by Jon Sharpe
“Call,” Parker said. “And raise another ten thousand. ” He put the chips in the pot.
“Damn,” Anderson said. “I fold.”
“You’ve got more mouth than anything else, Parker, ” Beares said. “But in this case, I agree.” He slid a large stack of his own chips forward. “Call.”
“I call,” Delgado said, adding chips to the table.
H.D. was a little wide-eyed as he said, “Cards, gentlemen?”
“One,” Delgado said.
H.D. slid the card to him. “Senator Parker?”
Parker was silent, then said, “I’ll stand pat.”
Anderson whistled. “Hope you’ve got a good hand, amigo. There’s over fifty thousand dollars sitting there.”
“Senator Beares?” H.D. said.
“Two,” Beares replied, his voice steady.
“Your bets, gentlemen,” H.D. said, his voice cracking. There was more money riding on this one hand than he’d see in two lifetimes. “And, Hattie, can I have a glass of water, please?”
She brought him the water.
Fargo watched as Delgado sorted through his stack, counting his remaining chips, then moved them forward. “I’m all in,” he said. “For another twenty-eight thousand.”
Parker looked over his stack. If he called and lost, he more than likely wouldn’t have enough money to last even another hour. “Check,” he said, obviously wanting to see what Beares would do.
Senator Beares was in much the same position, but he didn’t hesitate. “Call,” he said, moving all but perhaps a couple of thousand dollars into the middle of the table. “You don’t have it.”
“Senator Parker?” H.D. said. “Your bet, sir.”
Parker was silent for a long moment, then shook his head. “I fold.”
H.D. took a long swallow of water, then said, “Your cards, gentlemen.”
Delgado smiled, and laid his hand out one card at a time: ten of hearts, ten of clubs, ten of diamonds, jack of hearts, jack of spades. “Full house,” he said. “Tens full of jacks.”
Beares’ expression never changed. “A nice hand, Mr. Delgado. Very nice.”
Delgado started to reach for the pot, but Beares’ voice stopped him. “Perhaps, however, you should look at mine before you decide you’ve won.” He put all five of his cards down on the table. Four queens with an ace kicker.
“Four of a kind,” Beares said, “always beats a full house.”
“You . . . you drew that!” Delgado accused. He turned his eyes on H.D. “You’re dealing to him!”
H.D. held up his hands. “I just deal the cards, Mr. Delgado. Straight and fair.”
“Mentiroso!” Delgado said, calling H.D. a liar. “Tramposo!” he added to Beares, calling him a cheat.
Fargo stood up. “The hand was fair, Delgado,” he said. “You just got outplayed. Sit down and finish the game or walk away, but in either case, shut up.”
Delgado snarled several more invectives and began to sit down, but Fargo knew better. As Delgado bent his knees, he also went for the gun he wore in a reverse rig under his shoulder.
Fargo wasn’t sure who Delgado was going to shoot and didn’t care. The Colt was out of its holster in a blink and he put a round through Delgado’s outstretched gun hand. The bullet passed through his palm and into his ribs, knocking him over backward. His unused gun fell to the floor with a clatter.
Moving forward, Fargo picked up the gun and tucked it in his belt, then looked down at the wounded man. “You won’t die from that wound,” he said. “But you probably should get yourself to the doctor right quick.”
Delgado struggled to his feet, seething with rage. Fargo knew that if the man had another weapon, he’d have tried to use it. “I have heard of you, Senor Fargo,” he said. “Before I came to Louisiana, your name was mentioned quite a lot near the border. The Trailsman. Some say you are nothing but a hired gun; others say worse. I will make sure that word of this gets back there, as well.”
Fargo nudged his wounded ribs with the barrel of the Colt and Delgado cursed. “I bet you will,” he said. “You just want to remember that words and actions both have a way of coming back to haunt a man. You don’t want me on your trail, Delgado. Now get out of here. You’re done.”
Delgado stared at him a moment more, then nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I am done.” He started to reach for the last of his chips on the table.
“Leave them!” Fargo barked. “Once you pay in, that’s it. The money stays in play.”
