The Devil You Know (40 page)

Happy told them what he recalled.

Malcolm shook his head. “That could be anybody.”

“No,” said Willa. “It couldn't. It couldn't be Buster, for instance. He's too short, too square. Easterbrook is a little
rangy, loose-limbed, like our Cutter. Don't you still have a cowboy working for you named Hammond?”

“Sure,” said Eli. “But he's a colored fellow.”

“That's what I recall, too. See, it can't be him either. You better keep thinking.”

Malcolm said, “Well, I guess it fits Jesse Snow better than anyone. He'd be the youngest hand working the ranch. Doesn't make a lick of sense why he'd come to you with any kind of story. I never needed to ask anyone to poke around here when I could find whatever I wanted to know by just asking in town.”

“That's you, Malcolm. I don't know if Eli can say the same.” She picked up her drink again. “Can you, Eli?”

“This is a little bit ridiculous,” he said.

Everyone stared at him.

“Why would I—” He stopped, pushed back in his chair without rocking it, and began again. “Very well. It must have been Jesse. I don't know anything about Samuel Easterbrook or why Jesse felt he had to use a name other than his own, but I sent him here because of you, Willa.”

“Me?”

“I heard you finally accepted some man's proposal. I didn't think I would be welcome, so I asked Jesse to come in my stead and relay my best wishes. That was it. He told me that's what he did, although he did say that you and your husband were not here. I figured it for a missed opportunity and didn't think any more of it.”

“Hmm. If that's all it was, why not say so right off when I told you we had a visitor?”

Eli shrugged. “A man's embarrassment can tie his tongue, can't it?”

“I suppose. Are you sure that all he was supposed to do was pass on your congratulations?”

“I'm sure.”

Still curious, Willa rubbed the hollow behind her ear with the back of her fingers while she continued to frown. “Happy? What was the name of the man Easterbrook said he was looking for?”

“Give me a moment. It'll come to me.” He sipped his
drink as if it could supply inspiration. His eyebrows climbed his forehead and he smiled widely. “Buck McKay.”

Eli's drink sloshed over the rim of his tumbler as his arm jerked.

Willa pounced. “You know that name, Eli?”

“What is she talking about, son?” asked Malcolm. “Who is Buck McKay? For God's sake, don't tell me he's working for us, too.”

“He doesn't,” said Willa. She stood and walked to the archway. Israel was waiting patiently in the hall, his shoulder braced against the wall, his arms crossed casually in front of him. Like Eli, he was wearing a gun belt. Unlike their guest, he was grinning. “You heard?”

Israel pulled his spectacles down from where they were resting on top of his head and settled them on his nose. “Everything.”

Willa stared at his extraordinarily colored blue-gray eyes through the lenses, shook her head, and said under her breath, “It's indecent how handsome you look in those.” She could only shake her head again, helplessly this time, when surprise made him blink. “You better follow me now.”

Composed again, Willa stepped back into the front room and then to the side to make space for Israel. Before she began proper introductions, Eli was on his feet. Willa could only imagine what was going through his mind, but at least he retained enough sense to keep his hand away from his gun.

“Sit down, Eli. Please.”

Eli took a step backward, retreating in the direction of the fireplace, not the rocking chair. He might have kept on going if Malcolm had not barked at him to sit. As if pierced, Eli deflated from the puffed-up balloon he had been and was fortunate to get the rocker under him before he completely collapsed.

Eli was no sooner down than Malcolm was on his feet. “Someone damn well better tell me what's going on. Is this your husband, Wilhelmina?”

Israel did not wait for her to answer. Pretending that Malcolm coming to his feet was an introductory gesture and not a gauntlet being thrown, he walked over and held out his
hand. He waited for Malcolm to take it before he spoke. “You must be Malcolm Barber,” he said. “You can imagine I've heard quite a lot about you and Big Bar. I am Israel McKenna.” Off to the side, he heard Eli emit a soft, somewhat despairing groan. He released Malcolm's hand but did not step back yet. “As you might suspect, Mr. Barber, your son and I are already acquainted.”

