“Sure it does. If I was going to make a bet that I had no intention of paying, that would make me either a cheat or a fool. You’ve already told me that you know I’m neither.”
“Yes,” Greeley sighed.
It actually did Mason some good to keep talking. The more he spoke and thought about what to say next, the less he worried about becoming better acquainted with that paddlewheel. “Therefore,” he said, “I simply got overzealous and misread the lay of the cards. You show me one gambler who hasn’t been guilty of that at least half a dozen times and I’ll show you someone who hasn’t placed more than a dozen bets in his life.”
“Nobody could argue with that.”
“So you must already have figured I’d be able to repay what I owe one way or another. Toss me over this railing and—”
This time, it was Mason who was silenced by one of Greeley’s bony, swiftly upraised fingers. “Don’t start telling me what I should or shouldn’t do,” he warned.
Mason knew when it was time to shut up.
For the next few seconds, the only sounds to be heard were muffled voices and music coming from the card rooms and the constant splash of water against the instrument of Mason’s swiftly approaching demise.
Just like when Greeley had kept everyone waiting at the poker game, Mason was certain a decision had already been made. Greeley was just sifting through a few final points while letting his opponent twist in the wind.
Finally Greeley said, “Pull him up.”
Mason let out the breath he’d been holding.
“But don’t untie him,” Greeley added. “Not yet.”
The overmen set Mason down and held him in place as if they were afraid he might flap his arms and fly away.
“How many days were you thinking you needed to collect the money you owe?” Greeley asked.
“Maybe a week or two.”
Instead of calling him out on the fact that he’d requested a shorter time before, Greeley said, “I suppose that’s to get the funds from where you have them stashed.”
“That’s right.”
“How much are we talking about once you pull all of that together?”
“Should be well over ten thousand.”
“That’s quite a nest egg. You sure about that sum?”
Mason wasn’t anywhere close to sure about it, but he’d already committed to it, so he nodded.
“That’s still not enough,” Greeley pointed out. “Even with what you had on the table and with that line of credit I offered, to buy you some extra time.”
“If I can’t pull it together,” Mason said, “you can always bring me right back to this spot. I doubt that wheel is going anywhere.”
“You’ve got that right.”
“I know a few men who can loan me some cash. I won’t bore you with details, but just know that I can scramble for this money. I’ll just need time. Once I see exactly how much I can get, we can further discuss terms for settling things between you and me.”
“You want terms?” Greeley asked in a low voice. “I’ll give you terms. We’re due to stop at our next port tomorrow morning at ten thirty. You’ve got until then to pull together as much money as you can from your cabin or anyone else on this here boat that might be considered a friend.”
“That’s very generous,” Mason said.
“I ain’t through. That also gives me some time to put together a list of certain jobs I need done. Jobs that you’re gonna do for me.”
Mason’s eyes widened a bit. “That’s a great idea! We can work out a trade.”
Greeley nodded. “You’ll do these jobs without asking any questions and I’ll be sure to check to make certain they’re done. If they’re not, I’ll tack them on to the debt you already owe me.”
“Sounds fair.”
“I imagine it would. Especially since you were about to get ground into chuck steak not very long ago.”
“It’s amazing how a man’s perspective changes after something like that,” Mason said.
“And it’s also amazing how quickly a man gets his smart mouth back after something like that.” Turning to one of his overmen, Greeley said, “This is why I normally don’t like to make deals once things have gone this bad.”
“If I could remind you,” Mason said carefully, “the only thing that went bad was me making one of the worst bets in my life. After that, I stood up to leave and . . . here I am. What did you expect me to do? Sit and keep playing with money I didn’t have?”
“I expected you to find some way to get yourself out of this because you don’t have the money. Don’t make me repeat myself, Mr. Mason.”
“So . . . what are these jobs you need me to do?”
“I’ve got a few in mind,” Greeley said. “And before them wheels in your head start turning again, let me remind you of something.” He put his hands on his hips and stood in front of his prisoner so he was the only thing Mason could see. “If I decide to give you the chance to work off this debt you owe, I won’t just be turning you loose on good faith. If you step out of line, I’ll know about it. If you try to slither away, I’ll know. If you try anything at all that I don’t much like . . .”
After a slight pause, Mason said, “You’ll know about it.”
Greeley tugged on Mason’s tie and then cinched it just a bit too tight for comfort. “I knew you were smart.”
“Were?”
“Tonight doesn’t really help you in that regard, now, does it?”
“I suppose not,” Mason said.
Taking a step back, Greeley motioned to his hired guns, who immediately began untying the rope from around Mason’s legs. There had been a few other passengers out for a stroll on the deck, but they had quickly turned away when they saw the overmen standing guard.
“You go on and see how much you can scrape up to pay toward that debt,” Greeley said. “Find me before we dock in the morning and I’ll have Tilly work up the exact amount left for you to pay. After that, well . . . we’ll see. How’s that sound?”
“Not too bad.”
