From Drew Blood: The train blew steam and snorted as it came to a stop. The depot was new and a freshly painted welcome sign swung ...
From Drew Blood:
The train blew steam and snorted as it came to a stop. The depot was new and a freshly painted welcome sign swung from the beams under the roof extending over the platform. The train windows appeared to bulge with eager passengers, some not waiting for the train to stop completely before hopping off and taking in the surging development all around them. The hills outside of Livings, Arizona has just recently given up some of their gold and within a short few years the town was thriving. The passengers came for the clothes, the shows, the booze, and the potential. Kid Montana Smith came for the challenge.
“Hey, mister. Lookin’ for a place to stay?” A young man in tattered denim pants was pulling on Montana’s shirtsleeve. “You here for the matches? You look like a wrestler. A real good one. C’mon with me. You can stay at the Red Bird Inn. Miss Susie L’More will give you a good rate. Clean room. Hot baths. How ‘bout it, mister?”
“I ain’t been standing here one minute, kid,” Montana replied. “How do you know I’m a wrestler?”
“Wrestlers’ been coming in for a week now from all over the country. You don’t look like no miner and you don’t look like no singer, either. I figured you’re comin’ for that thousand dollars Mr. Stockton has put up.”
The kid smiled. “Great, mister. Miss Susie figured I ought to get down here to the depot and get guys comin’ in off the trains. Better chance of gettin’ them to stay if we get them before they get to town. The Red Bird is kinda toward the back of town.”'
“Miss Susie sounds like a smart woman. We gonna walk or have you got us a ride?”
“Oh, well, we’re walkin’, I guess. I didn’t figure for that,” the kid replied a little dejected. “By the way, my name’s Jack.”
“Montana. Nice to meet you, Jack. You wanna wait and rustle up any more patrons?”
“Nah. I been hanging around here all day. Most guys wired ahead and got rooms already. And they ain’t about to trust no kid regardin’ their comfort.”
Montana took his canvas bag from the train berth. He hoisted it up and put his shoulder through the strap. He nodded to Jack and the two began to walk through the depot and toward the town. It was early afternoon and still hot, though fall had just begun.
Livings was busy this time of day. Montana was impressed with the amount of development he saw in the town. The buildings looked sturdy and well-crafted. There was a new schoolhouse with a fresh coat of red paint along the clapboard. A teacher who could be heard lecturing the students on the value of discipline. Women were clean, well dressed and socialized freely. The few children not in school seemed employed in their fathers’ shops and corrals. There was even a bookstore. Montana felt Livings was more than just another boom town waiting to go bust.
Montana gazed hard as he and Jack made their way through town. “Where are the other wrestlers?”
Jack looked around and then back up at Montana. “Some been here a week already. A lot of ‘em were personally contacted by Mr. Stockton. If that’s the case, then they’ll be stayin’ over at his hotel, the Grand Lodge. The rest of ‘em are scattered about town.”
Montana made eye contact with a man leaning against a hitching post outside Diamond’s saloon. The man stared just as intently back. His clothes and skin said he was a former slave, but his handsome features, formidable size, and intense stare revealed a fierce competitor. Montana felt a mutual respect and nodded to the man. The man tipped his hat to Montana.
Suddenly, Montana heard a ruckus coming from inside the saloon. Glass broke as people laughed, shouted, and cursed. A man was thrown through the saloon door and landed with a hard thud at Montana’s feet. His face was bloodied and his arm lay twisted at his side. He groaned and rolled over, trying to get to his feet. He coughed as he tried to lift himself up, blowing the street dust around his mouth. Montana turned toward the saloon and saw a hulking figure standing in the doorway. The tremendous bald head, long waxed mustache, and exotic clothes instantly marked him as Abidin Ahmet the Turkish champion who had been garnering huge crowds up and down the eastern seaboard taking on (and defeating) all local and regional champions.
Montana stepped forward to help the mangled man rolling around in the dust. “He is a cheat. Let him hurt,” said the Turk who was now standing on the front steps of the saloon looking directly at Montana. “Have we met?” Ahmet asked.
“Not yet.” Montana stared directly back.
“We will meet later, yes?”