Malcolm had a sharp glance for Eli. “Is he speaking the truth, Eli? Do you know him?”

Eli's fingertips whitened where they gripped the arms of the rocker. “The last I saw him, he told me his name was Buck McKay. Jesse knew him by that name, too.”

Malcolm's eyes darted between Eli and Israel. His frown folded his broad forehead into deep furrows. When he finally spoke, it was Willa that he addressed. “You told me your husband was with Cutter. Was that a lie?”

“It was,” she said unapologetically.

“And that's your idea of putting your cards on the table? You begin with a lie?”

“It was my opening bid, yes. And Israel here is my final one. Eli can tell you everything you want to know, or you can have it from Israel, but you really do need to hear one of them out. Now.”

Israel returned to Willa's side and waited for Malcolm to decide who the storyteller would be.

Happy ventured into the heavy silence by rising from the sofa on very steady feet and going to the tray that held the whiskey. With a hand that never trembled, he gave Malcolm a generous pour and splashed some in his own glass before he set the decanter down. He looked sideways at Willa and winked.

“You're not drunk,” said Malcolm. His tone was less accusing than it was resigned.

Happy shrugged. “I might lay myself out later once we resolve this business. That'd be a reason to celebrate. But now, I'm itchin' to hear what Eli's got to say for himself.”

Willa admired her father's intervention. Prompting Malcolm to take one direction was the surest way to push him in the other.

Malcolm thrust his chin at Israel. “I want to hear from you.” He did not return to the sofa but chose the armchair where Willa had previously been sitting. That vantage point gave him a good view of all parties.

Israel said, “I met Eli after the train I was taking from Chicago took on more cars and passengers in Saint Louis. There was a poker game going on in one of the cars, and I stopped to watch even though I only meant to pass through. Eli was doing well. He lost some hands now and again, as I recall, but he always came back. It was hard not to admire that skill, so I stayed around. There were some others that did, too. Some men left the game and others joined. Eli stayed. I observed until I figured out his game, and then I got in.”

“What do you mean, you figured out his game?” asked Malcolm.

Israel had no memory of doing any such thing on that train, but he knew his habits on the riverboats and doubted he had deviated from what worked so well in the past. He had also been keeping an eye on Eli's expression as he spoke and while Eli's fine features had finally settled into one of credible calm, he had very little color in his complexion and the faintest tic at the corner of his left eye. Israel was confident that he had not misspoken yet.

“Your son cheats,” said Israel. “And not badly. Not badly at all. I'm sure that's the reason no one called him out.”

Eli sat forward in the rocker. “That's a goddamn lie.”

“Well, I'm not surprised you'd say that, but I had hoped you could appreciate the compliment. You were good.”

“You know damn well that you were the one cheating. You're the card sharp.”

“I've been called that before, so I've learned not to take offense, but I have to tell you that you're wrong. I don't cheat. Part of learning your game is figuring how I can best you without using tricks like dealing from the bottom or holding back a card or playing with a marked deck. You cheated indiscriminately, taking money from everyone. In my eyes, at least, I played a much fairer game, taking most of my winnings from you.”

Israel tracked Eli's every movement from the rise and
fall of his breathing to the subtle contraction of his fingers on the arms of the rocker.

“You remember me telling you that, don't you? Or some version of it. I told you all of it when you demanded your money back, and I think you knew then that I was speaking the truth. You simply didn't want to hear that I'd won fairly, or maybe you couldn't hear it. I don't think I mistook your desperation to have your losses returned.”

Malcolm was looking at his son now. “How much did you lose, Eli?”

“Nothing,” said Eli.

Israel chuckled flatly. “He's not lying, Mr. Barber. I guess since he stole it all back from me, he didn't lose a penny.”

“But he says you cheated. He was in the right.”

“See? That is where we have a difference of opinion.”

Malcolm asked Israel, “How much did you win?”

“I can't give you a precise figure. I never really had a chance to count it, but it filled a bag about so big. Almost all of it came from your son.” He caught the faint narrowing of Eli's eyes and adjusted the spread of his hands to make the bag bigger.

