Red River Showdown (8 page)

The man didn't even flinch when he heard the question. He simply replied, “No knives allowed, either. If you have one, you should hand it over.”

“What if things get out of line?” Clint asked. “Some gamblers do tend to cheat, you know.”

The big man smirked and moved an arm to reveal the double-rig shoulder holster strapped beneath his jacket. “Anyone that steps out of line will be real sorry.”

“I guess that'll have to do,” Clint said.

Once he had what he was after, the big man stepped aside and let Clint pass. Mia fell into step beside Clint and took his arm.

“What's wrong with you?” she whispered. “Did something happen that I should know about?”

But Clint's eyes were already roaming over the room full of poker tables. As he looked for any trace of the man who'd had the knife, he found himself also studying the gamblers. With so many people there and so many more on the boat, Clint knew that looking for the man with the knife was like searching for a needle in a very big haystack.

“I'm just anxious to get into a game,” he said to Mia. “Do you have any suggestions on where I should start?”

She smiled and nodded toward her own table. “I've been saving you a seat.”

“Great. Why don't you let everyone know I'm coming and I'll get something to drink.”

“All right.”

When Mia left, Clint walked over to the big fellow who'd taken his guns. The man was taking Clint's gun belt to a narrow room guarded by more gunmen, who saw Clint coming right away. Clint held up his hands and approached the man he'd spoken to already.

“Is anyone expecting trouble on this boat?” Clint asked.

The big man shook his head and crossed his arms now that he'd passed off Clint's gun belt. “It's just like you said before. Gamblers tend to get cross when they play too long together. This is all just a precaution.”

“Whose precaution?”

“Pardon me?”

“Who's running this tournament?”

“Just have a seat and play some cards,” the big man said. “Leave the rest to us.”

“Someone may have stowed away,” Clint said. “And I don't think it was just so he could sit in on a game.”

That caused all the gunmen to straighten up and take notice. Their hands drifted toward their pistols, making Clint feel practically naked since his gun wasn't even in his possession. There were alternatives to having a gun at his side, however. Otherwise, he never would have let the modified Colt out of his hands.

“Where's the stowaway?” the big man asked.

“I ran into someone down in the laundry,” Clint explained. “Ask the women down there and they'll tell you all about it.”

The big man who'd taken Clint's gun glanced to one of the others nearby. That and a nod was all that was needed to get one of those men heading for the door. Turning back to Clint, the bigman said, “We'll look into it. Anything else you want to tell us?”

“Just that he's dangerous and good with a knife.”

“Thank you. Good luck with your game.”

Clint walked toward Mia's table. Around so many strangers, he didn't want to bring up what had happened, since the guards seemed to have things well in hand. Now Clint just needed to figure out why nobody had asked what the stowaway looked like or where he was headed.

One possibility was that the guards were overly confident that they could find anyone who didn't belong on the riverboat.

Another possibility was that they already knew about the man with the knife. Either way, Clint decided to keep what he'd seen under his hat until he was talking to someone he knew he could trust. On a riverboat full of poker players, something like that might be a little hard to come by.

The ace of spades flipped around the man's perfectly manicured fingers like a leaf that had caught a subtle breeze. It drifted in his grasp for a few seconds, landed in his palm and then was effortlessly tossed onto the table in front of him.

A knock came from his door, rattling through the small cabin like a clap of thunder.

“Come on in,” he said casually as his left hand drifted toward the gun secreted in his pocket.

The door opened, and the skinny knife fighter hurried inside. His stringy hair clung to his face, and a grin was plastered upon his mouth. As soon as he was inside, he closed the door to a narrow crack and positioned himself so he could stare through the crack at the narrow hallway outside.

“You smell terrible, Dench,” the well-dressed man sitting at the table said. “Even worse than usual, and that's saying a lot.”

Without moving from his spot, Dench shook his head and spoke in a rasping whisper. “I had to spend some time in the laundry.”

“That explains the smell. It doesn't explain why you're so late.”

“Not all of us got to walk on board like everyone else. You set up this fucking boat ride, Jack. How come I couldn't just walk onto the damn boat like a human being?”

The man sitting at the table froze in his spot. His hand had moved away from his gun and was now occupied with the game of solitaire he'd been playing before Dench's arrival. He had a full head of thick, black hair which hung around his face as if every strand was arranged as intricately as the clothes he wore.

An expensive silk suit was draped perfectly over broad shoulders and came complete with every accessory money could buy. Gold cuff links, a gold watch and a gold tie tack all matched one another perfectly. There were a few scars on his face, but even those seemed to be there to make him look a bit more dashing.

“I didn't set up this trip,” the handsome man said. “And I don't appreciate my employees calling me by my common name.”

Dench's first impulse was to turn away from the door with a disgusted sneer etched onto his face. His hand even started to move toward the knife tucked under his belt, but he stopped once he got a better look at the man seated in front of him.

Even though he hadn't moved more than a few muscles, the well-dressed man had made a slight shift in his manner that made him look less like a gentleman and more like a killer.

After a few seconds of staring death in the face, Dench said, “I just don't see why I had to stow away, Mr. Solomon.”

Solomon nodded slowly and looked back down at his cards. “You're a wanted man.”

“So are you.”

“Yes, but I conduct my business discreetly, whereas you tend to cause a commotion. Case in point, your entrance onto this boat, which was supposed to be nice and quiet.”

“It woulda been plenty quiet if I could've just kept my head down and walked on.”

