatedly and glasses clinking. The background hum of conversation annoyed him. Loyd didn’t care for the leap forward in time the decor had taken, either.

‘Why was everything shiny? Has decent woodwork fallen out of fashion?’

Bellying up to the bar, he addressed the barmen. A smaller man with a pristine white apron wrapped around his chubby frame addressed him,

“What’ll it be, mister?”

“I’m looking for a former deputy, Jim. I was told he could be found here.”

The barman eyed him with a hint of scorn.

“In case you are new to Vegas, nothin’s free here. Paying customers get conversation. Scofflaws who can’t pay get shown the door.”

The barman nodded to a massive pair of gentlemen standing near the door, observing the room. Loyd guessed with ease they were the establishment's doormen. He retrieved some of the currency in the pouch he had looted from the generous Frank and slid the random amount across the top of the bar. He decided to lighten the mood a bit.

“Enough for more than ‘how’s your father?’”

The barman frowned at the question,

‘Is this stranger trying to be a comedian? He’s bad at it. That was an outdated joke.’

“Jim’s on piano tonight. He’ll be down shortly. Should I send a runner to let him know he has company? A little more should cover it.”

“No, I’ll talk to him before he gets started.”

The barman shrugged,

“Fair enough, stranger. Bit of advice for free. A medicine man comes into town every morning. You should see if he has anything that could help you out. You’re not looking to be in the best of health. My cousin looked similar after those damn inefficient soup lines got set up.”

The barman gestured to Loyd’s skinny frame, his stolen clothes draped over the sharp angles of his bones, almost piercing the skin. Loyd nodded his head amicably,

“Thank you for your concern. I’ve just gotten over a period of downtime. I should be fine with a good meal or seven.”

“Our kitchen is open till midnight. Want me to have the staff bring you something while you wait for Jim?”

“No, thank you. Another party will take care of my dietary needs later this evening.”

The barman was getting an uneasy feeling from the stranger standing in front of him. His way of talking was old-fashioned and full of three-dollar words, but it was just vaguely ominous enough to be unsettling. So he decided to be done with this odd fellow.

The barman slid a glass of bourbon to the odd man and waved him away with a cleaning cloth he used to start polishing the bar as Loyd turned away. The lich, awkwardly gripping the glass of bourbon he wouldn’t be drinking, walked to an empty table near the piano in one corner.

Taking a seat, he watched the crowd milling through the room. Several pairs of ruffle bedecked ladies were leaning over the second-story railing in the room, keeping a friendly looking eye out for anyone approaching the stairs. Loyd assumed these were some of the workers who specialized in stress relief for the more discerning and wealthy patrons.

He imagined the spruced-up ladies at this establishment commanded a higher price for their services than the other saloon he had seen.

‘What was it called? Freedom’s last squatter?’

Loyd’s train of thought was interrupted as he spotted Jim talking with one of the ladies in a somewhat more elaborate outfit than the others on the second-story balcony. The humans would see them as a lady talking with her man anyway,

‘Did Jim finally get better at his illusion spells? You can hardly see the scales on either of them. Did he end up marrying…What’s her name? Good for him. Happiness is so damn fleeting.’

Jim finished his discussion with his presumed bride, starting down the stairs. He crossed the room towards Loyd’s table in the corner on his way to the piano. Jim was only a few feet away when he spotted Loyd and froze mid-step.

His complexion paled faster than blood from exsanguination. A slight tremble started throughout his body as he gazed at Loyd, who slowly tapped the side of his glass of untouched bourbon.

“S-sir?”

“Hello, Jim. After your set, we will discuss the state of my property. I am…disappointed at time’s ravages upon the state of my office. On the other hand, the human population is a nice boon. You’ll not be destroyed before I have answers.”

The chupacabra shook more noticeably as he sat at the piano’s bench and started to play without reply. He was furiously thinking about how to avoid the wholesale destruction of the life he had built with Linda.

‘Loyd remembered my name correctly. Shit! Shit! Shit! How long has it been? Twenty-six years? Fuck!’

Jim glanced at Linda, who was watching the interaction from the balcony, with a worried expression. She caressed her bodice where Jim knew she hid a peashooter to deal with some rougher customers who thought the girls were for permanent sale or that they could get too rough without paying.

Jim shook his head firmly at her and mouthed the word “Run” at her. Her mouth formed a thin line, and she shook her head in response.

‘Damnable and admirably foolish. Gods, I love her.’

Jim turned his attention back to the piano as shouts echoed around the room, calling for the patrons favorite pieces. Jim began to play some of the more popular pieces he was familiar with as Loyd browsed the room’s occupants. He seemed almost nostalgic to Jim. That was more unsettling than Loyd’s usual detached compulsive efficiency. This boss being nostalgic was highly unusual. Twenty-five years wasn’t enough time to forget this terrifying man’s habits.

After about an hour of music, Jim stepped away from the piano bench and sat across from Loyd at his table. Loyd slid the untouched bourbon to Jim across the table. A few people had attempted to sit with Loyd over the last hour but had quickly moved on at the disturbing amount of attention the Lich had been paying to the piano-playing chupacabra.

“What happened, Jim? Why did you abandon my sanctum? It’s been buried under what’s left of that travesty of our old office. Where are my artifacts?”

Jim raised the bourbon to his mouth and took a large swig to wet his dry throat,

“Well, Sir. You said that if you ever disappeared for an extended time, I would move everything to a secure place and erase signs you had ever been there.”

