by J. Rosemary Moss
Genre: Slash Fan Fiction (Bonanza)
Rating: PG-13
Link to Part One
~
Little Joe was on edge—David could see that as the two men walked toward the Bucket of Blood on Sunday night. David put a warning hand on his arm.
“Mind your temper,” he told Joe. “Don’t start a fight with the Irish boys—no matter what they say to provoke you.”
Joe rolled his eyes. “What do you want me to do? Bring them a bunch of flowers?"
"Please, Joe," David said, hoping that soft words would succeed where dire threats would only raise his ire.
Joe sighed. "Staying out of fights has never been a talent of mine.”
David grinned despite himself. “I know. But we have to play nice. These Irishers have every right to demand that five thousand dollars from you.”
“But they swindled it from me!” Joe protested.
“Nonetheless, you shook on it,” David reminded him. “Now stop working yourself up over it. Getting into a bar fight won’t solve anything.”
Joe’s face twisted in anger, but at length he nodded. “You still haven’t told me what your plan is,” he complained. "And whether or not I'll be at the tables."
“That’s because my plan's not full-formed,” David answered. “I'd prefer that you didn't play poker--you know that--but a great deal will depend on these Irish gents. I might have to swindle the money back. Or I might be able to cut a deal with them that will satisfy all of us. We’ll see.”
Joe raised his eyebrows at that, but he said nothing. Apparently he had decided on a bit of discretion, at least for now. David didn’t allow himself to get too comfortable, however. He could see that he had only a short time to work before Joe’s temper snapped.
When they walked into the saloon, David leaned back against the bar, dug his hands into his pockets and crossed one foot over the other. As his eyes took in the room, Joe nudged him and nodded to a group of Irishers playing poker at a table.
“That one in the centre is Patrick Kelly,” Joe whispered. “I think he’s their ring leader.”
David peered at the man. He had an affable, devil-may-care look about him—but there was a sparkling intelligence in his eyes. Not much would get past this fellow.
At that same moment, Patrick glanced up and caught sight of Joe. Patrick smiled at him and beckoned him over. Joe turned to David with a significant glance and then the two men made their way to the table and sat down.
“Come to pay your debt, have you?” asked Patrick. “Or would you like to play some more first—try to win some of it back?”
Before Joe could respond David interjected. “Mr. Kelly, is it?” he asked. “I’d appreciate a word with you.”
“Patrick will do,” the man answered as he gave David a measuring look. “And I’m at your service.”
David turned to Joe with a knowing smile. “That girl over there has been eyeing you since we walked in. You’d best show her some attention.”
Joe gave David a look that clearly said he wasn’t fooled—he knew that David just wanted him out of the way and far from the poker table. Nonetheless, he got up and walked over to the saloon girl in question.
Once he was gone David caught another saloon girl by the arm and put some money in her hand. “There’s more of that if you and your friend over there will keep Little Joe away from the poker tables and out of any fights,” he told her.
She glanced over at Little Joe and the other saloon girl and then smiled. “No problem, mister.”
David watched, satisfied, as she walked over to Joe and induced him to dance with her. But from the corner of his eye, he could tell that Patrick had taken all this in with an amused look. In fact, the fellow even turned to the other Irishers and sent them away from the table.
Joe had been right—he was the ring leader.
“And who might you be?” Patrick asked once his friends were gone. “Some relation to Mr. Cartwright? Not one of his brothers, though.”
“No,” David agreed. “But he’s like a brother to me. My name is David Griffin.”
“A Welshman, are you?” Patrick asked.
“Through my father,” David informed him. “And I’m a Jew of Spanish and Portuguese descent through my mother.”
“Are you now?” Patrick asked with interest. Then he nodded at Joe. “Well, judging from the care you’re taking of him, you want me to cancel that lad’s debt.”
“I do,” David agreed.
“But why should I do that?” Patrick asked. “Didn’t he shake on our terms?”
David smiled grimly. “He didn’t understand a word you were saying—as well you know. You swindled him.”
Patrick shrugged. “He still shook on the terms. I’ve got plenty of witnesses to agree that he owes us five thousand. And even if that boy can’t pay himself, hasn’t he got a rich father who can pay it for him?”
David leaned in toward him. “And how do you suppose his father got to be so rich? By paying out no-account swindlers? Ben Cartwright is friends with every sheriff and judge in Nevada—he has only to lift a finger, my friend, and you’ll find yourself with a ten-year sentence.”
But Patrick was not so easily cowed. “On what charges?” he demanded.
David leaned in a little further. “No offense, but I’ll speak plainly as the member of one persecuted people to another. The Irish are not well-loved in this country—except as cannon fodder and hard labor,” he pointed out. “Any trumped-up charge will do.”
Patrick laughed shortly at that. “Aye, that’s true,” he owned. “But I had heard that Ben Cartwright deals squarely with a man—regardless of race or creed.”
“Even a fair, honorable man takes exception to someone swindling his son,” David said dryly. “Besides—what would you gain by taking Little Joe’s money? You’ll be five thousand dollars richer, but then you’ll be on the road looking for a new mark in the next town.”
Patrick leaned back in his chair and took out a pipe. “And you’ve a better idea, have you?” he asked as he stuffed some tobacco from a tin inside it.
“Yes,” David answered, leaning back himself. “Come work for me. I can use a man like you—partly for Ponderosa business, which would be entirely on the up and up.”
“And partly for your own business?” Patrick prompted as he lit his pipe.
“Precisely,” David agreed. “Which will be mostly on the up and up.”
Patrick had been puffing on his pipe to start it up, but he paused to laugh appreciatively. “And you’ll make it worth my while, will you?”
“I will. And don’t worry—Joe will still pay you the five hundred he agreed to before the swindle.”
But Patrick wasn’t satisfied yet. “And what sort of work would you want done for yourself?”
David considered that before he answered. “The first job is simple enough. Little Joe promised me that he wouldn’t play poker for the next two months. I want you to see that he keeps that promise—by quietly discouraging anyone in town from playing with him.”
“Quietly?” Patrick asked. “I take it that you don’t want my boys and me to break any heads?”
“You strike me as the sort who can be persuasive without resorting to too much violence,” David answered.
“I can at that,” Patrick agreed. “But think this through—I mean the five hundred. If you’re determined to teach that lad a hard lesson about poker, shouldn’t you make his payment to us hurt a bit? Have him hand us fifteen hundred and we’ll shake on it.”
Now it was David’s turn to laugh appreciatively. “He’ll hand over a thousand—not a penny more.”
“That will suit us,” Patrick agreed. “When do we start our work for the Ponderosa?”
“As soon as I can arrange it,” David answered. “I’ll be out on the trail fixing line shacks—heaven help me—for the next week with all three Cartwright boys. Come to the main house of the Ponderosa the Monday following, and I’ll sort everything out. And I’ll pay you for the other work in advance.”
“That’s not necessary,” Patrick said with a wave of his hand. “Speaking as one member of a persecuted people to another, I’ll wager it’s safe to take your word.”
“It is,” David assured him, smiling again. And then he shook on it.
LINK TO PART THIRTEEN
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