TWO
It was well past two in the morning, but Clint’s poker game was still going strong. The only one of the players to show any sign of slowing down was Wendell, but that only amounted to a lot of yawning in between hands. Bull always looked half asleep and Jack was drinking enough cheap whiskey to fuel a furnace.
George sat behind a pile of chips bigger than anyone else’s at the table, which included a pocket watch and a tarnished pair of cuff links. Clint decided that the other man wasn’t so much a good bluffer as he was a smug pain in the ass. He was always an asshole, which made it difficult to tell when he was putting on a show or just being himself.
As far as Clint could tell, George acted like a prick when he had a hand and acted like an even bigger one when he didn’t. On the occasions when Clint had beaten him, George acted like a prick because he’d lost. After a few hours of that, it became tough for Clint to tell one level of smugness from another. There was, however, one peculiar element that kept him intrigued. That element was still dealing faro from the other side of the room.
Every so often, Clint would still get either a frown or a smirk from her. Sometimes those expressions were accompanied by a nod or a shake of her head. Sometimes, those were aimed at other players instead of at Clint. It took a while, but he eventually realized when the dealer was looking at him and when she wasn’t. Even more importantly, he’d figured out just what all those nods and shakes actually meant.
George threw in a bet, which was called by Bull. Wendell folded, leaving the next decision up to Clint.
Since the faro game across the room was on an upswing, the dealer was preoccupied. Clint called and then waited for his replacement cards to be dealt. In that time, a few faro players bickered about something or other, which allowed the dealer to shift her eyes in Clint’s direction.
When he looked at the two cards he’d been dealt to replace the ones he’d tossed, George smirked. Unfortunately, it was one of the same toothy smirks he always showed when he wasn’t cussing at someone. “Fifteen dollars,” George grunted as he threw in his chips.
Bull surveyed the table, glanced at his cards, looked around, and then looked at his cards again.
“They ain’t changin’,” George snapped. Although cowed by the fire in Bull’s eyes, George still muttered, “Well they ain’t.”
“Fold,” Bull declared. Not only did he lay down his cards, but he also stood up and added, “I’m going home.”
“What?” George asked. “You still got some of my money!”
“I won it.”
“Yeah, and a man should have a chance to win it back!”
“You’ve had plenty of chances,” Bull declared. He then tipped his hat to the rest of the table and walked away.
Gritting his teeth, George said, “Someone should teach him some proper card table manners.”
“Really?” Clint chuckled as he reached for his chips. From the corner of his eye, he spotted the dealer standing up and leaning forward. While her own players were content to gaze down the front of her dress, she was gazing across at him and shaking her head.
As much as Clint wanted to keep George from pulling in another pot right then and there, he laid down his cards.
“You fold?” George asked.
Clint nodded. “That’s right.”
“You can’t fold.”
“Why not?”
“The man wants to fold, let him fold,” Jack grumbled.
“What about you, old man?” George asked. “In or out?”
“I suppose I’m out.”
George nodded solemnly as he pulled in the pot and snarled, “Best hand I get all night and there ain’t nobody with the balls to play the hand with me.”
“Eh, go stuff yerself,” the older man grumbled as he dealt the next hand.
Betting commenced, which George bumped up to a slightly higher level than normal. Clint stayed in the game after answering a few modest raises. After pitching one card to fill a straight, he only got a six to pair the one he’d been originally dealt.
“Twenty-five,” George announced as he shoved in some money.
The faro dealer was watching the game intently and she displayed a wide smile that was obviously intended for Clint. Not one to disappoint a lady, Clint put in a twenty dollar raise.
“Too rich for my blood,” Jack said.
“Raise?” George asked.
“You heard me,” Clint replied.
Putting on another one of his smug grins, George shrugged and shoved in even more money. “Then I suppose I’ll have to raise it again. Make it another eighty.”
Clint’s instincts told him that George didn’t have what it took to bluff away such a generous portion of his stack. The dealer’s wide smile, on the other hand, told him he might just have a bad read on the man across from him. Reluctantly, Clint pushed in all of his remaining funds to cover the bet.
“You sure you want to do that?” George asked.
“Too late to fix it now.”
“This is a gentleman’s game. You can take it back if you made a mistake.”
Now, Clint felt like an idiot for giving George any credit whatsoever. “Since when have you conducted this as a gentleman’s game? I’ve got a pair of sixes.”
Even after Clint showed his hand, George couldn’t believe it. “Sixes? You call me with a pair of sixes? What kind of damn fool play is that?”
“Something tells me it’s a winning play. Care to prove me wrong?”
“I ain’t got nothin’ to prove!”
“Sure you do,” Clint said. “Prove you can beat a pair of sixes.”
George didn’t show his cards, but he slapped them down with almost enough force to splinter the table. “You’re cheatin’.”
“What did you say?”
“How the hell did you know what I had?” Before anyone could answer that question, George twisted around in his seat and turned toward the smiling faro dealer. “It was that black son of a bitch, wasn’t it?”
“Huh?”
“That’s the same bastard that tried to cheat me at faro. Now he’s tryin’ to get back at me by helpin’ you cheat at poker!”
Clint had to look around a few times before he could figure out what the hell George was talking about. Then, he picked out one black man seated next to the pretty dealer at the end of the faro table, where he handed out winnings and collected markers throughout the game.
“What kind of bullshit are you talking about?” Jack asked.
Nodding furiously, George stood up and reached for the gun at his hip. “I won’t be cheated by the same man twice, and I sure as hell won’t allow some black son of a bitch to make a fool out of me!”
“Sit down and shut yer trap,” Jack said. “You’re makin’ a big enough fool outta yourself.”
But Clint knew George wasn’t listening to any of that. The time for talk had passed. If Clint didn’t do something pretty damn quickly, the black man assisting the tall brunette wouldn’t have much time left to draw another breath.