Killer Poker

Chapter 5





Conrad nodded and touched a finger to the brim of his hat. “Hello again, Miss Sullivan.”

She wore a gray jacket that matched her skirt over her starched white blouse. A white scarf was tied around her hair. She looked trim and pretty, but Conrad wasn’t in the mood for female company at the moment.

“Did you finish your business with Mr. Hudson?” she asked.

“Yes, I did.”

“I hope he was helpful.”

“Very,” Conrad said.

“He can be an old grump sometimes, but he’s an excellent lawyer. You won’t find any better in Denver.”

Conrad chuckled in spite of himself. “I’m aware of that. I’ve known Ellery for quite a while.”

“I’m sorry, I know I should recognize your name, and it certainly sounds familiar, but I haven’t really been working at Hudson, Burke, and Hardy for that long, and—”

Conrad held up a hand to stop the flow of words tumbling from her mouth. “That’s quite all right, Miss Sullivan.”

“Why don’t you call me Rose?”

Conrad ignored that request and tugged on his hatbrim as he said, “I really have to be going now.”

She put out a hand, resting it on his forearm. “If there’s ever anything I can do to be of service to you, I hope you won’t hesitate to let me know, Mr. Browning. I try to keep up with everything that goes on at Hudson, Burke, and Hardy, you know. Anything you tell me will be held in the strictest confidence.”

“I’ll remember that.” He hoped she wasn’t going to force him to be rude to get away from her.

“I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

He nodded. “I’m sure.” He would have to visit Hudson’s office again while he was in Denver, maybe quite a few times, so it wouldn’t hurt to stay on friendly terms with the determined young woman who worked there.

And she was certainly pleasing to look at, if nothing else.

When he started across the sidewalk toward the buckboard, she let him go with a smile and a flutter of her fingers. “Good afternoon, Mr. Browning,” she called after him.

Conrad returned the smile and waved at her.

When he reached the buckboard, Arturo asked from the seat, “Who was that?”

“A young woman who works in Ellery Hudson’s office. Hudson’s going to lend us a hand in our search. He’s also made arrangements for us to have a suite at the Lansing House.” Conrad untied the black’s reins and swung up into the saddle. “I know where it is. Follow me.”

The Lansing House was a small but extremely elegant—and expensive—hotel in downtown Denver, not far from the famous Tabor Grand Opera House built by the tycoon Horace Tabor to impress his wife Elizabeth, better known as Baby Doe. Wealthy businessmen who valued privacy and discretion often stayed at the Lansing when they were visiting Denver, and more than one million-dollar deal had been arranged in the hushed confines of its comfortably appointed salon.

Service at the Lansing was excellent as well. Conrad told Arturo to park the buckboard in front of the hotel and leave it there, along with their bags and supplies. “Everything will be brought in and taken up to the suite,” he assured Arturo, who looked dubious. “There’s a livery stable in the next block that will take charge of the horses.”

“If you say so, sir.”

They went inside, where a doorman wearing a uniform as fancy as that of a Prussian archduke met them and ushered them through the lobby to the desk. Conrad had stayed there a few times before, and the doorman remembered him, calling him by name.

So did the clerk, who said, “No need for you to check in, Mr. Browning. Mr. Hudson called and said that you were to have the suite we keep reserved for his firm’s clients.”

“Thanks. This is my friend and business associate, Mr. Vincenzo.”

The clerk nodded. “It’s a pleasure to meet you, Mr. Vincenzo. If there’s anything we can do to make your stay in Denver more pleasant, please let us know.”

“Of course,” Arturo said. “Thank you.”

A bellboy rode the elevator with them up to the third floor and showed them to the suite, which had two bedrooms, a luxurious sitting room, and indoor plumbing. When the bellboy was gone, Arturo said to Conrad, “You didn’t tell them I was your servant.”

Conrad shrugged and tossed his hat onto a desk. “Didn’t seem to be any need to. We’re partners, Arturo. We’ve been through too much together to worry about such things.”

“I see.” Arturo frowned. “Does this mean you’re no longer going to pay me?”

Conrad threw back his head and laughed. “No, that’s not what it means. I’m just not going to worry about a bunch of meaningless protocol and phony manners.”

Arturo regarded him for a long moment and then nodded slowly. “You’re very different from Count Fortunato, sir.”

“I should hope so. Nobility or not, Fortunato was a crazy, evil son of a bitch.”

“You’ll get no argument from me, sir.”



Conrad changed into a brown tweed suit, also donning a silk cravat and a diamond stickpin before they went back downstairs to have supper. The food in the dining room of the Lansing House was as good as any to be found east of San Francisco, and Conrad enjoyed the dinner they ate that evening. After the meal, he lingered over a snifter of brandy.

“Do you have any plans for this evening?” he asked Arturo.

“Plans?” Arturo blinked in surprise. “Why would I have any plans? I’ve never been here before.”

“Well, I have. Come on. I’ll show you some of Denver’s night life.”

“Are you sure that’s a wise idea, sir?”

Conrad drained the last of the brandy. “We don’t have anything else to do while we wait for Ellery to carry out his investigation. Denver’s too big for us to wander around the town asking folks at random if they remember seeing Pamela and the twins.”

“You have a point there,” Arturo admitted. “Where are we going?”

