Killer Poker

Chapter 17





Arturo slipped into the booth Weaver had indicated first, so he could get a sense of the restaurant’s layout and where Rose and her companions were sitting. The space was long and narrow, with booths along each wall and others sitting back to back and side by side up the middle, forming two aisles. About a fourth of them were occupied by customers eating Weaver’s food.

There were other booths along the front wall, and it was in one of those where Rose and two men sat, evidently holding an earnest, low-voiced conversation. Plates of food were on the table to make it look like they were there for a meal, but Arturo knew it was more than that.

From his position, he could see Rose’s blue gown, and got a good look at the two men. Both were rough-faced, beard-stubbled individuals, one with a thatch of rusty red hair under a thumbed-back Stetson, the other man burlier and more ape-like with a derby crammed down on his head. He seemed to be doing more of the talking. The man with the cowboy hat leaned back against the booth’s seat with an indolent expression on his face.

He also wore a revolver in a tied-down holster. Arturo had been around enough rough frontiersmen to know that meant the man fancied himself to be slick on the draw. Maybe he was. Arturo seriously doubted the man was as fast as Conrad.

Not that he wanted to put it to the test.

The booth closest to the front in the center section was empty. Arturo thought if he could reach it without Rose seeing him, he might be able to overhear part of their conversation.

He pulled his hat down lower so it partially shielded his face, then stood up and moved quickly toward the first booth. But not so quickly it would draw attention to him, he hoped. He kept his head down, despite the urge to glance up and get a better look at Rose.

When he reached the booth he slid into it and pressed his back against the seat. The top of his head showed over the seat, but not enough for her to recognize him. He leaned closer and strained his ears to hear what they were saying.

Rose’s voice was too low for him to make out many of the words, but he suddenly heard her say something about the Palace, the theater and gambling hall where the poker tournament was taking place. He knew she had to be talking about Conrad.

A deep, rumbling voice asked, “What time?” That had to be the man in the derby, Arturo thought.

“. . . way of knowing,” Rose replied. “I’ll have to . . . him out.”

Arturo’s pulse quickened as his mind filled in the blanks he hadn’t been able to hear. Rose had told the men there was no way of knowing when Conrad might leave the gambling hall. She would have to lure him out of the place.

And when she did, Arturo had no doubt the two men would be waiting to gun him down.

He had proof that Rose had been plotting against Conrad. They had been right to be suspicious of her. He needed to go to the police.

His spirits fell as he realized the knowledge he had gained wasn’t exactly proof. If he went to the law, it would just be his word against Rose’s. She would deny everything.

He would have to catch her in the act, which meant he would have to risk Conrad’s life. He wasn’t sure he could do that. Better to hurry to the Palace and warn Conrad, so he wouldn’t walk blindly into the trap Rose was setting for him.

He would wait for them to leave, then go out the back way and hurry to the gambling hall as fast as he could. Conrad would be sequestered in the private room where the games were taking place, but Arturo would get word to him somehow. Bat Masterson was in charge of things, Arturo recalled. He needed to talk to the famous ex-lawman.

His nerves drew tighter and tighter as the trio in the front booth continued their conversation. He couldn’t make out any of what they were saying, but he knew they were probably discussing exactly how they would go about carrying out the assassination they were planning.

Finally, they stood up. Arturo heard them moving around. He hoped Rose wouldn’t walk past the booth where he was sitting, look into it, and recognize him.

Luck was with him. The front door of the restaurant opened, and he heard a swish of skirts as she went out. The two men strolled past him, and the man in the derby actually glanced at him, but neither of them had ever seen him before so he wasn’t worried about them recognizing him. They walked to the back of the place and paid Weaver for the food they’d had.

The men left the restaurant without looking at Arturo as they went by. As soon as the door swung closed behind them, he was on his feet. He hurried to the back and said to Weaver, “I’d like to go out through the kitchen, if that’s all right.”

“Figured you might want to do that,” the former cowhand said, grinning again. “Find out what you wanted to know?”

“I hope so.” Arturo paused long enough to slip a double eagle out of his pocket. As he pressed it into Weaver’s hand, he said, “This is for your trouble.”

“Well, it wasn’t much trouble, but I’m mighty obliged to you, partner. Come back any time you want to. And tell your friends about Luigi’s!”

Arturo thought that was highly unlikely, but he didn’t take the time to say so.

Once he was in the alley again, he headed cautiously for the street. He knew he needed to be careful. It was possible Rose was still around where she might see him. He would have to check both ways along the street before he stepped out. If he knew his way around Denver better, he might try some other route, but he was afraid he would get lost and fail to reach the Palace in time to warn Conrad.

A shape suddenly loomed out of the shadows in front of Arturo, a patch of deeper darkness that moved swiftly toward him and took on the dimensions of a man. The pistol Conrad had given him was tucked away under his coat, but as he reached for it a fist exploded against his jaw and sent him falling against the wall. Arturo struggled to remain conscious as two pairs of rough hands grabbed him and shoved him toward the street.

A fog seemed to have descended over his eyes. He couldn’t see much except shifting patterns of light and darkness, but he heard a deep, gravelly voice ask, “Is this him?”

“Yes, I thought so.” The reply was in the cool, measured tones of a woman.

Arturo’s mind was stunned, but he recognized the voice of Rose Sullivan.

“I told you I recognized his hat over the top of that booth. He had no reason to be there unless he was sneaking around, spying on me.”

“What do you want us to do with him?”

