A murmur went through the crowd. He looked across the table at the woman he assumed was Amanda Tolliver and thought he saw interest in her eyes.
Mission accomplished? he wondered.
Meanwhile, the dealer’s eyes widened and he said to Clint, “No, that’s all right, sir. I’m sure your marker will be good.”
The dealer passed Clint the chips he’d need to play.
“Cards,” the dealer said.
The word spread that the Gunsmith was playing poker. The bartender at the Lucky Strike was correct. He was enough of a somebody to draw attention—but it was too much attention. He had gone about it the wrong way. He never should have used his real name.
But it was too late to change it now.
He played for two hours, and the cards were coming. Two of the other players busted out of the game, and nobody else sat down.
“Mr. Adams,” the woman said to him, “you certainly have changed the complexion of this game since you sat down.”
“Is that good or bad, ma’am?”
“I say it’s good,” she replied. “I was getting…bored.”
“Then I’m glad I could accommodate you, ma’am.”
“Oh my God, stop calling me ma’am,” she said. “You’re the only man at this table who’s dared to speak to me all night. My name is Amanda, Amanda Tolliver.”
“Pleased to meet you, Miss Tolliver,” he said.
“That’s Mrs. Tolliver,” one of her bodyguards said. It was not the one she called Hawkins. He had probably gotten tired of being told to shut up.
“Oh, sorry,” Clint said. “Mrs. Tolliver.”
“If this game goes on another couple hours,” she said, “I may let you call me Amanda.”
“Mrs. Tolliver—”
“Shut up, Hawkins!”
THIRTY
The game came down to Amanda and Clint, and the two bodyguards standing behind her. The crowd began to spread out as it got later and later.
“Looks like people are losing interest, Mr. Adams,” she said.
“My name is Clint, Mrs. Tolliver.”
She stared across the table at him and mouthed “Amanda” at him, so her bodyguards couldn’t see. He smiled at her.
“Looks like we’re evenly matched,” she said. They had taken everyone else’s chips.
“For tonight anyway,” Clint said.
“Mrs. Tolliver…” the bodyguard who wasn’t Hawkins said.
She sighed and said, “All right, Max.”
Clint wondered why he was Max, but the other man was always “Hawkins.”
“Clint, it’s time for me to go home and be a responsible wife.”
“Too bad,” Clint said.
They each tossed the dealer a chip and thanked him.
“Amanda,” Clint said as the dealer stood up and left, “I need to talk to you for a few minutes.”
“Really?” she asked. “About what?”
“I actually came out to the casinos tonight looking for you.”
“I’m flattered.”
“Mrs. Tolliver—” Max said.
“Max, why don’t you take Hawkins to the bar and buy him a drink?”
“Ma’am—”
“I’m not going anywhere,” she said. “I swear. The Gunsmith wants to talk to me. Is that something you think I should pass up?”
“Ma’am, your husband said—”
“He wants you to keep me alive and safe,” she said. “You can do that from the bar.”
Max looked dubious, but finally he pushed Hawkins ahead of him and they walked to the bar.
“Well, since we have to wait for our chips to be cashed in, go ahead and talk—if that’s what you really want to do.”
“Somebody is planning to kill you,” he said.
She stared at him for a few moments.
“Maybe I need Max and Hawkins again?”
“No, listen to me,” Clint said. “This is important. It’s why I came here looking for you.”
“The casinos?”
“To San Francisco.”
“You came to San Francisco looking for me?” she asked. “Why?”
“Because your name is on a list,” he said, “and the first four names on that list are dead men.”
She stared at him and asked, “Is this for a real? Or a way to get to my husband through me?”
“It’s real,” he said. “I have the list in my pocket.”
“And…what number am I on that list?”
“Ten,” he said. “Last.”
“Let me see it.”
He took the list out of his pocket and handed it to her. Seeing this, both Max and Hawkins came striding over.
“What’s goin’ on?” Max asked.
She didn’t answer. She was staring at the list.
“Amanda?” Clint said.
“Mrs. Tolliver,” Max said, “it’s time to go.”
“Yes,” she said, “yes, of course.” She put the list down on the table and stood up.
“Amanda—” Clint said, standing up.
Max and Hawkins got between Clint and Amanda.
“Don’t try it, friend,” Max said.
“But Amanda—”
“Good-bye, Mr. Adams,” she said, and headed for the door.
Clint started forward, but Max laid a big hand on his chest.
“No,” the big bodyguard said.
Hawkins, who was even bigger, just shook his head, and then they turned and followed her out.
Clint thought about following to force the issue, but decided against it. From the look on her face, she had recognized some of the names on the list. She was either going to go home and talk to her husband, or she’d find a way to contact him for more information—maybe without her bodyguards around.
Also, she’d have to come back sometime to pick up the cash from her chips.
He cashed out and left to go back to the Lucky Strike Casino.
THIRTY-ONE
It was 1:30 a.m. when Amanda got back to the house she shared with her husband on Telegraph Hill.