“Good,” Greeley said through an ugly smile. He then turned to walk back to the stairs that would lead down to the decks below.
“Mr. Greeley,” Mason called out.
Greeley stopped and turned around.
“What sort of jobs will I be doing?” Mason asked. “I’m not exactly suited for some kinds of work.”
“Any resourceful man can do these jobs. They’re dangerous, but not impossible.”
“Sounds like you already had this arrangement in mind before I made that bet.”
The smile returned to Greeley’s face, only this time, it was even uglier than before. “Why do you think I allow men like you to have so much leeway on my boat? Sooner or later, someone gets cocky enough to do something they shouldn’t. When that happens, there are plenty of ways for them to redeem themselves. Same reasoning behind me offering credit to men in debt.”
“Can’t exactly profit from interest percentages unless you allow someone to get into a hole in the first place.”
Greeley nodded. “I’m a firm believer in giving someone enough rope to hang himself. Speaking of which, I didn’t tell you what happens to someone who lies to me. Instead of tossing him over the side or taking the time to inflict more creative pains, I take that rope and hang him from a smokestack. That one right there,” he added while pointing to the closest stack extending from the top of the Delta Jack.
Mason watched a bit of smoke curl from the stack.
“Play your cards right, Mr. Mason,” Greeley said. “Otherwise that straight to the eight you were so proud of will run you straight to a noose.”
Chapter 12
The door to Mason’s cabin swung open and he was inside by the time it smacked against the wall. It rattled on its hinges, slipping through his fingers the first two
times he tried to get ahold of it so he could slam it shut again. Even after the latch fell into place, he kept his hand on it as though he thought the door might come open again just to spite him.
“Straight to the eight,” he grunted. “What the hell was I thinking?” Mason closed his eyes, patted the door, and exhaled in a slow, steady sigh. When he opened his eyes again, he was no longer filled with the haze that had obscured his vision before. Mason wasn’t the sort of man who got angry for long. That kind of temperament didn’t suit a gambler. Men who got angry and stayed angry weren’t generally around long enough to see the cards start falling their way again. The main thing that sparked and held Mason’s ire was himself. He could stay angry at himself for a good, long time.
“Wasn’t thinking,” he grunted. “Not that it matters, though. Lost grip on the reins for a couple seconds, and that’s all it took.”
The hand that was pressed against the door curled into a fist. He pulled it back a few inches, held it there, and then rapped it against the door just hard enough to make a sound. The anger had receded, spread out like oil on top of a lake. Lessened, but still there.
“Don’t let it happen again, Abner,” he whispered. “Simple as that, right?” He took another breath. “Yeah,” he sighed while letting it out. “Right.”
He was shaking his head as he went to the narrow bed. It wasn’t much more than a threadbare mattress on a metal rack, which made it easy to take apart. Mason lifted the mattress, slipped a hand beneath it, and started feeling around under there while grumbling, “Straight to the eight. Straight to the noose. Real clever. Bet you came up with that one while you were skulking behind me like the skinny, bony vulture you are.”
Upon finding what he was after, Mason pulled his hand out to where he could see it. The sock that had been under the bed was held together by more mold than stitching. He emptied the sock into his other hand and kept shaking it until the folded money stopped falling out. Even then, he dug inside to feel every disgusting fold in the hopes that something had been left behind. Something had, but it wasn’t anything Greeley would want. Mason shook the brown grit off his hand and focused on the cash.
One hundred and fifty-two dollars. It was a good start.
Mason walked around to the other side of the bed and reached beneath the frame for the other sock. That one was even filthier than the first and was wadded up so tightly that it had practically become one with the floor. Stuffing money in hosiery was such a time-honored method that some crooks didn’t honestly think someone like Mason would use it. The trick to deceiving the rest of the robbers who might try sifting through his room while he was away was to make the socks look as if they were there since the first week the Delta Jack had been afloat. Another good trick was the simplest of them all. He stashed two socks under there instead of just one. A matching pair. That way, they looked like something that had truly been lost instead of something that was only supposed to appear to have been lost.
Simple tricks like those were the essence of what Mason did for a living. Figuring out how the gears within people’s minds turned and then using that to his advantage. He reminded himself of this invaluable lesson while shoving his hand into the second filthy, malodorous sock. Keeping his money from being sniffed out by common thieves wouldn’t be all that different than surviving the wrath of Cam Greeley. All Mason had to do was keep his wits about him, remember what he’d learned, and put it to good use.
There was a hundred and four dollars wrapped within the sock. What Mason had told Greeley about not needing the money because of a string of profitable games had been absolutely correct. That last hundred and four dollars had been inside his sock for so long that the bills stank and had acquired a dusting of mold.
“So much for that string of good luck,” he grunted.
Next, he moved on to his carpetbag. Mason was careful in opening that, simply because it had been left in plain sight while he was away. Opening it slowly, he gazed down into the darkened space and nodded. Someone had gone through the bag while he was away.
