Dead Man's Poker

by Giles Tippette

  “Yeah,” I said.

  “But why?”

  I said, “I dunno. You’d have to ask him. All I know is that he is.”

  “Are you so good with the pistol?”

  I shrugged. I said, “Well, I’m still alive. And I’ve led a kind of hazardous life.”

  He said, “You have never told me . . . What is your work?”

  I told him that I owned a casino and saloon in Del Rio. I left out the part about the whorehouse.

  His eyes lit up. He said, “So you are a gambler. I love to gamble.”

  I yawned in spite of myself. The hot sun was getting to me also. I said, “I never saw a Mexican that didn’t. Seems to run in the blood.” I pulled out the deck of cards that Chulo had brought. “Want to while away some time for a little money?”

  He said, rubbing his hands together, “Oh, yes. But I must warn you that I am very lucky.”

  I said, “Well, that’s good because you’ll need all the luck you got. I’m very skillful and that is better than luck.”

  He said, “We will see.”

  We played three-card monte, which is a sucker’s game at best unless you happen to be the dealer. In three-card monte the player is shown two queens and an ace. Then the dealer throws them back and forth in a line on the table, his hands moving so fast the eye can barely follow, and then the player is asked to pick the ace. If he succeeds, he is paid even money, which, right there, is stupid because even if the game is honest—which it most often is not—his chance of picking the ace is only one in three. So he is being paid even money when the odds against his winning are really three to one.

  But we played, for something to do, and I won a hundred dollars off of Romando. We started off for small stakes, but I let him win at first, and he got excited and kept edging the bet upwards. When I got him up to where I wanted him, I cleaned him out in about four hands.

  Of course I gave him his money back, because I had cheated. When I told him this, he looked astounded. “You cheated! Why did you cheat?”

  “To win,” I said.

  “You know how to cheat at cards?”

  “Of course,” I said. “I run a gambling casino. I have to know every way there is to cheat, so that when someone comes in and tries to cheat me, I can spot it.”

  He said, “Show me how you cheated at monte.”

  So I showed him how the dealer could palm an extra card in one hand, another queen, so that sometimes when he threw the three cards face downward on the table, the ace wouldn’t be there, just three queens. He was amazed. I said, “So you see, you can’t pick the ace if I have it in my hand. And before you can examine all three cards, I’ll have them all back up in my hands, and if you ask to see the ace, I can show it to you.”

  “You have very fast hands,” he said.

  “I better,” I said.

  The time was passing. About five-thirty I woke Chulo up and we had a supper of dried beef and cheese and bread. I washed mine down with watered-down brandy and cautioned Chulo about the rum. Not that it was necessary. He could drink a half a gallon of rum before going into a fight and then be just as sober as a preacher’s daughter when the trouble started.

  By six dusk had a good start on night and the activity around the dock had pretty well come to a standstill. Up toward town I could see lights coming on in cantinas and cafés. I gathered us all up in the cockpit to lay out a sort of plan. All I wanted was to get on that ship and get a pistol leveled down on Sharp. But what I didn’t want was any kind of commotion that might summon the policia before I got my business done and we were clear of the harbor. I said, to Chulo, “We got to get on that boat and we got to get by any watchmen without firing a gun. I know there’s going to be one at the gate or door or whatever you call that thing that opens in the railing of the ship. We got to get close enough to him so you can shut him up without no bother or noise. Sabe?”

  “Chure,” he said.

  I said to Romando, “Listen, I hate to involve you, but it might be that same watchman and he’ll know you. I want you to go with us and get his interest, I don’t care how you do it, until Chulo can get close enough to grab him. Are you willing to do that?”

  “But of course,” he said. “I will wear my gunbelt.”

  I said, “No, you ain’t going to wear a gun. And as soon as we’ve got by that guard, you are going to come back here until I send Chulo for you and tell you to move this boat up and tie it to the Dolphin. How do we get it loose, anyway, to let it float off on the tide?”

  He shrugged. He said, “The best way is to cut the hawsers, the big ropes, with an axe. If you are in a rush.”

  I said, grimly, “I reckon we are going to be in a rush.”