As she entered their bedroom, she found him sitting in his favorite armchair. There was a book in his lap and a glass of brandy on the table next to him.
“Did you win?”
“Of course.”
He set the book aside with a satisfied smile. He watched as she undressed. She was three decades younger than him. She had a flawless body, high, firm breasts, wide hips, pale skin. She approached him naked, got on her knees in front of him, and parted his robe. She took his flaccid penis in her hands.
“I played five-card stud most of the night, beating all the boys,” she said as she manipulated and stroked him.
“That’s good. And did Max and Hawkins behave?”
“They did fine,” she said.
She leaned forward and kissed his penis, licked the head. When she finally took it in her mouth, it began to swell. She stroked it some more, parted the robe even farther so she could get to his balls. As she licked his cock and fondled his balls, he became harder and harder. This was not the price she had to pay for going out to gamble without him; it was his reward for letting her go.
His cock was finally hard and swollen with blood. She sucked it wetly, taking it all the way into her mouth, moaning as she bobbed up and down on it. Finally, she stood, straddled him, reached down to take hold of him and guide him to her wet portal. She sat down on him, took his cock deep inside, and began to rock in his lap.
“Oh, yes,” he said, “that’s it, my sweet…”
She went from rocking back and forth to bouncing up and down on him while he gasped and groped at her breasts.
It didn’t take long before he was jetting inside her. She moaned and groaned and made a big deal of it, telling him what a man he was and how she loved him. She climbed off him and stood in front of him with his juices sliding down her thighs.
“I need to take a bath,” she said.
“Of course, darling,” he said. He closed his robe and pi
cked up his book again. “I’ll be right here, waiting to go to bed.”
“I won’t be long,” she said, saying nothing to him about meeting Clint Adams, nothing to him about the list Adams had shown her.
She had a lot of thinking to do in the bath.
In the hot bath she thought about Clint Adams and the list he had shown her. She had recognized not only some of the names on that list, but all of them. They were all people who had done business with her husband at one time or another. In some cases her husband had ruined them.
Who would have made such a list, and then started killing them off one by one? And put her last on that list? If it was someone with a grudge against her husband, why not put him last?
But no, someone with a grudge against Ben Tolliver would not go out and start killing off his past business conquests. That was an oddity. That was something she could not even see Ben doing himself. Why would he? What would be the point?
And if somebody made a list like that, why in the world would he bring it to the attention of a man like the Gunsmith?
None of this made sense.
THIRTY-TWO
It was 2 a.m. when Clint found Dirker working his own casino. The Lucky Strike was no Alhambra, but it was an impressive layout, nevertheless, and was obviously doing well for an establishment that had opened very recently.
“You’re back,” Dirker said when he saw Clint. He spread his arms. “Whataya think?”
“Very nice, King,” Clint said. “You’ve done well for yourself.”
“Even better than you think,” Dirker said. “I got the word from my guy in Arizona that your man there is still alive.”
“That’s good,” Clint said.
“How did your evening go?”
“Pretty well,” Clint said. “I won some money playing poker.”
“You played? I thought you were just gonna look for the lady in question.”
“Well,” Clint said, “when I got to the Alhambra, the lady in question was already playing poker, so I sat in.”
“You played with her?” Dirker said. “Let’s go get a beer so you can tell me about it.”
Minutes later they were seated at Dirker’s table in the saloon, each with a beer. Clint told Dirker about playing in the game, and meeting Amanda Tolliver and her two bodyguards.
“Did you get a chance to talk to her?” the hotel owner asked. “Tell her what was going on?”
“I did,” Clint said. “I showed her the list.”
“And?”
“She froze. I think she recognized at least some of the names on the list.”
“You didn’t ask her about it?”
“That was when she decided to leave and her bodyguards got between us.”
“And you let her go?”
“If she knows some of those names, I think she’ll find a way for us to talk without her bodyguards around, don’t you?”
“I suppose,” Dirker said, “unless…”
“Unless what?”
“Unless she just goes home and talks about it with her husband.”
“I don’t think she’ll do that.”
“Why not?”
“The lady strikes me as having a mind of her own.”
“I don’t know,” Dirker said. “He is said to have a hard hold on her.”
“We’ll see,” Clint said.
Dirker leaned forward and lowered his voice.
“You really think she’ll try to see you?”
“I hope so.”
“What did you think of her?”
“She’s a decent poker player.”
“And?”
“And a beautiful woman.”
“And?”
“A beautiful women who has two big bodyguards around her at all times.”
“If you’d really wanted to continue talking to her, you wouldn’t have let that stop you,” Dirker said. “I know you.”
“You’re right,” Clint said. “She was shocked by that list. I’m going to wait for the shock to wear off, and then she’ll come looking for me.”
“You hope.”
“I hope.”
They finished their beer and then Dirker invited Clint to gamble in the Lucky Strike.
“Your marker’s always good with me.”
“If I was going to gamble, I’d use the money I won tonight at the Alhambra.”
“I like the sound of that.”
