Dead Man's Hand

by Pati Nagle

  “Compliments of the lady,” Jenny told him, nodding toward a woman sitting on a stool down the bar.

  She was slender, dressed in a black shift and jeans with a satiny jacket like some of the sports fans affected. Hers was plain black. Her hair was black, too, dressed high on her head with a couple of curls dangling down beside her ears, and her eyes were green and almond-shaped. She smiled and nodded at him, and James felt a stirring of interest in his loins.

  He nodded back and raised his glass to her. She slid from her stool and came over to sit on the one next to James. He had downed the whiskey by now and pushed the glass toward Jenny to be refilled. Jenny quirked an eyebrow at him as she poured, but didn’t say a word.

  “Evening, ma’am,” James said to the stranger. “I hope you enjoyed the show.”

  “It was very interesting,” she said in a soft, low voice. “I confess I would never have expected to find you here. That’s why it’s taken me so long.”

  James felt a little chill run down his spine. He took a swallow of whiskey and gave her an appraising look. “Have we met?”

  “No. You might have seen my—vehicle, though. At the cemetery two nights ago.”

  He knocked back the rest of his drink, set the empty glass on the bar, and frowned into it. She meant the black stagecoach. She couldn’t have meant anything else.

  He glanced at her and for a moment saw her dressed in a frilled and corseted gown from the 1880’s, jet beads at her neck and a feather in her hair. He sucked a sharp breath and pushed the glass toward Jenny again.

  “Jesus, James,” Jenny said under her breath as she filled it. “Take it easy. She won’t bite.”

  Much you know, he thought. There were nasty critters in the world, critters that could look human but weren’t. He’d run into a few, on restless nights back at the graveyard. He didn’t care to meet any more of them if he could help it.

  “I’m Kitty,” said the stranger, smiling. “I’m here to invite you to a poker game.”

  James frowned. “Poker?”

  “Yes. You’d be an honored guest.”

  James frowned at her, uncertain. He’d been longing to get into a real game, not the play-acting they did in the show here. These boys weren’t real poker players.

  “And where is this game?” he asked.

  “Atlantic City.”

  Bright sparks seemed to fly about the words as she said them. Fireflies again. James suppressed a shiver.

  The money he’d been saving to travel east, the job reenacting his own death—all unnecessary, he realized. This woman would take him where he needed to go, where he was being called. Atlantic City.

  “That’s a rough town, I hear,” Jenny said conversationally.

  Kitty glanced at her. “Rough around the edges, yes.” She looked back at James. “The game is at the Black Queen, the city’s most exclusive casino.”

  “Why me?” James demanded. “Why come all this way to invite me?”

  A slow smile parted Kitty’s lips and glinted in her eyes. “You’re legendary,” she said.

  Another kind of show, then. He was meant to be an attraction. Not his favorite line of work, but if he could play in an actual poker game and not get shot at, it would beat what he was doing now.

  He thought about the black coach and decided he needed one more whiskey in order to face it. He pushed his glass back toward Jenny, then looked at Kitty.

  “Buy you a drink, Miss Kitty?”

  “No, thank you.”

  Jenny had filled his glass and stood frowning at him. He winked at her and lifted the whiskey to his lips, turning back to Kitty.

  “I don’t have much of a stake to put toward a game.”

  Kitty shifted on the bar stool. “That’s all taken care of. It’s—an exhibition game, sort of.”

  “But there’s a prize purse?”

  “There’s a prize, yes.”

  James kicked back the rest of his drink and slapped the glass down on the bar. “I’m in.”

  Kitty stood up, and he noted she was tiny—the fluffy curls on top of her head just came to his shoulder. Jenny started wiping a rag in circles on the bar.

  “Mike’s gonna be pissed,” she said conversationally.

  “You’ll explain to him, won’t you darlin’? This just sounds too good to pass up.”

  “Sounds being the operative word.”

