by Caryl McAdoo
Once dressed, he pulled the tent’s flap back and stared at the stars. Was Lacey watching them, too? Why had she run off? He never should have written that stupid letter.
At the time, it’d only been a few months, but he’d already been in one fight. It wouldn’t be fair for her to wait, never knowing if he’d make it home.
How could he know Uncle Henry would wrangle them the posting in San Antonio, reversing the orders to go east where the battles raged fierce and men died right and left? Someone might almost think Jefferson Davis knew him personally.
He looked past the stars. “Tell her, Lord. Tell my Lacey I’m coming. Just as soon as this war is over. Keep her safe.”
Jack dunked the shot glass in the soapy water, rinsed it, then wiped it clean. The front swinging half-doors creaked. He glanced at the mirror, but couldn’t make out the newcomer through the smoke haze. He stacked the glass then turned.
Longstreet strolled toward him, dapper as ever, sporting a new walking stick.
What a dandy.
“Hey now, my friend. Whiskey with a beer chaser? I’m not playing tonight.”
Once Jack poured the drink and drew the beer, he scooped the silver up and dropped it in the money box under the bar without taking his eyes off the man. “How you doing, Harold?”
“Fair to middling. Came for my money. You got it?”
“Not all of it.”
The man tossed the whiskey then took a gulp of beer. “Been a while, Spade. Figured you’d be flush by now.”
“No. Bartending doesn’t pay much.” Jack nodded toward the clientele then Longstreet’s empty. “More?”
“Yes, thank you.”
Jack poured another shot.
“How are your fingers?” The older man dropped two bits.
Jack put the coins away, then held his hands up and flexed them almost all the way to a good fist. “Getting close.”
“How’s our girl?”
“Doing fine. But leave her be.”
“Can’t. I need that young woman. No words to tell you the life she renews in me. I figure, seeing as how you don’t have my money, we should strike us a deal.”
“Oh, yeah? What do you have in mind?”
While Longstreet laid it out, his own plan, the one he’d only toyed with, finally crystalized. “One month you say. That’s all?”
The man held up his right hand. “Yes, sir. On my cousin’s honor.”
“What does James have to do with anything?”
“I figured him being a famous Confederate general would carry more water than using what little sway I might have left.”
“Cut the bull. Guarantee me we’ll all be in St. Louis in one month.”
“Missouri, huh? I was thinking here in Chicago. Give me an extra week, and we can make Saint Louis.”
For the next few minutes all the plans were finalized and a date set to meet. Sure beat pouring whiskey for drunks.
“I have your solemn word.”
“What do you want, Spade? Cross my heart and hope to die? Think I’m a liar?”
He didn’t respond, only held his gaze and waited.
“Fine. You have my word on it.”
Jack stuck out his hand. “Deal.”
Footfalls sounded on the little porch of her rent house. Lacey dropped the dress she’d been working on to her lap. Her heart stopped and paralyzed her throat. She couldn’t scream or imagine who it might be.
Her gaze darted right then left. Where was her knife? Or her gun?
The door swung open. Her heart resumed beating, and she was able to swallow. Jack appeared in the doorway with a half-smoked cheroot in his mouth, stinking bad enough from the saloon smoke.
Why’d he have to bring a foul-smelling cigar home with him?
“You're early. Slow night?”
“Nope, I quit. Got a better job.” The stench threatened to gag her, but she took a breath through her mouth, and her tummy settled. Though a million questions sparked her curiosity, she held her tongue.
Better to wait to hear more on the reason he terminated his employment. No reason to get him angry, asking too many questions.
“Really.”
“Yes, ma’am. Superior hours and higher wages.”
“How much more?”
“Depends.” He tossed his hat on the bed and took a drag then blew out the smoke. All without taking the nasty thing out of his mouth. “Harold came by. Wants us to go east with him.”
“I am not interested in going anywhere with that man.” Humph. Explained the cigar, but him mentioning that man’s name was worse than any stench. How could he? She couldn’t believe he even gave one thought to going east with the fop. “Jack, sweetheart, I don’t want anything to do with Longstreet.”
