Page 89 of Deadwood
A woman with dark blue hair tied up in a high ponytail passed us, her narrowed gaze trained on me. She passed without a word, her look anything but comforting.
“Do you believe the stories?” I asked Lander, shaking off the shiver her gaze elicited.
He shrugged. “Hard to trust anything written in those books when anyone can get their hands on them. I guess I’m more of abelieve it when I see ittype of guy. What about you?”
I watched as a plume of dirt rose up in the air as a horse pawed at the ground on the other side of the street. “I never know what to believe anymore.”
We stopped outside of a dark red building, the paint chipping off in various places, revealing sun-bleached wood and spots of decay.
“This is my stop,” he said, looking up at the sign above the door.
“Barter’s Hell?” I read aloud. I guessed the tour was over.
He smiled, though it shone with a hint of shame. “Not much to do in this run-down town.”
“I wouldn’t tell the residents that,” I advised.
“I’ll chalk it up to my bad habits, then.”
“That was more like a stroll than a tour,” I joked, not really caring if he showed me every building or simply kept me company for a time.
He shrugged, a hint of a smile pulling at his mouth. “I never said it’d be an eventful tour.”
“Can I come with?” I had nothing else to do but aimlessly walk around, and it might be fun to try my hand at a game or two.
His smile fell as he eyed me. “You don’t peg me as the gambling type.”
I shrugged. “One can always learn.”
He hesitated a moment before opening the rickety door and waving me in. “After you, my lady.”
Excitement rang through my veins as I stepped over the threshold. Musty air and the pungent smell of ale hit my nose, the combination only lighting my curiosity like a match. The dark room was littered with tables, men and women alike sitting on barstools and worn chairs. At our appearance, heads swiveled our way. A few raised their noses at me as Lander led us through the maze of the bar, and I did my best to keep my eyes downcast, as if I was worried about my footing. Granted, the floor was quite a mess, so stepping over spilled alcohol or shards of glass was necessary.
“Would you like a drink?” Lander asked as we rounded the far end of the bar.
I felt compelled to decline, but something about being in Deadwood, in this gambling den, turned me into someone else entirely. “Sure.”
He ordered two drinks, sliding one in front of me as he paid. Before walking off, I took a sip, my nose instantly scrunching at the pungent taste.
“Deadwood likes their alcohol strong,” Lander said, a tilt to his lips at my reaction. Since being here, he’d grown a slight shadow along his jaw, the blond hair growing in quick.
“You’ve been here that many times already to know that?”
Once we got to the back of the bar, he held a door open, and just in his casualness with finding the entrance, it confirmed what I’d thought. He knew this place like the back of his hand.
“I’ve a curious mind,” he said as I passed.
The next room was dark, the windows—all two of them—covered in black cloth. Smoke hung in little clouds, swirling through the tables in the musky air. Men and women were scattered about, playing games of poker. A few of them had ink that swirled up their necks, some with designs climbing so high that they disappeared under their hair. Large men full of muscle and stern expressions stood around, keeping an eye on the competitions. I didn’t want to find out why their presence was necessary.
Some of the men had women perched on their knees with a delicate touch to their chests or shoulders, keeping them company while they puffed on cigars and played their cards. It was hard to imagine Lander as one of them, but I remembered it was the gambling he was addicted to. Not the girls.
Naturally, I would’ve been put off by the murky scent enveloping the establishment, but I welcomed it with a deep inhale. Though I instantly regretted it, I didn’t hate the smell. It was different than I was used to, and for that, I welcomed it.
“Ah, Lander,” a man said from one of the tables.
We both turned in his direction, finding a pudgy middle-aged man puffing on a cigar, watching us along with the rest of his table. By the looks of them, it seemed their game had just ended.
“Perkins,” Lander replied. “Great day so far?”