  James grinned at her and dropped a twenty on the bar beside his empty glass. He hurried to the back room to fetch his bag of clothes, then returned to Kitty. “Lead on.”

  She led him out of the bar and down the street a little ways to where a black sedan was parked. “Seeing that you’re already acquainted with the modern world, I dispensed with the historic display,” she said, opening the back door. “I hope you don’t mind.”

  James grinned as he climbed in. “Got rid of the stagecoach, eh?”

  “Actually, this is the same vehicle. It’s just easier to park this way.”

  Kitty slid onto the seat beside him and closed the door. James tried to wrap his mind around the idea that this modern contraption—a car, as they called them—was the self-same coach he’d seen before. Couldn’t do it, so he gave up and leaned back as the car pulled out into traffic.

  “So tell me about this poker game.”

  “Mr. Penstemon will explain everything when we get there.”

  “Tell me about you, then.”

  “Me?” She turned surprised green eyes on him. “There isn’t much to tell.”

  “Whereabouts are you from?”

  She blinked. “I don’t know. I’ve always been at the Black Queen.”

  That sounded a mite strange. Maybe she just didn’t want to say. James raised an eyebrow. “Mr. Penstemon your boss?”

  She tilted her head, frowning. “I live with him.”

  “Oh.”

  So much for the thought of getting a little closer to Miss Kitty, though that might be what this Penstemon fellow had intended, sending her along like this. James frowned. It wasn’t right to use a young gal like that. He’d enjoyed many a lighthearted encounter in his day, certainly, but he liked to think it was the gal’s free choice.

  Anyway, he’d put that behind him. He’d been faithful to Agnes for the short time they were married. He wondered what she’d done after he was gone.

  Thinking about her made him a little sad. He’d failed her, he supposed. Poor Agnes. She wasn’t glamorous, but she had a good head on her shoulders and she was kind. And patient! She’d followed him all over creation, bringing her circus to the most God-forsaken places just to be near him. It had taken him a long time to realize she was the wife for him.

  He missed her. His heart gave a sharp pang as he wondered again what had become of her. She’d trusted him to go to Deadwood looking to stake a claim, and he’d let her down.

  Something was happening to the car. A loud flapping noise had started up overhead. James looked up, startled, as a harness strapped itself around him. Miss Kitty was strapped in, too. James’s scalp prickled as the car began to rise slowly into the air.

  “What’s going on?” he demanded.

  “Nothing to worry about. We’re just taking a faster way to Atlantic City, is all. It would take a couple of days to drive.”

  It would take a couple of weeks, last he knew, and that was with riding the train. Things had changed beyond his comprehension. It was too late, though, to get out of the car now. It was flying.

  James looked out the window and saw the tops of tall pines rushing away beneath them like grass alongside a railroad. Dizzy, he leaned back and closed his eyes. He could not get used to the way these modern people traveled. Always in such a damn hurry!

  The car bucked a couple of times and seemed to stretch itself out, then the flapping was replaced by a steady roar. He dared another look out the window and saw a cluster of little specks of light far below.

  “Holy Christ Almighty!”

  “That’s Deadwood,” Kitty said. “Pretty, isn’t i
t?”

  “I’m gonna be sick.”

  “Put your head between your knees. There’s a bag if you need it.”

  James followed her advice. With his eyes closed he tried to find something to distract his mind.

  Deadwood was all he could think of, Deadwood falling away below him now. He’d promised Agnes he’d make his fortune there, and now he was leaving…

  He woke to the pale blue glow of early dawn. Thought about risking a look toward the ground, then decided against it. The roar in his ears was descending, and the car was changing again. The flapping noise came back.

  James looked at Kitty, who was sleeping with her feet tucked up under her, curled against the side of the car. He gasped as something big and dark flashed by the window beside her, and the sound woke her up.

  She uncurled her legs and stretched luxuriously. Sure was a pretty little thing. She blinked at James, then sat up and looked out the window.

  “Oh, good. We’re here.”

