Dead Man's Hand (31 page)

Tonight her dress was all shimmering gold. Penstemon's suit was dark blue, with a burnished gold tie. Arnold wondered if they were a couple.

Maybe he could get to Penstemon through the girl? No, direct approach was the best way, but he had to get close to slip Penstemon the bundle, and Penstemon was keeping his distance.

Arnold gave it up for the present and turned his attention to the game. Chips went back and forth among the players, but there were no big bets at first. Everyone was warming up, settling in.

Arnold watched their faces. Runyon was still a bundle of tells, but Hickok had settled in to a steady, flat calm that was harder to read. Weare hadn't been very readable from the start, wily lawyer bastard. Arnold hated lawyers, except the ones he could buy. Those he didn't hate, exactly, though he didn't have much respect for them either.

He had an idea how he could rattle Weare. Glancing at the audience in the bleachers, he saw Weare's two girlfriends sitting in the front like last night. Arnold caught Joanie's eye, smiled and blew her a kiss. She ducked her head, looking self-conscious, then smiled shyly back.

Let Weare worry about that for a while. Arnold suppressed a grin as he glanced sidelong at Weare to see if he'd noticed.

He had. Weare called a big bet from Hickok, who took the pot with three sevens over Weare's two pair. Two of the sevens had been on the board, and Weare should have known better than to call.

Pleased with himself, Arnold raised the blinds on the next hand with an ace-king. Weare folded, Hickok called, and Runyon raised the bet twenty grand. Arnold gazed at him, decided his fidgeting meant he wasn't sure of the hand, and called the bet. Hickok called, too, and the flop was jack-ten-six, all diamonds.

Hickok checked. Runyon pushed the rest of his chips forward, about forty thousand.

“All in,” Runyon said, looking up with a brutish frown.

Arnold had the king of diamonds. Runyon might hold the ace, but he didn't think so, not from the nervous way Runyon was clamping his jaws again and again, chewing on nothing. Looking at his own stack, Arnold decided it was worth the risk. If he lost, he'd still have over a hundred grand.

“Call,” he said.

He looked to Hickok, expecting him to fold. To his surprise, the cowboy waved his hands forward.

“I'm all in, too.”

Hickok's stack was only slightly larger than Runyon's, so Arnold called the difference. Might as well, with the amount he had in the pot already. He could draw two more aces, or make the flush. Stranger things had happened.

“Turn ‘em up,” said the dealer.

Runyon showed a pair of kings and stood up, pacing nervously. That beat Arnold's ace-king, unless he paired the ace or got another diamond for the flush. Runyon let out a greedy laugh as Arnold showed his cards.

Hickok turned over ace-nine of diamonds. Nut hand. He'd win unless Runyon made a full house, which wasn't very likely.

“Shit!” Runyon said, stomping back and forth like a caged tiger. “Shit, shit!”

“Very nice,” Arnold said quietly to Hickok.

The gunslinger glanced upward beneath the brim of his huge hat. “Thanks.”

The dealer turned up a jack of spades, making a pair on the board. Another jack or the fourth king would give Runyon the win. The idiot was practically dancing, eyes desperate, hands in and out of his pockets as he waited for the purple girl to deal the river card.

Ace of hearts.

The crowd gave a roar of excitement. Runyon stepped back from the table, staring at Hickok.

“You fucking bastard! You fucking—!”

And then he began to dissolve. Arnold took out his pocket handkerchief and held it over his mouth and nose. He'd meant to close his eyes, too, but a slight movement to the side caught his attention.

It was Penstemon, crumbling something between his hands, blowing the dust away. A chill went down Arnold's spine.

Runyon's voice turned to a wordless howl that spiraled upward. His ghost drifted up, too, spinning, arms flailing as if he couldn't get his balance. Everyone in the place was watching him, and Arnold glanced again at Penstemon to see if he was distracted enough for Arnold to slip him the whammy.

No go—the sorcerer finished crumbling whatever it was, dusted his hands, and signaled to Gaeline. She stepped in front of the camera and began giving the go-to-break spiel.

The dealer was counting up Hickok's stack. She looked up at Arnold.

“Seventy-nine thousand.”