“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”
“No, you look strong. We shall meet later. Help the man if you feel you must. But he is a cheat.” The Turk smiled and laughed and went back inside the saloon. The crowd that followed him onto the porch also went back inside, each giving his own exaggerated version of the event they all just witnessed.
Montana helped the man on the street up to his feet. The man did not strike Montana as a cheat. His arm was obviously broken and he needed to be tended to by the town doctor.
“Jack, where is the doctor?”
“Over on the next street. Just behind this corral here.”'
“C’mon, let’s get this man over there.” The man grunted a thanks as they supported his weight and began to help him over to the next street. As they walked away from the saloon, Montana glanced again at the man leaning against the hitching post. Again the man tipped his hat.
As they approached the steps of the doctor’s office, Montana sent Jack inside to fetch him. As Montana and the man waited on the bottom steps, Montana looked directly at the man. “Did you cheat?”
The man glanced up, still in pain, but able to talk in between breaths. “No sir. I wasn’t even playing cards. I was at the bar and sneezed. He lost the hand and thought I was giving signals. I’m just in town covering the wrestling tournament. I don’t know anybody.”
Montana nodded as Jack came out onto the steps with the doctor. The doctor assisted the man to his feet. As he began to climb the stairs and go inside, the injured man glanced back at Montana. “What’s your name, mister?”
“Montana Smith. I’m here for the tournament.”
“I’m gonna make you famous, Montana Smith.” The man smiled at Montana and then grimaced as the doctor tugged at his arm to get him inside. Montana stood outside at the bottom of the stairs for a moment as the doctor and the man walked inside.
//////
Jack was not exaggerating. Miss Susie was smart to send him to the station as Montana surely would never have found the hotel. The Red Bird was located toward the back end of town, tucked away between a corral and the town’s second (and lesser) barber shop. It wasn’t a bad building, but it barely resembled an inn from the outside. The sign was basic, but professionally done. There was no red bird to speak of, just the name in red block letters. It was in the last row of buildings before the town limits and you could see the desert stretched out for miles if looking out one of the hotel’s side windows.
Inside, the inn was lively. It wasn’t as crowded and rowdy as the rest of the town, but it was interesting. Ladies with emphasized busts served beers and steaks to hungry miners. The miners joked and flirted, but kept their hands to themselves. “Miss Susie must have quite the reputation,” Montana thought. He continued in and the batwing door swung freely behind him. Several of the serving ladies stopped, stared, and smiled as Montana took inventory of the Red Bird Inn. The miners paid him no mind at all.
Jack had run in behind Montana and to a room at the back of the inn. It looked to be the kitchen. After a moment, a woman with swept up red hair and a blue dress came out of the back. She looked Montana up and down. “Jack, go on upstairs and get his room ready. Get the water ready for a bath. He looks like he’s gonna need it.”
“Miss Susie?” Montana asked as he tipped his hat to her.
“You can call me that for now. Are you all that Jack brought back from the station?” She looked past Montana as if hoping he was simply blocking other potential patrons.
“Yes, ma’am. He’s quite the pitchman,“ replied Montana.
“Well, if you’re the only one, he ain’t so good just yet. Well, you get what you pay for!” Miss Susie laughed and motioned for Montana to come inside. “Want somethin’ to drink?”
Montana smiled and walked over toward the stairs. “If you don’t mind, I was gonna put my things away.”
“Well, I certainly don’t expect you to carry that bag around everywhere you go, mister. Go on up. Room three. It’s open right now, just at the top of the stairs.”
Montana reached into his pocket to pay Miss Susie, but she stopped him. “Get yourself settled and comfortable. We’ll tend to money after a while.” Montana tipped his hat again and smiled in gratitude. He walked up the stairs and into his room as Jack was just pouring the last bucket of hot water into his bathtub. Montana exhaled and relaxed a bit. Jack left and Montana shut and latched the door behind him. He placed his bag next to the small bed with a woolen mattress. He removed his boots and placed them neatly next to his army bag. The rest of his clothes were carefully folded and placed at the foot of the bed- just like he learned in the Army. “Old habits die hard.”