  A blue glow drew James’s attention to his window. Outside, a giant playing card floated past, its edges glowing blue. Queen of spades.

  “No, it was the queen of hearts,” he murmured.

  “What?” said Kitty.

  “Nothing.”

  The card passed from his view but the blue glow remained, as if the very air around them was on fire. The car slowly settled downward until it came to rest. Kitty opened the door beside her and beckoned to James.

  “Keep your head down,” she called over the flapping noise.

  James grabbed his bag of clothes and followed her, crouching as she did, partly in a reaction against the noise. She scurried to a small, rectangular building outlined in glowing blue. Once there, James stood up straight and paused to look back.

  The black car looked wildly different, bulbous and wheelless, with flashing lights and a giant propeller on top, madly spinning away. Beyond it was the queen of spades he’d seen, much bigger than he’d realized. It was as tall as the tallest building he’d ever seen, and above it hung glowing blue words, “The Black Queen.”

  “Welcome to Atlantic City,” Kitty said.

  He couldn’t see anything of a city, though it was hard to notice anything but that gargantuan card. Beyond it was a blue haze that might have been the ocean or maybe just night air. James turned away from the sign and looked out to his right. The flat he was standing on, which he had thought was a field like to the black ones up in Deadwood, had an end to it he never expected. He gasped and flung himself against the little building, reassured by its solidity.

  A scattering of lights spread out far below them, beyond the square edge of the place they were standing. He could see the shoreline now, with tiny waves curling over the darker blue of the ocean. Lights twinkled all golden like Deadwood had looked from the air, and nearer by there were many more lights and many more colors, moving and flashing, dizzy-making.

  “You all right?” Kitty asked.

  “W-where are we?” James managed to say.

  “On the roof of the Black Queen. Would you like to go inside?”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  He managed to stand up and let go of the building, though he kept close to it as Kitty led him to a door in its side. Inside it was quieter, the noise of the car muted by thick walls and the heavy door that clanged shut behind them. Lights glowed on the wall and a thick blue carpet muffled their steps. Kitty led him to a pair of metal doors that slid open to reveal a small, windowless room. They stepped in and the doors closed again, then James’s stomach tried to drop into his boots.

  He clutched at a brass railing attached to the wall. Kitty gave him a curious look, then a smile that was probably meant to be reassuring but that just didn’t have the punch required to soothe his jangled nerves. Glass of whiskey was what he needed for that, at this point.

  The room bounced, then the doors slid open again, revealing a completely different hallway, this one much longer and more highly decorated. The walls were papered with a patterned design in shades of soft gold, and bore pictures, mirrors, and fancy lights all brass curly-cues and crystal drops. The carpet underfoot was thick and oriental in design, woven all in blue, black, and gold. It covered the whole of the floor, right up to the walls.

  Kitty led James down the hall a ways and stopped at a door marked “4207.” She pushed it open and gestured for him to go in.

  “This is your suite.”

  The room was huge. It was set up as a parlor with sofa and chairs and a low table with a basket of fruit on it. To one side stood a small bar and a round table suitable for a game if one brought a couple more chairs to it. Doors led off into a bedroom and a washroom. Draperies of a soft gold covered the far wall. He had never stayed in so big and fine a place, not even in Buffalo on his honeymoon.

  “You’d probably like to change clothes,” Kitty said, strolling in after him. “There are shops on the ground floor where you can pick out some fresh outfits with Mr. Penstemon’s compliments.”

  James lifted his bag. “If Mr. Penstemon don’t mind, I’d just as soon wear my own duds.”

  “Of course.”

  She handed him a card, the queen of spades. It was too thick and heavy, and slippery, probably made out of the stuff they called plastic. Seemed like every little object he couldn’t figure out was made out of plastic. He turned it over. The back was solid blue, with “The Black Queen” stamped on it in gold letters.

  “That’s your key. It slides into the slot on the outside of the door.”

  “Oh. Thanks.”