“Hijo de puta,” Delgado said.
“You’re not the first one to say so,” Fargo said. He gestured with the Colt. “Don’t make me ask you again.”
Delgado spun on his heel, slamming the door shut behind him.
The room was deathly silent; then H.D. said, “Fargo, is there anyone you meet that you don’t shoot?”
Everyone broke out laughing at once, and then Parker said, “Come on, gents. We’ve got a game going here.”
For a man who’d just lost fifteen thousand dollars, he seemed to be in a pretty good mood. And Beares was almost euphoric as he stacked up his winnings. He now had a substantial lead.
The last of Delgado’s chips were divided up equally among the players, and Fargo reloaded the Colt and sat back down as the game resumed with the five remaining players.
Once more, several hands passed in calm and then the colonel made a move after the draw. He took two cards, and when the bets came around again, he said, “Twenty thousand.”
“Colonel, you must have gotten the cards you wanted,” Horn said. He’d taken three cards. “But I’ll call, anyway.”
Fargo knew why. The colonel was the only man at the table who was perspiring. He was bluffing and if Fargo could recognize it, then the others likely could, too. Parker did, and called immediately. Anderson folded, as did Beares.
Neither of them, Fargo assumed, had a hand, or both would have played.
“Cards, gentlemen?” H.D. said.
The colonel was sweating like a pig as he turned over his two pair, eights and aces.
Horn laughed. “Not even close,” he said. He turned his own cards over. “Three nines.”
Parker chuckled softly. “Thought you might have had me, Horn,” he said. “But not while I’m holding a straight.” He laid out the cards: six, seven, eight, nine, and ten.
Horn frowned but said nothing, while the colonel swore under his breath. Parker raked in a large pot and now shared the lead with Beares.
Anderson, Fargo noted, had been folding most of his hands early, winning small pots now and again, and losing very little. Horn had been playing well until he’d convinced himself that beating the colonel meant winning the hand. He’d have to make up ground quick to stay in it.
The colonel was all but done and he knew it.
On the next hand, he went all in for his last few thousand and lost it to Anderson, who seized on the opportunity afforded him by three-of-a-kind jacks. Unlike Delgado, however, the colonel appeared to take his loss in stride and he shrugged. “Ah, well, gentlemen. It’s only money, right?”
“Of course,” Parker said. “Which is why you spend it so freely.”
The colonel laughed. “Senator, I’ve been wealthy and I’ve been dirt poor. I prefer being rich—and I am—but I know what truly matters in this world. Do you?”
“I wouldn’t be a senator if I didn’t,” Parker snapped, disliking the implied insult. “I was elected because I take care of the people in my parish, and look to their needs.”
The colonel laughed. “Oh, bullshit,” he said. “You got elected because you had your men stuff ballot boxes like they were Thanksgiving turkeys.”
Parker’s face reddened and he started to rise. Fargo got to his feet. “Sit down, Senator,” he said. “The colonel is leaving.” He paused, then added, “Aren’t you, sir?”
The colonel nodded. “Indeed, Mr. Fargo.” He tipped his hat to the others. “Good night and good luck, gentlemen.”
He turned and lef
t the room.
“He took that well,” Anderson said. “All considered. ”
“What do you mean by that?” Horn asked.
“He’s not wealthy,” Anderson replied. “He’s broke. His plantation will be on the market by tomorrow afternoon and if he’s lucky, he’ll make enough to clear his debt and maybe start over somewhere else.”
“How do you know that?” Horn asked.
Anderson smiled. “Because I’m the one he owes money to,” he said.
“How much?” H.D. asked, his curiosity getting the better of his usually quiet nature.
“Enough,” Anderson said, “that even if I lose tonight, I can always start building a new Storyville somewhere else. I understand that the weather in California is most agreeable.”
“Another liar,” Beares said. “If you had that much, you wouldn’t be here tonight, playing for the stakes we’ve agreed on.”
Anderson put his next ante in the middle of the table and didn’t bother to reply. He simply looked at H.D. and said, “Let’s keep going, shall we?”
