Killer Poker

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.