  Kitty tilted her head to look at him. “Did you learn how to use a phone in Deadwood?”

  “Uh—I know you talk into them. Didn’t have anyone to talk to, myself.”

  “Well, it’s over here.” She walked to a desk set against the wall and lifted the handle of a phone. “Press 2 for Room Service, order whatever you want to eat, and they’ll bring it to you. There’s a menu here, and lots of other information. Don’t worry about paying for anything, it’s all on the house.”

  “Thank you kindly. When is the game?”

  “It starts this evening.” She smiled and headed toward the door. “You’ll meet Mr. Penstemon in a couple of hours. If you need anything in the meantime, just use the phone.”

  James watched her go out, then carried his clothes into the bedroom and proceeded to bathe and dress. Feeling more comfortable, he braved the phone and asked for breakfast and a deck of cards.

  “Certainly, sir,” said the pleasant feminine voice that had answered. “Is there anything else we can get you?”

  “I don’t supposed you’d have some cartridges for a Colt .36 caliber pistol?”

  “What year of manufacture?”

  “1851.”

  “We’ll send them right up.”

  Duly impressed, James put the phone back in its cradle. When the knock came at the door shortly afterward and he went to answer it, he about jumped out of his skin. The little rolling cart of food looked all right, but whoever was rolling it was invisible. If it hadn’t been for the blue and black uniform, James wouldn’t have known anyone was there.

  He watched the critter put the food on the table and set a couple of sealed boxes of playing cards next to it, along with a box of cartridges for the pistols. It then started to roll the cart away again. Steeling himself to follow it to the door, James pulled a five dollar bill from his pocket and held it at arm’s length.

  “Here. Thank you for your trouble.”

  The critter paused, then an arm of the uniform raised up. James felt the bill twitched out of his fingers. A high-pitched whistle sounded, like the wind moaning through a cracked window. The bill floated into the critter’s pocket.

  “You’re welcome.”

  The critter left with the cart, and James shut the door and leaned against it. He supposed he ought not to be frightened of anything, having already been dead for a considerable long while. The truth was, though, that he was frightened of almost every new and strange thing
he encountered. He always had been. The secret to his reputation was that he almost never let it show.

  He went over to the table and loaded his guns, after which he felt better about things. He moved the dishes so he could sit facing the door. His breakfast was bacon, eggs, and beans, along with biscuits and jam and a whole pot of hot coffee, all excellent.

  When he’d finished, he pushed the empty plates aside and picked up a packet of cards and broke it open. They were like the ones they’d used in the show at the No. 10, unnaturally slippery, coated with plastic. The backs were black with a blue diamond check pattern and “The Black Queen,” again in gold.

  He fiddled with the cards, dealing out poker hands a half dozen at a time to see which would win. If he won the tournament he could maybe go on to more games, live comfortably, enjoy a chance to sink gracefully into the old age of which he’d been robbed. It seemed strange to be given another shot at that. He wasn’t sure it was what he wanted.

  If he lost, maybe he could hire on with Mr. Penstemon to deal cards, or do some kind of show though he’d be the first to admit he was not the best of showmen. He’d have to meet Penstemon first and size him up before considering any such arrangement.

  He set the deck aside and strolled over to the draperies. Daylight was seeping in around the edges, which implied they covered a window. He pulled one aside and immediately stumbled back, letting it fall again.

  His room was floating in air. He stood staring at the gently swinging drape, breathing hard and fast, his breakfast churning in his stomach. Clenching his teeth together, he cautiously stepped toward the drape again and peeked out.

  Far below him the beach spread out, white sand along the edge of a bright blue ocean. People were down there, crawling on the sand like so many ants. The whole wall in front of him, floor to ceiling, was glass. He put a hand against it and felt the warmth of the morning sun.

  He could see a tower rising up into the sky a little way down the shore. A building, impossibly tall. Maybe he was in the same sort of building. The tallest he’d ever seen was in New York, six stories.