The silence stretched on for almost an hour, but then the door to the room opened and Hattie walked in. The players, each of them carrying a leather satchel of some kind, followed behind her: Parker, dressed in a conservative suit of charcoal gray; Beares, in a white cotton suit that made him look younger than he actually was; Anderson, dressed more like a saloon keeper in a cream-colored shirt with a thin string tie and dark slacks; and three men that Fargo didn’t recognize, who he assumed were the plantation owners. And last, his old friend H.D., the dealer.
“Fargo,” Parker called out as they entered the room. “I’m pleased to see you honored our arrangement, though I didn’t imagine you would come dressed in such finery. I expected the frontiersman I met on the riverboat.”
“I’m a man of my word,” Fargo replied, his voice even. Once more, he wanted to adopt the persona of a professional gambler and gunfighter. “I thought I should dress to fit the occasion.”
“You look,” Anderson said, “like a hired killer.”
“Good,” Fargo said.
Before any more words could be exchanged, Hattie said, “Gentlemen, why not take your seats and I’ll pour us each a drink?”
There was a general murmur of agreement and the men got themselves arranged around the table. While they were doing so, H.D. stopped next to Fargo’s chair and leaned in close. “I’m dealing it straight,” he whispered. “And I wanted you to know that I sent my wife and Mary out of town.” His voice dropped even lower and he added, “If something happens, there’s a note beneath my mantle that will tell you where to find them.”
“What do you think will happen?” Fargo whispered back.
H.D. shrugged. “Cards, I hope.”
“I wouldn’t bet on it,” he said.
H.D. nodded and took his seat in the dealer’s chair. Hattie poured drinks and passed them around, skipping over Fargo when he shook his head. He couldn’t afford to be slowed tonight.
Hattie raised her own glass and said, “To poker, gentlemen, and the peaceful resolution of problems.”
“Hear, hear,” the men said. Everyone drank, Fargo noticed, except Anderson, who raised his glass to his lips and faked it.
“Gentlemen,” H.D. said. “This is a fifty-thousand-dollar buy-in game. There will be no buying back in. Once you’re out, you’re out. The game is five-card draw, nothing is wild, and there is no limit. Mr. Fargo is here to make sure that everyone plays fair, is that understood?”
There was a chorus of agreement. “Fargo, do you have anything you’d like to say before we start?”
Fargo considered this for a moment, then stood up. “I know three of the men at the table, but I’d like the names of the others.”
The men introduced themselves, and no one bothered to shake hands. One of the men, Armand Delgado, was clearly of Spanish origin. One, who introduced himself as Colonel William Bosswaite, was a retired soldier who looked eager to spend his money very quickly. The third, Fargo thought, was probably the sharpest of the three.
“Aldus Horn,” he said. There was a smooth confidence to his voice that told Fargo that he was a man who knew what he was doing, even if he didn’t understand the true stakes of the game.
“Good,” Fargo said. He moved his gaze from man to man, then said, “I noted a very large number of armed men in the immediate vicinity of the Blue Emporium before I came in tonight, gentlemen. I want each of you to understand something very clearly: should one of you decide that the best way to win this game is to stage some sort of a raid on this place, using force, I won’t ask who is responsible.”
He smoothly drew the Colt from his right holster, the motion so fast that several men blinked in surprise. “I will assume all of you are responsible and ensure that at the least, you are held accountable. Is that clear?”
Another chorus of agreement, then Fargo sat down and added, “Play fair, gentlemen. I will be watching.”
“Very good,” H.D. said. He turned his attention back to the players. “Gentlemen, please put your buy-in money on the table. I will count it and give you your chips. The money will be held in plain sight on the bar.”
The men began to pony up the money, and even Fargo felt himself a little amazed. There was three hundred thousand dollars on the table—in cash—and not one of the men was even sweating. It was enough money to buy entire provinces in Mexico.
And more than enough to kill for.
Fargo helped H.D. move the money to the bar once it had all been counted, then sat back down in his chair to watch the real game begin.
In the beginning, everyone played conservatively. There were no huge raises, no one leaped to call bluffs, and the stacks of chips ebbed and flowed like a sluggish creek. They were two hours into the game when H.D. called for a break.
Everyone agreed and got to their feet. Hattie signaled Matilda and the dumbwaiter was sent down with several platters of food, including meat, bread, and cheese for those who wanted to make themselves a sandwich. Fargo ignored the food, but did get a cup of coffee.
Several of the men used the restroom down the hall and returned. The players’ voices were serious and quiet. A visual check showed that the piles of chips were still pretty even, though Aldus Horn had a slight lead. He didn’t bluff, Fargo had noticed.
After the break, everyone sat back down, and he noticed that all the men were slightly more intense, as though the first two hours of play had merely been a way to gauge the other players. Several hands were played at much the same pace, and then Armand Delgado took his five cards and made a fairly large bet.
“Five thousand,” he said, putting the chips into the pot.
To his left, Horn immediately folded. “No, thanks,” he said.
Colonel Bosswaite stared at his cards for a long minute, then looked at Delgado. “Call,” he said, adding his own chips to the pot. With the hundred-dollar antes, there was now ten thousand, six hundred dollars’ worth of chips in the middle of the table.
“Interesting,” Parker said. “Why don’t I believe you, Delgado? Is it because you’re a bluffer and you always have been or is it, do you think, just because you’re a loser who happened into some money?”
Delgado’s eyes sparked but he kept his silence.
“Call,” Parker said. “And raise another ten thousand. ” He put the chips in the pot.
“Damn,” Anderson said. “I fold.”
“You’ve got more mouth than anything else, Parker, ” Beares said. “But in this case, I agree.” He slid a large stack of his own chips forward. “Call.”
“I call,” Delgado said, adding chips to the table.
H.D. was a little wide-eyed as he said, “Cards, gentlemen?”
“One,” Delgado said.
H.D. slid the card to him. “Senator Parker?”
Parker was silent, then said, “I’ll stand pat.”
Anderson whistled. “Hope you’ve got a good hand, amigo. There’s over fifty thousand dollars sitting there.”
“Senator Beares?” H.D. said.
“Two,” Beares replied, his voice steady.
“Your bets, gentlemen,” H.D. said, his voice cracking. There was more money riding on this one hand than he’d see in two lifetimes. “And, Hattie, can I have a glass of water, please?”
She brought him the water.
Fargo watched as Delgado sorted through his stack, counting his remaining chips, then moved them forward. “I’m all in,” he said. “For another twenty-eight thousand.”
Parker looked over his stack. If he called and lost, he more than likely wouldn’t have enough money to last even another hour. “Check,” he said, obviously wanting to see what Beares would do.
Senator Beares was in much the same position, but he didn’t hesitate. “Call,” he said, moving all but perhaps a couple of thousand dollars into the middle of the table. “You don’t have it.”