VIOLETTA NARROWED HER EYES at me. “What is Jace to you anyway, little girl?”
I did not reply.
She lit a cigarrito & took a puff & leaned back & said, “I suppose he is the father you never had.”
I did not reply.
“Or are you in love with him, like half the gals on the Comstock?”
“That is disgusting,” I said. “Jace is my friend. He has been teaching me things and he is not finished.”
She blew smoke out from her pretty nose. “Don’t be silly,” she said. “Jace ain’t no babysitting schoolmarm. He is a gambler. I am the one who is going to save his life. Later tonight Jace and I are going to the Justice of the Peace. Then we will get on the stage to Sacramento and leave this wretched territory of alkali dust and sagebrush once and for all. We are going to Frisco to buy ourselves a mansion on Rincon Hill,” she added.
I said, “You will not ‘save’ him. You will kill him, just like you killed Con Mason, Abram Benway and Jack Williams.”
“I did not kill Con Mason,” she said. “I reckon he got murdered by his pal Richardson.”
“I found a thread from your gown at the scene of the crime,” I countered.
“I might have met him there right after the wedding,” she admitted, “but I did not linger and I did not kill him.”
“What about Abram Benway?” I said.
She gave another smoky snort. “The fool killed himself. Danced a little jig right out that window. Just when I had said yes to his proposal of marriage.”
“You were going to marry him?” I said.
She shrugged. “Maybe. Maybe not.”
“But you did kill Jack Williams,” I said, “didn’t you?”
She sucked in smoke and said, “Did that news sadden you? The death of the man prepared to saw you in half?” When I did not reply, she added, “It was the easiest way of getting a divorce from him.”
“So you were married to that Desperado!” I said.
She blew smoke up. “Not anymore.”
I said, “With him out of the way, your plan was to find a man with money and/or a good toll road franchise, reel him in, marry him, then kill him and live on the wealth. You had about three or four fish on your line.”
“I would not need to kill off a husband to benefit,” she said, tapping ash from her cigarrito. “I can benefit being married. It is true I contemplated marriage with Con Mason and Abram Benway. It is called hedging your bets. But Jace was always my first choice. Finding Jace was like finding four aces in my hand. Unlike those other men, he is good-looking, clean, courteous and rich. Though maybe not quite as rich as I was led to believe,” she added under her breath.
I said, “I am rich, too. If I give you money will you go away and never come back?”
She arched an eyebrow. “Why, P. K.,” she said, “are you trying to buy me off?”
“I do not know what that means,” I said. “I am just offering to pay you to go away.”
The black centers of her reddish-violet eyes got a little bigger and blacker. Jace had taught me that big pupils are an unconscious sign of desire.
“How much do you have?” she asked. Her voice sounded like she needed to clear her throat.
“I have about a thousand dollars in gold at the Wells, Fargo & Co. Bank in Virginia City.”
“A thousand? Is that all?” She laughed and took a sip of her cocktail.
“And I have three feet in the Chollar Mine.”
She stubbed out her cigarrito & leaned forward. “Certificate and all?”
“Yes, ma’am.” I knew that feet in the Chollar were selling at high prices since William Morris Stewart had settled the case with the Potosi Mining Company.
She stirred her red, violet and yellow drink with a silver spoon so that all the colors mingled and became a kind of muddy bloodred. Then she drank nearly half of it. “Sell it to me,” she said. “Name your price.”
My eye fell on her pack of cards. This gave me an idea.
“Let’s play for him,” I said.
She looked up at me, her long-lashed eyes as round as coins. “What?”
“Six or seven hands of five-card poker,” I said. “Until your deck is used up once. If you win, I will give you my three feet of the Chollar Mine. But if I win you have to leave Nevada Territory, and Jace.”
“You want to play for Jace?”
“Yes, ma’am.”
She pursed her rouged lips. This made her mouth resemble the Ace of Hearts. “All right,” she said. “You are on. But I warn you, I am good at cards.”
