Red River Showdown

by J. R. Roberts

  “Are you worried about my money?”

  “Now that I know you’re on board, I’m not worried about a thing.”

  “That’s more like it,” she said.

  Although there were still way too many people wandering around the upper deck of the boat, there were no more coming up the gangplank. After the next whistle blew, the Misty Morning started to rumble as the paddle wheel began to turn.

  Mia had already found her way to the older man in the black suit.

  “Hello, ma’am,” the man said. “Have you been greeted?”

  “No, I haven’t,” Mia replied cheerily.

  “Do you have your invitation?”

  “I had it awhile ago, but I think I may have misplaced it.”

  The older man rolled his eyes and let out a weary sigh.

  THIRTEEN

  The Misty Morning pulled away from the dock and floated down the Red River. Clint stayed on the top deck and watched the dock drift away and the river widen in front of them. From what he’d heard, there were to be a few more stops that day and then they wouldn’t be stopping until it was time to let people off.

  It did strike Clint as a bit odd that the boat wasn’t going to make any stops along the way, but he doubted any of the gamblers would want to get off anyhow. Ever since they’d all swarmed the decks and gotten a look at their competition, nearly all the passengers had disappeared inside the boat. Clint remained where he was, leaned against the rail, and filled his lungs with the fragrant river air.

  Behind him, Clint could hear the tapping of light footsteps moving toward the rail.

  “It’s so quiet out here,” a woman said.

  Clint turned around to find a tall blonde in a cream-colored dress settling against the rail. Her long hair flowed into wavy curls that reminded Clint of decorative ribbons wrapped around a Christmas present. Her skin was smooth and fair. The lilt in her voice along with the parasol she propped on one shoulder gave her a distinctly Southern flair.

  “Aren’t you here to play cards?” she asked.

  Clint nodded and turned so he was leaning back against the rail. “Sure, but there’s plenty of time for that later. Besides, it’s kind of nice to breathe in a few times without filling up with smoke.”

  “It is rather foggy in the main room.”

  “I take it the games are already starting?” Clint asked.

  “Oh, my yes. I doubt they’ll be ending anytime soon.”

  “You must have traveled a bit to get here. Georgia, was it?”

  The blonde blinked once and stepped back as if Clint had just read her future. “Why, yes. How did you know?”

  “The accent says it all.”

  She narrowed her eyes, studied him and then tapped her chin with her finger. “You’re not from Texas because you don’t talk like a cowboy. You’re not from Oklahoma. I’ve heard plenty of accents from around there.” After a few seconds, she said, “Actually, I’m bad at this. You could be from anywhere for all I know.”

  “Anywhere and everywhere. My name’s Clint.”

  Content not to question him any further on the subject, the blonde shook the hand Clint offered and said, “I’m Gretchen Bowes.”

  “Pleased to meet you, Gretchen.”

  “Likewise I’m sure,” she replied as she added a little curtsy as if it was second nature. “So you are here to gamble?”

  “If I was here to steer the boat, I’d sure be standing in the wrong place.”

  Gretchen’s laughter was as pretty as it was promising. “I suppose that was a silly question.”

  “What about you?” Clint asked. “Are you a gambler?”

  “I dabble, but it was my sister who received the invitation.”

  “Your sister?”

  “Yes,” Gretchen said with a nod. “She’s the wild one of the family. She used to play cards with our daddy, and when she walked into a saloon to play for real money, she never looked back.”

  “Since she’s the wild one,” Clint said, “I suppose that makes you the beautiful one?”

  Although a blush didn’t actually show on her cheeks, Gretchen averted her eyes and covered her face with her hand as if it did. “Stop it,” she said as she moved a little closer. “We’ve only just met.”

  “Sorry. All this river air must be getting to me. Perhaps we should get out of it before something happens.”

  Gretchen gave a look of genuine surprise as she slowly lowered her hand from her mouth. Her full, red lips were parted as if to speak, but she didn’t get a chance to say a word.

