by J. Roberts
Tom decided he wasn’t going to share a room with Bobby in Denver.
Clint had played head-to-head with Bat Masterson before. He knew that he was going to have to get very lucky to beat Bat, who was the better player of the two.
The dealer took her place and called the players to the table.
“Gentlemen, we’ve counted the chips,” she said. “Mr. Masterson has thirty-six thousand, and Mr. Adams has thirty-four thousand.”
“Damn close,” Bat said to Clint, who nodded.
“Since there are only two players left, we will dispense with the two-hour sessions and just keep playing until somebody wins. Does that suit both of you?”
“Fine with me,” Clint said.
“Yes,” Bat said.
“Then we’ll begin,” she said, introducing a brand-new deck to the game. “Mr. Masterson, the first choice of game is yours.”
TWENTY-EIGHT
They played all night, and by morning the word had gone out to the gambling community in Denver. The Gunsmith and Bat Masterson were locked in a head-to-head battle for seventy thousand dollars, winner take all. The wagering began and grew as the day went on. Bat was favored, but not by much, so Talbot Roper placed a bet, since he knew the two principals personally.
The word got around to everyone.
“I just made a bet,” Tom said to Bobby.
They were staying in a small hotel on Larimer Street, several blocks away from the Wellington Hotel. They were meeting now in a small saloon down the block.
“What kind of bet?’ Bobby asked.
“There’s a poker game goin’ on not far from here, been goin’ on for two days and it’s down to only two players.”
“What’s that mean to us?”
“One of the players is Clint Adams.”
Bobby slammed his beer mug down on the bar hard enough to attract the attention of the bartender. He waved the man off.
“Where?”
“Some hotel called the Wellington, supposed to be a few blocks from here.”
“We better get over there,” Bobby said.
“Or maybe not.”
“Whaddaya mean?”
“Well, the other player ain’t exactly unknown.”
“Well, you gonna make me ask?”
“Bat Masterson.”
“Geez,” Bobby said, “I ain’t about to take the chance of facing the Gunsmith and Bat Masterson at the same time.”
“Me, neither,” Tom said. “I think we should just send a telegram to Tarver and let him know.”
“Telegram where?”
“He gave us a few places he might be,” Tom said. “We’ll send a telegram to all of ’em and tell him Adams is in Denver.”
“Should we mention Bat Masterson?”
Tom hesitated, then said, “I’m thinkin’ we should leave a few surprises for Tarver to find for himself.”
TWENTY-NINE
“This could go on forever,” Bat said, staring across the table at Clint.
“I was thinking the same thing.”
The dealer looked at both of them.
“It appears, after fifteen hours, that the two of you are still about even.”
“We’re just passing the same money back and forth,” Bat said.
“And wearing each other out doing it.”
“What do you propose?” Harry Orchid asked, observing from off to one side.
Bat and Clint exchanged a look.
“One hand,” Bat said.
“Winner take all,” Clint said.
“You would both be amenable to that?” Orchid asked, sounding surprised.
“Sure, why not?” Bat asked.
“It’s okay with me,” Clint said.
“Let’s hope it’s okay with the bettors,” the dealer said.
“The bettors?” Clint asked.
Orchid gave the dealer a murderous look and she averted her eyes.
Bat turned and looked at Orchid.
“You’re takin’ bets on the outcome?”
“Well,” Orchid said, “people started to get real interested, so . . .”
“So you thought you’d hedge your bet and take some action?”
Orchid shrugged.
“I didn’t see the harm.”
“The harm,” Clint said, “is in not letting the players in the game know your plans.”
“I’m sorry,” Orchid said. “I didn’t think it would be a problem.”
“Well,” Bat said, “I don’t know how many wagers you’ve taken, but your players didn’t bank on there being a winner-take-all last hand.”
“I can guarantee you they’re not going to like it,” Clint told him. “They were all betting on who they thought would grind this out, no matter how long it takes. A winner-take-all hand, that’s pretty much luck.”
“Well,” Orchid said, “maybe the two of you could keep playing?”
“I don’t think so,” Bat said, stretching elaborately. “I’m getting pretty tired.”
“Me, too,” Clint said. “I think one last hand really appeals to me.”
“Sounds good to me, too,” Bat agreed.
The dealer was still keeping her eyes down on the table.
“Well,” Orchid said, trying to save the situation for himself, “nobody outside of this room has to know that’s the way it went.”
“Whether or not that gets out is your problem, Orchid,” Bat said.
“Bat and I are only concerned about these chips,” Clint said. He pushed his to the center of the table, and Bat followed.
“Okay,” Orchid said, “but this doesn’t leave this room, right?”
“We don’t have any reason to tell anyone, right?” Bat asked Clint.
“Unless somebody gave us a reason,” Clint said.
Now Orchid frowned. He was being told something he didn’t understand. “What do you mean?” he asked.
“Well, suppose the pretty dealer here—what’s her name?”
“Jane.”
What a plain name to have waited two days to hear, Clint thought, especially for somebody so pretty.
