Ace in the Hole (3 page)

“The game was supposed to be private,” Morgan said as they ate, “but as is usually the case with men of this stature, the word had gotten out.”

“Cancel the game.”

“We can't,” Morgan said. “Certain parties have already come here from abroad.”

“Move it.”

“Again, we can't,” Morgan said. “Our host insisted on the location.”

“Your host?”

“Someone had to step up and vouch for all parties concerned,” Morgan said, “and provide the location for the game.”

“So you're stuck with the time and the place?”

“Yes.”

“And what do you want me to do?”

“Well, initially,” Morgan said, “my idea was to have you accompany me there, as sort of a bodyguard, and then function as a security consultant. For which you would be well compensated, of course.”

“Of course.”

“I say initially, as the idea struck me as soon as Dave Hopeville told me you were in town and were going to play with us.”

“But your idea changed?”

“Yes,” Morgan said. “During the game.”

“And what's your idea now?” Clint asked.

“Well, you would still be well compensated,” Morgan said, “and you would still accompany me to the game.”

“What's different?”

Morgan pushed his plate aside—he had decimated the breakfast in record time—and leaned forward. “I want you to play in my place.”

Tom Kent left the small hotel on shaky legs. An hour with Diane Morgan exhausted him and exhilarated him at the same time. And in spite of the fact that Diane swore that the clerk was well paid to look the other way, there was the element of danger.

But the danger had only just begun. Diane no longer wanted just sex from him anymore, she wanted him to rob this big game her husband was planning. She told him she'd find out the time and the place, and that the rest would be up to him. She said they'd split the money—minus whatever he had to pay others for assistance—or they could simply keep the entire amount and go away together.

At a young age Kent had wanted nothing more than to wear a badge. Now, after years as a deputy and a few years as a sheriff, the novelty was wearing a little thin. The salary was terrible, the treatment he received from the town council even worse. The mayor, Diane's husband, and others bent the law to suit them, and it was his job to back them up. They'd made that clear. His job depended on it.

So why should he not take Diane up on her offer? He'd end up rich, and he'd have her, and they'd be living in Mexico somewhere.

The prospect was hard to resist.

After Kent left the hotel room, Diane reclined on the bed, still naked, and stared at the ceiling. Kent was a bull in bed, though easily controlled. Two of her favorite attributes in a man. She knew he'd go along with her plan to rob Arliss Morgan's big game, but she had no intention of going away with him. The man had limited imagination if he thought Mexico was the place to go when you were rich. She had much larger aspirations, like Paris, France, or maybe Rome, Italy.

And she certainly had no intention of taking a small-town, small-minded sheriff with her, or even of sharing the money with him.

Her hand drifted down over her breasts and her belly and then down between her legs as she thought about all that money, and about getting away from both her husband and Tom Kent.

“You want me to what?”

“Play in my place,” Morgan said. “You see, there have to be six men at the table. It doesn't matter who, as long as the original six are backing them. Do you see?”

“So you want to stake me in that game,” Clint said. “What's the buy-in?”

Morgan looked around to be sure no one was within earshot, then leaned forward and said, “One hundred thousand dollars each.”

“You have that much money to risk in poker?” Clint asked.

“The risk is commensurate with the prize,” Morgan said. “Six hundred thousand dollars.”

Clint was able to do the math himself, but he let that pass.

“What's my cut?” Clint asked. “I mean, if I do this.”

Morgan studied Clint and he could see the banker's mind working. How cheap could he get Clint?

“Ten percent.”

Not so cheap, Clint thought. Sixty thousand.

“Do you know who else is going to play?” he asked.

“I know the five men who are putting up the money,” Morgan said. “I know that two of those men will definitely want to play themselves. So there will be three others I don't know about. Why?”

“This kind of game could attract some pretty good poker players,” Clint said. “Bat Masterson, Luke Short, someone like that might show up.”

“And are you acquainted with these men?”

“Yes,” Clint said, “very well acquainted.”

“And do you find the prospect of playing against them…daunting?”

“No,” Clint said, “not daunting. I've played with them before. But they are professional gamblers. At best, I'm a talented amateur.”

“A talented amateur who was able to pick out the tells of four other men in half an hour. I find that impressive.”

Clint told himself this man was a bad poker player. It didn't much matter what he found impressive. Still, sixty thousand dollars was a lot of money.

“What happens if I don't win?”

“Do you need a guarantee?”

