Riverboat Blaze

by J. R. Roberts

  “How was the food?”

  “As you said,” Clint replied. “Excellent. I was just heading to the table for some gumbo.”

  “You’ll love it,” Dillon said. “By the way, you haven’t seen Angela, have you?”

  “Not in the past hour,” Clint said. “Only when we first came on board.” True, as far as it went.

  “I suppose she’ll show up as soon as she’s hungry,” he said.

  “Tell me, are you and she involved?”

  “We would be if I had my way,” Dillon said, with a rueful grin. “So far, she’s had hers.”

  “Which is?”

  “To keep me at arm’s length, I suppose,” Dillon said. “She’s been doin’ a real good job of it.”

  “What about Ava?”

  “Beautiful, isn’t she?” Dillon asked. “And wait until you hear her sing.”

  “But you and she . . .”

  “Oh, no,” Dillon said. “She doesn’t want that kind of a relationship with me, and I can’t blame her. She works for me.”

  “Doesn’t Angela?”

  “Well, yes, but somehow that’s different. Are you interested in Ava?”

  “I think we’re interested in each other,” Clint said.

  “Well then, my children,” Dillon said, “I wish you luck. Go and enjoy . . . the gumbo, I mean.”

  Dillon walked away, laughing.

  Angela showed up about an hour later. She was wearing a blue dress, and the first thing Clint noticed about it was a black smudge down at the bottom.

  She was looking around the room, possibly seeking someone out, and it obviously wasn’t Clint, because when she almost bumped into him she looked completely surprised.

  “Oh, hey,” she said. “Hi.”

  “Hello there,” Clint said. “Your boss has been looking for you.”

  “Dean,” she said, shaking her head. “I keep tryin’ to let him down easy, but . . .”

  “Don’t worry about Dean,” Clint said. “He falls in love all the time, and the ladies don’t always fall back.”

  “Thanks,” she said. “That makes me feel a lot better. I’m gonna get some food.”

  “What happened to your dress?”

  “Huh? Whataya mean?”

  He pointed and she looked down.

  “Aw, damn,” she said, “I must’ve brushed up against something on the dock. Ah well, I’m too hungry to go and change now.”

  She went off to get some food. Clint thought back to the two of them in his room. In his mind’s eye he could see her undressing in front of him, and as hard as he tried he could not recall seeing that smudge there. She didn’t get it on the dock; she got it someplace after she left his cabin.

  THIRTEEN

  That night was the first time Clint heard Ava sing.

  After the champagne celebration he went back to his cabin and took a nap. The rocking of the boat seemed to lull him to sleep. But he wasn’t too sleepy to be careful, though. There was a straight-backed wooden chair in the room and he stuck it under the door handle, just to double lock the door. Then he lay down with his gun nearby, hoping nobody would knock on his door.

  Dean Dillon went back to his own cabin to change for the night. The tables would be going, and Ava would be singing. He’d check with the captain first, make sure everything up top was okay. He knew he was starting to bother the captain, though. The man scowled every time he saw Dillon coming, but goddamnit, he owned the boat. He had every right to go up to the bridge anytime he wanted to, no matter how annoyed Captain Hatton got.

  He stuck his cut-down .45 into the shoulder rig underneath his jacket, then left the cabin.

  Captain Jed Hatton wasn’t at all sure he had done the right thing taking the job on this new boat, but how could he pass it up? After he’d piloted boats up and down the Mississippi for thirty years, somebody had finally come to him with an offer to be the captain of the largest boat ever to travel the river.

  Well, this thing might have been big, but she was sluggish as hell. She was just too damn heavy! When it came time to correct the boat’s trajectory, it was almost too late, so he had to start anticipating when it was time to maneuver. And he had to call on his knowledge of the river so as not to run her aground. There were shallow regions of the river other boats could still negotiate, but not this one. Too damn big, it’d run aground where most boats wouldn’t.

