Louisiana Laydown (15 page)

“Fargo,” Parker called out as they entered the room. “I’m pleased to see you honored our arrangement, though I didn’t imagine you would come dressed in such finery. I expected the frontiersman I met on the riverboat.”

“I’m a man of my word,” Fargo replied, his voice even. Once more, he wanted to adopt the persona of a professional gambler and gunfighter. “I thought I should dress to fit the occasion.”

“You look,” Anderson said, “like a hired killer.”

“Good,” Fargo said.

Before any more words could be exchanged, Hattie said, “Gentlemen, why not take your seats and I’ll pour us each a drink?”

There was a general murmur of agreement and the men got themselves arranged around the table. While they were doing so, H.D. stopped next to Fargo’s chair and leaned in close. “I’m dealing it straight,” he whispered. “And I wanted you to know that I sent my wife and Mary out of town.” His voice dropped even lower and he added, “If something happens, there’s a note beneath my mantle that will tell you where to find them.”

“What do you think will happen?” Fargo whispered back.

H.D. shrugged. “Cards, I hope.”

“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he said.

H.D. nodded and took his seat in the dealer’s chair. Hattie poured drinks and passed them around, skipping over Fargo when he shook his head. He couldn’t afford to be slowed tonight.

Hattie raised her own glass and said, “To poker, gentlemen, and the peaceful resolution of problems.”

“Hear, hear,” the men said. Everyone drank, Fargo noticed, except Anderson, who raised his glass to his lips and faked it.

“Gentlemen,” H.D. said. “This is a fifty-thousand-dollar buy-in game. There will be no buying back in. Once you’re out, you’re out. The game is five-card draw, nothing is wild, and there is no limit. Mr. Fargo is here to make sure that everyone plays fair, is that understood?”

There was a chorus of agreement. “Fargo, do you have anything you’d like to say before we start?”

Fargo considered this for a moment, then stood up. “I know three of the men at the table, but I’d like the names of the others.”

The men introduced themselves, and no one bothered to shake hands. One of the men, Armand Delgado, was clearly of Spanish origin. One, who introduced himself as Colonel William Bosswaite, was a retired soldier who looked eager to spend his money very quickly. The third, Fargo thought, was probably the sharpest of the three.

“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
all
of you are responsible and ensure that at the least, you are held accountable. Is that clear?”

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.”

“Mentiroso!”
Delgado said, calling H.D. a liar.
“Tramposo!”
he added to Beares, calling him a cheat.

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.”

“Hijo de puta,”
Delgado said.

“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?”

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.