Malcolm clutched his glass but spoke without inflection. “You are mistaken, Mr. McKenna. Eli has never had that kind of money to lose.”

Happy slapped his knee. “That's exactly the answer I expected from you, Mal. Can't you disappoint me just once?”

“Happy,” Willa said gently. “Allow me, please.” When her father offered his reluctant nod, she continued. “No one truly thought you'd say anything else, Mal. How can you when we all know the money Eli was carrying was really yours? It's hard to believe that he didn't accept a check for whatever business he transacted for you in Saint Louis, but that's hubris for you. I'm only supposing here, you understand, but it makes sense to me that Eli would want to put all that money at your feet, so to speak, just to prove he was worthy of your trust. Does that sound about right?”

Malcolm said nothing.

“What about you, Eli? Sound right to you?” Her stare dropped to his twitchy fingers. “Oh, for God's sake, Eli.
Don't go for your gun. That will not end well. We're going to settle this real easy.”

Eli was immediately suspicious. “How's that?”

“Well, as long as your father is willing to put up what you stole from Israel, and you agree to the terms, then it'll be cards.”

“Now why would I want to play poker with him?” asked Eli. “I already told you he's a sharp. The game will be fixed.”

“On behalf of my husband, it's hard not to take offense to that, but I'm going to let it pass because I know what's at stake for you. There will be no poker. High card draw, one draw each. If you draw high, that means your father gets to keep every penny of his that you lost to Israel, and for you it means that we won't tell him exactly what you did to steal it back. You think about that, because there's plenty that hasn't been said and you know it.”

“Maybe I want to hear it anyway,” said Malcolm.

Happy shook his head. “No. You don't. It's a sorry story.”

Malcolm asked Willa, “Why should I put up my money? My son says he took back what he was cheated out of. He should have called your husband out.”

“We could debate that until spring and still not have a clear winner, but if you don't put up the money and sign a paper that says you did, then we're going to the sheriff and Eli's going to jail. I'm not promising that it won't happen regardless, but it's a guarantee if you don't stay and play.”

Malcolm snorted. He stood and walked over to the fireplace. For a few moments, he toyed with the iron poker and was still holding it when he turned around. “Listen to me, Wilhelmina. Brandywine is not going to put my son in jail for stealing. Your husband's word carries no weight around here, and you weren't with him on that train or I'd have heard about it.”

“Put up the money,” Eli said suddenly. “I'll play.”

“You're still real easy with someone else's money, son, just like you were on that train. I don't like the fact that you had a card sharp at your table, but I like it even less that you played with my money. I'll put up the money, Eli, but I will be drawing the card, not you.”

Eli's jaw clenched and unclenched. “Willa mentioned
hubris,” he said tautly. “I guess everyone here sees how deeply it's rooted in the Barber tree.”

Willa covered her mouth with her hand when Malcolm took a step toward Eli as if he meant to strike him with the poker. She did not know what stopped him where he stood or what stayed his hand, but she was grateful for it until she caught sight of the murderous look in Eli's eyes. That was when comprehension took her breath away. She was staring at a man who could surely kill his father.

Malcolm said, “Where do we do this? Here?”

“Yes.” Willa lifted the lid on the piano bench and produced a document and a pen. “I prepared this in anticipation that we would come to an agreement. It only requires that Eli's name be changed to yours as the person who will draw the card, and then both of you will sign it.”

Israel took the paper and pen from her and carried them to Malcolm. He waited without speaking as Malcolm read the agreement and then asked for the pen. Laying the document on the mantelpiece, he struck out Eli's name, added his, and then signed it. Israel took it to Eli, gave him the same courtesy of time, and when it was done, he turned it over to Happy for safekeeping.

Happy nodded, satisfied, and stood. “I'll get the cards.”

“I'll want to look them over,” Malcolm said.

“Fine by me,” Happy called back, heading into the hall. “Brand-new deck. Never been opened. Gift from my daughter when she was up Lansing way.” He continued to talk but his voice was less clear as he got farther away and then disappeared entirely after the back door opened and closed.