they're here for one reason or another.”
“ Or both.” The men at Fort Hayes spent most all of their money at the local brothels.
Stevens nodded. “Shall we?” He opened the wooden door.
Sinclair stepped into a room thick with cigar smoke, the sights, sounds and smells just like every other bar room west of the Mississippi. Raucous laughter bounced off the pine walls, intertwined with female squeals and giggles. Tinny piano music split the air along with the swoosh of petticoats as a girl danced atop the bar. Glasses clinked, cards shuffled. The smell of smoke, sweat, and sex tinted the air. Lanterns hung from nails on the walls and set in the middle of the tables, a soft hue hiding a harsh reality.
Men lined the walls and crowded around tables, talking, drinking, sopping large biscuits into red-eye gravy and dunking cornbread into steaming bowls of stew, all slipping free of their day of worry— in one fashion or another.
And o ne of these men could be a rapist. More than one could be robbers and saboteurs.
“ So this is the town restaurant too?”
Stevens pushed past a couple o f tables. “Yes. You should be able to find most of the men you'll need here.” He stopped beside a large round table full of men—one, an oversized giant. “Cormac McGrady, this is Major Bradford. He and his men are here to put a stop to the robberies. He needs to ask you a few questions.”
McGrady stood and stretched out his large hand. “Glad to meet you, Major. Have a seat and a drink.” His thick Irish brogue rolled over the words.
Sinclair shook his hand. Firm grip, cool palms. The man looked him straight in the eye, no signs of nervousness. Good.
“ I'll pass on the drink. Coffee sounds good though.”
“ Alice.” Cormac stuck his hand in the air and waved. “Can we have a couple cups of coffee over here?”
“ MmmHmm. Sure thang.” An older woman sauntered to the bar and grabbed two cups and a coffee pot.
“ McGrady, let's take a smaller table.” Sinclair nodded toward an empty corner behind a man wearing a low-brimmed hat over his black, straight hair and sun-dark skin. Part Indian most likely. Nervous, maybe because of his decent, maybe because of guilt. After all, it was the Indian’s land the railroad wanted. That would be perfect motive for causing trouble. The government didn’t see it that way, but by-God, Sinclair would fight if someone tried to take his land.
“ Well, you gentlemen have things to discuss.” Stevens wrinkled his nose as a big-breasted whore and her customer brushed against him. “You don't need me here. I'll head back to the rail office. Major, report to Judge Parsons tomorrow.” He tapped the brim of his bowler and hurried out the door.
Sinclair watched him go. Arrogant jackass. He reminded him of Theodore … too much.
“ I'd enjoy playing poker with you sometime, Major. That is, if your face is always so easy to read.”
“ Hah . I don't play – for that very reason. I'm afraid I have a hard time keeping my opinions to myself.”
A sly smile lit McGrady's face. “Oh, then, I'd pay to see you and Parsons butt heads.”
“ You're too late.” Sinclair glanced around the room, watching, learning faces. The Indian man moved as Sinclair took his seat, keeping his hat low enough to hide his face. “The judge and I have already had words.”
McGrady laughed. “Well, there's always next time.”
“ Yes, I'm sure there will be.” Sinclair leaned in. “For now, I need to know—”
“ Here's your coffee.” The woman set the cups in front of them.
“ Alice, this is Major Bradford,” McGrady made the introductions as she poured.
“ MmmHmm.” Her mouth pursed with disinterest. “You eatin', soldier?”
“ No, ma'am. Thank you.”
“ MmmHmm.”
McGrady blew on the steaming cup as Alice scurried away. “She's president of the Ladore welcoming committee.”
Sinclair spooned sugar into his cup . “And yet, not the rudest person I've met