  “Would you be able to escort me into the main room?” Clint asked as he held out an arm. “I wouldn’t want to get lost and walk into the furnace by mistake.”

  Shifting her surprised expression into a smile, Gretchen nodded and looped her arm around Clint’s. “I wouldn’t mind one bit,” she said. “I think this river air was getting to me, too.”

  With a few practiced moves, Gretchen closed her parasol and swung it down so she could use it like a cane in her free hand. She fell into step next to Clint and timed her steps perfectly so her well-rounded hip bumped slightly against him as they walked.

  The closer Clint got to the door leading down into the boat, the more the quiet, outside world faded away. The sounds of splashing water and chirping birds was quickly replaced by dozens of voices, glasses rattling against one another and a piano playing a steady stream of Chopin.

  Clint and Gretchen walked down a single flight of stairs which led them into a large room filled with card tables arranged in perfect rows, with chairs set up perfectly around them. Nearly every one of those chairs was full, but Clint still felt as if he was missing something as he looked around the room.

  “There must be fewer games started than I thought,” he said. “This only looks like about half the people that were on the deck before.”

  “That deck looked positively chaotic.” Gretchen sighed. “But there wasn’t this much space up top, you know. That made it seem like twice the number of people milling about.”

  “Yeah, but there’s still got to be plenty more people in their rooms.”

  “Or they could be in one of the other poker rooms,” she offered.

  “There are more poker rooms?”

  She nodded. “Two more. One at the front of the boat and one at the back. They’re not as big as this one, though.”

  Clint had already spotted Mia sitting at one of the tables closest to the bar. She waved and shot him a look that was practically a command for him to approach her. “We might as well start here, I suppose,” he said.

  “I’m going to find my sister.” Gretchen said as she stepped away from him. Brushing her hand along Clint’s cheek, she added, “I’ll find you later.”

  “I sure hope so.”

  Clint watched Gretchen turn around and head for one of the other doors leading out of the room. Even though she wore more than a few layers under her petticoat, the swaying of her hips was still easy to distinguish. When he finally took his eyes off the pleasant sight, Clint found Mia glaring at him with more than a little venom in her eyes.

  Smiling and walking over to her, Clint tugged on the collar of his rumpled shirt as if that would make a difference in his appearance. “I feel a little underdressed for this place,” he said once he got to where Mia was sitting.

  Her table was only half-full. One of the men was in his sixties and had a bushy set of muttonchops running along the sides of his face. The bristly hair barely even moved as he grumbled, “Only a little underdressed?”

  Clint wanted to answer back, but the man had room to talk since he was sporting a tailored black suit complete with a gold watch chain crossing his belly.

  “Who was that?” Mia asked.

  “I don’t know,” Clint replied. “I didn’t catch the gentleman’s name.”

  “Not him. The blonde. Who was she?”

  “I’m going to my room. We can discuss this when I get back.” Clint put his back to the table, walked away and hoped Mia
would have forgotten about her question by the time he returned.

  FOURTEEN

  “Damn,” Clint muttered as he looked at himself in the mirror in his room.

  He knew the suit he’d brought wasn’t going to surpass anything worn by some of those well-dressed gamblers in the main room. He didn’t have much space to pack a wardrobe into his saddlebags and would have been more than satisfied with the clothes he did bring. What he couldn’t bear was the thought of walking into that gambling room wearing something that looked as if it had been dragged through the mud.

  Clint stood in front of that mirror and took a moment to think if he had dragged that suit through the mud. He then looked down at himself and at the wrinkled mess that was the suit he wore. He couldn’t recall what the hell he’d done to it, but that suit wasn’t even an improvement over the battered jeans and rumpled shirt he’d had on before.

  One quick change later, Clint walked out of his room with a bundle of clothes tucked under his arm. He made his way toward the upper deck, but didn’t have to go all the way to the stairs before he spotted the man he’d been looking for.