“Then he wants his money back.”
“You tell him we don’t have it. Explain things will pick up in the spring when the war’s over. Why’d you quit?”
“It’s only for five weeks, then we’ll have him paid off. Plus no telling how much more we’ll make.” He pinched the cigar, took what surely had to be the last drag, held the smoke then let a little bit of it drift out like some kind of tough hombre or something. “He’s offering a fifty-fifty split, less the five hundred and expenses.”
She closed her eyes. Why was he doing this to her? She’d never been able to spit out the bad taste left in her mouth from that night with Harold. “What does he want us to do?”
“He needs a partner—that’s you—and wants me near to watch his back.”
“That’s all? No being his make-believe-wife for a night?”
“No, ma’am. Of course not.” He dropped the cheroot to the floor then crushed it out. “There’s a couple of smaller games he’s thinking to hit before we get to this big one in Albany.”
“Where’s that?”
“New York State, it’s the capital. We need to be there in two weeks.”
“What if we lose?”
Jack laughed. “Longstreet never loses. He’s the best ever at double dealing or palming a cold deck. The man’s good enough to win straight up, but he likes doing it his way.”
“You’ll be right there? The whole time?”
“Yes, ma’am. Watching both your backs.”
“Two rooms? Every single night?”
“Yes. Now get packed. We sail in the morning.”
“Why aren’t we taking the train?”
“We’re going to Lansing first; fastest way there is across the lake.”
“Oh. So he will be on the same ship?” She wrapped the thread on its spool, set the unfinished dress on top of the others in the box next to her, then glared. “I still hold our money.”
“Yes, ma’am. No problems out of me there.”
She stood. “You promise, Jack. Five weeks, and we’ll be done with him?”
“Yes, ma’am.” He put his hand over his heart. “I promise we’ll be in Saint Louis on the seventh of April.”
No doubt he had his poker face on, but she’d never been able to read him anyway. Not at all like Charley or any of the boys back home who chased after her. Wonder what Jed was doing? She sighed heavy, wanted him to hear it.
“Fine, I’ll go. But fair warning, my Uncle Wallace taught me how to shoot a long time ago.” She smiled. He had no need to know that on the sly, she traded one of the fancy dresses she’d made for a six-shot Derringer.
“I know. You’ve told me before.” His grin evoked the same reaction as every other time. He held his arms out, and she walked into his embrace.
Instead of kissing him though, she leaned back. “Best tell Longstreet that I will shoot him dead and feed him to the hogs if he tries anything.”
Chapter Nine
Jack got Lacey into her room. Even helped her unpack her bag, then pulled out a cheroot.
“Please. Not in here, you have your own room. No need to gag me, is there?”
“Fine.” He pocketed the smoke. “From now on, we don’t know each other. Harold and I will be upstairs,
right above you. But please don’t give it away. A game starts after dinner, always does. Use our cash, but note how much. We can settle up on that later.”
“I hate you, Jack Spade.”
“No, you do not. You love me, and…” He smiled. “Alexandra, dear, please wear that new lavender dress Harold bought you.”
The ship’s horn sounded one long blast. “That’s the all-ashore bell. We’ll be underway soon.” He blew her a kiss. “See you tonight, darling.”
Once the door slammed, he raced to the gangplank, beat the longshoremen by two full steps, then stood on the wharf and watched as the steamer’s two side paddles bit into the waters of Lake Michigan.
“You better keep your word, Harold Longstreet.” He chuckled at the thought of her shooting him and feeding him to the hogs.
Maybe he should have warned his old friend.
Collecting his bag from where he’d hid it that morning, he strolled back to the little rent house. After all, he was paid up another five days.
“Bless you, Lord.” Henry raised his head off the floor then stood. The knees protested some, but he ignored them. His aches and pains wouldn’t slow him down, not with the Yankees on the move. He walked to the next room. “Sergeant, find Colonel Baylor and Major Rusk and send them to me.”