“So am I,” I said.
She drained her blood-colored drink.
“Val!” she said to the man behind the bar. “Bring me another Pousse L’ Amour.” She looked at me. “You want one?”
I was thirsty, so I said, “What is in them?”
“The yolk of an egg suspended between Maraschino wine and violet cordial, with a dash of Cognac brandy on top,” she said.
“Are those things all spirituous beverages?”
“All but the egg yolk,” she said, shuffling the cards.
I lifted my chin a little. “Then my answer is no. I do not drink spirituous beverages. I will have black coffee.”
“You sanctimonious little prig,” she said. “You will have a Pousse L’ Amour or nothing.” She called out to the barkeep, “Val? Make two of those, please.”
A moment later Val brought two cocktails. He put one by her and one by me. I had to admit it looked real pretty: all red and violet and yellow. Also, I was suddenly mighty thirsty. But I had made a promise to my dying foster ma, so I let it be.
Violetta shuffled the cards a few times & put the deck on the table before me. “Cut the cards.”
I picked up the top half of the deck & set it down again close to the bottom half & flipped over the top card of the bottom pile. It was the King of Spades, Jace’s card. I reckoned that was a good omen.
Then Violetta turned up the Ace of Hearts: one of only four cards that could have beat that king.
That was when I began to worry.
MRS. VIOLETTA DE BASKERVILLE and I were gambling, a thing I had promised my dying Foster ma I would never do. But I reckoned Ma Evangeline would understand: we were not gambling for money, we were gambling for Mr. Jason Francis Montgomery.
I knew Jace was still upstairs because outside the people of Carson City were making about the worst noise I had ever heard. They were creating a din in order to tell the pro-California legislators inside how riled they would be if they did not pass the Corporation Bill.
The populace was shouting & chanting & firing off guns & the brass band was playing louder than ever. Worst of all were the Chinese firecrackers. They made a loud whizzing and then a bang that hurt my ears. Without my muffling wig and poke bonnet I would not have been able to endure it.
Violetta had won the cut. After returning the King of Spades and Ace of Hearts to the deck, she shuffled and dealt. After that first hand, which she won, we alternated dealing.
I was using my special method of remembering cards, but in that din it was not easy. Every time a gun banged or a firecracker popped it almost drove the cards out of my mind. I needed to remember which cards were used up and which were left. I needed to recall each and every one of them if I was going to win back Jace.
This is how I remember cards. Each of the 52 cards in a deck makes me think of a critter or person. I can’t help it. Ever since I first started playing with Hang Sung on the wagon train west and saw my first deck, those images just pop up in my head. I will give you an example.
The 2 of Diamonds is a wolf because if you put it on its side, the two pips look like the red eyes of a wolf staring out at you from the dark. The 3 of Clubs makes me think of my Indian ma’ s friend, Tommy Three, because he used to club me sometimes with his black-gloved
fist and there is a “Three” in his name. My foster pa Emmet used to be the King of Spades because he was the most honest & upstanding person I knew. But since he died, I have a new King of Spades: Jace.
I have a person or animal to stand for each of the 52 cards in a deck. Then, to remember cards in order, I make a scene in my head. The stranger and more exciting the story is, the more it sticks in my memory.
The first time I met Jace, I impressed him by remembering seven cards. I still remember the story I made up. My foster ma Evangeline was harnessed like a draft horse to the covered wagon that took us here from Lakota territory. A little girl named Jenny with three red buttons on the back of her dress was the second “horse.” A white panther was driving the wagon and my Indian ma was riding shotgun. A plump boy named Herman was sitting inside the wagon offering a sausage to Hawkeye Joe—our buffalo hunter—who was taking sight through his Sharp’s rifle at me, walking along behind. That story stood for these cards:
Queen of Spades, 3 of Hearts, 5 of Diamonds, Queen of Diamonds, Jack of Clubs, 10 of Spades and the Ace of Spades. (The Ace of Spades is me because I am usually honest and often alone.)
