McKinney looked like was going to argue, but Gray spoke up first. Clearly, his pride was stung. “With your permission, Bat, I’ll withdraw a thousand dollars from my bet. Browning can call now.”
Masterson looked at Conrad. “All right with you?”
Conrad pushed his chips forward and said flatly, “I call.”
Gray turned his cards over. “Full house, tens over threes.”
Conrad’s pulse thundered in his ears. He laid his cards faceup on the table. “I have a full house, too. Jacks over eights.”
Gray stared at the cards for a second, then closed his eyes and sighed. When he opened them, he said dully, “The pot is yours.”
Cheers and applause erupted from some of the spectators. Men leaned forward to pound Conrad on the back. McKinney looked on sullenly. No one had congratulated him like that when he won.
Gray picked up his lone remaining chip and tossed it across the table onto the pile in front of Conrad. “I don’t see any point in playing another hand. The game is yours as well, Mr. Browning.”
Conrad glanced at Masterson, who nodded in agreement. The outcome of the next hand was a foregone conclusion. Playing it out would have been a waste of time.
Masterson drew out his watch and checked the time. “It’s just after noon,” he announced. “The final round will begin at six o’clock this evening, if that’s agreeable to the players.”
“Fine by me,” McKinney said.
Conrad nodded. “All right.” He needed food and rest again. The tournament had turned into something of a marathon.
“Six o’clock, then,” Masterson said as he snapped his watch shut. “And may the best man win.”
McKinney’s sneer made it clear he had no doubt who that was going to be.
Despite the weariness that gripped him, Conrad told Masterson to have one of the hostesses wake him in three hours. “There’s a barber just down the street. I want to get cleaned up, and if there’s time I’ll go to the hospital and see Arturo.”
“Just be careful when you leave here,” Masterson advised. “Rose Sullivan is still out there somewhere. She might make another try for you.”
Conrad shrugged. “I doubt that. Now that she knows we’re on to her, she’s probably left town.” He wasn’t completely convinced of that, even as he said it. He didn’t really know what Rose was capable of.
The three hours of sleep blunted his exhaustion, and after a hot bath and a shave, he felt considerably better as he dressed in fresh clothes he’d had sent over. His spirits perked up even more when he reached the hospital and saw how much better Arturo looked.
He was sitting up in bed with his left arm in a black silk sling. A tray of food was in front of him and he was pushing the remains of a meal around listlessly with a fork. He smiled, his mood visibly brightening as Conrad came in. “It’s good to see you, sir. Does this mean the tournament is over?”
Conrad shook his head. “No, but the final round will be starting before much longer. Me against Rance McKinney.”
“That’s what you wanted, isn’t it?”
“Yeah. I’m going to see if I can’t get McKinney to talk about Pamela.”
“You don’t expect him to admit much about her in front of everyone who’ll be watching, do you?”
“All I want to know is whether or not she had the twins with her when she was here in Denver before. And if she did, whether he knows what she did with them.” Conrad took a deep breath. “But that’s enough about my problems. How are you feeling?”
Arturo looked down at his tray with disdain. “I’d be much better if they had some decent food here. I’m not sure but that I could have gotten a better meal at Luigi’s.”
“I can see if I could get something sent over from there,” Conrad offered with a smile.
“No, no, that’s not necessary,” Arturo said quickly. “I don’t expect that I’ll be staying here much longer. I can put up with hospital food until then.” He started to shrug, then stopped short and winced. “Otherwise I’m doing quite well, as long as I remember not to move this arm very much.”
“I’m glad to hear that.”
Arturo lowered his voice and asked, “Is there still a gunman out in the hallway?”
“You mean the guard that Bat sent over?” Conrad nodded. “Yeah, somebody’s still out there keeping an eye on you.”
“Do you really think that’s necessary?”
“As long as Rose Sullivan, or whatever her name is, is loose, I don’t think it’ll hurt anything.”
Arturo sighed. “Very well. I don’t see that I represent much of a threat to Miss Sullivan, but I suppose you know more about this sort of thing than I do. After all, a lot more people have tried to kill you.”
“That’s the truth.”
Conrad visited with Arturo for a while longer, then looked at his watch and saw it was time he needed to be getting back to the Palace.
“If you find out anything, let me know right away,” Arturo said. “Any time of the day or night.”
Conrad smiled as he put his hat on. “I doubt if the nurses would let me in here in the middle of the night.”
“Oh, I doubt that. I never saw a place yet you couldn’t charm your way into.”
Conrad laughed and lifted a hand in farewell as he left the room. “I’ll see you tomorrow,” he promised.
He was solemn again by the time he reached the Palace. Before the night was over, he might know more about the fate of his children. Or he might discover that the whole thing had been an exercise in futility. With the way the search had gone so far, it was hard to know what to expect.
The main room of the gambling hall was crowded. A roar of acclaim went up as Conrad went in, which took him by surprise. Obviously most of those people recognized him and knew he was one of the finalists in the tournament. As he made his way across the room, men crowded around to shake his hand, slap him on the back, and wish him luck. Conrad tried to be gracious about it, but he quickly found himself growing impatient with the display.