They were almost four hours into the game and had lost two players. The ones remaining, Fargo knew, would last quite a bit longer and he settled himself in for a long night of watching. So far, no one had been cheating that he could see.
Hattie refilled everyone’s drinks, then took up her station behind the bar for another half hour before she said, “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on the girls upstairs.”
“Of course,” Parker said, getting to his feet. “We aren’t going anywhere.”
“Should we take a break?” Beares asked, also rising. “Until you return?”
“Come on,” Anderson snapped. “We don’t need a woman here to play cards, do we? Let’s keep this thing moving along.”
“Whatever you say, Mayor,” Beares snapped. “I suggest we take a break.” He looked at the others for support and saw none forthcoming.
“Well, to hell with it,” he said. “I’m taking a damn break. Come along, Hattie. I’ll escort you upstairs.”
It finally seemed to sink in to Parker what Beares really wanted to take a break for and he said, “I think I’ll come along, too. I could use some fresh air.”
“I’m stunned,” Anderson said, laughing. “It’s taken this long for the two of you to figure out that you’re both sleeping with that woman?”
“I am not!” Beares stammered. “How dare you accuse—”
“I’ll dare whatever the hell I want,” Anderson interrupted. “You two want to fight over Basin Street and Storyville. I built them up from nothing. But I wasn’t being led around by the balls while I was doing it.”
Hattie whistled sharply, already at the door. “This is a pointless argument, gentlemen,” she said. “Since I won’t be bedding anyone tonight.”
“And that,” H.D. muttered under his breath, “truly is a shame.”
Hattie, Parker, and Beares headed upstairs, while Anderson and H.D. sat and smoked.
Fargo stayed put for several minutes, then he moved to stand next to H.D. “Can you keep an eye on things here for a few minutes?”
“Why’s that?” H.D. asked.
“Just a feeling—” Fargo started to say, when the sound of gunshots echoed through the building. “Ah, damn it to hell,” he said, running from the room and wondering which of the men was dead.
12
The acrid smell of gunpowder still hung in the air when Fargo reached the top of the steps, with H.D. and Anderson hot on his heels. The front door of the Blue Emporium was standing open, and lying face-down in a pool of his own blood was Senator Beares.
Hattie was standing over the body, her back to the stairs and a small pistol in her hand, while Parker stood next to the door, his mouth hanging open in shock.
“What the hell happened up here?” Fargo demanded.
Hattie spun toward him, and he quickly reached out and disarmed her. A woman with a gun was a dangerous thing in almost any circumstance, which Fargo knew from hard-won experience.
H.D. took the pistol from Fargo’s hand and demanded his own explanation.
“I didn’t kill him, if that’s what you’re suggesting,” ]Hattie snapped.
“I hadn’t suggested it yet,” H.D. said. “But you are the one standing here with a gun and Senator Beares looks pretty dead to me.”
“She didn’t do it,” Parker said. “We . . . Beares opened the door and there was someone standing on the steps, waiting for him. He shot Beares and Hattie pulled out her pistol and fired back, but the villain had already fled down the steps and into the street.”
Fargo stepped over Beares’ body and looked out on the street, where curiosity about the shot was bringing people outside. He scanned the crowd, but the dark made most of the faces virtually anonymous. He knelt down on the steps, looking for any traces of blood. “There’s no sign here,” he said to H.D. “No blood except for Beares’.”
“Hattie,” H.D. said. “I’ve got to take you in for questioning and send a couple of men over to pick up Senator Beares’ body.”
“Questioning?” Hattie snapped. “Why? Senator Parker just vouched for me.”
“I’m aware of your relationship with Senator Parker, ” H.D. said. “And it makes sense that he’d want to protect you—and his investment in the Blue Emporium. You need to come with me.”
“This . . . this is outrageous!” Hattie screeched. “Why would I kill Senator Beares?”
“I don’t know,” H.D. said. “But you can tell me all the reasons you wouldn’t down at the jail.”
“Is this absolutely necessary?” Parker demanded. “We have a game to finish.”
