The Great West Detective Agency by Jackson Lowry

into the astringent fruit and almost spit it out. The taste matched that of a persimmon. He turned, judged distances, then heaved the apple at the two coppers with great accuracy. The big one whirled around, face livid. Lucas pointed down a side street, sending the policemen running away. Lucas took a moment’s amusement at how the hopped-up officer had wobbled awkwardly and fallen off a curb into a mud puddle. It was small enough payment for them not going after Conklin’s murderers.
    His steps took him back past the Great West Detective Agency office, where the man and the woman paced back and forth, waiting for the owner to show up.
    â€œ. . . the ad,” finished the man.
    â€œIt’s not a fake, and we’re not leaving. We need this job.”
    â€œDear, we can look elsewhere. In a town the size of Denver, there must be others who will hire us.”
    â€œAfter you were caught with the goat? I don’t think so.”
    Lucas kept walking, never breaking stride although he wished he could get a more complete description of the affair of the goat and the man who looked so sheepish. Eventually the detective agency owner would return and the couple would beg him for whatever job had been advertised. He wished he could be there to see not only what the owner looked like, without any of the disguises he apparently used in his work, but also to find if the persistent man and woman were hired. If it were left up to him, he would hire them to run the office.
    If for nothing else, his curiosity about the goat ran wild.
    He made his way through the maze of streets and finally stood in front of the Emerald City Dance Hall and Drinking Emporium. The green paint used on the front had begun to peel after a long winter of fierce blizzards and a summer of baking heat and little rain. The doors were propped open to let in what breeze could be found sneaking off the distant mountains as a steady rush of cigarette smoke and bad music came from inside.
    A quick step avoided a drunken cowboy who found the double doors too narrow. As he entered, the cowboy fell face first into the watering trough with a loud splash. Lucas never looked back. He made his way to the bar. Lefty might as well have been a permanent fixture behind it. He never seemed to leave, making Lucas wonder if the man owned the saloon. All his dealings were with the one-armed man, and until now he had never wondered who the owner night be.
    He chalked up the sudden interest to his hunt for Amanda’s missing dog. Questions that went unanswered never troubled him as long as he sat across the table from a man with a big poke and a small hand.
    â€œHe’s been here looking for you,” Lefty said. “Blood in his eye. Him and
four
men with the look of gunslingers.”
    â€œThe rancher?”
    â€œI don’t want trouble in here. If you can’t take care of him, clear out.”
    â€œYou know your revenue would drop through the floor if I left for another gaming parlor.”
    â€œPrying up the floorboards might expose gold dust and money these liquored-up sots have dropped over the years.” Lefty scratched his chin, nodding to himself as he worked over the notion. In a voice almost too low to hear, he said, “That’s not a bad idea. Gold dust in the dirt.”
    â€œCarmela getting ready for the show?”
    â€œHell, Lucas, I don’t know if she’s even in town. She might be. I’m not paying her to go onstage a minute before ten tonight.”
    Lucas glanced at his watch. Twelve hours until the light of his life made her grand entrance to a throng of cheering, jeering men.
    â€œDeal some faro. Jenny’s not up to it right now.”
    Lucas knew better than to ask why the woman had skipped work yet again. Lefty might tell him. The last time he had asked after a coworker, he had learned more than he ever wanted to about the effects of malaria on the human body and soul. Short of Rocky Mountain