Arnold nodded and counted out the same from his own stack. She pushed it to Hickok along with Runyon's chips. That hand had made Hickok the chip leader by a good hundred grand.

Arnold riffled a few of his remaining chips, pondering whether he should have folded. No, it had been a good call. What had happened was he'd let Runyon distract him, and Hickok had slipped in the winning hand without his noticing.

He sighed and stood up. No point in worrying about it. He had other fish to fry.

Penstemon was talking to a couple of people from the audience, looked like bigwigs, dark suits, no weird hair or extra appendages. Arnold gazed at him for a minute, then followed Weare over to chat with the girls.

“Tough luck, Arnold,” said Alma.

Arnold shrugged. “Win some, you lose some. Hiya, Joanie, how you doing? Care to come for a stroll with me? Protect me from the ravaging hordes?”

Joanie giggled, then stepped down and took his arm. Arnold strolled away, nodding over his shoulder to Weare and Alma. Weare looked suspicious.

Good, thought Arnold, bending down to whisper a comment in Joanie's ear about the Rainbow Girls, a set of seven giggly teens in the audience, each wearing a different spectral color with their hair dyed to match. Joanie had mentioned them earlier in the day. Arnold hadn't noticed them last night, and accused Joanie of making them up.

“I owe you a nickel,” he said now. “You were right.”

She smiled smugly. “Told you so.”

“You sure did. Hey, Joanie, how'd you like to help me play a trick on Penstemon?”

“Trick?”

“Yeah, just a joke, you know. Get him back a little for the cats.”

Joanie's eyes narrowed. “What did you have in mind?”

“I got this smelly herb bundle here,” he said.

He made sure Penstemon wasn't watching, then withdrew the charm from his pocket and placed it in her hand. He slid his hand back in his pocket and around the command stick.

“Just slip it in his pocket, OK? Give him a stink.”

“OK,” she said, nodding. Her eyes looked a little glazed.

“Don't let him see you do it. Just sidle up close to him and drop it in when no one's looking.”

“Yes.” She nodded again.

“Good girl. Keep it out of sight for now. You're having a good time, right?”

She broke into a beaming smile. “Right.”

He got her a drink and a soda for himself at the cash bar set up in one corner of the ballroom. The other people in line there were chattering about Runyon's wipeout. Arnold didn't comment, just smiled and nodded to the ones who congratulated him.

“Let's head back,” he said to Joanie. He wanted to do this before the cameras came on again.

“OK,” she said.

Too docile. He liked her better when she was shooting her yap off every other minute about some bit of historical trivia. Maybe he'd keep her around, dress her up, pamper her a little.

Trouble was, she was the honest type. She might think she had to rat on him, not that it would do any good. Once he got control, he knew how to keep it.

He guided her back to the stands, where Penstemon was still chatting with the bigwigs. He whispered in her ear, then leaned against the rail and watched her drift through the crowd, working her way toward Penstemon.

Arnold kept a tight grip on the stick in his pocket. He didn't want to get too close, but he wasn't sure about its range, so he took a few rambling steps that brought him closer to Joanie and Penstemon. He hoped to hell he hadn't negated the charm by handing it to Joanie—should've asked about that, damn it, but now it was too late.

He sipped his soda, watching Joanie intently. She sidled nearer to Penstemon, nearer. Within arm's reach now. Penstemon glanced up, saw her, smiled, and went back to his conversation. Arnold took another swig of his drink.

She had the thing in her hand, which she was holding at the small of her back while she chatted with a woman—he thought it was a woman from the shape—wrapped head to toe in bandages and wearing dark glasses. Penstemon couldn't see what was Joanie's hand, but others might. Arnold clamped his jaws shut on his impatience.

She edged nearer to Penstemon, not looking at him, just shuffling slightly sideways as she conversed. Almost close enough.

“Sweet little thing, isn't she?”

Arnold's heart skipped, but he managed to keep from jumping. Weare had come up beside him without his noticing. Bad—he'd have to pay more attention. That sort of thing could get you killed.

“Joanie? Sure,” he said, angling his body toward Weare's while still watching her.

“You wouldn't disappoint her now, would you?” Weare said.

