Ace in the Hole (2 page)

The game didn't go all night, but it did go deep into the night, so that when they were done, the banker said to Clint, “Come and see me tomorrow morning.”

“Sure, Mr. Morgan,” Clint said. “Right after breakfast.”

“Why don't we have breakfast?” the man asked. “Meet me in the dining room of the Stockman Hotel. Eight a.m.”

“It's kind of late, Mr. Morgan,” Clint said. “What do you say to…nine?”

“That's fine,” Morgan said, “and please, just call me Arliss.”

“Okay, Arliss.”

As all the men were leaving, Hopeville came up to Clint and asked, “What's that about?”

“I don't know,” Clint said. “I'm going to find out at breakfast.”

“Well, make sure he pays,” Hopeville said. “If it's not gambling, the man's a great skinflint.”

“I'll remember that.”

Clint looked around. Two other girls had come in to handle the bar a few hours ago and both Andrea and Loretta had been relieved.

“I've got to help the girls break down the bar,” Dave Hopeville said. “How'd you do?”

“I did well,” Clint told him. “I did very well. Thanks for getting me into the game.”

“Well, one of the regulars canceled and I knew these men would get a thrill out of playing with you.”

“I hope they were thrilled to give me their money.”

“That's probably open to debate,” Hopeville said. “See you tomorrow.”

“I'll be around.”

Clint left the room and went up one more level to the third floor, where his hotel room was.

Arliss Morgan entered his big house just outside of town. It was easily the largest house in town, two stories with ante-bellum white columns and a Mexican-style roof. He had designed the house himself and the mixture of styles was rather jarring, but he liked it.

“Is that you, Arliss?” his wife called from upstairs.

“Who else would it be?”

“Don't be cross with me, dear,” she said, appearing at the head of the stairs. As she came down, he marveled again at the luck that had brought him a wife thirty years his junior. He knew they talked about them in town. How she was a gold digger and he was an old fool, but he didn't care. She was beautiful, and he'd do anything to keep her.

And she knew it. She made him jump through hoops, sometimes cruelly, but he still didn't care. It made him angry sometimes, but he still did it.

Now she came down and kissed his cheek. She was wearing a long, low-cut nightgown, and her generous breasts threatened to spill out. An ex–saloon girl and entertainer, at thirty-five she was still stunning.

“How did the game go? Did you win?”

“No,” he said, taking off his jacket, “I lost. Big.”

“You need a nightcap, then.”

She went to a small sidebar they kept in the living room and poured him a brandy.

“I think I may have found our man, though,” he said as she handed him the glass.

Her hand gripped his arm.

“Truly?”

He nodded.

“Who?”

“His name is Clint Adams.”

“The Gunsmith?” she said with a sudden intake of breath.

“Yes.”

“Will he do it?”

“I don't know,” he said. “We're having breakfast in the morning to discuss it.”

“Then you better come to bed and get some rest,” she said, taking the brandy from him before he could finish it. “You have a big day ahead of you.”

“With any luck,” he said, following her upstairs. “With any luck.”

Clint woke the next morning to the pleasant sensations of a firm, smooth little bottom being pressed into his crotch. He opened his eyes and found Loretta spooned back against him, her naked buttocks rubbing up and down him, making him hard. He reached around to caress her breasts, then ran his hand down over her belly until his fingers were buried in the red pubic patch between her legs. He found her wet already, so he lifted her leg and slid his hard penis up into her. She moaned, gave up any pretense of being asleep and began to rock back and forth, sliding him in and out of her. He moved with her, found her tempo, and the room quickly filled with the sound of flesh slapping flesh as they both enjoyed a quick, hard wake-me-up.

The had fucked themselves to sleep the night before, so a quick one to wake up to was fine with both of them.

“My God,” she said as he got up from the bed, “I don't know if I'll be able to walk today.”

“Who says you have to?” he asked. “Stay here and sleep some more.”

“Oh, no,” she said, stretching her long, lean body. “You woke me up good. What are you doing this morning?”

“I've got breakfast with the banker.” He poured water from a pitcher into a basin and began to wash.

“Are you opening an account?” she asked eagerly. If that were the case, wouldn't that mean he was going to stay awhile?

“No,” he said. “He's got something he wants to talk to me about.”

“What is it?”

“I don't know.” He dried his face, hands and chest, then wiped his armpits with the damp towel. “That's what he's supposed to tell me at breakfast.”

“Well, be careful of him,” she warned.

“Why?” he asked, getting dressed.

“There's talk around town that he may not be completely on the up-and-up. People are talking about moving their money to the other bank.”

“The small one?”

“It's gettin' bigger,” she said.

He strapped on his gun.

“Are you telling me he's crooked?”

She rolled onto her side and leaned on her elbow, staring up at him.

