Trailsman #360 : Texas Lead Slingers (9781101544860) (3 page)

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Authors: Jon Sharpe

BOOK: Trailsman #360 : Texas Lead Slingers (9781101544860)
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“That's the hell of it,” Fargo said.
5
Fargo liked to stay at the mansion instead of the hotel. The hotel was close to the saloon where the game was held but the mansion had more to offer, not the least of which was a four-poster canopy bed. Lying on it was like sinking into a sea of feathers. He had removed his boots and gun belt and hat and plopped onto his back when someone knocked.
“You in there, good-looking?” Lacey Mayhare said.
Her tantalizing perfume wreathed him as Fargo opened the door. He admired the long sweep of her legs and how her lustrous golden hair cascaded over her shoulders. “To what do I owe the honor?”
“I'm not ready for bed yet.” Lacey brushed past and moved to a chair. “I thought you might like some company.”
Fargo shut the door and sat on the edge of the bed and regarded her suspiciously.
“What?”
“You're up to something.”
“Me?” Lacey batted her eyes and laughter spilled from her smooth throat. “Whatever do you mean?”
“All you care about is winning,” Fargo said. “You'll do anything to make sure you do.”
“It's against Marion's rules to try to influence the outcome in any way,” Lacey recited.
“That didn't stop you from trying to drink me under the table last year,” Fargo reminded her. She'd almost done it, too. She was the only woman he'd ever met who could drink as much as he did and not pass out.
“Then I must have been trying to drink myself under the table, as well.”
“And remember the year before that? You sent a bottle to my room. I didn't drink it until after, which was lucky for me because it made me as sick as a dog.”
“Coincidence,” Lacey said. “There was a flu going around.” She ran a hand down her leg and over her knee and smiled sweetly.
Fargo liked how her dress clung to her thighs. Tearing his gaze away, he said more gruffly than he intended, “Shouldn't you be getting back to the hotel?”
“Didn't you know? I'm staying with the Deerforths this year.” Lacey shifted and somehow her bosom was twice the size it had been. “Ginny is such a dear. She invited me in past years but I always said no. This time I decided to take her up on it.” Lacey bent toward him. “My room is right down the hall. Feel free to stop by any time of the day or night.”
“No, you don't.”
“Excuse me?”
“I'm here for the game,” Fargo informed her, “and nothing else.”
“What does that have to do with my invite?”
“I wasn't born yesterday.” Fargo rose and went to the door. “Out you go.”
“Honestly, now,” Lacey said. “You're throwing me out on my ear?”
“On your ass,” Fargo said, and opened the door.
“This won't change anything.”
“Off you go.”
Lacey rose and sashayed past and stopped in the doorway. “You'll regret this in the middle of the night when you want it and can't have it.”
“Out.”
Her dress swirled and she was gone but the scent of her perfume hung in the air.
Fargo closed the door and leaned against it. “What the hell did I just do?” He couldn't remember the last time he turned down a pretty woman, or any woman, for that matter. He started toward the bed and stopped at a loud knock. Thinking it was Lacey he jerked the door open, saying, “When I told you to go I—”
“What was that?” Ginny Deerforth said.
Fargo glanced right and left but saw no sign of Lacey. “What can I do for you, Virginia?”
“Marion just told me about that awful business at the corral. And that two men were out to do you harm in town.”
“He should have kept it to himself.”
“Don't be silly. We can't allow this. I had Marion send for Marshal Moleen. He should be here inside the hour.”
Fargo sighed.
“Are you hurt?” Ginny asked, scrutinizing him from head to toes.
“Tired, is all,” Fargo said. He'd had a long day in the saddle. “I'd like to get some sleep.”
“After the marshal questions you, you can sleep all you want.” Ginny patted his arm. “I'm sorry about this. So very sorry.”
“It's not as if you had anything to do with it.”
“I know. But to have a guest assaulted at our home. It's unthinkable.” Ginny wrung her hands. “I apologize for being so flustered. I don't like violence. It sickens me.”
