by Harper Allen
He wasn’t physically unattractive. About her age and height—she hadn’t worn heels when she’d gone out with him, she remembered—he was compactly and stockily built, although his suits were expertly cut to camouflage the slight softness around his belly. It was a telltale sign of his vanity, as were the manicured cuticles and buffed nails on his fingers.
Her fragile composure fled. The last time she’d seen Tony Corso one of his fastidiously manicured hands had struck her across her face, Marilyn recalled leadenly. It had been his reaction to her request that he leave her apartment after he’d tried to turn what was supposed to have been a good night kiss into a wrestling match on her sofa. Only the fact that Jim and Dan had knocked at her door as Tony had been drawing back his hand for a second vicious slap had put an end to the incident.
“Bun in the oven?” The crudeness of his words seemed even more out of place in such a setting. “Yeah, that’s what’s changed. And you used to have such a good figure—”
“Tony Corso? Con Ducharme.” Stepping forward, Con held out his hand, and automatically the other man grasped it. “I hear you’re the one we have to thank for setting up this game. Good group of players, wouldn’t you say?”
Marilyn heard a strange whistling sound coming from Tony’s half-open mouth. Her gaze sharpened on him, and she saw that his eyes had widened in pain and there was an ashy undertone to his skin. Looking down, she saw Con’s handshake tighten, saw those manicured fingers slowly start to turn purple.
“Texas hold-em. Cadillac of poker games, as they say,” Con noted blandly, still crushing Corso’s hand. “Well, I won’t keep you, but Marilyn’s told me so much about you I just had to shake your hand. Come on, cher’, let’s get you settled with the rest of the guests before I take my place at the table.”
His smile still in place, with a final cruel squeeze Con released Tony’s hand. Stepping back, he started to walk away, but then he turned back to face the mobster once again.
“You don’t know it yet, but this is how it’s gon’ play out, Corso,” he said, his tone so low that only the man he was speaking to and Marilyn could catch what he was saying.
“Jasper, there—” he glanced at the bolo-tied man “—he’ll drop out first, probably about three hours into the game. Not long after, Molly’s going to fold. The cards just aren’t going to be runnin’ her way tonight, for some reason. Young Walker’s going to hang on longer than Sandoval, but sooner or later it’s just gonna be you and me. And at some point after that you’re going to realize you’ve gone way over your limit.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Some of the color had seeped back into Tony’s face. Behind him the blonde flinched at the fury in his voice. Con shrugged, and Marilyn saw the flash of silver appearing and disappearing between his fingers.
“Just telling you your fortune, Corso. Reading your cards. Like I was saying, you’re going to ask me if I’ll take your marker, and I’m going to turn you down. That’s when the stakes are going to get interesting…because even though by then I’ll have taken all your money, you’ll still have something I want.”
Some of the outrage left Tony’s expression. He gave a sharp bark of laughter. “I get you now. Well, buddy, if it comes to that it won’t be the first time I’ve run out of glimmer near the end of a game and had to put Crystal up for collateral. Maybe we can swing a trade—you take her and I’ll take—”
“You don’t want to finish that sentence, Corso.” Con’s tone was flat with menace. “And I’m not talking about the lady, although if she decides she wants to walk away from you after tonight me and Mar’lyn would be pleased to help her arrange it. It’s your uncle you’re going to hand over. If you lose, you tell me where I can find DeMarco.”
“Helio?” Watching him closely, Marilyn was sure she saw fear flash through Tony’s startled gaze. “What makes you think I know where to find him? And what do you want with—”
He stopped. His eyes narrowed. “You’re the Marshall, dammit. You’re Con—”
“Ducharme,” Con said tonelessly. “If you want to go through the introduction and handshake thing all over again I’d be glad to oblige, Corso. But I don’t think that’s necessary, do you?”
Tony’s right hand was already tucked safely away in his pocket. “No, that’s not necessary, Ducharme,” he said slowly. “But tell me something. If everything turns out the way you say—” his lips twisted in a disbelieving smile “—and before we play that last hand I put up what I know of my uncle’s whereabouts, what’s your stake going to be? What are you willing to risk on that final river card?”
