Louisiana Laydown

Three players folded in a row, then the next one, an old man, said, “I’m in for ten,” and put the chips on the table.

The well-dressed man called quietly, placing his chips on the table.

“Mr.—?” the dealer asked.

“Fargo,” he replied. “Skye Fargo.” He looked once more at the other two players and nodded. “I’m in.” He added his own chips to the growing pile.

There was already more money on the table than most cowpunchers would see in six months of work and even though he was flush at the moment, Fargo briefly thought about all the times he hadn’t been and wondered if he’d be better off saving his poke for a rainy day than spending it on gambling and booze. Then he grinned to himself. Better to live well while I can. Hard days will come whether I’m flush or not.

“Cards, gentlemen?” the dealer asked.

“I’ll take two,” Fargo said, keeping his eights and his ace. The dealer spun the cards out.

“Three,” the old man said, taking his cards.

“I’ll stand pat,” the well-dressed man said.

The dealer nodded. “Yes, sir, Mr. Parker.” He looked at Fargo. “Your bet, sir?”

Fargo wondered if the man was bluffing or had simply been dealt a strong hand. “Check,” Fargo said.

“Sir?” the dealer asked the old man.

Watching him, Fargo noticed that the old man’s hands were holding his cards tightly, twisting his wrist almost inward. He’s going to bet, Fargo thought.

“Twenty-five,” he said, sliding the chips forward.

It was almost impossible to see, but Fargo had spent many years relying on his instincts and his ability to see what others could not. The old man was the professional—a professional cheat. He slipped a card out of his sleeve with one hand, even as he moved his chips forward, using them as a minor distraction.

“I’ll see your twenty-five,” Mr. Parker said, “and raise you twenty-five.” He put his chips forward.

More than anything, Fargo hated a cheat. Poker was a game of skill and chance, but no one had a chance if someone at the table was cheating. Still, other than his own eyes—and he was brand-new at the table—he had no proof.

“Interesting,” he said. “It’s fifty to me, right?”

“Yes, sir,” the dealer said.

Fargo leaned forward, watching the old man intently. People who were flush didn’t usually cheat. People who were desperate did. “Let’s make it,” he said, reaching into his vest, “five hundred dollars.” He put the cash on the table.

The old man stared at him, his Adam’s apple bobbing as he swallowed hard. “That’s a lot of money, mister,” he said.

Fargo nodded. “It is,” he agreed. “Call, raise, or fold.”

“You’re bluffing,” he said. “I’ll allow you to retract the bet. You can’t afford to lose that much money.”

Fargo grinned. “Maybe,” he said. “But I haven’t looked at my draw cards yet. And I don’t bet unless I’m sure of winning.”

His hands trembling, the old man counted his chips. “I can call to . . . one hundred seventy-five,” he said. “It’s all I’ve got left.”

“Fine,” Fargo said. “Make the call.”

The old man slid the last of his chips forward, and, once again, took a card from his sleeve. He must have half a deck up there, Fargo thought. He’s loaded now.

The man called Parker sat up a little straighter and glanced at Fargo. “You aren’t what you appear to be,” he said. “That’s a very large bet for a man who hasn’t seen his draw cards. Are you trying to force a laydown, sir?”

“No,” Fargo said. “But I’m going to make an example of our friend here in just a moment.” He gestured at the pile of chips. “Your bet, Mr. Parker,” he said.

Parker looked at him intently, then shrugged. “Poker is as much about the players as the cards,” he said. “I have a feeling about you.” He laid his cards down. “Fold.”

“Smart,” Fargo said.

“Gentlemen, your cards please,” the dealer said.

Fargo showed his pair of eights and his ace.

The cheat grinned and laid down his three jacks and two queens. “Full house, Mr. Fargo,” he said. “Let’s see your other cards.”

Fargo shook his head. “I’d rather see the rest of yours first,” he said, lowering his hand down to his Colt.

“I’ve shown all of mine,” the old man said.

“Not those,” Fargo replied. “I mean the ones in your sleeve.”

“You’re accusing me of cheating!” he cried, leaping to his feet. “How dare you!”

“Easy,” Fargo said, pointing with his left hand. “Mr. Parker, take a look at the tip of his left sleeve. I believe that this gentleman’s luck has just run out.”

Parker leaned forward, then suddenly seized the man’s arm, yanking out several cards in a flurry. “You are a cheat!” he said.

The old man whipped his right arm forward, a small derringer appearing as if by magic. The room went silent. “Back off, Parker,” he said. “At this range, even a derringer can kill you.”

Fargo slipped the Colt free of its holster, keeping it pointed beneath the table at the old man. “Put down the peashooter, mister,” he said. “Put it down and walk away, or they’re going to carry you out of here on a slab.”

The old man lunged forward, pointing the little gun at Parker’s head. “Shut up, Fargo. I’m getting out of here.” He shoved at his hostage. “Get going.”

“Hold it, mister,” Fargo snapped. “Don’t make it worse than it already is.”

He noted that for a man in a life-threatening situation, Parker seemed calm. Time for another gamble, he thought.

The old man turned back to snarl something more and Fargo shouted, “Move, Parker!”

Parker lunged out of the way, and Fargo cut loose with the Colt. The slugs took the old man in the knees, and he screamed as he fell.

Fargo jumped to his feet and aimed the Colt at the prone man, who was moaning and clutching at his legs. He put a boot down on the derringer. “See there,” Fargo said, after the shouting had died down. “I guess the kid was right. Sooner or later, everyone lays down. Guess it was your turn.”

Parker got to his feet and nodded at Fargo. “You saved my life, sir,” he said. “The least I can do is buy you a drink.”

“Why not?” Fargo asked, picking up his draw cards, then tossing them down in disgust. “That hand was terrible anyway.”

2

As Fargo and Parker gathered up their scattered chips, two stewards came and physically hauled the wailing card cheat up on deck to await the sheriff, who had already been summoned.

Reloading the Colt, Fargo said, “Let’s take a seat over there.” He gestured toward a small table near the bar.

“Agreed,” Parker said, then turned and led the way.

They arrived at the table and Parker told the waitress to bring a bottle of whiskey and two glasses. The man seemed comfortable to wait in silence, so Fargo kept his peace. After the liquor arrived, they both poured a healthy shot, and Parker raised his glass. “My sincere thanks, Mr. Fargo,” he said. “That man was clearly desperate enough to do almost anything.”

Fargo nodded and knocked back the bourbon. It was a good label and burned only a little on the way down,