  And then there was the owner, Dean Dillon. The man was always coming up to the bridge to ask questions that didn’t need to be asked. Was everything all right? “No, damnit, you built this boat too damn big.”

  Clint woke in two hours, got dressed, and headed for the main salon. The tables had all been moved, and now instead of holding trays of food, they held roulette wheels and faro layouts. Off to one side was a craps table. Dice was one game Clint had never gotten interested in.

  All along the perimeter were tables with private poker games going on, no house dealers. He saw Kingdom at one table, and at another Troy Galvin, with Kathy standing behind him, her hands on his shoulders. And two other tables, as well.

  He looked around for Dean Dillon, expecting to see him at a poker table, but instead he was leaning on the bar, keeping an eye on the room. Clint walked over to him.

  “Buy you a drink?” Clint asked.

  “I’ll buy you one,” Dillon said. “On the house. You’re just in time.”

  “For what?”

  “Ava’s comin’ out.”

  Before Ava, though, a man came out and sat at the piano. He played a few notes, and then Ava walked out, wearing a gown that showed her shoulders and a lot of her breasts. Her smooth, cocoa skin was flawless and went well with the maroon of her long gown. At every step, her thigh sneaked out through a slit in the gown.

  She was magnificent.

  “Can she really sing?” Clint asked.

  “Like a bird,” Dillon said. “She’s not just beautiful, but it helps.”

  With the first note that came out of her mouth Clint knew Dillon was right. Ava had a beautiful voice. She drew the attention of everyone in the room, even the gamblers.

  “Pretty smooth, huh?” Dillon asked

  “She’s great,” Clint said.

  “Yeah, she is, but I was talking about the boat. Pretty smooth ride, huh?”

  “Real smooth,” Clint said. “It put me to sleep for two hours.”

  “See how safe you feel? You fell asleep?”

  “Actually, I did that to calm my nerves.”

  Dillon handed him a beer and said, “Aw, you’re kiddin’, Clint.”

  “Yeah, Dean,” Clint said, “I’m kidding.”

  “Yeah, I knew it. Listen, I gotta go talk to the captain.”

  “Again? Doesn’t that bother him?”

  “Yeah, it does, but too bad. I own the damn boat.”

  “Is he an old-timer?”

  “Yeah, he is. Why?”

  “Those guys always figure the boat’s theirs, no matter who owns it,” Clint said. “Be careful. He might have you tossed over the side.”

  “Don’t worry,” Dillon said, “nobody’s goin’ over the side. Not on this trip.”

  THE PRESENT

  Clint grabbed Angela’s arm and said, “We have to go over the side.”

  FOURTEEN

  ONE DAY EARLIER . . .

  Two days out and everything seemed to be going along fine.

  Dillon’s passengers—many of them his guests—seemed to be enjoying themselves. Ava was very popular for her singing, as well as her beauty.

  Kingdom was winning a lot of money at his table.

  Galvin was winning at his table.

  Kathy had not approached Kingdom again with her offer. He figured she had either changed her mind or had not been able to get away.

  Clint had not been invited on board to play poker, so he had refrained from joining any of the table action. However, he had played blackjack at Angela’s table a time or two. His opinion of her as a dealer was not high. In fact, she simply was no
t very good at it.

  Ava and Clint had spent one night together, but last night she had not come to his cabin.

  Also, Angela had not come back. Not yet, anyway.

  Dillon was walking around the boat with his chest out, very happy with the way things had been going.

  The Warrant brothers—Dillon’s security force—were either very good at their job or very bad. Either way, Sam and Lou kept out of sight.

  Dillon had taken Clint up to the bridge to meet the captain once. Clint recognized the man as soon as he entered the bridge. Not that he’d ever met him before, but Captain Hatton was exactly like other old-time riverboat captains Clint had met. He didn’t like to have anyone on his bridge. Not even the owner of the boat.

  “Captain, this is Clint Adams.”

  Hatton turned and looked at both Dillon and Clint.