Bat Masterson rescued him, showing up to put an arm around Conrad’s shoulders and lead him toward the private room, saying in a loud, cheerful voice, “Let us through, folks, let us through! The cards are waiting!”
Quite a few of the men who had taken part in the tournament were in the private room, drinking and smoking. Their ten thousand dollar buy-in had bought them that privilege. They would be allowed to witness the conclusion of one of the biggest poker games ever held west of the Mississippi.
All the tables had been cleared out except the one where Conrad and McKinney would play. Their chips were stacked up neatly on each side. McKinney was already at the table, slumped and brooding in his chair. When Conrad came up and rested his hand on the back of the opposite chair, McKinney’s eyes rose to lock with his for a second.
A hatred much deeper than a man would normally feel for an opponent in a game burned in McKinney’s gaze. Once again, Conrad wondered what had caused the rancher to feel that way about him. It had to have something to do with Pamela.
“Do either of you need a drink or something to eat before we begin?” Masterson asked.
McKinney shook his head. “Let’s just get this over with.”
“I could use a cup of coffee,” Conrad said.
Masterson motioned for one of the hostesses to bring the coffee, then reached inside his coat and brought out a sealed pack of fresh cards. He slit the seal with a thumbnail, removed it, shuffled the cards deftly, and placed them in the center of the table.
“Cut for deal, gentlemen.”
Conrad nodded to McKinney. “Go ahead.”
McKinney reached out and took some of the cards off the top of the deck. He cut the queen of hearts.
“Conrad?” Masterson said.
Lazily, apparently completely at ease, Conrad leaned forward and cut the deck as well.
He turned up the ace of spades.
“The deal is yours,” Masterson said. “Good luck, gentlemen. Let the g
ame begin.”
Chapter 22
There hadn’t been a lot of talk during the previous games. Some men liked to have some conversation along with their cards, but most serious players had little to say except things that had to do with the game. The men taking part in the high-stakes tournament were all serious players, no doubt about that.
McKinney was almost completely silent and uncommunicative. He said how many cards he wanted and announced whether he was calling or raising, and that was it. He sullenly ignored Conrad’s attempts at small talk.
It wasn’t going to be easy to get McKinney to spill whatever he knew about Pamela. Conrad was going to have to figure out a way to make it part of the game.
He won the first few hands. The trend made McKinney scowl darkly. Then the rancher took a good-sized pot, and for a second, a triumphant grin flashed across his face.
“Maybe your luck is changing,” Conrad commented.
McKinney grunted. “Luck’s got nothin’ to do with it. It was only a matter of time.”
Conrad took the deal right back by winning the next hand. McKinney’s features darkened with rage. His brief taste of winning made losing even more difficult for him to swallow, Conrad thought.
Even though he had decent cards Conrad folded the next two hands. The pots weren’t huge, and his stake was big enough he could afford to lose them. McKinney felt better again.
As the next hand got underway, Conrad looked at his cards and said, “I’m curious about the time you spent with Pamela while she was here in Denver.”
McKinney grunted and didn’t make any other reply as he studied his hand.
“Why don’t we sweeten the pot a little?” Conrad suggested. “You tell me more about her visit, and I’ll take that in lieu of a raise.”
“You’re loco,” McKinney growled. “That’s none of your business.”
Conrad saw some of the spectators exchanging puzzled glances. His suggestion definitely was odd. He pressed ahead with it, anyway. “You can’t blame me for being interested. She and I were engaged at one time, you know.”
“Not when I knew her,” McKinney snapped.
“No, but that doesn’t mean I didn’t care about her anymore.”
“Care—” McKinney repeated before he choked off the rest of the response. He shook his head and snarled, “Five thousand,” as he pushed chips into the middle of the table.
“I’ll see that and raise five,” Conrad added a couple stacks of his own chips to the pot.
He didn’t say anything else about Pamela as that hand continued. After a couple more raises, Conrad called and won the pot with four nines. McKinney threw in his cards disgustedly.
“You could have saved yourself some money if you’d taken me up on my offer,” Conrad pointed out.
“Go to hell,” McKinney snapped.
Conrad’s natural pride made him stiffen at that insult. The men gathered around the table watched in rapt silence. Normally in the West, such a comment would result in trouble, a fist fight at least and quite possibly gunplay.
Conrad got control of his temper and smiled faintly. “Too late. I’ve already been there.”
He didn’t offer any further explanation, and McKinney didn’t ask for one. Instead, the rancher asked, “Damn it, are we here to play cards or to gossip?”
In answer to that, Conrad began dealing the next hand.
He won several hands, and was well ahead of the game before he brought up the subject again. “Did you visit Pamela at her hotel while she was here?”
“You’ve sullied the woman’s good name enough,” McKinney said. Losing had made him edgier and more short-tempered.
“I didn’t say anything improper happened,” Conrad replied. “I just wondered if you met her children.” He watched McKinney’s dark, hooded eyes. There was no flicker of response in them, and Conrad’s heart sank. Was it possible his instincts were wrong? Could McKinney have been telling him the truth all along?
“I don’t know anything about any kids,” McKinney said. “Give me two cards, blast it.”