She didn’t need to understand the slang to realize what he was saying, Marilyn thought uneasily. Tony was accepting Con’s challenge—and throwing down one of his own. An indefinable feeling of dread suddenly rolled over her like a fog, and when she looked fearfully at Con she saw there was no expression in those emerald-green eyes at all.
He shifted. Her hand fell away from his sleeve, but he didn’t seem to notice.
“What am I willing to risk?” he said softly. “To get DeMarco, I’m willing to risk everything, Corso. If you lose you hand him over to me, and if I lose…”
The Con Ducharme who’d held her in his arms last night was gone. In his place was the gambler she’d seen once or twice before, the man who was willing to pledge everything he held dear on the turn of a card. That man gave Tony a thin smile.
“If at any point in the game I lose, you’ll never see or hear from me again, Corso. I’ll turn my back on this city and everything in it forever.”
Chapter Thirteen
“I’m dusted, boys.” The young man Con had called Dude Walker grinned crookedly and pushed his chair away from the poker table. “Anyone spot me ten for a cab ride?”
“In your jacket pocket.”
Already shuffling a newly opened pack of cards, Con didn’t raise his eyes from the table as he spoke. Walker unslung his jacket from the back of his chair, partially withdrew a sheaf of bills from its breast pocket, and shot Con a confused look.
“When’d you put this here?”
Con looked up as if he was surprised to see the younger man still in the room. “During the break three hours ago.”
“But three hours ago I was still on fire. How did you—” Walker stared at Con with rueful respect. “This one’s been a berry patch for you right from the start, hasn’t it?” He shook his head. “Think I’ll ask the cabbie to drop me off at an old folks’ home, maybe see if I can sit in on a game of penny a point pinochle. I was out of my league here tonight.”
She might not know anything about poker, Marilyn thought dully, but she knew enough to realize that Walker was right. He had been out of his league, as had the others who had one by one dropped out over the past—with little interest she checked the diamond-studded face of her watch—over the past five hours.
They’d left in the order Con had predicted. So far everything had gone as he’d predicted. And none of that took away any of the pain she’d felt when he’d made his deal with Corso.
“I’ll turn my back on this city and everything in it forever…” Coming from any other man that bet would have been recklessly dangerous, but coming from Con it was coldly arrogant. He had no doubt about the eventual outcome of this game, and when she’d tried to confront him during the break he hadn’t seemed to realize what he’d done.
“Hell, cher’, he needed to hear something extravagant,” he’d said with a distracted frown. “What does it matter what I said to reel him in?”
Even while he’d been talking with her his gaze had flicked from Sandoval Malaga to Walker. It had narrowed with interest as the former arm’s dealer had downed a stiff drink and then signaled the circulating waiter for another, and had lingered on Walker as the younger man had rolled his shoulders and rubbed the back of his neck like a fighter who was wearying. Finally he’d allowed himself a veiled glance in the direction of Tony, standing with a silent Crystal. Marilyn had been close enough to se
e the flicker of satisfaction in Con’s eyes.
“DeMarco’s a dead man, heart,” he murmured. Despite the endearment, it seemed to her that he was talking to himself. “He doesn’t even know it yet, but I’ve won. I always knew the only way to bring that bastard down was to go after him myself, despite what Wellesley and Longbottom said.”
The darkness had won, Marilyn thought now. Con Ducharme might believe he had, but in reality he’d lost everything that should have mattered to him. She’d been right two nights ago—against his hatred of DeMarco, she didn’t stand a chance. And whether another Helio DeMarco came along in the future or not, she would never feel secure in Con’s love again.
“Just a minute, Ducharme.”
The few remaining nonplayers in the room, including the older man with the bolo tie Con had called Jasper, had taken advantage of the brief interval while Con had been shuffling the cards to exchange low-toned conversation with each other. Tony’s curt interjection drew everyone’s immediate attention to the table and the last two men sitting there.