Before he stepped into the tub, the water offered a surprisingly clear reflection. He could make out the scar that crossed his chest. The result of a knife and a jealous man. It was a reminder that wrestling not only made him money- it also saved his life. His blonde hair was in stark contrast to the dark tan of his face. The reflection rippled out as he tried to fit completely into the tub. Montana’s tub was not very large and didn’t leave his six feet of muscle and sinew with room to spare.
He settled into the tub and started to let the hot water relax him. He had just closed his eyes when the door unlatched and in walked Miss Susie. Montana looked around for something to use as a cover, but Miss Susie waved him off.
“Don’t worry, honey. I bet there’s enough dirt come off you it’s a mud bath by now.” Montana looked down and laughed. Indeed, the water had gone from clear to a murky cloud of dirt. “I’m just looking for your clothes. We will do some washin’ while you’re here in town. It’s two bits more a week, if you’re interested.”
“Yes, ma’am. That’ll be fine. How much is the room?”
“Don’t you worry about payin’ right now. We’ll settle after the tournament. It’ll be fair, don’t you worry.” This was the first time Montana noticed that Miss Susie was quite attractive, if also quite a few years older than he. He was suspicious as to why she wouldn’t take payment for the room.
“Well, I’d feel a whole lot better if I paid now. You se-“
“I said we will square up after the tournament. What do you think your chances are?”
“Fair to average,” said Montana.
“From where I stand, I’d say they were much better than average. Unless you’re just a pretty boy with no grit. You’ve wrestled before?” Miss Susie pretended to be busy gathering up the clothes, but was watching Montana closely out of the corner of her eye.
“Yes ma’am. I’ve been making money wrestling in the mining towns. There’s money there, but it’s dangerous.” Montana pointed to the knife wound on his chest. “Seems a civilized tournament might be a safer bet.”
Miss Susie snorted, “Civilized? Ain’t nothing civilized about Henry Stockton. Make no mistake- he wishes he was. He’d sell his soul to be civilized. But you can’t civilize what ain’t civil. That knife wound might be the stick of a rose bush compared to this. What’s your name, anyway? Jack told me, but I can’t remember. Colorado somethin’?”
“Montana Smith.”
“Well, Montana Smith. You win this tournament, you ain’t got to pay me a penny.” With that, she pulled the string on the laundry bag and left out of the room, slamming the door behind her. Montana stared after her. He laughed at thinking he’d have zero chance if Miss Susie decided to enter the tournament.
Montana came down the stairs after his bath. He wore his only other change of clothes so he hoped the wash was done soon. As he walked down the stairs he noticed a plate of steak and beans and a beer at a small round table near the bottom step. “Eat up,” said one of the pretty girls busy serving other miners.
“Is this on the house, too?” asked Montana.
“Of course it is,” answered the familiar voice behind the bar. Miss Susie was busy pouring a few shots of whiskey. “You’ll need your strength so you better dig in or you’ll be wrestling one of these fellows for your last scrap of meat.”
Montana sat down and began to eat. He was hungry for sure, but someone knew what they were doing. The food was delicious. “Thank you, Miss Susie.”
“Win. That’ll be thanks enough. If not, you better not eat more than you brought.” As she finished speaking a lady walked in through the door. Susie stiffened a bit as she walked through, but did not appear hostile. “Good afternoon, Jess. Doin’ your father’s bidding, again, are we?”
“That’s enough, Susie,“ replied the woman. To Montana’s surprise, Susie obliged. The woman looked around the bar and squared on Montana. She approached him. “Are you here for the tournament?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
“Did you receive an invitation?”
“No ma’am. Just heard about it in Denver. Didn’t realize I needed an invitation.” Montana only then put down his fork and studied the woman. She was beautiful. Her dark curly hair lay across her shoulders and sharp, blue eyes seemed to catch everything happening in the room even though she never took them off Montana.
“You don’t need one. But if you didn’t get one, you’ll need information. Mr. Stockton is inviting all wrestlers to stay at one of his hotels on the other side of town. That way you can stay comfortable and informed. The rooms are complimentary. Mr. Stockton also says you’ll be free from any hassles or thieves.” Miss Susie grunted her disapproval at that last statement.
“This is the only place that ain’t got thieves, Jess. And you know it,” Miss Susie spit.