“Of some sort,” Clint said.

“I will cover all travel expenses,” Morgan said, “and if we don't win, I will pay you five thousand.”

Five thousand for playing and losing was almost irresistible. Well, okay, it was damned irresistible. But he didn't want to seem too easy.

“Let me think it over,” Clint said. “When do you need to know by?”

“The game is Friday. We will have to leave on Wednesday. That gives you four days to decide.”

“And if I don't go?”

“I'll have to hire a bodyguard and play myself.”

“You'll be carrying your stake with you?”

“Yes,” Morgan said. “I can't bring a bank note of transfer with me. There is no bank where we'd be going.”

“I see.”

Morgan leaned back, looked at Clint and asked, “Do you have anything better to do?”

Tom Kent went and had breakfast at a small café. When he'd run into Morgan on the street and found out he was going to breakfast at the Stockman, he knew the man would be busy for a while. He gave up his breakfast in favor of an hour with Diane. Now he was hungry.

Over breakfast of ham and eggs he thought about Diane's offer. He didn't know exactly how much money was involved, but she assured him it was a lot. Money and Diane were hard to resist, especially for a man who was disenchanted with both his job and his life.

If he was going to do it, though, he was going to need help. Not a lot of help, but the right kind of help. And he thought he knew just the man for the job.

He threw down his money for the breakfast and hurried out to his office. He still hadn't made up his mind about going through with it—about becoming a lawbreaker rather than a peacekeeper—but there was no harm in doing a little research.

Diane left the small hotel, blowing the young desk clerk a kiss. That, plus the money she paid him, kept him silent about the room she kept there. In the end, though, it really didn't matter if Arliss knew about it or not. He wouldn't do anything.

She walked through town, exchanging greetings with other women on the street who she knew talked about her behind her back. The whore that the banker had brought back from the West Coast. She didn't care. They were all prudish, shriveled women who were unhappy in their own lives but would never admit it.

She not only admitted it, she was going to do something about it.

Clint left the Stockman Hotel, while Arliss Morgan decided to have an after-breakfast drink. He also said he had some business to conduct in a part of the hotel that was a “private club.”

“I'll get back to you on this as quickly as I can,” Clint said.

“I will be over at Dave's place playing poker each night this week,” Morgan said. “You can find me there. I'm going to have to work on purging myself of this tell.”

As Clint left, he was thinking: If the man purged himself of his belly, he'd have a better chance of losing that tell.

On his way back to his hotel he passed a woman who reeked of sex. It wasn't that she smelled like it. It just immediately came to mind when he saw her. She belonged naked in a bed, not walking down the street, and not doing whatever it was she was going to be doing the rest of the day. She had long, auburn hair, full, thrusting breasts, and men and women alike watched her as she walked by. She ignored them all, however, except for Clint. As she passed him she locked eyes with him boldly, and when he looked back to watch her walk away she was also looking back at him. Another time, another place, he might have gone after her…

As Diane looked back over her shoulder, she saw that the man was looking at her as well. Some other time, she would have grabbed him and dragged him to a hotel. He wasn't like the other men in town. He walked different, wore his gun different, and he looked at her different.

As they went their separate ways, she wondered: Who was he?

As Clint turned away from the woman, he almost walked right into Dave Hopeville.

“Dave,” he said. “Sorry.”

“What're you lookin' at?” Dave asked.

“That woman. See her? Walking away?”

“Oh,” Dave said.

“What? You know who she is?”

“Even from the back.”

“Who?”

“That's Diane Morgan.”

“Morgan?”

Dave nodded.

“Banker Morgan's wife.”

“She is thirty years younger than him.”

“At least.”

“I can see why the women on the street look at her the way they do.”

“And you already know why the men are lookin' at her,” Dave said.

“Must be tough for a man that age to keep a woman like that happy.”

“Money helps,” Dave said.

“But money isn't everything.”

“Well, I don't envy Arliss Morgan bein' married to her.”

“You're probably the only man in town who doesn't.”

“Don't get me wrong,” Dave said. “I'd like to get her out of that dress as much as the next man, but I wouldn't want to be married to her and have the problem of keepin' her happy.”

“You might have a point there.”

“Where are you off to?” the saloon owner asked. “Or coming back from?”

“Back from breakfast with Morgan.”

“Ah,” Dave said. “Did he make you an offer?”

“You know about his game?”

“Most people in our business do.”