“Steward, get us another deck.” Tony kept his gaze on Con. “Ducharme, I’d feel a whole lot better if I was the dealer for this final game. You got a problem with that?”
“I’ve got a problem with you implying I’m a mechanic, Corso.” Con’s voice was toneless. “You know how it works in hold-em. Dealer keeps changing from player to player, moving round the table. It’s just the luck of the draw that it’s my turn again.”
“You with Burke, sweetheart?”
Marilyn looked up in confusion as Jasper McMurtry, his leathery features crinkled in concern, sat down beside her. Why didn’t anyone seem to speak English in this game? she wondered edgily. Berry patch, burke, mechanic…some of them she’d managed to figure out, but most of the slang was just downright baffling.
“I’m with Con.” She frowned. “Did Corso just accuse him of cheating? What’s a mechanic?”
“A player who shades when he’s the dealer.” McMurtry stroked his shaggy moustache with a liver-spotted hand. “In other words, yeah, honey, that little prick just called your man a cheat. When I used to play the Panhandle circuit back in the old days that kind of accusation could only end in gunplay. But Con’s got alligator blood.”
He chuckled at the flash of irritation that crossed her features. “Cool under pressure, like all the legendary players.”
“But if it means so much to you, Tone, I’ll pasadena this time.” Con’s drawl held a hint of laughter. “Carl, hand my friend another railroad bible, will you?”
“What’d I tell you, honey? Cool as a cucumber.” Jasper’s watery blue eyes were lit with amusement. “Pasadena means pass. He’s letting Corso deal. Railroad bible, that’s a deck of cards.”
“It’s not just the lingo, I don’t have a clue how the game itself works, or what makes one player better than another.” Marilyn bit her lip. “Is—is Tony on Con’s level? Could he win?”
“No, he’s not—and sure, he could.” The old man smiled at her. “Rank amateurs win against sharps in individual games all the time. But skill eventually beats out dumb luck.” He nodded toward the table. “Okay, each player’s got his two cards now, honey. Since Tony dealt, your man bets first.” Watery blue eyes blinked. Marilyn looked anxiously at him.
“What’s the matter? Con bet a hundred and seventy-five dollars just now, right?”
“A hundred and seventy-five thousand,” Jasper muttered. “I’m glad I got out when I did.”
“I’ll see your one seventy-five and raise you five hundred.”
Was she imagining it, or had she heard a slight hoarseness in Tony’s voice? Despite everything, Marilyn found herself getting caught up in the tension all around her.
“Okay, those three cards that just got dealt in the middle of the table are the flop,” Jasper said, quietly enough that only she could hear. “Any player can use them to make the best possible hand. After the next round, another card goes in the middle. It’s called the turn. Another round again, and then the river card gets dealt out. Fortunes are won and lost on the river card, honey.”
Some of her nervousness must have communicated itself to him, because he shot her a keen glance and patted her arm reassuringly. “But you know what? When you come right down to it, it’s only money. Like they say, if you can’t walk away with the girl, the gold watch and everything, choose the girl and you’ll never regret it. There’s a heap more important things in this old world than winning a damn poker game.”
He raised bushy brows at her. “The way it is between two people in love, for instance. And the babies that come out of that love. Based on that, you’re the richest person in this room, darlin’, and don’t you ever think different.”
She was the richest person in this room, Marilyn thought, giving the old man a shaky smile before turning a tear-blinded gaze back to the table. Another hand was dealt, but she was no longer watching the action. She’d lost Con—lost him to the driving determination he had to exact vengeance on an evil man at whatever cost to his own soul—but she still had his baby inside her, safe by her heart.
He would never know that.
It’s not only that you gambled with what you and I had, Con, she thought hopelessly, and with what we could have had together. It’s that you’ve allowed Sky’s fate to hinge on a—a game. If you can do that, how can I ever trust the life of our own child to you?
“Hell, let’s let the dogs out, Corso. I’m putting it all in. That’s one seven, by my calculations.” Shoving the still-impressive pile of chips left in front of him to the center of the table, Con leaned back, one shirtsleeved arm draped lazily over his chair, his cards hidden in the palm of his other hand.
