“Not here, please,” the barkeeper said. “My table wouldn’t survive the encounter.”
The man walked back to the bar and started to unconcernedly clean a glass. Libs’ gaze swept the rest of the bar to find that most of the patrons were watching with a keen sense of trepidation. It seemed as if they expected an epic battle to break out, right in the middle of the Saloon. Then Libs looked down at a key—large, old, and brass—sitting in the middle of the table like a bizarre invitation to a mystery.
That’s when Libs realized it was a key to one of the rentable suites upstairs, which the barkeeper seldom gave out.
For a moment, all was still.