  “What’s the Gunsmith doin’ on my boat?” he demanded.

  “He’s my guest,” Dean Dillon said, “and I’ll remind you that this is my boat.”

  The captain compressed his lips in annoyance.

  “All right,” he said, “what’s he doin’ on my bridge?”

  “I just brought him up to have a look,” Dillon said. “And for the two of you to meet.”

  “Very well,” the man said. “We’ve met. Now get off my bridge.”

  Hatton was a craggy-faced man who could have been fifty or seventy. Also on the bridge with him was his copilot, a man in his thirties. Clint looked at that man and received a helpless shrug in return.

  “See here, Captain—” Dillon started.

  “Never mind, Dean,” Clint said. “It’s okay. The captain has lots of work to do.”

  In point of fact, the captain looked worried to Clint. Something was on the man’s mind.

  “I think we should let him go back to it,” Clint added.

  “Yeah, fine,” Dillon said. “Let’s go back to the main salon.”

  Just outside the bridge they stopped and looked down at the water.

  “It takes a lot of be a captain on this river,” Clint said. “The depth changes so drastically from point to point. And the river changes.”

  “No reason for him to be that rude, though,” Dillon said. “Maybe I’ll replace him after we get back.”

  “I’d wait and see if he’s a good captain first, if I was you,” Clint said. “I’d much prefer to have a good captain than a polite one.”

  “You’re probably right.”

  They started walking to the salon together.

  “I saw you playing blackjack a couple of times at Angela’s table. What do you think of her?”

  “As a person I think she’s lovely,” Clint said.

  “And as a blackjack dealer?”

  “Not so good.”

  “What’s wrong with her?”

  “She doesn’t handle the cards as well as she should,” Clint said. “Doesn’t make the correct plays when she should.”

  Dillon frowned. “Is she costing me money?”

  Clint hesitated, then said, “Not a lot. I wouldn’t let her handle a high-stakes table, though.”

  “Should I fire her?”

  “Do you want to fire her?” Clint asked.

  “Hell, no.”

  “Then don’t,” Clint said. “You’re the boss.”

  “Yeah, I am,” Dillon said.

  They reached the salon and stopped at the main door.

  “This looks like a success to me,” Dillon said.

  “And to me.”

  “You’re not playing poker?”

  “Not so far.”

  “What about tonight?”

  Clint shrugged. “Maybe. First a drink.”

  “I’ll join you,” Dillon said. “Come on. To the bar.”

  FIFTEEN

  THE PRESENT

  “We can’t jump from this deck,” Clint said. “We have to work our way down.”

  “Do we have time?” Angela asked.

  “I hope so,” Clint said. “and I hope we can find the others. Dean, Ava . . .”

  In the moonlight he could see people already in the water. Some of them were swimming, some weren’t. Some were already just floating corpses.

  “Where’s the fire?” Angela asked.

  “Seems to be belowdecks,” Clint said, pointing. “Look, there . . . the flames are coming up from below.”

  “Clint,” she said, “there’s something belowdecks—”

  “I know there is, Angela,” he said, grabbing her arm. “It’s fire.”

  He pulled her toward the stairway. He wanted to get down to the first deck and then get the hell off the boat . . .

  FOUR HOURS BEFORE . . .

  Clint entered the salon that night intending to play some poker. He’d played a bit the night before, but not at either Kingdom or Galvin’s table. He just had to decide which table to go to tonight.

  As he had the other nights, he started at the bar. When he got there, Ava was already there, drinking a glass of champagne.

  “Celebrating?” he asked.

  “I just like champagne,” she said. “What about you?”

  “Beer,” Clint said. “Usually beer.”

  He waved at the bartender, who knew by now to bring him a beer.

  “Sorry I didn’t come by last night?” she said.

  “We didn’t have a date or anything,” he sad. “It’s fine if you had something else to do.”

  “Actually, I rehearsed until late, so I was pretty tired,” she said. “And I had to save my voice.”

