Dead Man's Poker

by Giles Tippette

  I said, to the bunch, “I’m looking for Mike Hull. Anybody tell me where he is?”

  To a man they were smoking pipes. I didn’t know I’d ever seen that many men in one group smoking pipes. They just stared back at me in answer to my question.

  I said, in a reasonable voice, “Don’t you folks speak English? I done asked you if you knew where Mike Hull was. Somebody answer me.”

  A man in one of the groups of three said, “Never heered of him.”

  I reached in my pocket and took out a gold ten-dollar piece, spun it in the air, caught it, and laid it on the bar. I said, “There’s ten dollars for the man can tell me how to find Mike Hull.”

  The bartender said, “Feller, you don’t b’long in this place. You better git out whilst you still can.”

  I ignored him. I nodded at the ten-dollar gold piece on the bar. I said, “I’ll double that. Now who can tell me where I can find Mike Hull?”

  One of the men at the tables, a dried-up man smoking a clay pipe, said, “Ye be some kind of law?”

  I said, “Nope. Just about the opposite. I don’t mean this Hull fellow no harm. I just want a few words with him. I think he knows where an acquaintance of mine might be. A man that owes me money. Now, would one of you in here be Mike Hull? If you are, you got nothing to fear from me. Speak up.”

  The man sitting by himself said, “I’ll speak up.” The words kind of rumbled out of him. He was a heavyset kind of man, though it was difficult to tell how tall he was with him sitting in a chair. He had a layer of fat on him that gave me a pretty sure idea he wasn’t no working man.

  I swung most of my gaze to him, though I could still see the bartender out of the corner of my eye, as well as the rest of the crowd. I said, “You Mike Hull?” I noticed that he had let his right hand come up on the tabletop. The move brought it temptingly close to the butt of the big Colt revolver he had in his belt.

  He said, “Naw, I ain’t Mike Hull. But I’ll tell you what you’re a-gonna be. You gonna be damn sorry if you don’t git out of here like you been told.”

  I shifted my weight to my left foot. It makes a right-hand draw just that much faster. I said, softly, “Make me.”

  His hand started for the butt of the revolver. He had it half out when the barrel of my gun came to bear on him. I didn’t say anything, just stood there pointing the gun at him. He slowly let his hand slide off the butt of his revolver and fall in his lap. Everyone else was still. Out of the corner of my left eye I saw the bartender bend over under the bar. I said, “Barkeep, you better be coming out of there with a jug of whiskey or a rag or something that ain’t a gun or a club.”

  He suddenly straightened up.

  I said, “Move on down the bar where I can see you better. You look like you might get up to mischief.” He kind of scuttled the length of the bar and then edged around the end until he was out from behind it.

  I kept my gun on the man that had tried to draw on me. I figured he did his work with a gun or a crowbar or a knife. I also figured I was looking at one of the so-called vigilantes.

  I said, “Well, Mister, looks like you have elected yourself spokesman. So I reckon it’s you going to tell me what I want to know.”

  He was starting to sweat. He said, “Goddammit, take that pistol off cock! You got it aimed right at me. It might go off.”

  “It damn well might,” I said. “And on purpose. This here revolver never goes off by accident. I am going to count to three and then I’m going to shoot your ear off. At least I’m going to try and shoot your ear off, but you’re a good twelve, fifteen feet away from me. That’s a tough shot with a revolver at such a small thing as a ear. I reckon you better hope that I miss to the outside if I miss at all.”

  Hell, I didn’t know if I was going to shoot his ear off or not. It had just kind of popped out of my mouth. I didn’t much want to, because I didn’t figure it would be good politics to be letting off firearms in Sheriff Mills’s jurisdiction. But I’d waded in and now I was going to have to get wet. I said, “You got any preference which one?”

  The man was starting to shake a little and sweat a little more. He licked his lips. He said, “I don’t know any Mike Hull.”

  I said, “Was I you, I’d quit that trembling. An ear shot is hard enough without no handicaps. I—”

  And then I got saved the trouble. Out of the corner of my right eye I saw a man appear in the doorway of the joint. He’d taken a step inside when someone yelled, “Mike! Avast!”