“Maybe tomorrow,” Clint said. “I’m beat—still from traveling, and then from trolling Portsmouth Square most of the evening and playing poker most of the night.”
“Who were the other players?” Dirker asked as they reentered the lobby of the hotel.
“I don’t know,” Clint said. “They barely spoke. In fact, Amanda said I was the only man who had spoken to her all night.”
“Oh, it’s Amanda, is it?”
“Oh yeah,” Clint said. “We got on a first-name basis and were doing very well until I showed her that list.”
“I’m going to be very interested to hear what she has to say about it.”
“I am, too.”
THIRTY-THREE
In the morning Amanda told her husband at breakfast that she wanted to do some shopping.
“That’s fine,” he said. “I have to go into the office myself. Just make sure you take Max and Hawkins with you.”
“Do I have to?” she asked.
“Amanda,” he said, sternly, “we’ve discussed this before.”
“They scare the other women who are shopping,” she complained.
“They’re just doing their jobs, dear.”
“How about this,” she said. “I’ll just take one of them with me. Maybe one won’t scare the women that much.”
Tolliver considered the request.
“Please, Benny,” she said. She knew he liked it when she called him “Benny.” Nobody else did. Nobody else was allowed.
“Oh, all right,” he said. “Take one of them. You choose which one.”
“Thank you, dear,” she said with satisfaction. “More coffee?”
Clint went down to the hotel dining room for breakfast, found King Dirker already there. The hotel owner waved him over, at the same time waving over a waiter.
“Bring my friend steak and eggs,” he told the waiter, “and make it a big steak.”
“Yes, sir.”
Clint sat down, righted one of the cups on the table, and poured himself a cup of coffee.
“How’d you sleep?” Dirker asked.
“Great,” Clint said truthfully. “The bed is great.”
“Good to hear.”
“Any telegrams today?”
“I knew you’d ask,” Dirker said, and handed Clint two of them.
The first was from Bat Masterson in Saint Louis. All was well there—the man on the list was alive and well and Bat was going to keep him that way.
The second was from Roper. The men in Idaho and South Dakota were okay, but the man in Minnesota was dead. Roper’s agent could not get there in time.
“That’s five,” Clint said, shaking his head.
“So you’ll save the other five,” Dirker said, “including Mrs. Tolliver.”
“I hope so,” Clint said. “I hope I’m right about her coming here to find me. Otherwise I’m going to have to try to find her again.”
“That’ll mean going through her husband and her bodyguards,” Dirker said. “That won’t be easy—but you’ll find a way.”
* * *
Clint and Dirker were working on their breakfasts when the desk clerk—one Clint had not seen before—came into the dining room and approached the table.
“What is it, Lou?” Dirker asked.
This man was older than the other clerk and had a lot less attitude.
“There’s a woman at the desk askin’ for Mr. Adams,” he said.
“Did she give her name?” Clint asked.
“No, sir,” Lou said, “but I recognize her. It’s Mrs. Tolliver.”
Dir
ker looked at Clint.
“Where do you want to do this?”
“I guess that’ll depend on where she wants to do it,” Clint said, “but why don’t we try in here for now?”
Dirker looked at the clerk and said, “Show the lady in here.”
“Yessir.”
Dirker waved frantically at the waiter as the clerk left.
“Sir?”
“A fresh pot of coffee, fast!”
“Yessir.”
The waiter made a beeline for the kitchen and returned with a fresh pot just as Lou appeared at the door, leading Amanda Tolliver.
“Now go!” Dirker told the waiter.
Clint and Dirker both stood as Amanda reached them.
“Mrs. Tolliver,” Clint said, “how nice. Let me introduce Kenny Dirker, he’s—”
“King Dirker,” she said, extending her hand to the hotel owner. “I know who you are, sir. I’ve seen you play poker.”
“I’m flattered,” Dirker said. “Also flattered to have you in my place.”
“I came to speak with Mr. Adams,” she said. “Would it insult you if I asked to speak to him alone?”
“Not at all,” Dirker said. “I’ll leave you to it. I have some work to do.” He looked at Clint. “I’ll see you later.”
As Dirker left, Clint pulled out another chair and held it for Amanda.
“Can I get you anything?” he asked.
“No, I’ve had breakfast,” she said. “I could use some coffee, though.”
“This is a fresh pot,” he said.
He poured her a cup and pushed it over to him. She looked around, as if searching the room to see if there was anyone she knew. Clint figured even if there wasn’t, there were bound to be some people there who knew her.
“Where are your bodyguards today?”
“I convinced my husband to let me go shipping with just one,” she said. “Hawkins. I lost him in a dress shop.”
“Sounds like somebody’s going to get fired.”
“Probably,” she said, “but I don’t really like Hawkins.”
“I got that feeling last night.”
“Yes, I’m here about last night, Mr. Adams.”
“Clint, please.”
“All right, Clint,” she said. “It’s about that list you showed me.”
“I thought it might,” he said. “It looked to me like you recognized some of the names.”
The Death List Page 8