  It was good dark. There was no longer much reason to wait. I said to Romando, “Listen, you better explain to Rodriquez kind of what is going on. Tell him to stay here and be ready for anything.”

  I listened while Romando jabbered away to the little man in Spanish much too rapid for me to follow. It must have been to Rodriquez’s liking because he kept nodding and saying, “Sí, sí.”

  Romando stopped and nodded and said, to me, “He understands. He is very excited that we have the chance to sail on the big ship.”

  I said, “It better be more than a chance.” I looked at my watch. It was nearly seven. I said, to Romando, “Try and get the guard to come a little way down the gangway so Chulo can get at him. Wave a five-dollar bill at him or something. Speak Spanish. Act like it is important.”

  He looked at me. He said, “It is, is it not?”

  “Damn right,” I said. I stepped off the little boat and onto the dock. I said, “Let’s go. Chulo, you stay on the side close to the big ship. Romando will walk a step or two behind us. You checked your revolver?”

  “Chess.”

  So had I. It was full, and I had about another half dozen cartridges in my pocket.

  CHAPTER 13

  I wasn’t two steps away from the boat when I remembered something. I had left a half-full bottle of brandy sitting in the cockpit. I halted the other two while I stepped back to get it. Chulo said, “Chou ’fraid somebody steels chour wheesky?”

  I said, “You’re going to act like a drunk. And you’re going to offer the guard or watchman or whatever a drink.” I shoved the bottle into his hand.

  He said, “I doan like brandee.”

  “You do now,” I said.

  We set off up the dock, Romando trailing just behind us. Chulo and I were laughing and talking. As we got inside fifty yards of the Dolphin, we stopped, just inside the light coming from a warehouse, and made a big show out of passing the bottle back and forth and laughing like we were having the best time anybody ever had. Romando kept carefully behind us and out of the light.

  About fifteen yards from the Dolphin we could see a man leaning over the railing right near the gate at the end of the ramp. He was leaning there, both arms and hands in sight, watching us. We staggered just a little and laughed and laughed.

  As we got almost to the gangway I said, lowly, to Chulo, “Notice the watchman.”

  We stopped. Chulo pointed up at the man. He said, sounding drunk, “Hey, that es my freen’. I ain’t seen hem en a long times! I geeve heem a drink.”

  We both went lurching toward the bottom of the gangway. Chulo was holding up the bottle. He said, “Hey, my freen’. Chou come geet thees drink.”

  About then Romando came quietly up and stood at the bottom of the ramp talking quietly up at the watchman. The watchman put his hand to his ear. He said, “What? I can’t hear fer these two drunks. Whatcha say?”

  Romando was waving a greenback. I couldn’t see the denomination, but I could hear him saying, “Mr. Sharp. Señor Sharp. About the cattle.”

  “What?” the watchman said. He had his eyes all over the bill Romando was waving.

  Chulo and I took a step up the gangway. Only five or six feet separated us from the guard. Romando was coming right behind us, still talking in a low voice.

&nb
sp; I said, “Whyn’t you give that feller a drank? Hell, he looks like a good feller.”

  The guard was waving his hand at us, but looking at Romando. He said, “You damn drunks git on outten here! Dammit! What was you sayin’ thar’, mister?”

  He had come halfway down the ramp. It was close enough. Chulo stuck the bottle out with his right arm like he was offering the guard a drink. The watchman turned an angry face at him and started to push the bottle away. He never got no further. Chulo dropped the bottle as his right arm encircled the guard’s neck and face. He spun him around so that the man’s back was to Chulo’s front. I heard him making muffled sounds against Chulo’s arm just as Chulo wrapped his left arm around the man’s head and twisted it. I heard the man’s neck snap.

  Behind me I heard a sort of horrified gasp. I looked back. Romando was standing there looking horrified. I couldn’t believe he’d lived so long in Mexico without seeing a man killed violently. I hissed at him. I said, “Get the hell back to your boat.”

  He began to move away, reluctantly. I turned back to the ship. By now Chulo had the guard under the arms and was walking him up the gangway like a man helping a drunk friend home. The guard’s head wobbled loosely on his shoulders, as well it might.