Montana stared at the woman. He couldn’t take his eyes off her, but made an effort to appear unmoved by the offer. “I’m satisfied with my current accommodations.”
“See, Jess. He’s sat-“
“Yes, I heard him Susie. Thank you.” The lady had not taken her eyes off Montana either. She spoke to him again. “Mr. Stockton will be disappointed, but as you wish. I have some information to give you.”
Montana pushed out a chair with his leg. “Please sit. I don’t know if it’s rude to leave a lady standin’ or if I don’t like the feeling you’re givin’ me orders.” The lady sat down and scooted the chair in and placed her hands on the table.
“Why does Mr. Stockton want all of his wrestlers stayin’ at his hotels? Seems like a lot of lost money on top of the thousand dollars,” Montana asked as he played with his fork, pushing bits of steak around his plate.
“Well, we’re expecting crowds of people from all over the territory. He feels his hospitality is a worthwhile investment. It should be a busy and profitable week for everyone in town.” Jess looked over at Susie as she emphasized the last words.
“No offense to your boss, but-“
“My father. Mr. Stockton is my father, sir.” Montana sat up and put down his fork.
“Please don’t call me sir. Name’s Montana Smith.” Montana offered his hand.
“Jessica Stockton.” She shook it. “But most people call me Jess.”
“Nice to meet you, Jess. Like I was saying, no offense to your father, but gathering up everybody in one spot sounds a lot like keeping an eye on your wrestlers.”
“Is there something wrong with that, Montana?”
“Well, that usually means someone’s got plans they don’t want messed up.”
“What sort of plans?” Jess eyed Montana.
“A fix, Miss Stockton. It means your father don’t want any surprises.”
Jess crossed her arms and sat back, studying Montana. He didn’t take her to be offended. Instead, she seemed curious. “You seem familiar with this type of business, Mr. Smith.”
“Yes ma’am. I’ve been doing this since I was a kid. Only thing I really ever done. Spent some time driving cattle, but ended up making more money wrestling the other drivers. Spent a few years in the army. Again, made more money wrestlin’ soldiers than chasin’ Indians. I know the lay of the land.”
Jess seemed unimpressed. “How come we’ve never heard of you?” she asked. “A man with your experience.”
“A man with any sense don’t put a target on his back. It sure would make it more difficult to get long odds if I made a spectacle of myself. I do this for a living, ma’am, not for glory.”
“Well, if you win this, what then? You’ll be pretty famous, won’t you? No one in a mining camp will want to bet against the champion of the Livings Tournament.”
Montana laughed. “You’re right. If Montana Smith wins this thing, I guess I’m gonna need to find another name. I ain’t used Colorado, yet.” He heard Miss Susie chuckle behind the bar. Jess smiled at him also. Montana couldn’t resist smiling back.
“Very well, Montana. The reading of the rules will be tomorrow at noon. In front of the Dragon Saloon. You may come or you may send a second. But someone needs to put your name in the pool.” She gathered up her dress and stood to leave. As Jess turned she said, “I look forward to seeing you again, Mr. Smith.”
“Yes ma’am. As do I. Thank you for the information.”
Montana watched Jess walk towards the doors. She smiled and gave a little wave to Miss Susie as she passed the bar. “See ya, Jess.”
After Jess left Montana picked up his beer and walked over to the bar. “What’s the story there, Miss Susie?”
“She’s a good girl. Her father is a scoundrel. Her mother died when she was born. He has both spoiled her and treated her like a burden. She’s sharp and keeps his business in order. She keeps the town’s people from killing him.” She only half laughed.
“Why would they want to do that?”
“Stockton uses his money from the mining claim to pay a crew of miners. They’ll rough up anyone who tarnishes how Stockton wants this town to be.”
Montana went back to his table and picked up his plate. He brought it back over to the bar and sat down and continued eating. Between bites he asked, “How does he want it to be?”
“New York out west, I suppose. He aims for Livings to be one of the big cities. He wants a statue in town square. Drunks, folks down on their luck- well, he just don’t sympathize and don’t take kindly to them bein’ on his streets.”
“Well, I don’t see nothin’ wrong with trying to build something. Seems like a nice town.”