“Everything that was in your office is securely stored in a warehouse across town, Old Wu’s oriental storehouse. I had the basement filled in before I sold the place. Upkeep for storage came out of those funds. I kept none of the funds for myself. Only enough to keep me fed, as you instructed.”

Loyd took this in briefly.

“What of my main project? Did Boul gain the contract for the dam at black canyon, as I instructed?”

“N-no, sir. That was secured by another city nearby, Boulder. Boul was ousted from bein’ mayor back in ‘13. They just started construction of the dam back in April.”

Loyd started tapping the table in annoyance at this revelation.

“Who’s currently in charge? Of the humans and on our side of things?”

“A man by the name of Ernie Cragin, owns all of Boul’s old assets, and little goes on without his word on the matter. Just gave legality to gambling back on St. Paddy’s day.”

Loyd motioned with a hand to move on to the more important question.

“That feller you talked with before you disappeared is in charge of the more unusual side of things, Dr, Jerkyl. He’s more hands-off than you were, Sir. Works as a medicine man peddling his wares every morning down by the government building on Steward Ave. He hasn’t really moved with the times well, but keeps our fellow…unusual citizens in check pretty well. Most humans think he’s a crock, but I know he takes pay from Mayor Craigin to keep things running smooth. ”

“Has the council poked its nose back into my affairs here since I’ve been gone? They are not known for restraint when they perceive that their plans have been disrupted.”

“No, sir. Haven’t heard a peep from them since you left.”

Loyd stopped tapping his finger on the table and stared into Jim’s eyes. His blank expression said nothing to Jim about his thoughts. Jim fidgeted at the stare-down before Loyd spoke again,

“You will continue serving me today. Give me the location of my artifacts. I will speak with our dear Dr. Jerkyl tomorrow morning. I have another task for you. It will be accomplished before dawn.”

Loyd retrieved three softly glowing gems from a pocket and passed them over the table to Jim. The chupacabra snatched them from the table, trying to see if anyone had noticed the exchange at the nearby tables.

“Sir, nobody here knows who you are. They don’t fear your wrath as they should!”

He hissed under his breath. Loyd was unconcerned.

“An opportunity to set an example then. Take those to the sanctuary and feed them to Philbert, be careful not to get too close. He gets nippy when he’s hungry and doesn’t much care for whose soul he gets to snack on. I’ll deal with any that follow you from the building. It’s past time I got back on track asserting my authority in this town.”

“Sir…Who’s Philbert? And what Sanctuary?”

Loyd gently thumped the side of his head,

“Silly me, I had forgotten. I never told you. Philbert is my phylactery. He gets hungry when he helps me come back from inconveniences. Take this as well. You’ll need it to get into the sanctuary. It’s at the lowest part of that abandoned mine I visit. Get moving. It’s a long ride.”

Jim the chupacabra did not think arguing that cars would make the distance trivial was wise. That led him to panic about not immediately bringing his boss up to speed on the avalanche of new inventions cropping up over the last quarter century.

Loyd handed over the small stone pyramid he had used to seal his sanctuary before leaving the mine. Then, he asked,

“Oh, and Jim? Where’s Old Hu’s?”

“Just north of the airport, near Egglington ranch.”

Jim winced.

Loyd blinked.

“Airport?”

“Ah…yes…Humans can fly now, sir. Er, as in…without magic…or much difficulty. Remember the wright brothers’ stunt before you…left?”

“That wasn’t just for publicity, then? Well, how…exciting.”

Loyd’s statement was delivered in a flat, emotionless tone. Jim watched the thoughts flash across his master’s eyes as an echo of lost time down a long empty corridor. He was careful to keep any expression from his face as he waited for the lich to explode into violence.

The Lich stared for a long silent time at his servant before stating abruptly,

“You have executed my orders admirably in my absence. We will talk again tomorrow about the new developments I may have missed while I was…vacationing. The next time I take a vacation, there better not be any changes to the sanctuary. Your family will not survive them.”

Jim didn’t move a muscle as he took this in. He nodded to his master,

“As you say, sir. There won’t be any problems.”

Loyd watched the chupacabra stumble from the table, stopping briefly to exchange words with his wife at the foot of the stairs. During the brief conversation, she looked at Loyd with fear and rushed up the stairs to talk with her girls. They had gathered together in a clump on the balcony and were watching the pair of Chupacabras’ conversation with tension.

Loyd ignored this and watched as Jim exited the building after retrieving something from behind the bar. He was followed after about a minute by a group of rough looking men who left in pairs after the creature. Loyd smiled at the opportunity to flex some authority in his town.

He glanced at the empty glass on his table, paused, then returned it to the barman. The bartender frowned at the minor breach of etiquette. The stranger who had been scaring the shit out of Jim for the past half hour was setting off alarm bells. Sending him out of the bar with what looked like extremely valuable jewels without any subtlety was amateurish as hell.

The girls were all upset, Madam Linda looked anxious. He would have to pass the information that someone new was poking into the Arizona club’s business. Putting his piano player at risk was unacceptable.

Mayor Cragin tolerated some graft in the town’s operation if it didn’t disrupt business. Problems were to be smoothed out as soon as possible, however. This new guy was a problem.

Loyd attempted to whistle gaily as he followed the last pair of would-be thieves out of the bar. He failed miserably but kept it up, whistling badly as he set off to show he was still in charge around here. Behind him, unnoticed, the bartender picked a phone off its cradle and started to dial a number.

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