  I swung my gun toward the door, but the man was already almost out. I yelled, “Chulo!” and brought my aim back to bear on the room. The fat man had stood up and had his pistol clear of his belt and was bringing it up to level on me. I shot him in the chest. The shot boomed and echoed in the small room. The slug must have hit bone because the fat man kind of skidded a few inches backwards before he fell back over his chair and sprawled to the floor. I whipped my revolver around on the others. They were frozen. Not a man was so much as moving a finger. I started backing toward the door. Outside I could hear grunts and thuds and the sounds of a struggle. When I got to the door, I said, “If you come out this door anytime soon, you’re going to need help getting back in—like a hearse.”

  I turned quickly and went out into the dark by the docks. Just to my left the two figures were struggling. Ain’t many can match strength with Chulo, but this Mike Hull was giving it a try. Chulo had him from the back, trying to pin both arms at his sides, but Chulo’s high-heeled boots were giving him trouble on the slick planks of the dock. I could see Hull wasn’t as tall as Chulo, but he had big, thick shoulders and big arms and hands. Of course I wasn’t going to rush over and grab hold of Hull and help Chulo wrestle him around. I had given up scuffling around in the dirt when I was a schoolboy. There’s a whole lot of folks that are bigger and stronger than I am but damn few that can use a gun like me. And I am a man who is just naturally inclined to make use of the gifts he’s been given. Without much ceremony I uncocked my gun so the jar wouldn’t set it off, stepped forward, and cracked Mike Hull over the head with the heavy barrel of my revolver. I hit him just hard enough to stun him, not knock him out, and he all of a sudden just kind of collapsed in Chulo’s arms. Chulo said, “These sumbetch es strong! Muy fuente.”

  I said, “Get his arms jerked up behind his shoulders and let’s get out of here. I had to shoot a son of a bitch in there. The law might be coming.” I looked around. There was a narrow, dark alley running between the Main Brace and a warehouse next door to it. It led back toward town. I hadn’t thought where we’d take Hull to talk to him; I’d just figured to find him first. I pointed down the alley. I said, “Let’s go that way.”

  Hull was still groggy, but with Chulo supporting him and me walking beside him with my pistol in his ribs, we made our way slowly down the alley. It was dark as the ace of spades and long, but we finally came out at the end onto a little dirt street that was kind of the front of the docks. Broad Street, I knew, was two streets over. I said, “Chulo, let’s take him to the hotel room.”

  Chulo said, not believing, “En the hotel? Chou loco?”

  I said, “There’s an outside stairway up to the second floor. On the stable side. I noticed it earlier. If we can get in that way, won’t nobody notice.”

  Hull was groaning and trying to get an arm loose from Chulo so he could feel his head where I’d hit him. But Chulo had both his arms shoved up behind his back.

  I said, “Quit jerking around, Hull, or the man that has got you will break an arm for you.”

  He said, groggily, “What the hell is all this? Eh? What the hell is goin’ on? You crazy, fool with me.”

  I said, “Shut up. And stay shut up. Chulo, every time he says anything, just lift one of his arms a little higher.”

  Hull said, “You’ll be one sorry—”

  Chulo had nearly lifted him off his feet when he’d shoved his arms up. I got in his face. I said, “Hull, unless you like to hurt, you better keep your damn mouth shut. You ai
n’t getting away from the man that’s got you, and even if you could, I’d put a bullet through you so fast it wouldn’t bleed until your soul was in hell.”

  I stepped out into the little street and looked left and right. It appeared to be empty, but anybody could come along at any time. I wasn’t all that anxious to take Hull back to the hotel, but we needed someplace private to talk to him in. I didn’t figure he was going to be an easy nut to crack, and I didn’t want to try him in the alley, but it would have to do.

  I stepped back in the alley where Chulo was holding Hull. I got up close to Hull’s face. He was looking mighty sullen. He said, but he said it lowly, mindful of those powerful hands that had his arms rammed up his back, “Who are you, mate?”

  “Never mind that,” I said. “I’m going to ask you a question, and you better think about it before you answer. I’m looking for Philip Sharp. Where is he?”

  He turned his head and spit. He done it like he had considered spitting in my face and then changed his mind. He said, “Never heered the name.”