“Yeah, until you cross him. This is my third set of shot glasses. Stockton’s miners busted up my other two over some unpaid accounts. If you look close, you’ll see a few ladies with blackened eyes. No one asks questions. And if you’re on his good side, well, some folks seem like they don’t even know.”
“I guess I’ll take a walk around town. See about these black-eyed ladies.” Miss Susie gave Montana a side-ways glance. He pushed his mug and plate over to her. “It was delicious, Susie. Thank you.” With that, he stood from the bar and walked outside into the street.
//////
The sun was past its highest point, but there was still plenty of daylight left. The streets of Livings were busy still. Laughter and singing could be heard inside some saloons, arguments inside others. Miners walked between saloons in groups and cattle drivers rode down the middle of the street. The two groups looked at each other with hostility.
Montana made his way over to the doctor’s office. He walked up the wooden steps and went inside. The office was simple, with a desk toward the back door and a table for patients to your left. There was a wash bowl next to the table and there stood the doctor. “Here for your friend, mister?” the doctor asked as he washed his hands.
“Yes, sir. Was he alright? His arm looked pretty bad.”
“It was a clean break. I set it and wrapped him up. He paid, don’t worry.”
Montana laughed. “Of course, doc. Well, I appreciate you looking after him so well. You know where he’s stayin’? I was thinkin’ of checkin’ in on him.”
“Wanna take him up on getting famous, do ya? He’s a writer for one of the big time papers back east. There’s a few of them in town for the tournament. Stockton’s gotten the word out, that’s for sure.”
“I’m not sure if being famous is in my best interest. Being the underdog is a lot more profitable and considerable less hassle. What’s your name, doc?”
The doctor finished drying his hands and laid the towel aside. “My names Williams. James Williams.”
“Montana Smith.” The two men shook hands. “Pleasure to meet you. Hopefully, I won’t be requiring your services, but I thought it wise to get acquainted just in case.” Both men laughed and looked around. Then Doc Williams squinted and stared at Montana.
“I was in a little mining town called Haverville about two years ago. Had a guy named Kid Smith make off with quite a bit of money from some matches there. I never saw him, but I always wanted to pay him back. He sent me a lot of patients. I may have made more money than he did!”
Montana sniffed and grinned and said, “Don’t reckon I know a Kid Smith. Hope he ain’t decided to enter this thing.”
Doc Williams nodded. “Well, if he did, he might find himself opposite a man whose nose he broke. Brooks Haver, Jr, son of the founder of Haverville. He’s got an invitation and also seems to be making some side money busting heads for Stockton.”
Montana walked over to the window and peered out. “You don’t say. Well, can’t fault a man for making a living, I suppose. Where’s that writer stayin’?”
Doc Williams walked over and sat down at his desk. He opened the drawer and pulled out a scribbled note. It read: Reid Reilly, Eastern Herald, New York. Tulane Inn, Room 6. He left this for you in case you wanted to get in touch. Luckily, his left arm broke, but he’s right-handed.”
Montana took the note and thanked Doc Williams. He folded the note and put it in his pocket. He walked back outside and into the street. He didn’t ask Doc Williams where the Tulane was. He figured he’d find it as he figured out the layout of the town.
The town was impressive. Montana had been in plenty of boomtowns with the pretense of swank. But past the front façades were just whitewashed, rusty nailed cedar boards. No real investment or vision. Livings was different. The buildings were solid and built to last. Even the smallest of buildings seemed to have a fresh coat of paint. He noticed the streets were marked and straight and someone took care to keep them as smooth as possible. People greeted one another on the street and there were businesses that could only survive in a town that had money. Dress shops, a book seller, two barbershops. Everyone seemed leery of this Henry Stockton, but Montana couldn’t fault him just yet. This looked like a place you could raise a family and live a nice life.
As Montana turned onto Myrtle Street, he saw the Tulane on his left. It was certainly one of the nicer hotels in Livings. He supposed this Reid Reilly was being put up by his big time newspaper. The sign for the inn was done in a fancy sort of script and Montana could barely make out the word “Tulane”. He went inside and noticed immediately this was not the same clientele as the Red Bird. Certainly, there were a few miners scattered about, but there was also a mix of well-dressed men and women, cattle rustlers and certainly wrestlers.
