Verbena Hills

By the time the bus pulled into Verbena Hills, I was a little drowsy. I smoothed myself out and winked at the bus driver as I left. "You be careful miss. Verbena Hills has some rough characters." he said in a smooth, quiet voice. He was in his 50's. A big shrapnel scar poked above his collar and ran across his neck. He had the eyes of a man who did time in the trenches. I gave him a quick peck on the cheek, which meant I also gave his a look down my shirt. He blushed a bit, and grinned.

It wasn't a large town at all. Shouldn't be too hard to find out who the players were, if there were any, and get back home. One night at the most. I walked across the street to a place called Mugwort Moe's. I had some eggs and toast and two big cups of coffee. The locals look like locals everywhere you go; tired, bored, and suspicious of leggy blondes. The cook refilled my coffee. Time to go to work.

"So, where can a girl have some fun in this town?" I flashed my eyes and leaned forward a little. He took the bait before he even knew where he swallowed it.

"Grayden Dumas runs a pretty decent gin mill out passed the city limits. Decent music and not too much trouble." he said, doing his best to not make the fact his eyes were locked on my breasts obvious. I felt the eyes of some of the local women on me. I'm sure they'd be chatting up a storm after I left. I thanked him and tipped him with a wink.

I decided to walk to the mill since I'm sure there wasn't any taxi. The town was a mix of old and new. It was close enough to the city get some style but far enough away to have a hick feel to it. I noticed a few rough looking characters in a car driving the way I was going. From the leers I got, I'd say they noticed me too.

I made the club in decent time, about 20 minutes. It was old, and in a bad way. but it was already busy by late afternoon. Inside, it looked like a club you'd see in New York, not in the hills of rural New Hampshire. Sharp dressed men had their hands on the lower backs of women who sipped drinks and giggled. A piano was being caressed by an elderly negro in the corner. On closer inspection, the sharp dressed men looked like polished up thugs, and the giggling women had a hardened look about them that said they'd been beneath too many of these toughs to keep an innocent disposition. I knew the look well.

Luck was on my side, tonight. A tough called out as I was walking to the bar. "Grayden!, hey Grayden!" I followed his eyes, and saw a monster of a man unfolding himself from a chair in the corner. His suit was tailor made, it had to be, and probably cost more than my apartment. He casually slid a cigarette into his scarred up face and made his way to the man's table as if he had all the time in the world. He moved like a lion moves: with knowledge that he is king of his domain.

I caught his eye as he moved, and without even a glance back to the table who called him, he changed course and made his way to me. I held my breath as he walked, and felt a slight wetness form. I'm a sucker for tough guys. He fit the description I was given to a T. He flashed a smile on his well-worn face. "I've not seen you in before Miss..."

"Preston. Pris Preston." I said, holding out my hand. He kissed it gently and slid beside me, his hand on my back. He had massive, rough fingers and smelled of cedar wood and Scotch. My breath caught again.

"Well, Miss Preston, I insist that you join me upstairs where the drinks aren't watered down and the piano is replaced by violins." I felt my nipples stiffen. He had me, and we both knew it. I nodded, and let him lead me up the stairs in the back of the club. I felt eyes on me, both from the girls, some envious, some strangely fearful, almost like they were warning me of something...

The upstairs was obviously where this club got its money originally. It still had the look of a Prohibition era speakeasy, complete with card girls, tables of men playing cards with knockouts on their elbows, smoke, and martinis. His hand hadn't left my back. The other scooped up a Manhattan from a tray with such fluidity that had it to my lips even before I knew he had handed it to me. I glanced at him nervously as it became obvious that we weren't going to a table, or even to the bar. He nodded to men and women as we went along to a room in the back that had a goon outside it. The goon opened the door. I was led inside, and the door shut behind me.