Letting out a heavy sigh, Solomon started to set down the remainder of the deck of cards in his hand. Halfway through the motion, he wound up slamming down the cards with enough force to shake up the ones that had already been laid down. “I told you before, I didn't set this whole thing up. I steered a few choice people here and arranged for this to be an accommodating place for us to do our business.”

“Anyone that matters knows you're here. All you gotta do is snap yer fingers and I coulda—”

“I swear to Christ if you mention having to stow away one more time, I'll kill you where you stand. There's enough noise on this tub without you yelling about this stupid shit.”

Solomon kept his eye on Dench for a few more seconds, until it became clear that Dench wasn't going to push it any further.

“Didn't I tell you there might be some undesirables on board?” Solomon asked in a somewhat soothing tone.

“You mean the law?”

“That's precisely what I mean.”

“I thought you were gonna find out about that before this boat even got moving.”

Solomon looked down at the table in front of him and began meticulously putting every card exactly where it was supposed to be. “There were some men on the job, but they haven't reported back. We couldn't wait too long for them, so we had to cast off, set sail or whatever the hell else you call it once those damnable paddles start slapping against the water.”

Now, Dench took another look out the door. When he closed it this time, he did so very carefully. “How'd the law hear about this?”

“The men we're after aren't exactly unknown to the authorities. They could have been followed or they could have alerted them themselves if they caught wind that I might be here. That's why I couldn't risk you being seen in those few moments when it would have been easiest for someone to turn around and walk straight off this boat.”

Reluctantly, Dench said, “I guess that makes sense.”

“Now what happened to you? It looks as if you ran into some trouble.”

“Someone caught sight of me when I was trying to get out of the goddamn laundry room. I thought I was alone, but some damn Chinese bitch was in there quiet as a church mouse. I meant to shut her up and some asshole walked in on me.”

“Is this asshole dead?”

“No.”

Solomon nodded and gathered up the cards so they could be shuffled. “Good.”

“What the hell do you mean? He could be spreading the word right now, for all we know. He might just flap his lips in front of someone who knows me and then it'll be twice as hard to get done what we came to do.”

“Do you know who this person was?” Solomon asked.

“No.”

“And does he know who you are?”

Dench thought that over for a second before saying, “I don't think so.”

“Then there's no problem. Even if word of your little scuffle gets back to the captain of this boat, all he'll do is send some of the men that were hired to provide security for the gamblers to take a look in the laundry room. I've paid those men enough that they should overlook anything short of a bloodbath under the decks.” Fixing his eyes upon Dench, Solomon asked, “They won't find a bloodbath, will they?”

“Not yet.”

“Fine. There's no problem, then. We've got one more quick stop to make and then you can spill all the blood you want. Just try to stay out of sight until tomorrow.”

“What if that asshole finds me?”

“Then you're not half as good as I think you are, and I'll be better off without you.”

Dench watched to see if Solomon was kidding. It was as useless as waiting for a corpse to sneeze.

Clint was sitting at a table with Mia to his left and a portly fellow with a thick red beard to his right. The man with the red beard was named Barry, and he sat with an empty chair on his other side. On the other side of that empty chair was a man in a white suit named Jones.

Since the liquor had started flowing almost as soon as the boat had gotten moving, spirits were high in the large poker room. Women wearing long skirts and low-cut blouses strolled by every few minutes to refill drinks and give the gamblers something to look at when they were sitting out for a hand.

Although Clint knew better than to indulge in too much beer so early in a game, he was enjoying himself even more than he'd anticipated. It seemed all the gamblers were pacing themselves, so the stakes were remaining fairly low and the games were all mostly friendly. He knew that would change once everyone had felt one another out, so Clint enjoyed the calm before the inevitable storm.

“Where's the captain of this ship?” Barry asked.

Being the most straight-faced one at the table, Jones was quick to reply, “Probably steering or making sure things are running smoothly.”

“I just hope he's not drinking along with the rest of these card cheats,” Clint added, keeping his tone more in line with Barry's joking nature. “Otherwise it's just a matter of time before we run aground.”

Barry lifted his glass as well as his voice. “Here's to the captain!”

Surprisingly enough, those words were met with a round of applause as well as several other glasses raised at several other tables.

Tipping back the large stein, Barry drained some of the beer inside as some more dribbled down his chin to be soaked up by his red beard. “He sure knows how to throw a party!”

“It's your deal,” Jones said.

Barry slammed his mug down and wiped his chin like a Viking after pillaging a small village. “Hand over them cards and let me show you how it's done.”

Jones slid the deck toward Barry and counted his chips for the tenth time in the last hour. He nodded and then looked around before letting his eyes settle back upon Mia.

Since he'd already seen Jones go through his nervous rituals several times, Clint took a quick look toward the spot where the guards held onto the gamblers' coats and guns. Unlike the previous times he'd looked, Clint now saw the man who'd been sent to check on the situation in the laundry room. He was just finishing speaking with the head guard, who then looked over to Clint as if he knew he was being watched.

The big man met Clint's questioning stare, shook his head and then went about his other business.

“Are you looking for someone?” Mia asked.

Just then, two women entered the room and immediately drew the eyes of everyone else in the place. It would have been impossible to miss them. The blondes walked arm in arm and smiled as if they were greeting every last person, one by one.

The men returned the blondes' smiles with a nod, wave or grin of their own.

The other women in the room weren't quite so glad to see the new arrivals. Mia was no exception.

“Oh,” she said dryly. “That's what you were looking at.”

Clint meant to deny the accusing tone in her voice at first, but it was difficult to make that seem credible since he was having a hard time taking his eyes off the two blondes. “Actually, I know them,” he said.