  I said, “Hull, you can save us a lot of trouble and yourself a lot of pain if you tell me right now where Sharp is. I know you know him. I know you’re his right arm in the vigilantes. Ross Bennet told me that much. And I know you know where he is.”

  He spit again, wider this time. I knew he wanted to spit in my face, but I was glad to see that he was sane enough not to. He was about six inches shorter than Chulo and weighed, I figured, about 180 pounds. And he was strong. He looked around at me and made some kind of lopsided grin, so that I could see he was missing several teeth. He said, “Gone, you bloody bastard.”

  I jabbed him in the belly with the barrel of my pistol hard enough to force an “Uuufh” out of him. I said, “I’ll ask you one more time. Where’s Sharp?”

  “In England. Gone to see the Queen.”

  I sighed. I said, “He wants it hard, Chulo. Bring him along.”

  We were able to go down an alley between two more warehouses to reach the next street. This one was a little more lighted. I could see a few open cafés and saloons. The next street over was Broad. Fortunately we were nearly at the north end of town, so there were more residences than businesses and there was very little traffic out on the street. Nevertheless we hurried Hull across it and then down a dark side street. Leaving Chulo and Hull in the shadows, I stepped out for a look. The Galvez was nearly across from us, just a little to the left. I could even see the stairs on the outside running up to the second floor. But Broad Street was plenty busy, with any number of saloons and eating places doing a thriving business and men on horseback and afoot passing up and down the street. Also, Broad Street was just that, broad. It was at least twenty to twenty-five yards across, and if Hull got to cutting up, he’d surely catch someone’s attention, most likely a deputy sheriff’s. I came back to stand in front of Hull, biting my lip, trying to think of a way to get him across that street without attracting attention. The only thing I could think of was to make him look like a drunk that a couple of friends were helping get to bed. But I’d have to hit him just right—not too easy and not too long. And I didn’t know how hard his head was.

  I said, “Chulo, get ready.”

  In one motion I swung my arm up and then hit him hard over the head with the barrel of my revolver. He slumped immediately, nothing holding him up except the grip Chulo had on him. I holstered my pistol swiftly and then took his left arm and got it over my shoulder. When Chulo saw what I was doing, he did likewise with Hull’s right arm. For a moment, the way he was sagged down, I was scared I’d hit the man too hard. I wanted him to look drunk, not dead. I said, “Let’s go.”

  We stepped out of the shadows, Hull between us, hanging limp off our shoulders, his feet dragging in the dust of the road. Looking up and down the street I saw one or two passersby turn their heads briefly and look our way. About halfway across the street Hull started groaning and trying to shake his head. I felt him take a little weight on his feet, and then he was sort of stumbling along with our help. Fortunately I had stunned him just about the right amount.

  We moved along briskly, crossed the street, and then stepped up on the boardwalk at the end of the hotel and right in front of the stairs.

  It was still hard going. Hull didn’t give us no help getting him up on the boardwalk, and he sure didn’t give us no help climbing that flight of stairs, which was damn near too narrow for three men climbing abreast. But we finally made it to the top, and I was some relieved to find that the outside door was open. We got inside and then went along the hall, looking for Chulo’s room, which was right next to mine. Hull was starting to groan louder and was rapidly coming awake. We were going to have to get him someplace and someplace quick. Finally we found Chulo’s room. It had confused us coming at the matter from the opposite direction. I held Hull up while Chulo got the door opened, and then we carried him inside and flung him on the floor. I lit the overhead gaslight and looked down at Hull. His face was nearly covered with blood. I knew he hadn’t been cut deep, but a scalp wound will bleed like a stuck pig. I told Chulo we were going to have to find something to tie him up with and gag him. I looked around. Not a thing in sight that I figured we could use. I was just about to say we’d have to make do with the belts that held our pants up when Chulo went to the bed, ripped back the spread, and jerked off the top sheet. With his knife he started cutting it into strips.

  I said, “That’s going on your bill. Destroying hotel property.”

  He didn’t laugh. Chulo ain’t got much of what you’d call a sense of humor.

  I squatted down by Hull. He was starting to come around in spite of the way he looked with blood all over his face. Some of the vacant look was going out of his eyes, and once or twice, he put his hand to his head and grimaced. If you can feel pain, you ain’t too far from being fully conscious. I said, “Hurry up, Chulo. The man is coming to.”