Conrad dealt the two cards. “What about the nurse traveling with her?”
McKinney ignored the question as if he hadn’t heard it.
The pot rose steadily as the two men traded bets. The spectators were quiet and attentive. Enough chips were in the center of the table that the hand was serious business.
“Twenty thousand more,” McKinney said as he pushed out the chips. That drew a few murmurs from the other men in the room.
“That’s fifty to me.” Conrad didn’t look at his cards. He knew what sort of hand he held. “I’ll see the bet and raise ten.”
“See it and twenty more,” McKinney snapped.
Conrad didn’t hesitate. “Make it an even hundred thousand.”
No one said anything. The room was so quiet it was like Bat Masterson and the other spectators weren’t even breathing. If McKinney saw the bet, more than half a million dollars in chips would be piled in the center of the table.
Conrad saw a gray pallor under McKinney’s permanent tan. The rancher looked at his cards, looked at the big pile of chips, looked across the table at Conrad. Finally, between clenched teeth, he declared, “I’ll call,” and pushed out the chips to make it official.
Conrad laid down four queens.
McKinney’s fingers involuntarily clenched on the cards in his hand. Breathing hard, he forced his fingers open and let the cards drop on the table. All of them were hearts . . . the two, three, seven, nine, and jack. The flush was a good hand, but not good enough to beat Conrad’s four ladies.
Just like that, McKinney’s stake was down to about two hundred thousand. Conrad had three-quarters of a million in front of him, once he’d pulled in the pot.
“You couldn’t be that lucky,” McKinney grated between clenched teeth.
“Careful, Rance,” Masterson said before Conrad could reply. “I was watching every move the two of you made. So were all these other fellas. There was nothing shady about that hand.”
Murmurs of agreement came from the other men.
“Then you won’t be that lucky again,” McKinney snarled. “Deal ’em.”
“I think we’ll have a new deck first,” Masterson said. “You, ah, sort of bent some of those cards, Rance.”
McKinney didn’t apologize for ruining the deck. He sat impatiently while Masterson got out a new one and broke the seal.
With the new cards in play, Conrad dealt. As he sent cards floating across the table to the rancher, he said, “If you want to stay in the game, maybe you’d better consider my offer, McKinney. Tell me the truth about Pamela Tarleton.”
“I’ve told you all I know.”
“I don’t believe you.”
McKinney started up from his chair. “You’re callin’ me a liar?”
“Rance!” Masterson snapped. “Sit down.” He looked over at Conrad. “You’re supposed to be playing a game here, Conrad.”
Offending Bat Masterson was the least of Conrad’s worries. He sensed McKinney was about to crack. He just needed to apply a little more pressure. “What’s the bet?” he asked as McKinney settled back down in his chair.
“Let me look at my damn cards.” McKinney snatched up the hand Conrad had dealt him. After a moment, he said, “I’ll open for twenty.”
“I’m in,” Conrad said. “Cards?”
“Three,” McKinney choked out.
Conrad dealt the cards and drew one for himself. McKinney didn’t miss that, he noted.
He had tried for a full house but failed, leaving him with three nines. McKinney bet ten thousand, and Conrad folded. He could have stayed in easily and possibly won, but he wanted to offer McKinney a shred of hope . . .
And then snatch it away.
With the deal again, McKinney’s confidence appeared to rise slightly. Conrad opened for twenty thousand. McKinney matched it. After the draw, Conrad raised five. McKinney saw that and raised ten more. Conrad kept the pressure on with small raises
that McKinney obviously felt like he had to match. His raises were reckless. The bet went back and forth, and almost before anyone knew what was happening, the pot was big enough that McKinney was forced to push in the rest of his chips. With his face haggard and drawn, he waited to see if Conrad was going to match the bet and raise again.
“Everything,” Conrad murmured.
“You son of a bitch!” McKinney exploded. He would have come out of his chair if Masterson’s hand hadn’t dropped firmly on his shoulder and held him down. Panting through teeth clenched with rage, McKinney said, “You know I don’t have it. You’re not even giving me a damn chance!”
“Yes, I am. The truth about Pamela Tarleton will cover the bet.”
“I’ve told you the truth!”
“I want to know about the children,” Conrad insisted.
The two of them locked eyes across the table. The atmosphere in the room was one of breathless anticipation. Finally, after what seemed like long minutes but was probably a matter of seconds, McKinney said, “Fine. I’ll tell you what I know. But not until after the hand.”
Conrad shook his head. “Not good enough. You could be lying about knowing anything.”
McKinney’s lips drew back from his teeth in a grimace. “Two children, right? A boy and a girl?”
Conrad’s heart slugged in his chest. His hunch had been right all along. McKinney did know something about the children!
“But that’s all you’re getting until I see your cards,” the rancher went on.
Conrad took a deep breath and nodded. “Fine.”
McKinney laid down his cards. “A pair of kings.”
Startled gasps came from some of the men. McKinney had bet everything on a measly pair.
But the hush fell again when Conrad said, “All I have is a pair, too.” He laid down the ace of clubs, followed by the ace of spades.
The black aces were enough.
The game was over.
Chapter 23
The Loner: Killer Poker Page 14