Montana could tell the wrestlers immediately. For one thing, they appeared to be drinking for free. The men in fancy coats trotted back and forth from the bar, bringing drinks as the wrestlers sat at tables and impressed other men’s wives with tales of strength and victory. Montana could hear the various tales of broken bones and triumphs from tables scattered about. The miners appeared uncomfortable and sullen, knowing they were neither the toughest nor most feared men in the room. While certainly many wrestlers came from the mining camps, their skills and ruthlessness allowed them a life outside and away from the darkness of the mines. The cattlemen mixed easily in and out of the groupings. Most of them probably intended on betting and were getting a feel for whom they would place their money.
A pleasant looking, well-dressed woman in a yellow dress approached Montana. “Hello, dear. Here for the tournament?”
Montana smiled. The woman smelled wonderful, but he had a sneaking suspicion that she was not here alone. “No ma’am. I’m headed upstairs to see a friend.”
“What’s her name, stranger?” The woman laughed and looked over at a table to the left. There sat a small, sniveling man listening to the mighty tales of struggle from a man who appeared as wide as the side of a wagon. “Let me buy you a drink, honey,” she said.
“Much obliged, but I’m gonna head upstairs.” Montana tipped his hat and moved on past the woman in yellow. He heard her call after him that she would see him later, but Montana didn’t turn back. He made his way through the throng of tables. The wrestlers seated at them looked up and recognized Montana for what he was- a threat to their chances. He exchanged nods with a few of them before he started up the stairs.
The stairs were just as crowded with muscled wrestlers nuzzling with young ladies every few steps. As attractive as the ladies were, each wrestler gave a subtle eye of warning to Montana as he passed by. As much fun as everyone seemed to be having, no wrestler worth his salt was going to let his guard down in front of potential opponents. Everyone was working his own intimidation game.
Montana came to room six and knocked. “Come in, Montana.” Surprised, Montana opened the door and saw Reid Reilly sitting next to an open window with arm wrapped, supported and sitting across his chest. “I saw you come in,” said Reilly as he motioned with his head toward the open window. “I was hoping you would be by. Come, have a seat.” Montana nodded and went over to the seat opposite Reilly that also looked out the window and onto the busy town below.
“How are you feeling?” Montana asked.
“It’s hurts to move around and tonight’s gonna be a long night with little sleep. But I’ll be ok.” Reilly put down his pen and closed his journal with his right hand. “What do you think of Livings?”
“Seems fine.”
Reilly scratched his cheek as he studied Montana. “Yes it does. Stockton’ll probably be governor in a few years. He got a letter from the president a few months back congratulating him on how well things have gone here. This tournament is the biggest event in the territory. He’s got wrestlers from all over the country. All over the world, really. There’s only a few who don’t have invitations.”
“Yeah, that’s what I heard.”
“You know Stockton has a lot riding on this tournament. He’s not going to take kindly to surprises.”
“Yes, well, he probably shouldn’t have left the tournament open.”
“He didn’t. That was Sam Arkin, Stockton’s head enforcer. He said it would add legitimacy to the whole thing if it was left open. He figured once most men found out who had been invited, your average guys wouldn’t want any part of it. For the most part, he was right.”
“Surely, I ain’t the only one who decided to come in on the open side?” Montana asked.
“No. One more did. A black man who wears a wide brimmed hat. About as tall as you, but with limbs as thick as an oak branch.” Reilly waited to study Montana’s reaction. Montana was stoic.
“Yeah, I saw him as I came in. Takes some brass for him to enter. I don’t suspect he plans on losing. He certainly didn’t look like someone to take lightly.” Montana continued to look out the window and study the street below. An old man stumbled out of a saloon across from the hotel and sat down on the front porch. He took his hat off and bowed his head. He looked like he’d had too much to drink.
“Yes, he hasn’t been accommodated nearly as well as the other wrestlers. He’s staying in a side room behind the horse stables off Empire Street. You should look him up, Montana. His name is Isaiah. I interviewed him yesterday.“ Reilly fumbled with his journal as if he wanted to show Montana the interview, but Montana waved him off.