“He's got a young wife and people are sayin' that she's pullin' the strings. Everythin' was fine, they say, until he married her and brought her here.”

“And when was that?”

“About three years ago,” she said. “He went on a trip to San Francisco and came back with a young wife.”

“How young?”

“About thirty years younger than him.”

“Makes her…what? Mid-thirties?”

“I guess,” Loretta said. “She's supposed to have been a showgirl in San Francisco.”

“So she landed herself a wealthy older husband, huh?” he asked. “Isn't that every girl's dream?”

She reached her arms out to him and said, “You're every girl's dream, Mr. Adams.”

“That's a nice thing to say,” he replied, “but I'm not coming near you, because I'll just end up crawling into bed with you again.”

“Would that be so bad?”

“It wouldn't be bad,” he said, “but I've got things to do…and I'm hungry.”

She slid her hands down her body until they were nestled between her thighs.

“I bet I could convince you.”

“Maybe you could,” he said, “but I don't think so. There are no strings on me, Loretta.”

“And you know what?” she asked as he headed for the door. “That just makes you even better.”

Clint made his way from his own hotel to the larger, more expensive Stockman Hotel. One of the reasons it was more expensive was because of the fine restaurant it had in addition to its comfortable rooms. Clint had chosen to stay in the second best hotel in town, the Carlyle House, because a friend of his had recommended it. According to his friend, the Stockman was overrated and overpriced.

But the restaurant was very good. He knew that because he'd already had a couple of meals there, breakfast and dinner.

When he walked in, he didn't see banker Morgan anywhere, and it looked to him like all the tables had been taken.

“Can I help you, Mr. Adams?” the maître d' asked.

“I'm supposed to meet Mr. Morgan here for breakfast. I don't see him and you look crowded.”

“That's no problem, sir,” the man said. “We keep a table for Mr. Morgan in the back. If you'll follow me…”

Clint did so, and the man led him to a large table toward the back of the restaurant, which suited Clint just fine. He took the chair with his back to the wall, ordered coffee and settled in to wait.

At thirty-five, Tom Kent had been the sheriff of Virginia City for three years. Prior to that he'd held various deputy sheriff jobs around the country. He liked his job, but in three years he'd come to realize the things a sheriff had to deal with that a deputy never did. Like the town council and the mayor. Now, as he was walking down the street on his way to breakfast, he saw the president of the town council, the banker Arliss Morgan, coming toward him.

“Good morning, Sheriff,” Morgan said.

As usual, the suit he was wearing had cost him more than the sheriff's horse.

“Mr. Morgan,” the sheriff said.

“Off to breakfast?”

“Yes, sir.”

“I'm going to the Stockman myself.”

“A little too rich for someone on a lawman's salary,” Sheriff Kent said.

“Well…” Morgan said, and kept walking.

The old fool had brought a young wife back to town with him three years ago—almost the same month Kent had gotten his job—and now he was trying to keep her.

Kent didn't think there was much chance of that.

Clint was on his second cup of coffee when Arliss Morgan walked in and was shown to the table.

“I'm sorry I'm late,” Morgan said, sitting down. “I'm glad Walter took care of you.”

“Walter?” Clint asked, then realized the banker was referring to the man who had shown him to the table. “Oh, right, yeah, thanks.”

“I'll send the waiter right over,” Walter said.

“Thank you, Walter. Oh, and my guest's breakfast will be on my check.”

“Very well, sir.”

Clint picked up the coffeepot and asked, “Coffee?”

“Yes, thank you.” As soon as Clint finished pouring, Morgan picked up his cup and sipped. “It's good, isn't it?”

Clint had had better, but he nodded and said, “It's fine.”

“I don't mind telling you,” Morgan said, “I was impressed to learn that you would be playing in our game, but that was because I knew your reputation.”

Clint remained silent. He didn't know what the man was getting at, but he was willing to let him get there in his own time. After all, he was paying for breakfast.

The woman took the man's penis fully into her mouth and suckled it. He gasped and lifted his hips off the bed. She did things to him he'd never had a woman do before. She was bold, and aggressive, and he couldn't get enough of her.

She released him from her mouth, straddled him, reached beneath her to take him in her hand and guide him to her. Then she sat down on him, taking him inside slowly. She was hot and wet as she started to ride him up and down. He reached up for her full breasts, squeezed them in his hand, thumbed the nipples. She didn't seem to notice. She was completely entranced by what was happening between her legs. She began to bounce up and down on him, pressing her hands down on his chest, taking her weight on her legs. She was more squatting on him, not sitting, and she was in total control. At one point she lifted herself up and off him and he reached for her to pull her back down on him.

“Beg,” she said.

“What?”

“You want to keep fucking me, don't you?”

Her mouth. He'd never heard a woman talk like she did.

“Yes, yes, I do,” he said.