“Not sure what you mean.”

Joanie was turning the herb bundle around in her hand. Hell, she better not drop it!

“I mean you wouldn't be thinking of taking advantage. You've got a hungry way of looking at her, Arnold.”

Her hand slid down to her side. She was right next to Penstemon, facing slightly away.

Someone nearby laughed loudly, and for a second everyone paused to look. Joanie's hand came up and dropped the bundle into Penstemon's pocket. Arnold breathed a sigh of relief, then turned to face Weare.

“What do you take me for, some no-class two-bit loser? She's a good kid, I won't hurt her.”

Weare smiled and gave a nod, looking very regal in his fancy old-style cravat. “Very glad to hear it, old boy. You know, I had to ask. She's my guest, in a way.”

“Sure, I understand.” Arnold flashed the shyster his best smile, then said, “Would you excuse me? Better freshen up before we get started again.”

Without waiting for an answer he stepped away, striding in the direction of the hallway. He stopped before he got there, though, and stood behind one of the cameras, presently dormant and unattended. From there he could see Penstemon clearly. Joanie had drifted away from him again and was now chatting with the Rainbow Girls.

Arnold finished his soda, got rid of the cup, and slid his hand into his pocket. Closing it around the stick, he spoke in a whisper.

“Check your watch.”

Penstemon stiffened for a moment, then looked at his watch. A flood of elation rushed through Arnold. He savored the triumph for just a few seconds, then spoke again.

“Say goodbye, then come over to the table.”

He watched Penstemon's head bob, watched him shake hands with one guy, pat the other on a shoulder. The sorcerer turned around then and started for the poker table. His face wore a frown that seemed half confusion, half concentration.

He was trying to break the spell. Arnold's heart gave a frightened thump, and he gripped the stick harder. He'd have to make this quick.

Strolling idly toward the table as Penstemon approached, Arnold smiled and nodded as if they were meeting casually. No one else was near, but just in case he still whispered.

“Walk over to that rack of lights with me.”

Penstemon moved stiffly beside him, eyes flashing anger. His lips were moving. Maybe he was trying to work a spell.

“Don't talk,” Arnold told him hastily, and Penstemon stopped.

When they got to the light rack, Arnold positioned them so they were mostly hidden from view by the equipment. Penstemon's frown had deepened.

“Show me the magic things you've got for us players, like the one you crumbled when Runyon lost.”

Penstemon put a hand in his pocket and drew out three small, roughly round objects that were gray and lumpy like papier mâché. Arnold's blood went cold as he saw them. So fragile, so easily destroyed. They lay in the palm of the sorcerer's hand like little eggs.

“Which one's mine?” Arnold demanded.

Penstemon pointed to one and Arnold picked it up with his free hand. Step one, take away any power Penstemon had over him. He thought about telling Penstemon to crush the other two right then, but that would attract attention. He wanted to do this quietly.

“OK, do the magic to make my body permanent.”

Penstemon blinked, then slowly shook his head. Arnold cussed under his breath.

“Why not? You can talk to tell me.”

“I don't have the things I need,” Penstemon said in a tight voice. “I have to do it in a power circle.”

“Shit. Where's that, up in your suite?”

“Yes.”

“Crap.”

Arnold thought furiously, then glanced up at the big movie screens. They were playing his interview, and he was momentarily distracted by his own face large on the screen.

“OK, tell them to play another interview, then meet me out at the elevators. We're going up to your suite.”

“I don't think so,” drawled a low voice nearby.

Arnold jumped and turned. Hickok was standing there, holding his six-shooter aimed at Arnold's heart.

 

 

 

 

J
ames held Rothstein at gunpoint, wondering what the hell to do next. There was magic going on, he could tell by the cold prickling of his flesh, and he didn't know what to do about it. Somehow Rothstein was making Penstemon do things. From the look on the sorcerer's face he wasn't happy about it.

Penstemon started to walk away. James kept his gaze on Rothstein.

“Tell him to come back.”

“Come back,” Rothstein muttered, his dark eyes hard and angry.

“What are you doing to him?” James demanded.

Rothstein laughed then; a nasty laugh. “Go to hell!”