Each time I count cards I set the story in a different place and I always make it lively. The curiouser the scene in my head, the easier it is to remember.
That is what I was now doing with Violetta. I was making up stories for each hand so that I could calculate which cards were still left in the pack. I was setting my stories in a sawmill on the shore of Lake Bigler. You can bet I remembered those cards.
At the same time, I was also trying to use the tips Jace had given me to figure out when Violetta was bluffing & when she was telling the truth. Jace had mainly taught me about feet but even if I had been under the table I would not have been able to see her feet what with the puffy skirt and all.
She was good at hiding her emotions.
But nobody is perfect. I just needed to find her “tell.” And Jace had taught me some useful things apart from feet.
When I finally figured it out, it seemed obvious. She was good at bluffing. But she was not good at hiding a winning hand. If she had a good hand she would put down her cigarrito & sit real still like a jackass rabbit in the sagebrush when the hunter is close.
We got down to the last hand. I had won three and she had won three. This hand would determine the matter.
“This is it,” she said. “Last hand. Winner take Jace.”
I nodded, needing to keep those cards in my mind. It was my deal. There were only 12 cards left. I dealt us each five and left the last two face down on the table.
Carefully I unfanned my cards and examined them. All I had was a pair of sevens, which is nothing to shout about. But I was shouting inwardly and praising the Lord. For I knew that among the seven remaining cards, the best she could get was a pair of fours.
She could trade two of the cards in her hand for the last two on the table but it would not help her.
“Two,” she said, pushing two cards away towards the pile of those we had already played. “Give me those last two.”
I gave her the last two.
Mrs. Violetta De Baskerville took a long drag of her half-finished cigarrito and blew the smoke slowly down. Her pupils were small, not big.
I did not need Jace’s skills to know she held a pair of fours at best. Inwardly I was cheering but I could not let her see this so I pretended to be waiting.
She drained her bloody Pousse L’ Amour and put down the empty glass. Then she shmooshed her cigarrito even though it was only half-smoked and reached into her beaded reticule for another.
My mouth was dry.
I absentmindedly took a sip of my own drink.
DANG! I had sipped the Pousse L’ Amour! The fiery brandy at the top burned my throat & made me cough & my eyes water. I leaned forward to suck in breath & when I lifted my head in its poke bonnet, I saw Violetta close her beaded reticule.
She had not taken out another cigarrito but was sitting still as a rabbit, the way she did when she had a good hand.
“Well,” she said, “it is all down to this hand, whether I go or you do. What have you got?”
“Pair of sevens,” I said, putting down my hand. I almost smiled. But my almost-smile faded when she revealed her own hand.
“Pair of Aces,” she said, putting down her cards. “I win!”
I must have miscounted, for somehow she had the Ace of Hearts right there along with the Ace of Clubs & some other cards I knew were left.
My heart sank into my high-heeled shoes. Dang the firecrackers, anvils and gunshots! They had distracted my attention & made me miscount somehow. That wasp-waisted Violetta De Baskerville had bettered me, despite my old card-reading skills and my new people-reading skills.
Not only had I lost my three valuable feet in the Chollar Mine, I had lost Poker Face Jace.
From above us came a great cheer and there was a sudden avalanche of feet on the stairs. The door of the saloon burst open and about a dozen noisy men came in. Van Bokkelen was one of them, saying that he “needed a strong one, by God!” His wicked monkey rode on his shoulder, chittering with rage. The two of them had been con the bill.
“We won!” cried Loverboy Hannah, who was now Newlywed Hannah. “The Corporation Bill has passed! Thanks to Dr. Pugh!”
“Thanks to whoever abducted his dog,” laughed Firewood Winters.
“What happened?” asked Val, the barkeeper. He was lining up little shot glasses on the shiny surface of the bar.
“Doc Pugh’ s dog went missing,” said the other Winters brother. “Doc claims he was abducted by some ruthless supporter of the Bill and so he used his swing vote to get the critter back.”