“Well, if the dealer, here, were to lose her job,” Clint said, “that would be reason enough for me to spill the beans.”
Jane raised her eyes and looked at Clint gratefully.
“Don’t worry about that,” Orchid said. “She’s not gonna lose her job.”
“You got anything?” Clint asked Bat.
“No, nothing,” Bat said. “I’m satisfied. Let’s play.”
Clint looked at Orchid and said, “Let’s play.”
Orchid looked at Jane and said, “Deal.”
“Mr. Adams picks the game,” she said.
“Five-card stud,” Clint said. “Might as well get it over as quickly as possible.”
She dealt the first card facedown, and the second card faceup. “King of spades for Mr. Masterson, two of hearts for Mr. Adams.”
Orchid leaned forward.
She dealt the third card and called them. “Ten of spades for Mr. Masterson. Three of hearts for Mr. Adams.”
Fourth card.
“Queen of spades for Mr. Masterson,” she said. “Ace of hearts for Mr. Adams. Both men are working on a straight flush.”
“What are the odds,” Bat said.
Clint shrugged.
Orchid moved closer to the table.
“Fifth and last card coming out: jack of spades for Mr. Masterson. Five of hearts for Mr. Adams.”
She set the deck down. “Mr. Masterson needs an Ace of Spades for a Royal Flush, or simply an Ace or a nine for a straight. Mr. Adams needs a four of Hearts for a straight flush, or simply a four for a straight. The gentlemen need only to turn their hole cards over.”
Bat turned over his card, and then Clint turned over his.
“Sonofabitch,” Harry Orchid said.
THIRTY
Clint and Bat went to their rooms after the game was over and slept for hours. Clint slept until there was a knock at his door. He staggered
to his feet, grabbed his gun from the table next to the bed, and stumbled to the door as the knock came again.
“Yeah, yeah, coming,” he called out.
The players in the game were given two-room suites, so he had to go from the bedroom through the sitting room to open the door. He’d decided to get some sleep here before returning to his room at the Denver House. After all, he was paying for that one.
When he got to the door and opened it, he saw Jane standing in the lobby. She was still wearing her black trousers and crisp white shirt—or simply another of each.
“Good evening,” she said, looking him up and down. He realized he was wearing only his underwear.
“Evening?” he asked. “What time is it?”
“Ten p.m.,” she said. “You’ve been asleep for ten hours.”
Clint remembered that he and Bat had had something to eat before they went to their rooms.
“I see,” he said. “And why was it necessary to wake me up and tell me that?”
“Oh, that’s not what I woke you up to tell you,” she said.
“Then why did you wake me up?”
“Well,” she said, “for that, I’d have to come inside.”
“In a man’s room? Late at night?” he asked.
“I’ll risk it if you will,” she said.
He bowed, and backed away to allow her to enter. As she did, she saw the gun in his hand. He closed the door, walked to the bed, and put the gun back on the table.
“Well now if you’ll give me time to get dressed . . .” he said, turning. He stopped short when he saw her crisp white shirt fall to the floor.
“I don’t think that will be necessary.”
“Miss Dealer,” he said.
“It’s Jane,” she said. “Remember?”
She reached behind her to unfasten her ponytail. As she did her breasts—fuller and heavier than he would have thought—lifted and jutted out at him. Her nipples were a light brown he hadn’t really encountered before.
Her hair fell to her pale shoulders in shimmering waves.
“Remember,” she said, “we had an appointment after the game?”
“Did we?”
“I thought we did.”
She kicked off her shoes, then stuck her fingers into the waist of her trousers and peeled them down. She wore no underwear beneath. He figured she’d done that in anticipation of their . . . appointment.
She was breathtakingly naked.
“You know,” he said, “From the moment I saw you I wondered what was beneath that white shirt.”
“Liar,” she said. “You didn’t start wondering that until you knew I was the dealer and not just the bartender. But that’s okay. I didn’t really wonder about you until we sat down at the poker table.”
“Is that a fact?”
“Yes, it is,” she said. She moved closer to him—not close enough to touch—but close enough for him to feel the heat from her body.
“I have to thank you,” she said.
“For what?”
“Apparently, saving my job.”
“That was nothing,” he said. “I just didn’t want Orchid taking his frustration out on you.”
“Well then,” she said, moving closer and pressing herself up against him, “this is not a thank you. We’ll just consider it a . . .” She felt him grow hard between them. “ . . . hello?”
THIRTY-ONE
“Where’s your sister?” Harry Orchid asked Dave.
“How do I know?” Dave asked. “I don’t keep track of her.”
“You’ve got to make sure she stays quiet,” Orchid said, “or we’re gonna have a lot of people asking for their money back.”
“We?” Dave Masters asked. “I didn’t take any money from anyone.”
“It’s a figure of speech, Dave,” Orchid said. “I’m not asking you to be partners with me.”
“I didn’t think you were . . . boss.”
Orchid was behind his desk, a drink in his hand.
“You’re not gonna fire Jane, are you?”
“No,” Orchid said. “She has a big mouth . . . but no.”
Dave walked to the door. “I’ll find her,” he said. “She won’t say a word.”
