Ace in the Hole

by J. R. Roberts

  Clint told himself this man was a bad poker player. It didn’t much matter what he found impressive. Still, sixty thousand dollars was a lot of money.

  “What happens if I don’t win?”

  “Do you need a guarantee?”

  “Of some sort,” Clint said.

  “I will cover all travel expenses,” Morgan said, “and if we don’t win, I will pay you five thousand.”

  Five thousand for playing and losing was almost irresistible. Well, okay, it was damned irresistible. But he didn’t want to seem too easy.

  “Let me think it over,” Clint said. “When do you need to know by?”

  “The game is Friday. We will have to leave on Wednesday. That gives you four days to decide.”

  “And if I don’t go?”

  “I’ll have to hire a bodyguard and play myself.”

  “You’ll be carrying your stake with you?”

  “Yes,” Morgan said. “I can’t bring a bank note of transfer with me. There is no bank where we’d be going.”

  “I see.”

  Morgan leaned back, looked at Clint and asked, “Do you have anything better to do?”

  Tom Kent went and had breakfast at a small café. When he’d run into Morgan on the street and found out he was going to breakfast at the Stockman, he knew the man would be busy for a while. He gave up his breakfast in favor of an hour with Diane. Now he was hungry.

  Over breakfast of ham and eggs he thought about Diane’s offer. He didn’t know exactly how much money was involved, but she assured him it was a lot. Money and Diane were hard to resist, especially for a man who was disenchanted with both his job and his life.

  If he was going to do it, though, he was going to need help. Not a lot of help, but the right kind of help. And he thought he knew just the man for the job.

  He threw down his money for the breakfast and hurried out to his office. He still hadn’t made up his mind about going through with it—about becoming a lawbreaker rather than a peacekeeper—but there was no harm in doing a little research.

  Diane left the small hotel, blowing the young desk clerk a kiss. That, plus the money she paid him, kept him silent about the room she kept there. In the end, though, it really didn’t matter if Arliss knew about it or not. He wouldn’t do anything.

  She walked through town, exchanging greetings with other women on the street who she knew talked about her behind her back. The whore that the banker had brought back from the West Coast. She didn’t care. They were all prudish, shriveled women who were unhappy in their own lives but would never admit it.

  She not only admitted it, she was going to do something about it.

  EIGHT

  Clint left the Stockman Hotel, while Arliss Morgan decided to have an after-breakfast drink. He also said he had some business to conduct in a part of the hotel that was a “private club.”

  “I’ll get back to you on this as quickly as I can,” Clint said.

  “I will be over at Dave’s place playing poker each night this week,” Morgan said. “You can find me there. I’m going to have to work on purging myself of this tell.”

  As Clint left, he was thinking: If the man purged himself of his belly, he’d have a better chance of losing that tell.

  On his way back to his hotel he passed a woman who reeked of sex. It wasn’t that she smelled like it. It just immediately came to mind when he saw her. She belonged naked in a bed, not walking down the street, and not doing whatever it was she was going to be doing the rest of the day. She had long, auburn hair, full, thrusting breasts, and men and women alike watched her as she walked by. She ignored them all, however, except for Clint. As she passed him she locked eyes with him boldly, and when he looked back to watch her walk away she was also looking back at him. Another time, another place, he might have gone after her…

  As Diane looked back over her shoulder, she saw that the man was looking at her as well. Some other time, she would have grabbed him and dragged him to a hotel. He wasn’t like the other men in town. He walked different, wore his gun different, and he looked at her different.

  As they went their separate ways, she wondered: Who was he?

  As Clint turned away from the woman, he almost walked right into Dave Hopeville.

  “Dave,” he said. “Sorry.”

  “What’re you lookin’ at?” Dave asked.

  “That woman. See her? Walking away?”

  “Oh,” Dave said.

  “What? You know who she is?”

  “Even from the back.”

  “Who?”

  “That’s Diane Morgan.”

  “Morgan?”

  Dave nodded.

  “Banker Morgan’s wife.”

  “She is thirty years younger than him.”

  “At least.”

  “I can see why the women on the street look at her the way they do.”

  “And you already know why the men are lookin’ at her,” Dave said.

  “Must be tough for a man that age to keep a woman like that happy.”

  “Money helps,” Dave said.

  “But money isn’t everything.”

  “Well, I don’t envy Arliss Morgan bein’ married to her.”

  “You’re probably the only man in town who doesn’t.”

  “Don’t get me wrong,” Dave said. “I’d like to get her out of that dress as much as the next man, but I wouldn’t want to be married to her and have the problem of keepin’ her happy.”

  “You might have a point there.”

  “Where are you off to?” the saloon owner asked. “Or coming back from?”

  “Back from breakfast with Morgan.”

  “Ah,” Dave said. “Did he make you an offer?”

  “You know about his game?”

  “Most people in our business do.”

  “Well, I’m not in your business,” Clint responded, “so it was news to me.”

  “I figured he’d be interested in you as a bodyguard of some kind. Am I right?”

