Iron Ties by Ann Parker

his eyes. “Always like knowing the limits and the game. Keeps me from acting the fool.” There was a note of finality to his even voice.
    She sighed ruefully as Sands and Holt headed for the State Street door.
    Watching them make their way through the smoke-filled room, she noticed that the saloon’s patrons—even those who verged on their drunken limits—automatically stepped aside to let the two men pass.
    They made an intriguing pair, she thought. Holt, a giant of a man, advanced slowly, deliberately, giving others time to move out of his path. Sands, a full head shorter, greeted regulars by name, smiling and nodding to those who addressed him. He moved with easy grace, alert to every nuance in the room.
    A Biblical comparison rose in her mind, unwelcome and unwanted.
    David and Goliath.
    She shivered once, unease tiptoeing up her spine. With a shake of her head, Inez stepped into the smoky glow of the card room.
    ***
    Soothing strains of Brahms’ “Lullaby and Good Night” washed over the saloon as Abe and Sol escorted the last of the evening’s clientele out the doors. Abe used the direct approach on the seriously inebriated, grabbing an elbow or collar and propelling them into the night. Sol preferred the talking method, picking up the empty glass or bottle, wiping the ring-marked tabletops with a regretful “Closing time” as if, had he his druthers, they could carouse all night. Inez held the Harrison Avenue door open, wishing the sober ones goodnight.
    Jed Elliston strolled up, buttoning his frock coat and looking pleased.
    Well he should, after all the money he won tonight. Time to call my favor in .
    “Mr. Elliston.” She stepped toward the staircase. “A quick word, if you will.”
    Eyebrows raised, he followed.
    She leaned against the balustrade, Brahms flowing around her. “I’ve met a fellow who’s worked in the ink trade. He’s interested in taking up the pen again. I believe, given the proper inducement, he’d work for you.”
    “I’m not hiring,” Jed said testily. His hands fiddled with his linen cuffs, adjusting them to protrude a proper half-inch beyond his coat sleeves. Inez thought the cuffs looked a tad shabby.
    “I believe he’ll work cheap. And he could provide some…perspective…to your paper on an important topic. You see, he works for the railroad.”
    Jed’s face darkened. The bruise around his eye became more pronounced. “He’s Palmer’s man?” The way he said it implied that he’d sooner hire a rat catcher.
    “Now Jed, don’t be hasty. He doesn’t sound like he holds to the party line. He’s a clerk or secretary to Lowden Snow and ferries documents and papers around for the lawyers and the board. I get the distinct impression he’d be happy to ‘tell all’ about the Rio Grande, if you present him with the opportunity.”
    She could see him wavering, torn between righteous anger and curiosity. She pushed on. “Tell you what. Why don’t I arrange for you to talk to him next week? Just meet him. You don’t have to make any promises.”
    “No promises,” Jed grumbled.
    “No promises,” she agreed.
    After he left, Inez looked around the room. It was nearly empty. Sol was guiding a last rubber-legged gent to the State Street door. Abe was wiping down tables and flipping up chairs. Taps had finished with Brahms and now sang sotto voce behind her:
    I sit within the cellar here,
    Where wine is ever flowing,
    I quaff the best and drink good cheer,
    No care or trouble knowing,
    They swiftly bring the jug to me,
    They know what means my winking.
    The glass is filled and I with glee
    Am drinking, drinking, drinking.
    “If that’s a bid for a last drink, it won’t work. Between your ardent admirers and Sol’s generosity you’ve had plenty.” Inez removed his empty wine glass from the top of the upright.
    He segued into “Moonlight Sonata” with a sigh. “Still a good three hours until daylight. It’d be a waste of a Saturday night to retire to an