Killer Poker

Chapter 21





After that, Conrad’s nerves didn’t bother him anymore. His goal was in plain sight. All he had to do was reach it. He played with a cool-headed resolution, taking chances when his instincts told him it might pay off. Most of the time he was right. The pile of chips in front of him began to grow as the chips in front of Gray dwindled.

With McKinney emerging victorious at the other table, theirs was the only game left. Men gathered around the table to watch. They were careful not to get too close and distract the players, but Conrad and Gray were definitely the center of attention. McKinney came over and watched several hands with a sneer on his face.

Conrad ignored him. He raised two thousand. Gray called. Conrad took the pot with two pair.

He won the next two hands as well. On the next hand he got two eights and two jacks on the deal. He bet ten thousand. Without hesitation, Gray saw the bet and raised it five grand. Conrad discarded the three that had come with the eights and the jacks and dealt himself a third jack. He bumped the bet up ten thousand more.

Back and forth the bet went, each man grim faced with determination as the pot grew to staggering proportions. If he lost that hand, Conrad realized, he wouldn’t be out of the game, but his chances would be severely crippled. The same was true of his opponent.

Gray knew that, too. He said, “There’s no point in dragging this out.” He waved a hand toward the chips he had left. “Everything. I’ll bet it all.”

It was a desperate move. Conrad counted quickly. He was a thousand dollars short of being able to cover the bet. He had to fold in order to have anything left for the next hand.

A chip sailed onto the table and landed on the pot. “It’s on me, Browning,” Rance McKinney said. “Call him.”

Conrad turned his head to look at the rancher. “Why would you want to help me out?”

“Because you’re the one I want to face, not this pasty-faced tinhorn.”

Anger kindled in Gray’s eyes. He leaned forward, about to say something, but Bat Masterson stepped up to the table.

“Gentlemen, let’s not have any trouble here.” The former lawman’s voice was calm and quiet, but it had a steely edge to it. He reached down and picked up the chip McKinney had thrown into the pot. “Sorry, Rance. Stakes are limited to what each man has on the table.”

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 game begin.”