Killer Poker

Chapter 18





Conrad’s hand streaked to the gun in his waistband. As it came out, the front sight caught for a second, slowing down his draw, giving the redheaded man in the carriage doorway time to swing his revolver toward him. The gun roared and spouted flame again.

He was already moving, swaying to his right. He felt the wind-rip of the slug’s passage past his left ear, mere inches away from its target. The Smith & Wesson bucked twice against his palm as he triggered it.

The gunman doubled over as at least one of the bullets punched into his gut. He dropped his gun and toppled out of the carriage, landing on the sidewalk near Arturo’s sprawled body.

Conrad whirled in the direction of the burly driver in the derby, but he was too late. The man had already dragged a gun from under his coat. It was lined up, ready to put a bullet through Conrad’s head.

Before the man could fire, another gun cracked, coming from the direction of the Palace. The man cried out in pain and staggered as blood sprayed from the back of his right hand. The fingers opened involuntarily and the gun clunked to the ground.

Conrad could have shot him without any trouble just then, but he didn’t want the man dead. He wanted him alive to answer questions.

With a popping sound, another gun went off. Conrad felt the bullet tug at his coat in another near miss. That would be Rose, he thought, finally taking a hand in the action herself instead of just planning and acting as the bait. He half turned toward her, hoping she wouldn’t make him kill her.

The man in the derby roared and threw himself forward, tackling Conrad.

They both went down, Conrad landing on the sidewalk first. The man’s weight coming down on top of him drove the air from his lungs and left him stunned for a second, giving the man the opportunity to grab Conrad’s wrist and pound his hand against the sidewalk. The Smith & Wesson flew out of his fingers and went skittering away.

As footsteps pounded past on the sidewalk, moving fast, the man reached for Conrad’s throat. Conrad twisted and hunched his shoulders to keep his attacker from getting a grip. Driving an elbow backward, he dug the point of it into the man’s stomach, buying him a second to catch his breath.

Conrad got his knees under him and heaved his body up. Breaking free of the man grappling with him, he turned to swing a hard, looping right into the man’s face. The blow didn’t do much good. The man’s ape-like strength allowed him to shrug it off. He flung out a long arm and backhanded Conrad in the jaw. The impact sent Conrad rolling across the sidewalk.

The man bounded after him. As Conrad came to a stop, he lifted both legs and kicked out with them, catching the onrushing man in the belly with his boot heels. The man’s momentum carried him forward, bending Conrad’s knees. He straightened his legs and used them to lever the man up and over him. With a startled yell, the man sailed through the air for several feet before he crashed in the street, practically under the hooves of the startled horses hitched to the carriage. The animals danced around in their harness, putting the man in danger of being trampled.

He scrambled away from the slashing hooves, but as he surged to his feet, Conrad was already up and waiting. He shot a hard left into the man’s beard-stubbled face, then followed it with a right cross that landed solidly on his jaw with a sound like an ax biting deep into a chunk of firewood. The man went down again, and didn’t move. Conrad bent down, grabbed his coat, and dragged his senseless form away from the horses so they wouldn’t step on him.

With that done, Conrad looked around for Rose but didn’t see her. Now that the shooting seemed to be over, a crowd of curious onlookers was gathering. A man knelt beside Arturo, who hadn’t moved since he had fallen to the sidewalk after being shot.

Conrad ran over and dropped to a knee beside his friend. He glanced at the redheaded gunman, who lay not far away. Judging by the pool of blood forming under the man, he no longer represented a threat.

“Can you tell how bad he’s hurt?” Conrad asked the man who was bent over Arturo.

The man glanced up. “Are you a doctor?”

“No.”

“Well, I am, so give me some room. If you want to help, let’s roll him onto his right side. The wound seems to be in his left arm.”

That was a relief, Conrad thought. A bullet through the arm was better than one through the body. But such a wound could still be very dangerous. A man could bleed to death from a bullet hole almost anywhere in his body, and from the looks of the dark stain on the left sleeve of Arturo’s coat, he had lost quite a bit of blood already.

Carefully, Conrad and the doctor moved Arturo onto his right side. The doctor took a folding knife from his pocket and used it to cut away the coat sleeve and then the shirt sleeve, laying bare Arturo’s arm. The upper arm had two ugly, puckered holes in it, about halfway between the shoulder and the elbow, where the bullet had passed through the flesh.

“Your friend is lucky,” the doctor said. “It looks like the slug missed the bone. Once we get the bleeding stopped and clean up that wound, I’ll be able to get a better idea of how badly he’s hurt. It’s possible there could be some nerve damage that would keep him from using the arm properly in the future.”

That was a worrisome prospect, Conrad thought, but still a lot better than it could have been.

“He’ll have to be taken to the hospital.”

Conrad nodded. “Do whatever you need to do, Doctor. I’ll see to it that all the expenses are covered. Money is no object.”

“He’ll get the best care I know how to give him either way,” the physician said gruffly. He glanced toward the redheaded gunman. “I’m afraid that one is beyond help.”

“Considering that he shot Arturo here and tried to kill me, I’m not going to lose any sleep over that.” Confident Arturo was in good hands, Conrad straightened and went back over to the man he had knocked out.

He spotted the Smith & Wesson he’d borrowed from Bat Masterson lying on the sidewalk a few feet away and was glad no one had taken advantage of the opportunity to steal it. He picked up the gun and covered the burly carriage driver as he started to stir.

The man let out a groan and rolled onto his side. Struggling to prop himself up on an elbow, he shook his head as if he were trying to clear away the cobwebs that clogged his brain. Then he looked up at Conrad and blinked in surprise as he found himself staring down the barrel of the .38. “Don’t shoot, mister,” he gasped.

Conrad’s face was as grim as death as he asked, “Why not? You and your friend tried to kill me.”

