The Spoilers by Matt Braun

himself up stiffly. “Never.”
    â€œDamn shame,” Starbuck said with a waggish grin. “You ought to turn loose and live a little. We only pass this way once, and that’s a mortal fact.”
    Starbuck pulled out his diamond-studded watch and popped the lid. The strains of “Darling Clementine” tinkled across the lobby. Hotel guests standing nearby turned to stare and the clerk rolled his eyes toward the ceiling. Starbuck snapped the lid closed and replaced the watch in his vest pocket.
    â€œHow long does it take to walk there?”
    â€œA matter of a few minutes, no more.”
    â€œMuch obliged.”
    â€œAll part of the service, Mr. Lovett.”
    Starbuck flipped him a salute and strode off toward the elevators. The bellboy hefted his luggage and hurried along behind. Watching them, the clerk passed his hand in front of his eyes, and slowly shook his head.
    Â 
    Shortly after one o’clock Starbuck pushed through the doors of the Bella Union. The noontime rush had slacked off, and there were perhaps a dozen men strung out along the bar. He hooked a heel over the brass rail and nodded pleasantly to the bartender.

    â€œYour boss a fellow by the name of Denny O’Brien?”
    â€œSix days a week and all day on Sunday.”
    â€œWhere might I find him?”
    The barkeep ducked his chin. “See that gent down there?”
    Starbuck glanced toward the end of the bar. A man stood hunched over the counter, staring dully into a glass of whiskey. He was wide and tall, with brutish features and a barrel-shaped torso. His head was fixed directly upon his shoulders, and he appeared robust as an ox. Starbuck recognized him instantly as a bruiser. One of a breed, bouncers and strongarm men, who maintained order with sledgehammer fists.
    â€œYeah, so?” Starbuck asked. “What about him?”
    â€œYou want to see Mr. O’Brien, you start with him. His name’s High Spade McQueen.”
    â€œSounds like a gamblin’ man.”
    The barkeep smiled. “If I was you, I wouldn’t bet against him. You might try talking real polite, too.”
    â€œThat tough, huh?”
    â€œMister, he’s a cross between a buzz saw and a grizzly bear. You never seen anything like him.”
    â€œThanks for the tip.”
    Starbuck shoved away from the bar and walked toward the rear of the room. He braced himself to appear bluff and hearty, a man of dazzling good humor. Working undercover, he always turned actor, assumed a role, and it wouldn’t do to slip out of character. He rounded the end of the bar and halted.
Smiling affably, he showed High Spade McQueen his gold tooth.
    â€œMr. McQueen?”
    â€œWho’re you?”
    â€œName’s Harry Lovett,” Starbuck replied. “I’ve come all the way from Denver to see Denny O’Brien. The barkeep told me to check with you.”
    McQueen swiveled his head just far enough to look around. An ugly scar disfigured one cheek and his eyes were like ball bearings. He fixed Starbuck with a sullen stare.
    â€œYou got business with Mr. O’Brien?”
    â€œI bear greetings from a mutual friend, Mattie Silks. She was of the opinion Mr. O’Brien and me might do one another a favor.”
    â€œSuch as what?”
    â€œI’m here to buy some whores. I need advice, and I’m willing to pay handsomely to get it.”
    McQueen’s mouth split in a grotesque smile. His teeth were yellow as a row of old dice, and the scar distorted his features. He pushed off the bar.
    â€œYou should’ve said so to start with. C’mon, I’ll take you up to the office.”
    He crossed the room and mounted the staircase. Starbuck obediently tagged along. From the rear, he was even more aware of the man’s massive shoulders. He reminded himself to strike the first punch if ever he locked horns with High Spade McQueen.
    Upstairs, McQueen turned into a small alcove off the central