Business Interruptus

As planets went, he could certainly do worse than Persephone.

“Raise two,” Dorian said, his voice a casual drawl as he pitched more coins onto the growing pile at the table’s center. The move had the desired effect.

To his left, a man named Stubbs groaned, slid his chair back, and buttoned his coat as he rose. “Too rich for my blood,” he shook his head. Taking this as his own cue, a nervous looking little man with a handlebar mustache also stood, pitched his bowler hat onto his head, and made a beeline for the swinging doors.

“Adieu, gentlemen,” Dorian nodded toward their retreating backs. Now there were three to continue the game. One was a miner, known to this table as Carson. Though he kept a steady stream of coin flowing from his purse, Dorian Adler had hoped that the latest raise would also shake this man off the teat. While he hadn’t complained yet, Carson’s beefy face was growing more crimson with each cash outlay. This was the type of man who’d sooner pull a pistol than admit to his failures at the gaming table.

And then, there was Mrs. Jenkins.

By the look of her, he had her age conjured nearabout sixty...but a very well put together sixty, at that. Though her clothing would be viewed as austere, it didn’t take long to recognize the quality of its’ fabric and tailoring. Likewise, she displayed porcelain smooth ebon skin and hair that knew regular treatments of a high order. And of course, the woman’s teeth were immaculate...a clean, natural shade of white, radiating good health and care by a practitioner who must’ve equipped himself to compete with the central planets. She had money, money to burn, which told him that this woman only had one reason to be at this table in this seedy establishment. She wanted to play.

And he wanted to give her a game.

“Well, then,” Dorian offered a pleasant smile and a slight tilt of his head. “Now that we’ve dispensed with the penny antes, shall we make it interesting? Five?”

Mrs. Jenkins yawned. “Ten.”

Carson swallowed. Adler grinned. “Beg pardon for asking, but does Mr. Jenkins know how you’re spending your money?”

Mrs. Jenkins called for another round of drinks. “Even if he could know,” she said easily, “Mr. Jenkins is not in a position to respond. *Dohn-ma*?”

“*Ku.*” As more shot glasses landed on the table, he slid the deck toward her. “I believe it’s your deal.”

The woman set to her task with a polished sense of skill, expertly dividing and then rejoining the deck amid a flurry of rapidly flying cards. The miner, Carson, was now visibly regretting his bravado. As the liquor burned its’ way to his stomach, Dorian had to stifle a chuckle at the man’s distress.

Poker...his second profession. As Mrs. Jenkins dealt cards with gatling gun precision, Dorian’s eye traveled the saloon to keep tabs on the status of his first. Neither Oliver the bartender or any of Miss Wanda’s girls met his glance with the need for a whisper. Upon his arrival at the Lucky Cat Saloon, Dorian had made it worth their whiles to serve as his eyes and ears, whether to scare up clientele for his dental practice, or a warning if the surroundings were starting to look just a little too purple.

All quiet. Business as usual within the swinging doors of the Lucky Cat.

“Pay to play, gentlemen.” Mrs. Jenkins was proving herself increasingly adept. After dropping a ten credit note into the kitty, he gathered up his cards, which proved a pitiful hand indeed. 8 of diamonds, 3 of clubs, the jack of hearts, and his only combination, a pair of deuces.

Mrs. Jenkins fixed him with a direct gaze. “Fish or cut bait, Dr. Adler.”

“Two, please,” he replied as both the 8 and the 3 began the latest discards pile. Considering what he took for his trouble, Dorian could’ve stayed pat. The 5 of hearts and the 9 of spades sat limp in his palm.

“Mr. Carson?”

The crimson was draining from the man’s ruddy cheeks, replaced by a healthy flush and a decided emotional change. “I’ll raise,” he said unexpectedly, dropping his ten. “Call.”

A gambler, a good one, anyway, is disciplined in both method and demeanor. While poker tables were frequently hotbeds of surreptitious communication below board, a skilled gambler could trade messages with his allies while offering up no tells above. As Mrs. Jenkins tapped a stocking clad toe against Dorian’s ankle, she lay her cards upon the table. “Terrible hand,” she said. “There was no fixing that.”

Carson’s confidence was soaring. “What about you? Call.”

Dorian’s eyes were on the miner, but the mischief in his grin was entirely for the woman. “You’ve piqued my curiosity, sir. I’ll see your ten,” he said as the kitty grew. The tap to his ankle was now quietly urgent. “Oh, what the hell. Raise ten. Call.”

The miner’s face split into a broad grin. “Yer funeral, friend.” With a childish delight, Carson laid his cards down, announcing each as he did. “King o’ hearts,” he boasted. “Now watch this, pretty man. Ace o' clubs. Ace o' diamonds. Ace o' hearts. Ace...of...spades!” the big man laughed as he slapped the final card onto the table. I’ll have my winnin’s now,” he proclaimed as a meaty hand scooped the kitty into his cash purse. “Barkeep! Fetch a bottle over here fer these two *shun xi zhe*! They gon’ need it!” The victorious miner dropped a twenty onto the table. “Drinks ‘re on me.”