  “You’re right,” Clint said, not bothering to fill the man in on the rest of the offer.

  “Well, if he offered you a bundle, hold him up for more and take the job,” Dave said. “It’s probably not his money anyway.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “There’s some talk in town about him and his practices at the bank,” Dave said.

  “Like maybe he’s using bank money?” Clint asked.

  “To fund his gambling,” Dave added. “You played with him. He’s terrible at it.”

  “Yes, he is.”

  “In fact, I’m on my way to the bank now. I’ll see you later tonight?”

  “I’ll be in,” Clint said.

  He headed back to his hotel, wondering if the hundred thousand that Morgan was putting up for the game belonged to the people of Virginia City.

  NINE

  Clint spent the day thinking over Morgan’s offer. Sixty grand was hard to turn down, five grand not as hard but still difficult. But if the money was coming from the bank—and coming out of the pockets of the Virginia City residents—could he, in all good conscience, take it? Maybe what he needed to do was confront Morgan with people’s suspicions. Let the man explain, if he could, or simply convince Clint that the money he was putting up for the game was his own.

  Late in the afternoon he went to the Red Garter and got himself a beer at the bar. His breakfast had filled him to the point where he was only just now getting hungry again. He thought to start with a beer and then go off in search of supper.

  The Garter was just beginning to pick up. The covers had been taken off the gaming tables and men were starting to file in to play. The girls had just come down, preparing to work the floor. Clint saw Andrea, who smiled and waved, but he did not see Loretta yet. Also, Arliss Morgan was not present.

  The bartender recognized him. Clint had to grope for his name but came up with it by the time the man brought him his beer.

  “Thanks, Travis.”

  “Heard you t
ook some money off the town fathers last night,” Travis said. “Good for you. I been a bartender for over thirty years. Love to see somebody take the town leaders.”

  “How long have you been working here?”

  “About three years.”

  Clint studied the man. If he had been a bartender for thirty years, he must have started in his late teens, unless he just looked good for his age.

  “Fifty,” Travis said.

  “What?”

  “You’re wonderin’ how old I am,” the man said. “I’m fifty. I look good for my age, not a day over forty-five.”

  “And you’re a mind reader.”

  “Comes with the job.”

  He went off to draw beers for some new arrivals just as Andrea sidled up to Clint

  “Hi, handsome.”

  “Andrea,” he said. “You’re looking as lovely as ever.”

  “Sure, sweet-talk me while you’re sleepin’ with my best friend,” she said. “I thought we had a good time the other night.”

  “We did.”

  “But you like Loretta better than me?”

  “Well, no, not better—uh, I mean—just diff—”

  “Relax, cowboy,” she said, slapping his arm. “I’m just kiddin’. We’re friends, we share. In fact, we kinda thought tonight we’d share you.”

  “Uh, tonight? Share?”

  “Yeah, you know…as in, you, her…and me? Whataya say? You brave enough?”

  “I think I could manage to dredge up the courage,” he said.

  All he had to worry about was dredging up the stamina. Each woman had almost worn him out on her own. Both of them together? Now, that was daunting.

  “We’ll see you later, then,” she said, stroking him beneath the chin.

  He watched her walk away and thought that if he were a praying man, he’d say a prayer for himself.

  Sheriff Tom Kent sat behind his desk, papers strewn across it. Telegrams, wanted posters, correspondence with federal sources. His suspicions were correct. Tito Calhoun was out of prison.

  Kent knew Calhoun from when they were both young men. Kent had come west from Massachusetts; Calhoun had come north from Mexico, where his mother and father still lived. They met in Arizona, both working hands on a small ranch, and talked about what their futures would be like. Calhoun eventually joined up with a gang who robbed banks and trains. Kent got a job as a young deputy in a small Kansas cow town.

  Kent remembered Calhoun as a man who was deadly with a knife and a gun. He’d heard that Calhoun had gotten himself sent to Huntsville Prison several years ago, but he thought that he had received notice recently that Calhoun had been paroled. After going through all his paperwork, he discovered that he was right.

  So if he decided to go through with this, he had four days to recruit Tito Calhoun, and leave it to Calhoun to recruit a few other men.

  That meant he was going to have to make his decision quickly, and act just as quickly.

  At that moment the door opened and Mayor Tisdale entered. He had some inane request of the sheriff, something demeaning, and by the time the conversation was over Kent had made his decision.

  TEN

  Clint was having a second beer when the sheriff walked in. They had met on Clint’s first day when he’d gone and introduced himself to the local law. He wasn’t impressed by the young man, and Kent had managed to stay away from him the whole time he was in town. He watched as the young sheriff’s eyes swept the room, and when they fell on him the man visibly reacted. He stiffened a bit, took a stutter step forward, then turned and left the saloon. Clint shook his head, turned his back to the door and returned to his beer. Kent wasn’t going to get very far as a lawman being afraid of men with reputations.

  Tom Kent cursed himself. He’d been staying away from Clint Adams ever since the man arrived in town. He knew the Gunsmith’s reputation, and he felt uncomfortable around the man, but that didn’t mean he had to run every time he saw him.