“Sometimes a person doesn't have a choice.”
“I know that. I'm not naïve. Texas was born in violence. The war with Mexico, the Alamo, San Jacinto. Violence has held the Comanches in check. Violence keeps the outlaws in line.” Ginny did more hand-wringing. “Yes, there are times when it's called for. I just wish that wasn't the case.”
Fargo smiled, thinking she would go, but she wasn't done.
“Should whoever is out to kill you succeed, rest assured I'll personally see to it that you're buried proper, with a headstone and everything.”
“How sweet of you,” Fargo said.
6
The Cosmopolitan was the fanciest saloon in town. The senator owned it. The tables were covered in green velvet. Behind the mahogany bar was the largest selection of liquor west of the Mississippi. The bartenders wore aprons.
The annual poker event brought booming business. Folks came from all over Texas and parts beyond.
Politicians never let a crowd go to waste and the senator was no exception. He always gave a speech at the start of the festivities.
By Fargo's reckoning about two hundred people were out in the street listening. He was fond of the man but he'd be damned if he'd listen to him prattle so he sat in the saloon sipping whiskey and riffling cards.
“Mind if I join you?” Vin Creed asked, and sank down across from him. Creed wore a frock coat and a wide-brimmed black hat. “Ready to lose all your money to me?”
“That'll be the day,” Fargo said.
The same perfume as the night before tingled Fargo's nose, and Lacey Mayhare came around from behind him and claimed another chair. Today she had on a black dress, her breasts practically bursting from the seams. Her lips were ruby red. “If anyone takes Skye's poke,” she said to the gambler, “it'll be me.”
“Morning, my dear,” Creed said. “Up to your usual tricks, I see.”
“Tricks?” Lacey said.
“That pair of watermelons you call tits,” Creed said. “I'm surprised you don't let the nipples show.”
Where many women would have been offended, Lacey merely smiled. “Are you suggesting that I wear this low-cut dress on purpose?”
“I am.”
“And that I use my watermelons, as you so quaintly call them, to take my opponents' minds off their cards so they play poorly?”
“You do.”
“Why, sir,” Lacey said, and beamed, “you are exactly right. And do you know something?”
“I know many things,” Creed said. “To which do you refer?”
“If you had melons, you'd do the same as me.”
“Perhaps,” the gambler said. “Although I'd like to think I have more dignity.”
“Excuse me?”
“I rely on skill, my dear. I am, as our mutual friend here will confirm”—Creed nodded at Fargo—“an honest gambler.”
“There's no such animal,” Lacey declared. “You've never dealt from the bottom of the deck? Never shaved a card?”
“I don't need to.”
Lacey switched her attention to Fargo. “Do you believe him?”
“Just because you cheat,” Fargo said, “doesn't mean everybody does.”
Her eyes flashed with anger but it quickly faded. “Perhaps, and I stress
perhaps
, normally I am not above shading luck in my favor. But not here. Here I play as honest a game as Mr. Creed pretends to.”
“You don't have a choice,” Fargo said. “Deerforth throws out anyone who cheats.”
“And they're never allowed to take part in another of his tournaments,” Creed said.
“These are grand, aren't they?” Lacey said, gazing about. “There isn't a finer saloon anywhere.” She sobered and stared at Fargo. “What's this I hear about someone trying to kill you?”
“Hell,” Fargo said.
“Ginny told me this morning. She's worried about you, the sweet dear.”
“Ginny is a busybody.”
“Now, now. You should be flattered she cares.” Lacey indicated a man over at the bar. “You have her to thank for him.”
“What are you talking about?”
“Ginny demanded that Marshal Moleen assign a man to watch over you. Deputy Gilmore, there, is your protector.”
“Damn.”
“I wish I had a protector,” Creed said.
Fargo glared.
“Look at the bright side,” Lacey said. “With Gilmore watching your back, you can concentrate on your cards.”
Fargo wasn't about to trust his life to a man he didn't know. He let it drop, though. He wouldn't play well if he was angry. And suddenly it hit him. “Bitch,” he said.