The man held up a trembling hand, palm out, and pleaded, “It was just a job. I swear, it was nothin’ personal.”

“And that’s supposed to make me less inclined to put a bullet through your brain?” Conrad asked coolly.

“I’ll do anything you want—”

“Tell me who hired you.”

“It . . . it was the girl! That blond girl, the one who went into the Palace to lure you out here. I swear it, mister, I got nothin’ against you.”

“Do you know her name?” Conrad snapped. He had his doubts that Rose Sullivan was her real name.

The man shook his head. “She never told Riley and me her name. She got word to us through a bartender we know, a fella who knows that we do jobs like this.”

“You mean who knows that you’re hired killers.”

The man’s face stiffened. He realized he might be talking himself right onto the gallows. “I ain’t sayin’ nothin’ else,” he muttered in a surly tone.

Conrad eared back the .38’s hammer, making the man’s eyes widen in fear again. “Where can I find her, the blonde who hired you?”

“I got no idea, and that’s the truth, I swear it. All Riley and me knew was where to meet her and talk about the job.”

“How did you wind up with my friend as your prisoner?”

“That skinny hombre? He was spyin’ on the girl. She spotted him in the place where we met and had me and Riley lay for him outside in the alley.”

“If he dies, you’ll hang. I’ll see to it.”

“That ain’t fair!” the man howled. “I never shot him!”

“Your partner did, and he’s dead. That just leaves you to swing for it.”

Before Conrad could say anything else, a loud, authoritative voice ordered, “Mister, put that gun down and step away from that man!”

Conrad glanced over his shoulder and saw that a couple uniformed Denver policemen had arrived on the scene. He lowered the Smith & Wesson and nodded toward the man lying at the edge of the street. “This man and another one tried to kill me. The other one is lying over there. I shot him in self-defense. There were plenty of people on the street. I’m sure you can find witnesses to back up my story.”

“That’s fine,” one of the officers said, “but until then you’d better hand over that gun.”

Conrad hesitated. He didn’t want to be unarmed.

Before it became an issue, Bat Masterson walked up, breathing heavily. “I can testify . . . that my friend Mr. Browning . . . is telling the truth. I saw what happened . . . with my own eyes.”

The attitude of the police officers changed. “Are you sure about that, Mr. Masterson?” one of them asked. Clearly, they knew Bat and were familiar with his reputation as a lawman.

Masterson nodded. “I’m certain.” He seemed to be catching his breath.

The policemen looked at each other. One of them shrugged and said, “In that case . . .”

Conrad knew they were going to take Masterson’s word for it.

“My friend was wounded in the shooting.” Conrad pointed toward Arturo. The doctor had cut strips off of Arturo’s shirt and wadded them up to use as pads to try to stop the bleeding. “He needs to get to a hospital.”

“We’ll send for an ambulance wagon,” one of the officers said with a nod. “And we’ll take this one into custody.”

Masterson said, “If you need to talk to Mr. Browning or me, we’ll be in the Palace.”

“All right, Mr. Masterson, that’s fine.”

Masterson put a hand on Conrad’s arm. They turned toward the theater and gambling parlor.

“You followed me out anyway, didn’t you, Bat?” Conrad asked quietly as they walked toward the big building.

“It’s a good thing I did, I’d say.”

“I knew when I saw the shot crease that bastard’s hand and make him drop his gun, it had to be you who fired it.”

Masterson laughed. “You’re giving me too much credit, Conrad. That shot was pure luck. I was aiming at his body. I wanted to ventilate the son of a bitch!”

“Luck or skill, I’m glad you showed up when you did. He had a bead on me.”

“Let’s get a drink, and you can tell me what this is all about,” Masterson suggested. “I assume it has something to do with those missing children of yours.”

Conrad nodded, feeling a moment of bleak emptiness go through him. “It must.”

A short time later, they sat at a table in a small private room off the gambling hall with a bottle of whiskey on the table between them. Conrad sipped the drink Masterson had poured. He still had a poker tournament to take part in, and he didn’t want to muddle his brain.

“I reckon you went after Rose when you saw her shooting at me,” he said.

Masterson nodded. “That’s right. I wasn’t sure what was going on, but I knew she couldn’t be your friend if she was trying to put a bullet in you. Unfortunately, she’s considerably younger and faster than I am. I chased her for a few blocks, but she gave me the slip. What’s going on here, Conrad? I thought she worked for Ellery Hudson.”

Conrad explained the suspicions he’d started having about Rose. The frown on Masterson’s face deepened as he listened.

“How could Pamela Tarleton have planned so far ahead as to set up all of this?” he asked when Conrad was finished.

“Pamela was a genius when it came to revenge. I’ve seen plenty of evidence of that over the past few months. I’m sure she tried to plan for every contingency she could think of. We’ve only seen the schemes that actually came to fruition.”

Masterson shook his head. “This Rose Sullivan seems to be almost as cunning. She came close to killing you several times.”

“I know.” Conrad nodded.

“Now that you’ve exposed her for what she is, you shouldn’t have to worry about her anymore.”

Conrad hoped that was the case, but he wasn’t so sure. Certainly it wouldn’t be as easy for her to try to kill him, but she had gotten away. He wasn’t convinced she would just give up. Pamela must have paid her to kill him. Rose, or whatever her real name was, might feel she had to honor that bargain.

“What are you going to do now?” Masterson asked.

“Find out where Arturo was taken and make sure he’s all right. Then I’ll take my place in the tournament again. Have there been any more winners?”

“A couple. You really intend to carry on with it?”

“I know there’s a connection between McKinney and Pamela, and I still have a hunch he knows more than he’s been willing to admit so far.” Conrad smiled faintly. “When the time comes for the next round, I’ll be ready.”