“I’m counting on you to see that she doesn’t,” Orchid said.
• * *
Her breasts were heavy against his chest, her nipples hard. She put her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. She kissed him hungrily, and he returned the kiss with the same vigor.
“I see you’re finally awake,” she said, grinding herself against him.
“Completely.”
“There’s still something between us, though,” she said. “Allow me?”
“Of course.”
She dropped to her knees and slid his underwear down to his ankles. His penis sprang free, almost hitting her in the face. It made her laugh, but only for the moment. Then she became very serious.
“Mmm,” she said, taking the shaft in both her hands. She found it solid and very smooth. She flicked her tongue at him, just barely touching the swollen head. Then she licked it more deliberately, up and down the shaft until she was back at the top. She popped it into her mouth, circled it with her tongue, soaking it with her saliva. When she withdrew her tongue a string of saliva came with it and then broke.
He reached down, grabbed her, and pulled her to her feet. He kissed her again, then slid his mouth to her neck, her shoulders, and then her breasts. He took her breasts in his hands, held them to his mouth, and licked and sucked the nipples until she moaned. He put his hands on her waist and directed her to the bed. The back of her knees hit the mattress and they fell onto it together.
She rolled onto her side and he spooned her, his penis nestling in her delicious butt crack. He reached around for her breasts, toying with her nipples while nibbling on her neck and ear.
“If you’re hungry,” she said, “I can arrange for something to be brought up.”
He turned her over, looked into her eyes and said, “Oh, I think I have everything I want right here.”
Across the street, Bobby Davis and Tom Melvin stood in the darkened doorway of an abandoned building.
“What are we doin’ this for?” Bobby asked.
“This is what Tarver’s telegram told us to do,” Tom said. “Just keep an eye on Adams.”
“Keep an eye on him,” Bobby said. “We don’t even know if he’s in there.”
“The game’s over,” Tom said, “and we ain’t seen him come out, so he’s in there. Stop givin’ me so much grief, Bobby.”
“Hey, don’t blame me because you backed the wrong horse,” Bobby said.
“What?”
“I’m betting you’re in such a foul mood because you lost your bet, right?” Bobby asked. “You picked the wrong poker player?”
“Never mind.”
“I knew it.”
“Look,” Tom said, “we don’t both have to be here. We’re just gonna watch, we ain’t gonna make a try for him. Why don’t you go back to the hotel.”
“What for?” Bobby asked. “To sleep? I had enough sleep. I’m ready for some action. Besides, ain’t we supposed to spook him some more?”
“Like we said before,” Tom reminded his partner, “we don’t wanna take a chance that we’ll have to face him and Masterson together.”
“Why don’t we just backshoot Masterson like we did that big feller in Colorado Springs?”
“We do that and Adams would track us forever,” Tom said. “No, we’re gonna do what we’re getting paid to do—watch.”
“Yeah,” Bobby said, “but when are we gettin’ paid, that’s what I wanna know.”
“Damn it, Bobby, just shut up.”
As soon as they were on the bed, Clint maneuvered Jane so that he was on top. She was more than a handful of woman, which was just what he liked. He filled his hands and his senses with her, squeezed her breasts together, pressed his face in between them, breathed in her heady scent, enjoyed the
warmth of her skin.
“You’re not a man who’s in a hurry, are you?” she asked.
“Not with a woman like you.”
“A woman like me?”
He slid his hand up and down one of her thighs, over her belly.
“A woman who should be . . . enjoyed.”
“Is that what you’re going to do, Clint?” she asked. “Enjoy me?”
“Oh no, Miss Dealer,” he said, “I’m going to relish you!”
THIRTY-TWO
“My breasts are sore,” Jane said, lying on her back next to Clint.
“That’s what you get for being so delicious,” he said, “and having such chewable nipples.”
She laughed.
“No man’s ever said that to me before,” she said. She held her breasts in her hands and looked down at them. “Chewable.”
She slid her hand down his belly and took hold of his penis.
“You’re kinda chewable yourself, you know.”
“No woman’s ever told me that before.”
“Well,” she said, “maybe I’ll show you, too.”
She slithered down his body, rubbing her skin over his until she was nestled between his spread legs. She stroked him with one hand while with fondling his testicles with the other. She licked him, starting at the base of his penis and working her way to the top. She wet the head, then took him in her mouth and sucked him—wetly, and noisily—until it was long and hard, then drew back and stared at it, glistening with her spit.
“Oh my,” she said, sliding the tip of her index finger and down the length of him. His penis twitched beneath her touch. “Look at him . . . so pretty . . . and just straining to explode . . .”
She took him in her mouth again, began to suck him avidly until he was on the verge of coming. She released him at the last moment, just when he thought his head was going to blow clean off. His penis prodded at the air, jerked and pulsed, and just when he thought he had control she touched him again, just once, with the tip of her finger right beneath the spongy head—and he blew.
“Jesus!” he bellowed, lifting his hips up off the bed. She rocked back on her knees and clapped her hands until the geyser stopped and he stopped bouncing around on the bed.