“Now, ain’t that a coincidence?” he said under his breath while reaching into the bag with one tentative hand.
Whenever he left the carpetbag unattended, Mason was careful to leave everything inside it placed in a precisely random manner. Each item had its place, but those places appeared jumbled to any eye but his own. Even with both eyes closed, he could reach into that bag and know exactly where every single one of his possessions belonged. What he saw now was fairly close to the way he’d left it, but wasn’t exactly how it should be. That meant someone other than him had looked through the bag and done a fairly decent job of leaving it intact.
Reaching past a few small weapons, Mason winced. He’d been so preoccupied with everything else that he’d forgotten to reclaim the knife and pistols that had been taken from him before the game. Putting that to the back of his mind, he found a pouch tucked into the corner of the bag that was only slightly skewed from where it should have been. Mason removed the pouch, opened it, and found his second pocket watch. This one was of a higher quality than the one he wore at the moment and was reserved for special occasions. It seemed peculiar that it hadn’t been taken by whoever had gone through his things, but that could just mean the person had only been looking for cash.
“Damn,” he sighed while opening the watch and running his thumb along the engraved cover. “I like this watch.” Resigning himself to what needed to be done, he closed it up again and stuffed it into a jacket pocket.
The next pouch he found was smaller than the first but hadn’t been moved from its rightful spot. Since the pouch was made from felt, it tended to stick to the lining of the bag, which made it tougher to find. Mason opened it and was pleased to discover the two sets of cuff links were still inside. One set was gold and the other was silver. Finally he tugged at the lining of the bag until part of it came loose. The stitching had been removed so the lining was tucked into place. That way, it could be peeled down by anyone who knew precisely where to look.
“There you are,” he whispered once he saw the two stickpins that had been pinned to the interior of the lining. Neither of the pins was very big, but they each had a few small diamonds embedded in them.
Mason removed them and was about to put them in with the cufflinks when he paused to take a closer look. They were dented in several spots. The stickpins were bent here and there. One was even missing a diamond from its setting. The longer he gazed down at them, the harder it was for him to let them go. After a few seconds, he couldn’t even bring himself to look at them any longer. They’d been given to him by his grandmother and just thinking of handing them over to Greeley was enough to make him feel ashamed.
Pinning the one with the missing diamond back to the lining of the bag, he sighed, “Not yet. Things are bad, but they’re not bad enough. Not yet anyway.” He tucked the lining back in place so the pin was hidden once again. “I’ll know where to find you if I need to. Let’s just try to keep it from getting that far.”
The carpetbag was closed up and placed in its spot against the wall. As much as Mason wanted to stretch out on that bed and close his eyes for a bit, he forced himself to straighten up and head out again.
* * *
The sun wasn’t quite up yet, which meant there were still a good number of people in most of the poker rooms on the Delta Jack. Mason made his way back to the largest of the rooms and saw the table where Greeley’s game was still going on. Someone else sat in Mason’s seat, playing his hand and having a grand old time. Before he ventured any closer to that section of the room, Mason headed for the bar and ordered a whiskey.
“Put it on my bill,” Maggie said while approaching the bar to stand beside him.
Mason showed her a weary smile. “I’d politely refuse that offer, but I’m in no position to turn it down.”
“I’m surprised you’re still in a position to walk and chew solid f
ood,” she said. “That makes you pretty lucky.”
When the bartender gave Mason his whiskey, it was on a tray that also held his pistols and dagger. Taking the drink he’d been given, Mason replied, “I’m a charmed man.”
She already had a drink in her hand and tossed it back. Setting the glass on the bar, she asked, “What brings you back so soon? Seeing as how you’re alive and still in one piece . . . you are still in one piece, right?”
“Near as I can tell.”
“I would have thought you’d be resting or, at the very least, someplace away from this room.”
“I left something behind. Apart from my dignity, that is.” Mason signaled to the bartender, who came back with a bottle.
“I’ve seen plenty of men take losses like that one,” she said.
“Maybe you’re a jinx.”
The comforting smile on Maggie’s face dimmed considerably and she turned her attention to her drink instead.
“Sorry,” Mason said while returning his weapons to their rightful spots on his person. “That was rude. Next round’s on me.”
“Can you afford it?”
“I’ve got a few dollars to my name. At this point, I’m buried so deep that sinking a bit more won’t make much difference.”
Smiling again, Maggie said, “There’s a certain amount of freedom in that.”
“I suppose that’s one way of looking at it.”
After she was poured her next drink, she said, “What I meant to say before is that I’ve seen plenty of men take beatings at the table. And you’re right. Most weren’t as bad as yours. Still, those other men took it a lot worse than you did. Some flipped tables over. Others started swearing or making accusations of cheating. A few even drew their pistols just to start a fight. From what Jervis told me, you stood up, dusted yourself off, and made a courteous departure. A bit unsteady on your feet,” she added, “but courteous.”
“I appreciate the comfort,” he said. “And the drink.”
Ralph Compton Straight to the Noose Page 8