“A place called the Palace.”

“This so-called Palace isn’t a house of ill repute, is it?”

Conrad chuckled. “Hardly.”

They left the hotel and walked a few blocks northeast to the corner of Blake and Fifteenth Streets, where an imposing two-story brick building sat, taking up almost the entire block. A big sign on the front of the building proclaimed it to be the Palace Variety Theatre and Gambling Parlor. More signs plastered up around the entrance announced that famous vaudevillian Eddie Foy was scheduled to perform there the next week.

“If we’re still here, maybe we can take in the show.” Conrad pointed at the signs with a thumb. “Tonight we’ll just pay a visit to the gambling parlor.”

“I’ve never been very fond of gambling,” Arturo said.

“You don’t have to bet on anything. I used to enjoy it, but somehow it doesn’t seem quite as exciting anymore.”

Losing what he had lost, and then living a life where it seemed he was constantly wagering his life instead of money he would never miss, certainly had changed him, Conrad mused as he and Arturo went inside and up a broad set of marble stairs to the big gambling room on the second floor.

Despite that, he felt his pulse quicken a little as familiar sounds engulfed him: cards slapping down on green felt, the click of a roulette ball as the wheel whirred and spun, the clink of bottles on fine crystal, the laughter of women, the hearty talk of men. In his younger days, Conrad had spent a lot of time in places just like that, including the Palace. Those memories were still part of him.

A huge gas chandelier hung from the ceiling in the center of the room and cast its light through hundreds of glass prisms over the various tables and gambling layouts. A long mahogany bar polished to a high sheen ran along one wall. Waitresses in elegant, low-cut gowns delivered drinks to the players engaged in the games. The room was crowded, and everyone seemed to be having a fine time.

“Let’s get a drink,” Conrad suggested with a nod toward the bar with its gleaming brass footrail.

“If you say so, sir,” Arturo agreed.

“Forget that ‘sir’ business. Tonight we’re just a couple of pards out on the town.”

Arturo cocked an eyebrow as if he found that a very unlikely proposition, but he didn’t argue.

They hadn’t reached the bar when a man stepped in front of them to stop them. His waist was thickening and his hair was thinning with middle age, but he was still a solidly built, impressive individual. A dark brown mustache curled on his upper lip. He had a cigar clamped between his teeth, but he removed it to say, “Conrad? Conrad Browning? Is that you?”

Conrad grinned with the pleasure of recognizing an old friend. “Hello, Bat,” he said as he extended his hand.

Bat Masterson gripped Conrad’s hand. “Good to see you again, son. I heard you were dead.”

“Not hardly.”

“How’s your pa? I mean, your father.”

“Frank was fine, the last I heard from him. He’s still drifting, so we don’t see each other very often.”

Masterson nodded. “Frank Morgan never could stay in one place for very long. We were alike in that respect, only he’s even more fiddle-footed than I am. Did he ever tell you about the time he helped me track down some killers while I was still packing a badge in Kansas?”

“No, I don’t think I’ve heard that story.”

Masterson clapped a hand on his shoulder. “I’ll tell you sometime. It’s quite a yarn.” He smiled at Arturo. “Who’s your friend?”

“Arturo Vincenzo,” Conrad said. “Arturo, meet Bat Masterson.”

“The famous lawman?” Arturo asked.

“Retired,” Masterson said as his smile widened into a grin. He shook hands with Arturo. “Pleased to meet you, Mr. Vincenzo. You don’t sound Italian, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

“I was educated in England, among other places.”

“Ah, a citizen of the world! Good man. Come on, you two, let’s have a drink.”

“That’s where we were headed,” Conrad said. As the three men walked toward the bar, he waved a hand to indicate their surroundings and asked, “Do you still own this place, Bat?”

Masterson shook his head. “No, no, I sold it several years ago. Got tired of arguing with the city fathers who seemed to believe it’s some sort of den of iniquity. I moved down to Creede for a while and just came back to Denver a couple years ago. I was a little surprised to see the place still operating, but I come here when I can. Old times’ sake, you know.”

“I’ll bet it’s still a good place to find a high stakes game.”

“The best.” Masterson frowned in thought. “In fact, there’s a game coming up that might interest you. As I recall, you like to play some cards now and then.”

Although Conrad was aware of Masterson’s reputation as a buffalo hunter, lawman, and gun handler, he knew the man primarily as the owner of various gambling halls, including at one time the Palace in Denver.

With a shake of his head, Conrad said, “I didn’t come here to gamble, Bat. Things have changed.”

“Yeah, I heard you’ve had some bad luck. Some mighty bad luck. I’m sorry, son.”

Conrad nodded. “I’m obliged for that.”

They had reached the bar. Masterson said, “Well, if you change your mind, let me know. The buy-in to this game I’m talking about is pretty steep, but I’m sure you can afford it.”

Masterson signaled the bartender and ordered three cognacs for them. The drinks had just come and Conrad was picking up his snifter when someone jostled him heavily from behind. About half the cognac splashed across the bar.

Instinct made Conrad swing around angrily. He was about to tell the man who had bumped into him to be more careful, when he saw a gun barrel rising toward his face and heard the unmistakable metallic ratcheting of the weapon’s hammer being drawn back.