  “Can I help you, sir?” the man with the salt-and-pepper hair asked as he turned around before Clint had to catch his attention.

  “Yes, I was wondering if there’s a laundry or anything like that on this boat.”

  “On the lower deck toward the back, sir. May I accompany you?”

  “If you could just point me in the right direction, that should be fine.”

  The older man held up one gloved hand, extended one long finger and pointed that finger toward the back of the boat. “You’ll find the stairs that way, sir.”

  “Let me guess,” Clint said. “I want the ones going down?”

  “Precisely.”

  For some reason, Clint found himself chuckling at the way the older man’s expression didn’t falter in the slightest. “You should be a card player with that face.”

  “I’ll take it under advisement.”

  Clint started to walk down the hall, but stopped and asked, “Next time I’ve got a stupid question, who should I ask for?”

  “Does it have to be me?”

  “Yep.”>

  “Then you would ask for Arvin.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Clint watched for another roll of the eyes from the older man, but Arvin simply remained in his spot until he knew that Clint was walking in the proper direction. After that, he continued down the hall.

  The stairs leading down into the lowest level weren’t nearly as nice as the ones that Clint had used so far. In fact, they seemed likely to crack under his feet as he made his way down with nothing more than a rope strung through some brass loops to steady him.

  He didn’t have to go far before he heard several voices chattering amid the rumble of the paddle wheel and ruckus of the furnace room. All Clint had to do was follow the acrid scent of starch emanating from one of the narrow doors to find the one marked “Laundry.” Once there, Clint knocked and waited.

  Some of the voices Clint heard stopped the moment his knuckles rapped against the door. Leaning in close to the door, Clint could make out frantic whispering coming from the next room.

  “Hello?” Clint said. “I’ve got some clothes that need some help.”

  There was no reply.

  “I can pay for the services,” Clint added. “I just need the job done quickly.”

  When he heard one faint voice cut short by a gruff obscenity, Clint reached down and tried the handle of the door. The door wasn’t locked, but Clint wasn’t about to just throw it open and step inside. His hand drifted toward the Colt at his side, but he didn’t draw the pistol just yet. Instead, he shifted the clothes to his gun hand so they covered the Colt as well as a good portion of his gun belt. Then, Clint opened the door.

  Three women were huddled in a corner of the small room. One of them was Chinese, and she was the only one who wasn’t too petrified to move. She stood up and extended an arm to point at Clint while staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.

  In the space of a heartbeat, Clint realized two things.

  The first thing was that the woman wasn’t pointing directly at him but at the doorway.

  The second was that there was someone lunging at Clint from where they must have been waiting with their back against the wall in the very spot where the woman was pointing.

  FIFTEEN

  Clint turned on the balls of his feet and brought up his arm just in time to catch the arm of the man who’d lunged at him from the doorway. At first, Clint thought he’d just deflected a punch, but he quickly saw the glint of the blade gripped in the other man’s fist. The only thing that kept the blade from drawing Clint’s blood was the fact that his suit was still wrapped around his arm.

  Seeing that knife poised an inch or so from his face gave Clint more than enough strength to push the man’s arm away.

  “Who the hell are you?” the man asked as he backed up a step and crouched with his knife switching from hand to hand.

  Clint took a few cautious sidesteps as he put himself between the man and the women cowering against the far wall. “I just needed a suit cleaned. You’ve got a bit more to explain.”

  The man with the knife was short and lean. His skin was deathly pale, and he moved as if the knife was an extension of his own arm. “I don’t need to explain anything to a dead man!” he said as he swapped the knife into his right hand and made a low stab at Clint.

  Clint reflexively sucked in his gut and arched his back so he could avoid as much of the blade as possible without giving the man enough room to make a quick follow-up swipe. As soon as the blade passed by him, Clint swung down the arm wrapped up in his suit and slammed the man’s knife hand against the wall.