“Then beg for it,” she said. “Tell me how much you need me, or I'll leave.”

His penis was swollen and red and prodding the air.

“Please,” he said.

“Please what?”

“Please, let me…back in.”

“To do what?”

“To…to fuck you.”

“Honestly,” Diane Morgan, wife of the mayor, said, “for a lawman you talk like a Quaker.”

“Come on,” he said, “fuck me.”

“Ah, that's it,” she said. She lowered herself so she could run her wet, swollen pussy lips on the head of his penis. “What's the magic word?”

He reached for her and said hoarsely, “Please.”

“That's it,” she said, and swooped down on him, engulfing him.

“It's your poker playing that truly surprised me,” Morgan said.

“You expected me to play badly?”

“Well…no,” Morgan said. “I didn't mean any disrespect. No, Dave wouldn't have brought you into the game if you played badly. No, no, we're all good poker players. It just surprised me how…easily you took our money.”

Clint considered the situation for a moment, then thought, Oh, what the hell.

“Can I be frank with you without insulting you?” he asked.

“Of course,” Morgan said. “Feel free.”

Clint took a deep breath, then said, “You're all terrible poker players.”

“I beg your pardon?”

“That's why it was so easy for me to take your money,” Clint said. “You each have a tell that gives away when you're bluffing. I picked them all up within the first half hour.”

“A tell?” Morgan asked. “I have a tell?”

“You rest your hands on your belly and frown whenever you're going to bluff.”

Morgan stared at Clint in astonishment. “I do that?”

“Yes.”

“What about the others?”

“I'm not going to tell you what their tells are,” Clint said, “since you're probably going to continue playing with them. I'll just explain that the tells are there and very noticeable. All you have to do is look for them.”

“I'll keep that in mind,” Morgan said. “I'll also have to, uh, do something about my own, uh, little…tell.”

“I suggest keeping your hands on the table for a while, until you get used to keeping them off your, uh, belly.”

“Yes, well,” Morgan said, “this makes my proposal to you even more, er, necessary.”

After holding the pot out to Morgan and receiving a shake of the head in return, Clint poured himself another cup of coffee and waited.

“Some friends of mine and I are having a private game,” Morgan said. “A very private game.”

“Friends?”

“Men of considerable…holdings.”

“Rich men?”

“Exactly.”

“And where is this game taking place?”

“I'll keep that information, uh, private, if you don't mind, until you actually accept the proposition.”

“Okay,” Clint said. “When is this game to take place?”

“In a week's time.”

“Well,” Clint said, “you have time to do something about your tell.”

“There will be a lot of money on the table,” Morgan said, “a lot of money, and this is a winner-take-all game.”

“How many players?”

“Six.”

“From around the country?”

“From around the world.”

“Interesting.”

“Yes, it will be very interesting.”

“And where do I come in?”

At that moment the waiter came with their plates. They both leaned back to allow him to set them down. After he was gone, Morgan picked up his knife and fork and asked, “Would you like to eat and then continue, or talk while we eat?”

“Let's have a couple of bites, and then continue,” Clint said. “I'd just like to take the edge off my hunger so I can concentrate.”

“Very well.”

They both cut into their meat and began to eat…

Diane rolled over and away from her lover, Sheriff Tom Kent.

“That was…nice,” she said.

Kent rolled to the other side, swung his feet to the floor and hung his head.

“What's wrong?” she asked. “Didn't you like it?”

“Don't ever do that to me again,” he said.

“Do what, darling?”

He turned his head and looked at her from over his right shoulder.

“Make me beg like that.”

“Oh, darling,” she said, “that's just a game. If you don't like it, we won't play it again.”

“I don't like a lot of your games, Diane,” he said.

She leaned over and ran her hand down his naked back.

“But you'll put up with them, won't you?” She purred. “Just to be with me?”

“Don't always be so sure of me.”

She got on her knees behind him, pressed her full breasts to his back, reached around and took hold of his penis. In her experience, no man could resist when put in this position. She began to stroke his cock until it started to harden again.

“I won't do it to you again, darling, all right?” she asked.

“Hmm, yeah, yeah…” He was starting to breathe hard again. “Okay.”

She kissed his neck and ran one hand over his chest while continuing to work his penis with the other. It was just so wonderful to be with a young man—and a man younger than she was—after being around her husband. She had studied the men in town very carefully before choosing the young sheriff as her lover—and potential partner.

“Has your husband given you a clue yet about the game?” he asked.

“No,” she said, “I still don't know where it's going to be. But I will. You are going to help me, though, aren't you, Tommy? Hmm?”

“I'm still…thinking about…it…”

She released her hold on him and scraped her nipples across his back as she got off the bed and onto her knees in front of him. From that position, she took hold of his erection again.

“Let me help you decide,” she said, and slid him into her hot, eager mouth…