Lacey batted her eyes. “What did I do?”
“You knew how I'd feel about Ginny and the marshal,” Fargo said.
“Isn't she wonderful?” Creed said. “There's no end to her tricks.”
Lacey smiled and ran a hand down her neck and over her bosom. “Why, gentlemen, whatever do you mean?”
7
The speech ended and Senator Deerforth led a procession into the saloon. The mayor, the members of the town council and Marshal Moleen were followed by some of the top poker players in the country; Dandy Dan from Saint Louis, Aces O'Bannon from New Orleans, Sly Jackson, known as the King of the Mississippi Riverboats, and others.
As the spectators gawked, one by one the gamblers filed past Senator Deerforth and handed over the five-thousand-dollar entry fee. The mayor then gave them their chips.
Fargo's turn came. He dropped his poke into the senator's palm and Deerforth turned and added it to the collection of pokes and wallets and purses in a great silver bowl. “Don't lose it,” he joked.
“Never fear,” Deerforth said jovially, and bobbed his chins at Moleen. “Our good marshal will personally escort the bowl to the bank where it will be deposited in the safe until the winner is decided.”
Lacey was next, a leather bag with a strap dangling from her fingers. “Here you are, Marion. I'll expect it back when I pick up my winnings.”
“Confidence becomes you, my dear.”
“Everything becomes me,” Lacey said.
“Especially those tits of yours,” Vin Creed said as he tossed his poke to the senator.
Five tables in the middle of the room were reserved for the tournament. Four chairs ringed each table, and on the back of each was a sign with a number. From a hat, the players drew slips of paper with corresponding numbers.
Fargo drew chair nineteen. He found himself at a table with Aces O'Bannon and two gamblers he didn't know.
Sealed decks were placed on the tables.
“Ladies and gentlemen,” Senator Deerforth grandly announced, “let the games begin.”
Onlookers were not allowed within six feet of the tables. The crowds were well behaved. Anyone who caused a ruckus or interfered with the players in any way was summarily, and often roughly, ejected.
Fargo got down to the business of playing poker and shut out everything else. His first hand wasn't promising. He ended up with a pair of twos. The next hand he had nothing. And the one after that. He was beginning to think it was an omen when he was dealt three kings and two tens. After that, his luck changed.
By six that evening only Aces O'Bannon was left. Aces had more chips and he was growing cocky. The next hand he bet heavy on two pair and lost to Fargo's three of a kind.
“You're a devil with the cards and that's for sure,” O'Bannon complimented him.
“I've had a lot of practice,” Fargo said. He wet his throat with whiskey but only a swallow. He'd been nursing a glass all afternoon.
O'Bannon gazed about them. “'Tis a fine affair, this tournament of the senator's, is it not?”
Fargo wasn't in the mood for talk. All he did was grunt.
“Come visit New Orleans sometime and I'll treat you to a night you won't soon forget.”
“I've been there.”
“Then you know the charms of the Creole girls. I can introduce you to one who will make you forever glad you're a man, if you get my drift.”
“O'Bannon?”
“Yes, laddie?”
“Shut the hell up.”
O'Bannon colored and gripped the edge of the table. “I was only being friendly.”
“Play cards,” Fargo said.
It was O'Bannon's turn to deal. He did so with fluid ease, the cards an extension of his fingers.
Fargo detected no evidence of cheating. He had a pair of fours, a seven, a jack and a king. He asked for three cards and was glad he had a poker face—he wound up with two more fours.
O'Bannon toyed with his chips, stacking and restacking them. Finally he said, “I have to go with my gut and my gut says I've got you beat. How much do you have there?”
Fargo told him.
O'Bannon counted out the amount and pushed the pile to the center.
Fargo didn't hesitate. “All in,” he said, adding his chips to the pile.
“A flush,” O'Bannon declared, showing his hand. He was so confident he reached for the pot.
“Not so fast,” Fargo said. “You must have indigestion.” He turned his cards over.

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