Bad Business by J. R. Roberts

Author:J. R. Roberts
Language: eng
Format: epub
Publisher: Penguin Group US

TWENTY-THREE

Clint left Peter Forrest for last, since his office was in Portsmouth Square, and that would put him closest to the Diamond Palace when he was done.

Forrest’s place was unimaginatively called the Lucky Lady. It had it all—hotel, saloon, gaming. Clint wondered why they insisted on calling it “gaming” when everybody knew it was “gambling.”

Rather than go to the hotel desk and ask for Forrest, he went to the bar in the saloon. Invariably the owners of these hotel gaming palaces left the running of the hotel to others. They were primarily interested in the gambling.

He ordered a beer at the already crowded bar. Unlike other parts of the city, business started early in Portsmouth Square—the business of drinking as well as gambling.

When the bartender brought the beer, Clint had to lean over the bar to be heard.

“I’m looking for Peter Forrest.”

The bartender nodded and said, “He owns this place.”

Patiently, Clint said, “I know, that’s why I’m looking for him here. Where is he?”

“He’s around, somewhere,” the barman said. “He likes to make the rounds, watch the games, talk to the people. If you stay right there he’ll eventually come to the bar.”

“Okay,” Clint said, “let me know when he shows up.”

Clint wanted to get back to his hotel to see if Sara Jane was actually going to meet him there. She probably knew all of her boss’s business, and maybe he could find out something from her. Meanwhile, Webster might tell to her to keep their date and try to find out something from him.

Clint nursed the beer and watched the games he could see from the bar, as well as the girls working the floor. Forrest seemed to like to hire them young. He didn’t think there was a girl there older than twenty-one or twenty-two.

Clint was about to turn around and ask for another beer when he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Here comes the boss now,” the bartender said, leaning over so he could say it in Clint’s ear. Clint looked at him and the man pointed with his chin. Clint looked, saw a man in his thirties, tall and slender, walking toward him—or toward the bar.

“Introduce me,” Clint said.

“Barry,” Forrest called, “a beer.”

“Sure, Boss,” the bartender said. “This fella wants to see you.”

“What about?” Peter Forrest asked, looking at Clint. “You got a complaint about a game? I’ve got a manager for that.”

“Not about a game,” Clint said. “This is about Lily Kingsforth.”

Forrest reached for his beer without taking his eyes off Clint.

“What about her? Does she want to sell? She send you with an offer?”

“Not exactly.”

“That bitch is makin’ a big mistake, fella,” Forrest said. “You tell her that.”

“I don’t think I like your mouth.”

“Yeah, well, fuck you, too,” Forrest said. “How’s that?”

“Not nice.”

As Forrest started to lift the beer mug to his mouth, Clint drove the heel of his left hand into the bottom of the glass. The force drove the glass into Forrest’s face like a missile. If the mug hadn’t been so thick the glass might have broken.

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