Fallen Women by Sandra Dallas

The bartender must have been aware of that, too, because he frowned when he saw her. Mick led her to the bar. “Well, Harry, how are you this fine day?” he asked.
    “Can’t complain, Mick. Yourself?”
    “The same. We’re looking for someone.”
    “I thought so. You hoping to find a husband that’s skipped out with the rent, are you?”
    Beret gave the bartender a dark look, and Mick said quickly, “A fellow that goes by the name of Teddy Star, dark, swarthy. A mac, by all accounts, maybe new to the city. I’m told he hangs out here.”
    “’Tis a fine place.” The bartender raised an eyebrow.
    “Now don’t be giving me any of your palaver, boyo. It looks to me like someone I see over there at the faro table is only a lad. You wouldn’t want me to report it to the chief that the Arcade caters to youngsters, now, would you?”
    “Ah, Mick, your Irish comes out when you want something, does it not? I don’t know the gentleman by name, but there is a dark fellow sitting with his back to you. I thought to throw him out the first time he came in, because he looked like a Negro. But he’s as white as you and me, and the lady.” He bowed to Beret.
    “There’s a good lad. I’ll give you a pass the next time a complaint is made.”
    “So far, there’s been none.”
    “I can see to that, too.” As they turned away from the bar, Mick explained, “We’re chums. We grew up together. Our dads were from Ireland and worked the mines together.”
    “And your Irish comes out when you talk to him?”
    “I do what works, talking Irish to an Irishman, street talk to a tout, and proper English to a lady. Have you an objection?”
    Beret didn’t answer. Instead she stared at the back of the man the bartender had pointed out. Mick started for the table, but Beret stayed where she was, as if she couldn’t move, gathering her courage. “Well, have you given up?” Mick asked, and Beret took a few steps, lagging behind the detective.
    Mick went to the table and put his hand on the arm of the dark man. “I’d have a word with you,” he said, showing his badge.
    The man scowled. “And why would that be, Officer?”
    “Are you Teddy Star?”
    The other men seated at the table stopped playing to watch the detective, glancing from one to the other. Teddy Star threw down his hand. “I am. What’s the complaint?”
    “No complaint, but I have a few questions.”
    “Such as?”
    “You want to discuss it here or in private?”
    Teddy smirked as he told the others, “A misunderstanding. I’m out for now, but I’ll be back when I clear this up. He’s mistaken, whatever this is.”
    The men didn’t care and returned to the game, while Teddy rose. He was broad, powerful, with black hair and dark skin. But his hands were small, almost a woman’s hands. His face was handsome, the nose straight and long, and his eyes were like black diamonds. He moved gracefully, almost like a dancer. “Well, what is it?”
    “Over there.” Mick pointed to a table.
    Teddy started for it, glancing back at Mick. He didn’t see Beret, who was half-hidden behind the detective, and when he did, he ignored her. At first, that is. He took a step or two, and then as if the face finally registered, Teddy turned abruptly, and his mouth dropped. “Beret!”
    “Yes.”
    “What are you doing here? What do you want?”
    Beret thought for a moment she would faint. She was aware of the man’s identity before she entered the Arcade, yet she was stunned to see him. She said in a voice that seemed to slice through him, “Lillie is dead. Or do you pretend not to know that? I’ve come to find her killer.”
    “You always did believe in vengeance.” He smirked.
    “With good reason.”
    Mick, confused, looked from one to the other. “You know him?” he asked Beret.
    “Oh yes. He brought my sister to Denver.”
    “I did no such thing. You know that, Beret.”
    “But you’re here, and you’re her macquereau. Don’t deny it.” Beret’s