Rose didn’t answer for a moment as she pondered the question. Then she said, “Put him in the carriage and bring him with us. He might come in handy, especially if Browning gets suspicious and doesn’t want to cooperate.”

It was amazing how much different she sounded, even though the voice was the same. The sweet young woman was gone, and in her place was a cold, calculating schemer. Arturo knew he had to get away, had to warn Conrad.

“Just make sure he can’t interfere,” Rose went on.

“Sure,” one of the men holding Arturo said. He grunted with effort, and the next instant something hard crashed against Arturo’s skull with blinding force.

He suddenly felt like he was tumbling forward into a deep, dark well. The last thing he heard, echoing in that darkness, was, “Conrad Browning has to die tonight.”





Conrad hadn’t stretched out to go to sleep yet when a soft knock sounded on the door of the little room. His boots were off, but he still wore his trousers and shirt. Yawning with weariness, he went over and asked, “Who is it?”

“Bat.”

Knowing that Masterson wouldn’t bother him unless it was for something important, Conrad opened the door.

“Sorry to break in on you, Conrad,” Masterson said. “I see you hadn’t gone to sleep yet. Good.”

“No, but I’m pretty tired, Bat. What’s going on?”

“I got word there’s a lady looking for you.”

Conrad grimaced. “Honestly, Bat, I’m too tired right now to be thinking about women—”

“It’s not like that,” Masterson broke in. “Although I must say, Conrad, you’re too young to ever be too tired to think about women.” He noticed the look of impatience on Conrad’s face, and went on, “This is that Miss Sullivan you’re acquainted with from Ellery Hudson’s office.”

“Rose?” Conrad couldn’t hold in his surprise. “What the hell is she doing here?”

“She said something happened to your friend Vincenzo and she needs your help. She saw him on the street. A man had attacked him and robbed him. She says he’s hurt.”

Mixed emotions shot through Conrad. First and foremost among them was genuine worry for Arturo. He had planned to investigate Rose’s background, and he could have been following her. It was entirely possible that a thief could have assaulted him.

But Conrad also felt a nagging suspicion about Rose. Was this a trick of some sort, designed to lure him away from the poker tournament and out of the Palace so another attempt could be made on his life?

That was possible, but if Arturo actually was hurt, Conrad had to give Rose the benefit of the doubt. He had to play along and see what was really happening, but there was no reason he couldn’t be careful. “Loan me a six-gun, Bat.”

“I’ll do better than that,” Masterson said. “I’ll come along with you.”

Conrad considered that for a second, then shook his head. “No, whatever’s going to happen, I want it to happen. I’m tired of not being sure about certain things.”

“Yeah, but if you’re walking right into trouble—”

“That’s why I asked for the gun.”

Masterson reached under his coat and handed him one of the weapons from his shoulder holsters. It was a Smith & Wesson .38 caliber double action revolver with a four-inch barrel. Like most short-barreled guns, it wouldn’t be very accurate at more than twenty feet or so, but it packed a fairly lethal punch.

Conrad checked to make sure the hammer was on an empty chamber, then tucked the gun into the waistband of his trousers. He pulled his boots on and shrugged into his coat, leaving off the tie and his hat. “I’ll be back by the time you’re ready for the next round to begin.”

“Just be careful,” Masterson said. “You don’t know what you’re walking into out there.”

Conrad nodded. He was well aware of the danger.

Masterson came with him as he strode through the private room and into the main room of the gambling hall. “She’s waiting for you in the lobby.”

Conrad spotted Rose as he started down the broad marble staircase. She saw him, too, and hurried to meet him with an anxious expression on her face. She was waiting for him when he reached the bottom of the stairs.

“Oh, Conrad,” she said as one of her gloved hands clutched at his arm, “I’m so glad I was able to find you. Your friend Arturo has been hurt.”

“What happened?” he asked curtly.

“I was walking home a little while ago, and I heard someone cry out behind me. When I turned around to look, I saw Arturo fighting with a couple men. They must have been trying to rob him. I saw one of them reach under Arturo’s coat and yank something out.” She frowned. “What was he doing there, Conrad? Was he following me? Do . . . do you not trust me for some reason?”

Before he could answer, she waved a hand, dismissing the question. “But there’s no time to worry about that now. They hit him in the head, and when he fell down they ran away. I tried to help him, but he wouldn’t wake up and I couldn’t find a policeman and . . . and . . .” She was starting to sound hysterical.

Conrad said, “Settle down. Take a deep breath. Where’s Arturo now?”

Rose took in a deep breath as he had said and let it out in a sigh. “There was a carriage passing by. I got the driver to stop and help me put Arturo inside. I was going to try to find a doctor, but then I realized we weren’t far from this place and I thought if I could talk to you, you’d know what to do.”

Conrad nodded and took hold of her arm with his left hand. “Show me. We’ll get Arturo the help he needs.”

“Oh, thank God.” Rose sounded sincere, and Conrad wanted to believe her, but he couldn’t take anything she said on faith.

They left the Palace, and he saw a carriage parked at the curb a short distance away. A short, broad-shouldered man in a derby hat stood there holding the reins of the team. He called, “Did you find him, miss?”

“Yes, this is Mr. Browning,” Rose said as she led Conrad toward the vehicle. “He—”

Somebody inside the carriage howled in pain and the next instant its door burst open. Arturo tumbled out, shouting, “Conrad, it’s a trap! Run!”

A redheaded man in a Stetson appeared in the doorway of the carriage holding a gun. Smoke and flame geysered from the weapon’s muzzle, and Arturo was thrown forward on the sidewalk as a slug slammed into him.