  We got quietly on deck. I had Chulo lay the man down just behind the railing, which was solid. In the shadows someone would have to walk right up to him to see him. I drew my revolver. Chulo did likewise. I could see lights in the cabin at the end of the ship where Romando had said the captain—and I had to figure that would be Sharp—stayed. There were no lights on the other side, the side he had said was where they ate. If we were lucky, we’d find Mr. Sharp just behind that door. I hoped he was going to be glad to see me. I knew for damn sure he was going to be surprised.

  But first we had to make a quick tour around the ship to see if anyone else was prowling about the deck. We walked as quietly as we could in our high-heeled boots. We’d taken our spurs off when we left the horses behind.

  We stepped along quiet and nice, but quick. All we were doing was making sure there wasn’t anybody else on deck. The boat was pretty much as Romando had described it. There was a little low shack built up next to the rearmost mast. There was a light in one of its tiny windows, but it was so dim I figured somebody had left some coals alive to start the next fire. Besides, I wasn’t paying much attention to anything. My main intent was to get at the door leading into that back cabin and see if Santa Claus had left a Philip Sharp in my Christmas stocking.

  We came up on the door one from each side. I leaned against it and listened. I could hear a low murmur of voices but nothing I could make out. I’d tried looking through the little window, but it was up high and there were some kind of curtains over it so a man couldn’t get a clear view of the room. All I could see was one small corner and the edge of the brim of a man’s hat. I thought that Sharp might have some rancheros in there, negotiating for the sale of some cattle. If he did, I didn’t know what I was going to do with them. I had no quarrel with them, but I couldn’t just let them go so they could summon the federales and play bloody hell with my plans for Sharp.

  Well, I was just going to have to play it by ear. I reached out for the door handle and gave it just the tiniest of turns. It wasn’t locked. But one problem was that the door wasn’t very big. In fact it was downright narrow. That meant Chulo and I couldn’t go in together. I got his attention and pointed at the door. Then I pointed at myself and held up one finger. He nodded. I held up two fingers and pointed at him. He nodded again. Using both hands, as carefully as I could so that it would not make a sound, I cocked the hammer of my revolver. Chulo did the same. Around us, in the stillness of the night, there was the gentle wash of the water and the creaking of the ropes and the rigging. The deck was making a slight motion under our feet, but it was so gentle and slow as to be unnoticeable. I thought, Surely to God Chulo won’t get seasick on a boat that’s moored in dock.

  Then I opened the door and stepped into the well-lit room. I took it in in a single glance. Philip Sharp was sitting behind a fairly small desk. He was dressed like a man of means who could buy your cattle with a check you could depend on being good. His coat was thrown over the back of his chair, but he had on a vest and a long-sleeved shirt, with garters, and a four-in-hand tie. He glanced up as I stepped into the room and left the bottom of his jaw where it had been.

  I said, “Hello, Phil. Remember me?”

  He stared, his eyes getting nearly as big around as his open mouth. He said, “Oh, my gawd!”

  Chulo had moved in to my left, right in front of a man leaning in the back corner. It must have been the brim of his hat that I’d seen, because he was dressed much as Chulo and I were, including the correctly hung gun rig. He didn’t make a motion as he saw us come in, saw the drawn revolvers, other than to shift his weight to his left foot to make a right-handed draw easier. I didn’t know where Sharp had got him, but he was a border gunman if I’d ever seen one. He was the one to shoot first if there was any trouble, and I knew I didn’t have to tell Chulo.

  Besides Sharp, who still hadn’t come to his senses, and the gunslinger, there were four other men in the room. All of them were dressed in rough clothes like you saw on sailors or men around the dock. One of them was sitting in a chair at the corner of Sharp’s desk, one was leaning against the wall directly behind Sharp, and two others were sitting on a bunk that was against the wall to my right. They all had guns in their belts.

  I could sense that the door was still open, and I took two steps backwards, never letting the barrel of my pistol waver from Sharp’s head, and shut it with my boot heel.