The middle-aged man who couldn’t hit the side of barn with a cannon from six feet away, but proved the best clerk—this side of his wife—that he’d ever had, jumped to his feet. “Yes, sir.” He saluted then toddled out.
Soon, Levi and Wallace stood before his desk. Both saluted.
“At ease, boys. Word is, they moved out of Brownsville, heading upriver.”
Neither man said a word. But both men’s hackles rose.
“Major, you take Charley, Bart and Houston, and get to Laredo. Half that cotton there is ours. The Yankees will burn it if they can.”
“Yes, sir. Can I have the rest of Charley’s squad?”
Henry nodded. “But that’s all.” He turned his gaze to Levi.
Though he hated what he was about to do, if Banks came inland, he’d have all of Texas. Henry couldn’t let that happen.
“Levi, you take half our troops. Rip will have the others. He’s senior, but I’m counting on you, Son. He hasn’t seen half the action you have, and I plan on telling him that he best not make a move without talking it over with you.”
Levi came to attention then saluted again. “Yes, sir.”
Henry returned it then threw his chin toward the door. “Go on now. Don’t either of you dare get hurt.”
Wallace snickered. “These Yankees can’t hold a candle to the Comanche, sir. And they couldn’t get our hair. We’ll be fine.”
“I’m counting on it. Tell the sergeant to fetch Colonel Ford for me.”
Henry hated it that he couldn’t go himself, even worse he had to put Rip Ford in command just because he had time in grade over Levi.
“Lord, keep them safe. Get us all home alive.”
Lacey Rose knew nothing of the war. Didn’t listen to gossip or read the papers that couldn’t seem to get enough of it.
She only wanted it be over.
If she’d known Charley and Uncle Wallace and her boys were riding to Laredo to stop the Yankees from shutting the Confederacy’s back door, she wouldn’t have been able to concentrate on the cards being tossed.
In her perpetual state of ignorance about the battles going on, she’d done right nicely that night at the poker table. Twenty-four dollar and change ahead by her calculations, even though not one time had Harold dealt her any kind of hand.
So her winnings were all from her own skill. She’d add that to the sixty-seven she brought to the game.
Wouldn’t do counting out pennies and nickels like some country bumpkin, especially that being her first steamboat ride. She’d been watching for Jack to come in, but he hadn’t made it yet.
“You remind me of my wife, young woman. May I call you Myra?”
“No! Absolutely not.” She glared across the table at Longstreet, her face warming. “My name is Alexandra.” The venom in her voice quite apparent as she meant it to be, but she softened it a little and added, “Or… Miss Paulos will be fine as well.”
The man mumbled something then dealt the cards.
What a thing for him to say! Myra, indeed! He’d definitely caught her off guard.
A red ace landed on top of her down one. She covered her cards with both hands and peeked, but already knew that the other red ace would be there. She’d watched every deal carefully, and just like Jack said, Harold was the best.
Slicker than calf slobber, he’d loaded the deck. She sure figured Jack would’ve shown by now.
There was a man in the shadows….
The gent two seats ahead of her sported a king. Not who she’d have picked to fleece, but maybe Longstreet had his reasons.
That hand—and the rest of the night—went like so many of hers and Jack’s had. She lost most of her winnings to Harold, but hung onto her grubstake and the money she won on her own.
Jack never showed. What could he possibly be doing?
At exactly one a.m., she excused herself with smiles all around. “Must get my beauty sleep, gentlemen. Hope to see you all tomorrow if you happen to be going to Lansing.”
Next morning, she found a seat in the dining room three tables away from Longstreet who ate unaccompanied and sat with his back to her.
After a poached egg, half a piece of toast, and two cups of coffee, the man still sat alone. Twice last night, she thought she’d caught Jack lurking, but of course didn’t stare or anything.
Now where was he?
