Snippet #1776515

Clinks of glasses and the murmur of dozens of voices created a background noise, punctuated frequently by an occasional whistle, guffaw, or more often a profane exclamation. Yawps went up from the various card tables after each hand was revealed, and as often as not a shouting match would grow out of it. Often, a fistfight. Twice last week, a gunfight. Jeremy was always quick to find something in the kitchen to do whenever that happened.

Mostly he cleaned tables, glasses, vomit off the floor, whatever needed cleaning. A couple times it had gotten so overwhelmingly busy that he was enlisted to help fill anything cup-shaped with booze, for whoever waved a wad of cash at the bar.

Today was fairly busy, but not so much that his services were required at the bar. As usual, he weaved through the tables, dodging elbows and the occasional thrown object, collecting forgotten (or thrown) glasses and wielding his rag at anything that spilled. The usual crowd was there, faces of the no-account residents of Jerome as well as wanderers who frequented the town for its high threshold for filth and blind eye for crime. But there were new faces as well; Jeremy had a keen eye for them, and he noticed a fellow of road-worn appearances who ordered an abhorrent Dragon Springs Runoff, and a sandwich. A woman near the door did not escape his radar either, and his eyes glanced back at her twice to take in her genteel clothing, reserved and dignified in the world he was used to, but screaming for attention in a place like this.

He heard a glass shatter nearby, and he frowned. He would be the one having to clean it up.

"Hey, now, be careful!" he scolded the drunkard who had dropped it.

Most of the time his snide comments would go unnoticed by the saloon's stumbling demographic, but this time the big man to which his criticism had been directed turned his pig-like face toward Jeremy. "Wha'd you say to me, boy?" he rumbled, the stench of alcohol wafting directly into Jeremy's nose.

Jeremy wavered for half a second at the man's look and tone. He opted to swallow the come-back he might have used under different circumstances and retreated to the kitchen to grab the broom and dustpan. The noises from the bar followed him back there, escalating as a fight broke out. He rolled his eyes. A woman's shriek pierced through everything else, and a chorus of laughter followed shortly after. He returned to the main room just in time to see the refined woman he'd noticed earlier leap up onto a table and start shouting into the room about a government-sponsored expedition. While everyone's attention was on her, he used the moment to sweep up the glass under the drunken man's table.

On his way out of the room again he caught another part of her speech. “This is a PAYING GIG. I will give anyone here TWICE their salary per month on the job.” His ears pricked up and he paused in the doorway to the kitchen. His thoughts warred against each other as he stood there and the brash woman paused. Could her offer be real? Was there money behind it? If he went with her, it would probably just be a babysitting job. A useless woman out in the desert on an errand for the big man, without a clue what she was doing. He smiled ruefully at his stupidity for entertaining the idea.

"Who's with me?"

He let the kitchen door swing shut behind him.