  That was it, he thought. That was the deciding factor in whether or not he was going to take Diane’s offer: the chance to give up wearing a badge, and stop having to deal with men like Clint Adams. He checked his watch. He still had half an hour to make the telegraph office.

  “I’ll be at the saloon,” Arliss Morgan told his wife.

  “Arliss,” she said, “have you made up your mind yet?”

  “About what?”

  “You know what,” she said. “Are you going to ask Clint Adams to go to your big game with you?”

  “I’ve already asked him,” he replied.

  “That’s wonderful.” She clapped her hands together as if she was delighted for him. “And what did he say?”

  “He’s thinking about it.”

  She came up close to him, so that her perfume filled his nostrils, and she pressed against him so he could feel the heat of her body.

  “I’m sure you’ll get him to accept,” she said. “You’re so clever that way.”

  “Oh, uh, yes, I’m sure he will,” Morgan said. “I’ve offered him quite a lot of money.”

  “Which is okay,” she said, “because you’re going to win a lot of money, aren’t you?”

  “I certainly hope so.” He cursed his body for not responding to her. In his head he wanted her, but his body…At his age it took some doing to get him aroused, and he knew that Diane was getting tired of expending the effort for not much in return. He put his arm around her and said, “We are going to get a lot of money.”

  “Yes,” she said, kissing his cheek and sliding her hand down his pants to give him a little squeeze, “we are.”

  Arliss Morgan was delighted that, as he left the house, he had the beginnings of an erection. Perhaps tonight, when he returned…

  Diane Morgan watched her husband from the front window until he was out of sight. All she needed from him was the time and the location of the game. She’d asked him several times. But the last time he had become very agitated. She decided to bide her time and wait for just the right moment before asking again. She figured tonight would be the night. Get him hard, get on her knees in front of him, control him. Just as she’d made Tom Kent beg, she would make Arliss Morgan come across with the information she needed.

  Then all she’d need was for Kent to agree, and the arrangements could be made.

  Six hundred thousand dollars, there for the taking…

  Kent watched as Arliss Morgan left his house. He had sent off his telegram and hoped that a reply would be waiting in the morning. He had a good idea where Tito Calhoun would go when he got out of jail. He just hoped that his old friend was still there. He also hoped that prison time had not taken the edge off him. In fact, maybe being in jail would make that edge even sharper. If he knew his friend—and he thought he did—he’d be angry and anxious to get back at the world for putting him in a box.

  Kent made sure the coast was clear before crossing the street and moving around to the back of the Morgan house. During the day, Diane made sure the kitchen door was always unlocked. And she made sure her husband did not hire any servants for her, so she could do what she wanted in her own house when her husband was in town.

  Kent opened the door and entered, closing it behind him. He had started toward the doorway that led from the kitchen to the dining room when suddenly Diane appeared there…naked.

  “How did you know?”

  “Sweetie,” she said, “I can always smell you when you want me.”

  ELEVEN

  Clint was still on that second beer, contemplating either a third or a move to one of the poker tables, when Arliss Morgan came through the batwings. He spotted Clint immediately and came over to the bar.

  “You’re not playing?” Morgan asked.

  “After our conversation, these games just didn’t seem to attract my interest.”

  The banker looked over at the tables, and the people playing at them, and said, “I don’t blame you.”

  “What’ll ya have, Mr. Morgan?” the bartender asked.r />
  “A beer, Travis,” Morgan said.

  “Comin’ up.”

  “We could get up a game upstairs,” Morgan said. “There’s a small room and—”

  “I’d rather talk about your game, Mr. Morgan.”

  “Arliss, please,” the banker said, accepting his beer from the bartender, “call me Arliss. I have the feeling we’re going to be in business together.”

  “Only if you can answer a question for me,” Clint said. “And convince me that you’re telling the truth.”

  “This sounds ominous,” Morgan said. “What do you say we finish these beers and then I’ll take you over to my club. We can talk where it’s quiet.”

  “Suits me,” Clint said.

  When they entered the Stockman Hotel, Morgan led Clint down a hall and through a doorway. Inside, a man stood and nodded to him as they went by.

  “If you were here alone,” Morgan told Clint, “you would not have gotten in.”

  Clint didn’t bother telling Morgan that he didn’t like private clubs and would never try to get into one.

  They were in a large, high-ceilinged sitting room filled with overstuffed chairs of emerald green and maroon, crystal light fixtures and tuxedoed waiters.

  “Every member has his own chair,” he explained, “and a guest chair. Here we go.”

  They sat down on two chairs, with a low table between them. A white-haired waiter immediately appeared, wearing not only a tuxedo but also white gloves.

  “Brandy, Jackson.”

  “Yes, sir. And for your guest?”

  Clint thought a moment, then said, “The same.”

  “As you wish.” The waiter executed a small bow and then withdrew.

  Clint looked around the room. There were only a few men on the other chairs.

  “It usually gets busier in the evenings,” Morgan explained. “That’s when our members come here to get away from their wives.”

  “Is that why you come here?”