Longstreet folded his paper, dropped a bill on the table then strolled out. With a grin, he tipped his hat at her as he walked by, but didn’t say a word. She waited as long as she could stand it.
Paying her bill, she strolled through the lobby then climbed the stairs toward her room. Stopping at the door, she put her hand on the knob and looked both ways.
No one in sight. She hurried up to the next level.
Climbing the stairs two at a time, she couldn’t remember what number Jack had said they were in. Oh, yes! Right above her he'd said. Passing by the door, she tapped it twice with her foot but kept walking. It creaked. She spun around then ducked inside.
“Where’s Jack?”
The letch backed up then eased into the sitting room’s chair, still clutching his fancy walking stick. “Good morning, dear Myra. Or should I call you Lacey Rose when it’s just the two of us?”
She glared, resisting the urge to retrieve the Derringer in her handbag. Still…she sure was glad to have it. “Where is Jack?”
“I don’t know. Somewhere between Chicago and Saint Louis would be my best guess.” He shook his head. “We didn’t discuss his itinerary. Besides the new loan, I gave him my word I’d have you there on the seventh of April.”
What! Her breath caught. He lied to her?
All of it…and left her with the horrible man for more than a month! How could he? She hated him, hated his guts.
A warmth spread over her face, growing hotter until it burned. He’d rot in hell before she ever forgave him the travesty! She whirled and grabbed the door knob, thought better of it, then spun back to face Longstreet.
“Give me my cut. I’m leaving.”
He pointed his gold-tipped cane at her. “Your half from last night and the one hundred and two dollars you have in your purse there are mine, so…” He grinned. “Best stick to the deal or…” He raised both shoulders. “I’ll have no choice but to report you to the…” He let his words trail off then mouthed sheriff.
She balled both fists and raised them. The weight of the hidden gun reminded her of her handbag full of protection. A smile came to her lips as she retrieved the Derringer. “Give me my money, or I’ll shoot you dead.”
“No, you won’t. You’re not a killer. But you do make an excellent partner. Now put that thing away, and let’s talk.”
H
er heart pounded. But his words rang true. No killer, she even hated wringing a chicken’s neck. Always recruited Bart to do it for her. That lil’ booger seemed to enjoy it. “How much did you give Jack?”
“Another five hundred.”
She lowered the gun. “Why?”
“The deal of course. His price for this little ruse we perpetrated on you. I knew you’d be worth way more than that. Jack’s a fool. I’d never do what he’s done.”
“So I’m in the hole a thousand. How much did we make last night?”
He held out his hand, palm up. “Counting the thirty bucks you hung onto, two hundred seventy-four, plus some change.”
“That big pot alone had over six hundred in it.”
“Yes, but I lost a lot of it back, appears a kindred soul was playing and either I had to expose him or suffer the loss, but he’s marked now. That won’t happen again.”
“Who was it?” Her curiosity couldn’t stand not knowing.
“The guy between you and our mark, never laid eyes on the double dealer before, but he’s in Jack’s class—before his accident anyway. Maybe better. If not knowing what to look for, I wouldn’t have spotted him.”
She closed her eyes and recalled the men at the game.
The cheat next to her—mid-thirties maybe—sure didn’t seem the part. More like a merchant or a hog buyer. “You sure?”
“Yes, ma’am. Don’t feel bad for missing it. Didn’t spot it myself until I was already three fifty in the pot. Caught him dealing off the bottom.”
“The money I kept, I won on my own, so just put your hand in your lap.”
He complied then smiled. “I got you a new dress. It’s in there on my bed. Why don’t you go try it on?” He nodded toward the closed door to his left.
“Forget it, Harold. And forget that night, too. Might as well, because it’ll never happen again. Not even if you know what freezes over.”
“Can’t do it. Never could forget that night. It’s practically all I’ve thought of since. But the dress…it’s special made. There’s also a harness you need to wear under it.”
She raised the gun back up, but pointed at his kneecap.” I may not be a killer, but you deserve having your knee blown off for even suggesting such a thing.”