One seven. That was—
“One point seven mil.” Under his moustache, Jasper pursed his lips. “Corso can’t call that, let alone raise.”
Oh, yes, he can, Marilyn thought sickly. And he’s going to. But not with money.
“Seems you saw this moment coming all night long, Ducharme.” Tony shook his head almost admiringly. “You know I’m down to the felt. I should have come into this with deeper pockets, but I guess I just didn’t know what I was up against. That other deal still on the table?”
“I never welsh on a bet, Corso.” A corner of Con’s mouth lifted, but his eyes remained coldly appraising. “F’sure, the deal’s still on. You takin’ me up on it?”
Beside Marilyn, Jasper McMurtry frowned. “Don’t ask me what they’re doing now, hon. As far as I know, those two ain’t playing poker anymore. Con isn’t, anyway.”
“You’re right, he isn’t.” She heard the harsh rasp in her own voice and was surprised she was able to speak at all. “He’s playing God. And I think Tony was counting on that.”
The earlier signs of agitation Corso had revealed, slight as they’d been, had now completely vanished. A broad smile appeared on his face, and he nodded. “Helio’s whereabouts if I lose. You drop this whole thing and walk away if I win. I’m raising you to that, Ducharme.”
“And I’m matching you. Cards on the table time, Corso.” Negligently Con dropped his cards face up on the green felt surface. “Ace and a nine.”
Tony did the same, his grin widening. “Ace and a queen. That gives me what? About a seventy percent chance of beating you?”
“Seventy-one.” Con’s expression was unreadable. “But we’ve still got five cards to go.”
“He’s turning over the flop—those first three cards that got dealt in the middle,” Jasper said worriedly. By now he was standing, as were the rest of the nonplayers. Slowly Marilyn got to her feet beside the old man.
“A deuce, a king…and a four. That’s not good, honey. That just helps Tony.” Jasper scrubbed his hand across his mouth. “Let’s have a look at the turn card. Uh-oh.”
“That’s a king, isn’t it?” She hardly noticed she was clutching Jasper’s arm until he laid a big hand over hers.
“Well, Ducharme, I hope you’ve got your bags packed.” Tony spr
ead his cards expansively. “With the turn I’ve got two kings. I don’t see you beating that anytime soon.”
“I didn’t hear the fat lady sing, Tone. That means it’s not over yet.”
Although his voice was even, for the first time since he’d sat down at the table Marilyn knew Con was shaken. At the side of that tanned throat she saw a pulse beating. He reached forward, but before he could turn over the river card he was touching Tony’s hand shot out to grab his wrist.
“Let a third party do it,” he commanded. “I just don’t trust you, Ducharme.”
“That’s the second time you’ve called him a cheat. You either make an official complaint to the club, or retract what you just said.” Stepping forward, Jasper turned a scowling face on Con’s opponent. “Well, Corso?”
“Forget it, McMurtry.” Con sounded suddenly weary. “If he doesn’t trust me, he doesn’t trust me. You turn the river card over for us.”
McMurtry held his glare for a moment longer. Then, with a disgusted snort that lifted the trailing ends of his moustache, he quickly reached over and turned the card. He stood back.
“Hello, li’l darlin’,” Con said softly. He plucked the card up, inserted it in with the others in front of him, and spread them for Corso to see. “A nine. That gives me two pair. And that beats your two kings, Tony. While I’m unpacking my bags, how about you let me know where I can locate—”
“You freakin’ cheated!” Corso was up and on his feet so abruptly that his chair tipped backward. He lunged across the table at a still-sitting Con, his face distorted with rage, and only the quick action of two of the club stewards restrained him. “I don’t know how you did it, damn you, but you rigged this game right from the start, you bastard!”
“Right from the start.” Con sounded bored. “Yeah, they were all secretly working with me, Tone—Dude and Sandoval, Molly Otis and even Jasper here. Hell, I’ve seen a few sore losers in my time, Corso, but this is the first time anyone’s come up with a conspiracy theory to explain—”