“Well, I'm not in your business,” Clint responded, “so it was news to me.”

“I figured he'd be interested in you as a bodyguard of some kind. Am I right?”

“You're right,” Clint said, not bothering to fill the man in on the rest of the offer.

“Well, if he offered you a bundle, hold him up for more and take the job,” Dave said. “It's probably not his money anyway.”

“What do you mean?”

“There's some talk in town about him and his practices at the bank,” Dave said.

“Like maybe he's using bank money?” Clint asked.

“To fund his gambling,” Dave added. “You played with him. He's terrible at it.”

“Yes, he is.”

“In fact, I'm on my way to the bank now. I'll see you later tonight?”

“I'll be in,” Clint said.

He headed back to his hotel, wondering if the hundred thousand that Morgan was putting up for the game belonged to the people of Virginia City.

Clint spent the day thinking over Morgan's offer. Sixty grand was hard to turn down, five grand not as hard but still difficult. But if the money was coming from the bank—and coming out of the pockets of the Virginia City residents—could he, in all good conscience, take it? Maybe what he needed to do was confront Morgan with people's suspicions. Let the man explain, if he could, or simply convince Clint that the money he was putting up for the game was his own.

Late in the afternoon he went to the Red Garter and got himself a beer at the bar. His breakfast had filled him to the point where he was only just now getting hungry again. He thought to start with a beer and then go off in search of supper.

The Garter was just beginning to pick up. The covers had been taken off the gaming tables and men were starting to file in to play. The girls had just come down, preparing to work the floor. Clint saw Andrea, who smiled and waved, but he did not see Loretta yet. Also, Arliss Morgan was not present.

The bartender recognized him. Clint had to grope for his name but came up with it by the time the man brought him his beer.

“Thanks, Travis.”

“Heard you took some money off the town fathers last night,” Travis said. “Good for you. I been a bartender for over thirty years. Love to see somebody take the town leaders.”

“How long have you been working here?”

“About three years.”

Clint studied the man. If he had been a bartender for thirty years, he must have started in his late teens, unless he just looked good for his age.

“Fifty,” Travis said.

“What?”

“You're wonderin' how old I am,” the man said. “I'm fifty. I look good for my age, not a day over forty-five.”

“And you're a mind reader.”

“Comes with the job.”

He went off to draw beers for some new arrivals just as Andrea sidled up to Clint

“Hi, handsome.”

“Andrea,” he said. “You're looking as lovely as ever.”

“Sure, sweet-talk me while you're sleepin' with my best friend,” she said. “I thought we had a good time the other night.”

“We did.”

“But you like Loretta better than me?”

“Well, no, not better—uh, I mean—just diff—”

“Relax, cowboy,” she said, slapping his arm. “I'm just kiddin'. We're friends, we share. In fact, we kinda thought tonight we'd share you.”

“Uh, tonight? Share?”

“Yeah, you know…as in, you, her…and me? Whataya say? You brave enough?”

“I think I could manage to dredge up the courage,” he said.

All he had to worry about was dredging up the stamina. Each woman had almost worn him out on her own. Both of them together? Now, that was daunting.

“We'll see you later, then,” she said, stroking him beneath the chin.

He watched her walk away and thought that if he were a praying man, he'd say a prayer for himself.

Sheriff Tom Kent sat behind his desk, papers strewn across it. Telegrams, wanted posters, correspondence with federal sources. His suspicions were correct. Tito Calhoun was out of prison.

Kent knew Calhoun from when they were both young men. Kent had come west from Massachusetts; Calhoun had come north from Mexico, where his mother and father still lived. They met in Arizona, both working hands on a small ranch, and talked about what their futures would be like. Calhoun eventually joined up with a gang who robbed banks and trains. Kent got a job as a young deputy in a small Kansas cow town.

Kent remembered Calhoun as a man who was deadly with a knife and a gun. He'd heard that Calhoun had gotten himself sent to Huntsville Prison several years ago, but he thought that he had received notice recently that Calhoun had been paroled. After going through all his paperwork, he discovered that he was right.

So if he decided to go through with this, he had four days to recruit Tito Calhoun, and leave it to Calhoun to recruit a few other men.

That meant he was going to have to make his decision quickly, and act just as quickly.

At that moment the door opened and Mayor Tisdale entered. He had some inane request of the sheriff, something demeaning, and by the time the conversation was over Kent had made his decision.