  “Well,” he said, raising his beer, “it’s certainly worth saving.”

  “Thank you.” She sipped her drink. “The champagne helps.”

  “That’s good.”

  “Are you enjoying yourself?” she asked. “I mean, in general?”

  “In general, I think if I had paid for this, I’d be disappointed.”

  “Why?”

  “Um . . . well, don’t tell Dean this, okay?”

  “Okay.”

  “There’s really nothing going on here that I couldn’t see on dry land,” he said, “and I’d rather be on dry land.”

  “You don’t like riverboats?”

  “I love riverboats.”

  “Ah,” she said, “you don’t like this riverboat.”

  “See why I don’t want you to tell Dean?”

  “What’s wrong with it?” she asked, then added, “Just between you and me.”

  “Bigger isn’t always better,” he said.

  “It’s too big?”

  “It’s too damn big,” he said, “and too damn heavy.”

  Suddenly, he wondered if that was what was bothering the captain, as well. Maybe the ship was just too big and heavy to maneuver safely and properly.

  “But . . . according to Dean, that’s the selling point,” she said.

  “Yeah,” he said, “for Dean. He just always wants the biggest and the best, but ask the passengers. I mean, any passenger on any riverboat. They’re not on it because it’s the best, or the biggest. It’s not about that.”

  “What’s it about?”

  “I think it’s about the river,” Clint said. “Passengers, crew, captain, I think they’re all on a boat because they love the river.”

  “And do you love the river?”

  “I do,” he said. “It’s unpredictable. Sort of like a woman—and you know how much I love women.”

  “Oh yes,” she said, “you do love your women. Speaking of which, has little Angela thrown herself at you yet?”

  “Why would you ask that?”

  “Because I see the way she looks at you,” she said. “Also, I think I wanted to see if you would be a gentleman—and you were.”

  “So I pass.”

  She raised her glass to him and said, “With flying colors, Clint Adams.”

  SIXTEEN

  Clint played poker with Galvin that night. He watched as Kathy stood behind the man, keeping her hands on his shoulders as if for moral support. He wondered if
Galvin could play without Kathy there.

  And then he noticed something. It was the way Kathy was looking at him from hand to hand. He wondered what was going on, and then he got it. She was signaling him. She was trying to let him know when Galvin had a strong hand, and when he had a weak hand.

  But why? he wondered. What was going on? Trouble in paradise? And was this her way of getting back at her man? By giving up his hands?

  Cheating was a very simple thing. You really didn’t have to know exactly what your opponent had. What you needed was just a hint of whether he was strong or weak, and that seemed to be what she was trying to give Clint.

  Only he didn’t want it. If and when he beat somebody at poker, he wanted it to be on the up-and-up. He didn’t need any help beating other players. He was that confident in his abilities.

  So after a while he just stopped looking at Kathy.

  From across the room Kingdom was watching Galvin and Clint. He was also watching Kathy. It looked to him like she was sending signals. He wondered if she had made the same offer to Clint Adams that she had made to him, and if Adams had taken her up on it. He didn’t see why someone like Adams would need or want that kind of advantage.

  There were seats available at both tables, both his and theirs. He wondered how long it would take for him and Adams to end up at the same table together.

  Dillon watched the proceedings from the bar, listened to Ava sing, watched Angela deal. He guessed that he was so interested in Angela that he hadn’t noticed that she wasn’t very good at her job. He wondered if he’d made the same mistake with the captain. When they got back to New Orleans, he’d have to take stock, decide what he wanted to do.

  Maybe he should give Angela the rest of the night off.

  Angela was dealing and saw Dillon looking over at her. She looked over at Clint playing poker and not paying her any mind. Then she looked at Ava, up on the stage singing, with the piano player next to her. Bitch. That dark hair and dark skin, it was all over New Orleans. She, Angela, was the one who was unusual. She was the one who should have been considered exotic.