“No chance to win my money back?” Dorian asked meekly.

Carson grinned, patting his purse as a fat man pats his belly after a good feed. “I reckon. If yer here in three week I’ll sit down agin. It’s been a right pleasure!” he chortled as his newfound swagger carried him through the saloon’s doors.

A bottle and fresh glasses were laid upon the table. “Thank you,” Dorian nodded as the bartender collected the twenty. As he poured, he regarded Mrs. Jenkins. “Clever move...dealing him a royal flush. Quite a talent you have there.”

“I have many,” she replied as he offered her a glass.

“I don’t doubt that for a minute,” he drawled. “You engineered the perfect escape.”

She tapped her glass against his in a quiet toast. “You know what you’re doing with your hands,” she observed.

“As a doctor of dentistry, I’ve...”

“No man owns pistols like yours,” she gestured toward the greatcoat he’d kept buttoned, “without knowing how to use them. A talent you didn’t want to waste upon some poor *hunzhuang* from the mines.”

Dorian smiled as he refilled their glasses. “You, madam, are very observant.”

“As are you,” Mrs. Jenkins downed the second shot. “But you make it a practice to keep your cards hidden at all times. So, tell me, Dorian Adler, doctor of dentistry, would you care to raise the stakes?” She’d leaned toward him, posture perfect as she rested her chin upon two slender fingers.

Dorian moved in kind, leaning closer as he pondered her request. “Hmmmm. An expert card counter just asked me if I should wish to raise the stakes in our game. Quite the dilemma,” he replied smoothly. Once again, her toe touched his ankle, this time communicating a different message as it glided up the contours of his right calf. “A tempting offer,” he whispered to the woman. “But I must ask. A woman of your stature and means could have any number of virile younger men at her beck and call. I don’t understand the allure.”

She gestured with her empty glass. As he refilled it, the woman said, “Oh, but I do. Several quite handsome, muscular lumps of manflesh to do my every bidding. They’re wonderful to show off at what passes for social gatherings on this rock. The other women despise me,” she smirked. “When it comes to the *raison detre*,” she said before emptying her glass, “they’re capable, pumping and grinding away like steam engines for twenty or so minutes at a time. Tell me, Dorian. May I call you Dorian?”

“Of course.”

“After you’ve used a steam engine, have you ever tried to hold a meaningful conversation with it?”

“No,” he chuckled. “While we’re being bold then, Elizabeth,” Dorian said, “am I to understand that you wish me to serve as some kind of post-coital conversationalist?”

It was her turn to laugh. “I had something slightly different in mind.” The gently probing toe had rounded his kneecap in its’ upward advance.

Dorian didn’t mind the notion of whoring. He’d spent much of his adult life in close quarters with whores of all stripes, finding them for the most part agreeable folk who kept a tightknit sense of community. Doubtless, life in the man-stable of Elizabeth Jenkins could be pleasant and free from want. For a woman of sixty to still possess such appetites was a fine indicator of her health. And, Dorian had to admit, she was still quite attractive.

For his services, he’d have money, clothing, all the books and professional tools he could wish. Of course, there was the grave risk that the longer he tarried, the greater the chance of being subjected to a full federal ident...

Still, he thought, a few days’ worth of her attentions might not damage his fortunes. “I suppose,” he drawled quietly, “that a situational change might be in...”

His words hung unfinished as the doors swung wide. In strode a man of some height, confidant beneath a tan Stetson. One might expect to encounter piercing eyes beneath the hat’s brim, but the red in this man’s face suggested he’d been chasing drink. He was followed to the bar by a skinny teenager pushing a wheelchair. Of the occupant Dorian could draw little conclusion, other than brown hair and a sizeable compress clamped to her jaw. Considering the obstruction, unmistakable signs of swelling were beginning to peek out.

“These might be yours,” Mrs. Jenkins observed.

“I imagine so.” As he watched, the tall stranger muscled up to the bar. A drink was ordered...despite the circumstance, Dorian found himself admiring the man’s sense of priority...a few words were exchanged, and right on cue, Oliver pointed him out. Three heads turned, and in a moment the tall stranger was kicking chairs aside to clear a path. “I’m so sorry,” Dorian whispered as he turned, only to find that Mrs. Jenkins had gone, leaving behind her card.

As the little group drew near, he took to his feet, hefting the medical bag onto the table next the bottle. “You’ve figured out who I am,” he said as the bag came open. “Please tell me what happened.” Out came his portable exam light. “Put your head back, child,” Dorian drawled to the young woman. “Please open your mouth.”