“Aldus Horn,” he said. There was a smooth confidence to his voice that told Fargo that he was a man who knew what he was doing, even if he didn’t understand the true stakes of the game.
“Good,” Fargo said. He moved his gaze from man to man, then said, “I noted a very large number of armed men in the immediate vicinity of the Blue Emporium before I came in tonight, gentlemen. I want each of you to understand something very clearly: should one of you decide that the best way to win this game is to stage some sort of a raid on this place, using force, I won’t ask who is responsible.”
He smoothly drew the Colt from his right holster, the motion so fast that several men blinked in surprise. “I will assume
Another chorus of agreement, then Fargo sat down and added, “Play fair, gentlemen. I will be watching.”
“Very good,” H.D. said. He turned his attention back to the players. “Gentlemen, please put your buy-in money on the table. I will count it and give you your chips. The money will be held in plain sight on the bar.”
The men began to pony up the money, and even Fargo felt himself a little amazed. There was three hundred thousand dollars on the table—in cash—and not one of the men was even sweating. It was enough money to buy entire provinces in Mexico.
And more than enough to kill for.
Fargo helped H.D. move the money to the bar once it had all been counted, then sat back down in his chair to watch the real game begin.
In the beginning, everyone played conservatively. There were no huge raises, no one leaped to call bluffs, and the stacks of chips ebbed and flowed like a sluggish creek. They were two hours into the game when H.D. called for a break.
Everyone agreed and got to their feet. Hattie signaled Matilda and the dumbwaiter was sent down with several platters of food, including meat, bread, and cheese for those who wanted to make themselves a sandwich. Fargo ignored the food, but did get a cup of coffee.
Several of the men used the restroom down the hall and returned. The players’ voices were serious and quiet. A visual check showed that the piles of chips were still pretty even, though Aldus Horn had a slight lead. He didn’t bluff, Fargo had noticed.
After the break, everyone sat back down, and he noticed that all the men were slightly more intense, as though the first two hours of play had merely been a way to gauge the other players. Several hands were played at much the same pace, and then Armand Delgado took his five cards and made a fairly large bet.
“Five thousand,” he said, putting the chips into the pot.
To his left, Horn immediately folded. “No, thanks,” he said.
Colonel Bosswaite stared at his cards for a long minute, then looked at Delgado. “Call,” he said, adding his own chips to the pot. With the hundred-dollar antes, there was now ten thousand, six hundred dollars’ worth of chips in the middle of the table.
“Interesting,” Parker said. “Why don’t I believe you, Delgado? Is it because you’re a bluffer and you always have been or is it, do you think, just because you’re a loser who happened into some money?”
Delgado’s eyes sparked but he kept his silence.
“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.”
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.”
“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?”