“Not really,” Anderson said, coming up the stairs for a second time.
“What do you mean by that?” Parker asked.
“Horn is gone,” Anderson said. “And so is our money.”
“Game called on account of murder,” Fargo said. “Perfect.”
“Why are you up here, Fargo?” the senator asked. “You were supposed to be downstairs watching over our money.”
“No, Senator,” Fargo said. “I was supposed to be watching the players, remember? That’s what you hired me for. When the players split up, I had to make a choice. I chose to stay downstairs until the shooting started up here.”
“Damn it all to hell!” Parker shouted. He stepped outside and walked down the steps. “Michaels, Douglas! Get over here!”
Two men drifted in from the crowd and Parker spoke rapidly to them, no doubt sending them out to search for Horn and the missing money. He came back up the steps and said, “They’ll find him.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” Fargo said. “All of this, I think, was pretty well planned.” He turned to Hattie. “Wasn’t it, Miss Hamilton?”
“I don’t have any idea what you’re talking about!” she snapped.
“Why don’t you take her away now, H.D.?” Fargo suggested. “I’ll come by in a bit and see if I can help you shed some light on this mess.”
“You do that, Fargo,” he said. He took Hattie by the arm and began walking her down the steps. Her voice rose to a screeching protest that faded as he moved her down the street at a rapid walk.
“What are you going to do now, Fargo?” Anderson asked.
“What I do best,” Fargo replied. “I’m going to find Horn.”
“This isn’t the wilderness, Fargo,” Senator Parker said. “There are no tracks in the dust for you to follow.”
“I don’t quit that easily, Senator Parker,” Fargo said. “I’ll find him and bring him back.”
“Just make sure you don’t lose your way,” he said. “With all our money.”
Anderson chuckled grimly. “I think maybe you hired the wrong kind of man, Parker,” he said. “Fargo doesn’t strike me as the kind of fellow who would do such a thing.”
“Maybe,” the senator admitted. “But it’s more likely that my men will find him first.”
“And then where will our money go?” Anderson ask
ed. “And that doesn’t even begin to address the true stakes we were playing for.”
“No, it doesn’t, does it?” Parker replied. “Perhaps we’ll have to work out another arrangement later.”
“This is my part of town,” Anderson said. “If you want it, you’ll either win it or take it by force. But I’ll be damned if I’m going to give it to you just because you threaten me.”
“You’re fighting a losing battle, Anderson,” he replied. “Sooner or later, all of this will belong to me.”
“I guess we’ll see, won’t we?”
“That’s enough,” Fargo said. “I’m not going to stand here all night while you two work yourselves up to a fight. Go on back to your places and I’ll get to work.”
Parker waved a hand dismissively. “Whatever you say, Fargo. Just be sure that if you do find Horn, you come back with our money.”
Anderson didn’t speak, just turned and stalked out into the night. Several men fell in next to him as he moved down the street, and Fargo watched long enough to make sure they were gone, then waited until Parker, too, found some men to bring up his carriage and drive him back to his mansion. Inwardly seething, Fargo started into the warren of streets surrounding the Blue Emporium.
Somehow, Horn had slipped out with a lot of money and half the thugs in the city would be on his trail. But Fargo knew that sometimes the fastest way to track a man was to follow instinct instead of a trail. He’d meant to play the people tonight, and had been played himself.
It was not a sensation that he enjoyed very much at all, and he was certain that Hattie was mixed up in the whole thing somehow. But before he could prove that, he’d have to catch Horn and get the money that had been stolen.
Worse still, if his suspicions about those involved were correct, he had more enemies right now than Horn himself.
The city streets were quiet once more when, two hours after the shooting, Fargo slid around the back side of the Blue Emporium. He’d wanted to listen to H.D. question Hattie, but his instincts told him that Horn hadn’t gone all that far.
Kicking a scavenging rat out of his way, Fargo moved to stand beside the door that led into the kitchen. Inside, Matilda alternately spoke and sang softly to herself. She had a sweet voice that carried long, low notes of melancholy in it. He imagined that working for Hattie Hamilton would do that to most anyone.