“So, Reid Reilly. What are you doing here?” Montana asked.
“I was sent to cover the tournament of course. Get profiles of the different wrestlers and wire back results each night. The east coast is buzzing about the event. One of the first truly national sporting events. I’m also interested in Henry Stockton.”
“Why’s that?”
“Well, I predict he’s about to be a national figure. There’s always something to learn about a man like that.”
“Yes, you’re probably right about that. Have you got a list of wrestlers?”
Reid stood and went over to the little desk beside his bed. He pulled up a sheet of paper and walked back over and handed it to Montana. “Word is, it’s gonna be treated as a sporting event. Stockton wants women feeling comfortable watching. He’s not looking for a bloodbath.”
Montana nodded. He looked over the list. He recognized most of the names. Abidin Ahmet, the Turkish champion and breaker of Reilly’s arm. Man Mountain Casteen, the 400 hundred pound giant from the Blue Ridge. Isaiah Johnson, the stranger who tipped his hat. Bradley “The Bald Bullet” Badcock, the circus strongman with a rumored steel skull. One name caught Montana’s eye: Sam Arkin.
“Sam Arkin? Didn’t you say that’s Stockton’s head man?” Montana asked, now showing a little concern.
“Yes. I really don’t know why he’s in there. I don’t know that he’s got any sort of real credentials. I had never heard of him.”
“I know why. He’s supposed to win. Stockton don’t plan to let that thousand dollars, or his new champion, leave Livings.” Reilly looked intrigued and began to write. Montana asked Reilly if he needed anything to help him through the night, but Reilly insisted Montana had done enough and he would be fine. Montana then thanked Reilly for the information and left the room. He made his way back down the stairs full of temporary lovers and headed toward the door to continue to look around town. As he headed out a man stepped out in front of him.
“Hey mister, did you make a pass at this lovely lady?” Montana looked to the side and saw the pretty woman in yellow grinning at him. “I said, did you make a pass at this lovely lady?” the man repeated.
“I didn’t make a pass, sir. I took a pass.” Montana attempted to side step the man, but the man blocked him again. “I’m gonna need you to let me by.”
“You must be here for the tournament. Look boys, this youngster thinks he’s gonna be rich and famous.” There were a couple of uneasy chuckles from a nearby table. The rest of the patrons were watching intently. All these wrestlers, all this talent, created a powder keg of tension before the tournament. “What’s your name, son?”
“Again, sir, I’m gonna need you to let me by.”
The man laughed. “I’m Richard Miles. Heard of me?”
A voice came from another table. “Hey, Ricky. Don’t start anything outside the tournament. Stockton’s already said he ain’t gonna have none of it. He sa-“
“Shut up, Pete. Stockton don’t own me like he does the rest of you. This kid insulted this lovely, virtuous lady. He needs to answer for himself.”
Again, Montana attempted to side step and walk around Miles. When he did, Miles put his hand to Montana’s chest in an effort to stop him. That was just what Montana needed. He grabbed Miles’s wrist and put his leg behind tripping him. In the same motion, Montana brought up the wrist and doubled it backward, locking his arms together and placing Richard Miles in a double wrist lock. As he took Miles to the floor, he knocked over a table and drinks spilled onto Miles’s face.
“I’m gonna break it here or I’m gonna break it later. You choose.” Miles squirmed and attempted to work his way free, but Montana had him locked. He pushed down onto the wrist, almost to the breaking point. Miles yelled out.
“Alright, alright. We’ll settle this later.” Montana gave a final push just to drive home his point and then turned Miles loose. He looked over at the lady in yellow, who was no longer grinning.
“See to your Romeo, ma’am.” Montana got to his feet and headed straight for the door. As he left he could hear a man talking.
“See Ricky. I told you don’t be startin’ not-“
Outside, Montana spit in disgust. He didn’t want trouble prior to the tournament. He wanted to keep a low profile and keep the odds against him long. He didn’t want word of his skills getting out. If he had to face Richard Miles in the tournament, no one was betting against him now. He looked left and right and was in the process of deciding where to head to next when a group of men across the street caught his attention.