  Sharp had quit gagging and flinching and was getting his voice back. He said, “Wilson Young, my gawd.”

  I said, “You ain’t surprised to see me are you, Phil?”

  He opened and closed his mouth and then said, “No. No, no, no. In fact I’m glad. Glad to have the chance to explain.”

  “Explain what?”

  Before he could answer, I noticed one of the men sitting on the bunk edging his hand toward the weapon in his waistband. I just let the barrel of my revolver stray ever so slightly in his direction. His hand stopped. He pulled it back and put it down beside him on the couch.

  “Explain what, Phil?”

  “About the . . . the misunderstanding. You remember, in my office in Galveston. That was all a mistake. You wasn’t supposed to be involved. Some of my boys got mixed up. It was all a big mistake.”

  “Yes,” I said, “it was a mistake, Phil. A real big mistake. And as I recall it wasn’t one of your boys that shot me, it was you.”

  He said, “Now wait—”

  At that instant the door behind me opened. I whirled, knowing Chulo would keep the rest of the room covered. In the door was a man with his left arm around Romando’s neck and a pistol in his right hand pointed at the boy’s head. He said, “Look here what I found sneaking around—”

  Then he stopped, staring.

  For just a split second it was like one of them frozen tableaux they sometimes put on in stage shows. Nobody moved; nobody said anything or so much as blinked.

  It had been my experience that once a situation turned bad, it wasn’t going to get no better unless you did something about it. If I let that man get into the cabin with a drawn gun, we’d very shortly be the prisoners. I didn’t even hesitate. The man was nearly a head taller than Romando, and I had noticed that he had his finger just loosely inside the trigger guard of his revolver. But it was going to have to be a hip shot, and even though the range was only about five feet, it was going to be a near thing. I reckoned, later, that no more than a second had passed since he’d opened the door and dragged Romando in. I fired. The bullet caught him square in the middle of his face, jerking his arm loose from Romando, and knocking him back through the door. At the same instant I fired, I heard a Boom right beside me and I knew that Chulo had shot someone.

  I whirled back into the room. The gunman had slid down in
the corner and was sitting on the floor. He had his hand on the butt of his revolver, which had never quite cleared leather. There was blood in the middle of his chest. After a second he fell over sideways.

  The room was hazy with gunsmoke, but I was fearful someone might have heard the shots. Behind me Romando was saying, “Senor Young, I didn’t mean—”

  I said, “Shut up.” Then to Chulo I said, “You and Romando get these bodies and throw them over the side away from the dock. Don’t forget the one by the railing. Make it snappy.” I looked at Sharp. I said, “Where’s an axe?”

  He said, “Uh ... uh ... I don’t know.”

  I shoved the barrel of my pistol right up to his nose. “Where’s an axe?”

  The man standing behind him, leaning against the wall, said, his voice trembling, “The galley.”

  Without a word from us, they had all, with the exception of Sharp, put their hands in the air.

  I said, “Romando, as soon as you throw those bodies overboard, show Chulo how to cut those hawsers with that axe. Then you get on back to your boat and tie on to us, and you and Rodriquez get on board.”

  He said, “But Senor Young, we must—”

  He didn’t get any further. Chulo grabbed him and pulled him over to the dead gunman, and together they dragged him out of the cabin. I just stood there watching the little herd I’d been left to guard.

  When they had the gunman tended to, they came back for the one that had had Romando, and then Chulo shut the door.

  Romando had been off in his count. The watchman had been one, the man sitting at Sharp’s desk had been two, the two on the bunk had been four, the man behind Sharp had been five, the gunman had been six, and the one with Romando in his grasp had been seven.

  And seven had been what I had calculated because, I hadn’t been able to see Sharp walking around Tampico by himself. That was probably what he’d hired the gunman for. He was probably local. Well, it had just been his bad luck to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. Of course he’d been a fool also. He’d expected Chulo to turn his head toward the disturbance, giving him time to draw. He didn’t understand that Chulo and I didn’t both turn our backs at the same time. Well, he’d learned a good lesson. It was a cinch he wouldn’t repeat his mistake.