  While trying to get his hand free, the man twisted his body so his other arm could get a solid shot at Clint’s ribs. Bony knuckles slammed against Clint’s side, snapped back and jabbed in again before Clint had a chance to react.

  Every muscle in Clint’s torso tensed to absorb the punches. The man’s fist didn’t do any real damage, but it hurt like hell as it cracked into the exact same spot three times in a row. Not wanting to let the man’s knife arm loose, Clint rolled along the trapped arm and drove his elbow into the man’s face.

  That knocked the man flat against the wall to slam the door shut. What caught Clint’s attention the most was the sound of the knife rattling against the floor. Before he could do anything about it, however, Clint lost sight of the other man altogether.

  The man got away from Clint like a greased pig and almost got behind him before Clint turned and threw another elbow at the only spot the man could have gone. Sure enough, Clint’s elbow hit something solid after traveling only an inch or two. He’d put enough muscle behind it to make a satisfying crunch on impact.

  “Look out!” one of the ladies screamed.

  Clint wheeled around in the same direction as he’d thrown the last elbow. The smaller man had already moved from that spot and dropped down to sweep the knife up off the floor.

  Rather than try to switch the direction his arm was swinging, the other man spun his entire body around. When he’d made a complete, tight circle, he brought his arm around and snapped it out like a whip. This time, Clint knew better than to try and just lean out of the way. He saw that blade coming toward him and jumped back before it cut right through him.

  The sharpened steel whistled through the air. Clint could feel a cold breeze as the blade swiped past his neck. For a moment, Clint wasn’t even sure if he’d been cut. He reached up to press a hand to his throat and felt his stomach drop when he felt something wet against his fingers.

  Pulling his hand down, Clint quickly took a look and saw nothing more than sweat on his hand. When he looked up again, the smaller man already had the door partially open.

  “Oh no you don’t,” Clint grunted as he rushed forward.

  The man gritted his teeth and lashed out with the blade once
to stop Clint in his tracks. He kept slashing quick patterns through the air to get Clint to keep his distance. Dark, burning eyes fixed upon Clint and watched every little move he made. The instant he saw Clint go for his gun, the man made a forward stab aimed for Clint’s wrist.

  Clint reflexively jumped back. Even though it was only one step, it was enough to knock his heel against a basket of clothes on the floor. He took half a second to look behind him and regain his balance, which was enough for the other man to slip through the door and out into the hall.

  Keeping his hand on the Colt’s grip and ready to draw in the blink of an eye, Clint moved to the door and extended an arm to push it open. Just as his fingertips made contact with the wooden surface, he felt a solid thump against the wall. When he tried to open the door, it wouldn’t budge.

  Clint took half a step back and then slammed his shoulder against the door hard enough to knock it off its hinges. Fortunately, the broom that had been wedged against the door from the outside snapped in two before the hinges gave way. Stumbling into the hall with his gun held at the ready, Clint looked around for a target.

  The narrow hall was empty on both sides, but he soon heard commotion coming from the direction of the stairs. Clint rushed that way and found several doors open and several heads poking out.

  “Did you see anyone rush past here?” Clint asked.

  The heads eventually all shook and the faces looked at Clint with growing nervousness.

  Clint stood in the hall and listened for a sign of where he should go next. He heard nothing, so he holstered the Colt and walked up and down the hall. The few doors there were already open, and the rooms were wide-open storage areas or places where people were doing their work. Those people were all either hiding the man or didn’t have the first clue where he went. Either way, Clint knew he’d hit a dead end.

  After making his way back to the laundry, Clint checked on the three women. “Are you ladies all right?” he asked.

  They nodded.

  “Do you know who that was?”

  “No,” the Chinese woman replied. “He was in here poking around and threatened to kill us. That’s when you came here. You saved our lives,” she added while hugging Clint around the waist. “How can I thank you?”