“Pugh was wavering anyhow,” said Six-Shooter Luther.
I suddenly remembered that Sazzy was hiding in my room under my bed. I felt a spasm of guilt, but then the aroma of Jace’s cigar drove it from my mind.
Violetta stood up, her lips parted in a half smile and her eyes on someone behind me.
I stood up, too—it ain’t that easy in a pinching corset—and turned to see Jace leaning against the door. He looked pale & tired, but handsome.
“Have you been taking advantage of this poor, blind widow, Violetta?” drawled Jace.
“Not at all,” said Violetta. “Mrs. Clever is a worthy opponent and suited to her name. Furthermore, it appears she has miraculously recovered her sight.”
Jace looked at me and I froze, sure he would recognize me without my blue spectacles. A bar-boy had been lighting the lamps in the saloon & it was now bright as noonday in there. However, Jace’s face betrayed no expression.
He looked back at the table. “I see no chips or coins,” he remarked, sucking on his cigar. “What were you playing for?”
Violetta lifted her chin. “We were playing for you,” she said. “And I won!”
Jace coughed as he blew out. Some of the men around us laughed. Jace opened his mouth, then closed it. For once he was lost for words. Finally he said, “And I see you won with the Ace of Hearts. Your special card.”
When he said this, I looked sharply at the card. In the brighter light I could see that it was a little cleaner than the other cards around it.
“Wait a minute!” I said, almost forgetting to use my breathy widow woman voice. “I am sure that card was already played!” I reached for the rest of the deck, facedown on the green baize. “If there is another Ace of Hearts in this pile of used-up cards then that proves you cheated!”
“Don’t you dare accuse me of cheating!” cried Violetta, and she pulled her Deringer out of her mink muff & threw down on me. “Make one move and you are dead.”
I HAD ACCUSED VIOLETTA of cheating & she had lived up to her nickname by pulling out her little four-shot Deringer & aiming it at my heart.
I froze, half reaching for the deck that would prove she had
cheated.
I thought quickly.
“Mr. Montgomery,” I said rapidly in my breathy Blind Widow voice. “I must urge you not to marry Mrs. De Baskerville. She was married to that Desperado Jack Williams and she shot him with her thirty-two. She will not hesitate to kill you, too, after—”
BANG!
Violetta had discharged a warning shot into the ceiling. “Say one more word and I promise the next ball will pass through your heart!”
Everything had gone awful quiet inside the saloon and so I clearly heard a man behind me say, “Dang. It’s that pistol-packing widow they are all talking about!”
Suddenly something furry dropped onto Violetta’s wrist. She squealed and dropped the gun.
“Something bit me!” she cried.
It was not an estray animal. It was that gun-loving monkey, Lucifer. He had bitten Violetta’ s wrist & thus relieved her of her Muff Deringer. It is a dainty gun, but I was amazed that such a little critter could hold it with his feet and tail. But hold it he did, and even swung up onto a chandelier. A pistol-packing monkey had saved my life.
This was the chance I needed. I grabbed the deck of used-up cards and splayed them out on the green baize table. Sure enough, there was another Ace of Hearts.
“Cheater!” I cried. “I won and you know it.”
“You fool!” Violetta snarled. “Jace is mine!”
“Do I have a say in this?” said Jace.
Ignoring him, Violetta picked up my Pousse L’ Amour and hurled it at me. Her aim was not good and it flew past me and splatted Jace’s shoulder.
“You leave Jace alone!” I cried. I grabbed my white-painted bamboo walking stick and swung for her.
She deftly caught it and we struggled for a few moments, but my galldarn corset impeded me & I am ashamed to say she finally wrenched the cane from my grasp with such force that it flew across the room and knocked some glasses off the bar.
I now had only my bare hands left to fight with. I launched myself at her.
She squealed and tried to flap me away with her hands.
P. K. Pinkerton and the Pistol-Packing Widows Page 18
