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 left 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,
“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