  Chulo went down to Hull’s feet and jerked off his waterproof boots. The man wasn’t wearing no stockings, which didn’t surprise me at all. Working quickly, Chulo jerked Hull’s ankles together and then wound a strip of bed sheet around and around the small part of his legs and tied it off tight. After that he grabbed Hull by the shoulders and flung him on his belly, jerked his arms behind him and tied his wrists together so tight I could see the strips of cloth cutting into his flesh. I said, “Not so hard, Chulo. You’re going to cut the man’s circulation off and he’s gonna get gangrene.”

  Chulo said, “I doan geeve a chit.”

  Then he flipped Hull back over and stuffed a wad of cloth in his mouth, which he bound with a few strips around his head and over his mouth. Hull was staring up at me, and from the look in his eyes, I could tell he had all his faculties back. I got out my watch and looked at it. It was going on twelve midnight, and neither me nor Chulo had had a bite to eat or a drink since right about six o’clock. Chulo had a bottle of rum, and I went through the connecting door between our two rooms and came back with a bottle of brandy and a glass. I pulled up a chair by Hull’s feet and poured myself out a drink. Chulo just sat on the bed and took his pulls straight out of the bottle. I sipped at my brandy, looking at Hull. I said, “Chulo, we could probably find some eatery still open, but I don’t think we got the time. Wouldn’t you rather just get to work and get it over with? I got a feeling we ought not to stay around Galveston too much longer. Remember, I shot that man in that place we were at. And I don’t think he’s going to get well. I don’t know if them are the kind of folks, in that place, that will go to the law, but there’s also that Bennet feller. What do you think?”

  “Chure,” he said, and took a swig of rum.

  I got up. I said, “All right. There’s a ten o’clock southbound train out of here in the morning. Hell, that’s barely ten hours away, so you’ll have to work fast.”

  “Chure,” he said. He took the Bowie out of his belt and began honing it on the leather of his boot. I took a step and stood over Hull. I said, “Partner, you know where Sh
arp is and you will tell us before all this is over. Or maybe you won’t. Maybe you like pain. Chulo is going to go to work on you. I’m going to go in the other room because I got a weak stomach. Whenever you feel like telling us everything we ask you, including where the birthmark is on the girl of your dreams, why you just nod your head to Chulo. But I’d do it real vigorously because he ain’t going to want to stop what he’s doing. He likes it.”

  Chulo got up, testing the edge of his knife with his finger. I could see Hull staring at him, round-eyed and worried. All the bully-boy bluster was gone.

  I said, “All right, Chulo, skin the bottoms of his feet.”

  Then I went out of the room, into mine, and closed the door behind me. Even with a gag in his mouth, a man can make some heartrending moans when he’s getting the skin peeled off his feet.

  But on a thought I stuck my head back into the other room. Chulo was on his knees down by Hull’s feet, his left hand clamped around Hull’s ankles so he couldn’t move, the knife ready in his right. I said, “Chulo, I know the dining room is closed downstairs, so I doubt if I can get any salt. But a little of that rum of yours ought to do as well on the raw flesh.”

  “Chure,” he said.

  I went in my room, sat down in a chair, and looked out at the street. I got out my watch. It was half past midnight. I lit a cigarillo. I didn’t know how long the matter was going to take. That was up to Hull. I just sat there staring out at the street below, which appeared to still be going strong, and thinking. Then, all of a sudden, I said, out loud, “Damn!” I’d just remembered I’d left that ten-dollar gold piece on the bar at that sleazy joint. Ten dollars wasn’t shucks to me, but I didn’t want them mongrel hooligans having ten dollars of anybody’s money, especially mine. I was of about half a mind to go back and get it, but then I got to thinking that might not be such a good idea. Besides, I wanted to be handy when Hull broke. And he would break. It was only a question of time and pain. If he didn’t break down by the time Chulo was through with the soles of his feet, then Chulo would start somewhere else tender and just keep on going until he skinned him alive. I’d lied to Hull when I’d said Chulo liked doing such things. That wasn’t true. He just didn’t give a damn one way or the other.