The Bisbee Massacre Read Free Page B

owner had raised his curiosity and he wanted to see if the man had been exaggerating.
    He found the place jumping, but was able to secure a place at the bar for himself. The two girls who had been working the floor earlier had been joined by a third, and they all seemed to be working well together.
    â€œYou came back,” the bartender said.
    â€œI told you I would. A cold beer.”
    â€œComin’ up,” the man promised.
    When the man put the beer down in front of him Clint asked, “Boss around?”
    â€œNot yet, but she will be.”
    â€œHope she makes it before I finish my beer.”
    â€œIf she don’t I’ll give ya another one on the house,” the bartender said. “Believe me, it’ll be worth the wait.”
    â€œWell, you’ve got me curious,” Clint admitted, “and I never turn down a free beer.”
    The bartender went to wait on somebody else, and then another customer, and then two more. Clint watched him and saw that he was very good at his job, easily handling the work of two men.
    He turned to watch the floor and the games. There was one roulette wheel, one faro table, a few poker games going on. There were some other tables in the back of the house, but he couldn’t see what the games were—probably blackjack.
    The girls came to the bar to pick up their drinks, gave Clint a flirtatious look each, then went back to the floor with their tray of drinks.
    And then he saw her.
    This had to be Lily, the woman whose name was above the door. The woman whose name made the bartender’s eyes brighten.
    She was tall, with lots of black hair piled atop her neck so that her long, graceful neck was in view. The low-cut deep blue dress showed off impressive cleavage that was creamy and smooth. As she came closer—although he knew she was simply walking to the bar, and not to him—he could see that she was breathtakingly beautiful. She had blue eyes—made even bluer by her dress—a strong nose, full lips, and a strong jaw. He’d started guessing her age at twenty-eight, but as she got closer he revised his estimate until he stopped at about thirty-eight.
    â€œLarry,” she called to the bartender. The men at the bar parted to allow her access, but they also turned away from her, averting their eyes. Clint wondered what that was all about.
    The bartender leaned over the bar and the two of them had a brief conversation. Then he backed up and she turned around. Her eyes caught Clint’s and held them, as if she was waiting for him to turn away, like the others. When he didn’t she squared her shoulders and stared directly at him. He still didn’t turn away, but neither did he approach her, or try to speak to her. In the end she looked away, then walked away, back into the crowd, which parted and then closed back up behind her until she was hidden from sight.
    â€œWhat was that all about?” he asked the bartender.
    â€œOh, she wanted to know how we were doin’—” the man started, but Clint cut him off.
    â€œNo, I mean, nobody looked at her, except for me, and then she seemed to be trying to stare me down.”
    â€œOh, that,” the man said, grinning. “Was I wrong about her?”
    â€œNo, you weren’t wrong.”
    â€œWell, almost every man in this place has tried to speak to her, get near her, gain her interest—something,” the man said.
    â€œAnd?”
    â€œShe cut them down,” he said. “Made it so none of them even want to look at her.”
    â€œWhy not?”
    â€œThey’re afraid of her,” he said. “She’s embarrassed most of them, and they don’t want to be embarrassed again.”
    â€œDoes she have any friends?” he asked.
    â€œNot that I know of,” Larry said.
    â€œAre you her friend?”
    â€œI work for the lady.”
    â€œWhat about the other girls who work here?”
    â€œThey’re afraid of her,