“Senator Parker?” H.D. said. “Your bet, sir.”
Parker was silent for a long moment, then shook his head. “I fold.”
H.D. took a long swallow of water, then said, “Your cards, gentlemen.”
Delgado smiled, and laid his hand out one card at a time: ten of hearts, ten of clubs, ten of diamonds, jack of hearts, jack of spades. “Full house,” he said. “Tens full of jacks.”
Beares’ expression never changed. “A nice hand, Mr. Delgado. Very nice.”
Delgado started to reach for the pot, but Beares’ voice stopped him. “Perhaps, however, you should look at mine before you decide you’ve won.” He put all five of his cards down on the table. Four queens with an ace kicker.
“Four of a kind,” Beares said, “always beats a full house.”
“You . . . you drew that!” Delgado accused. He turned his eyes on H.D. “You’re dealing to him!”
H.D. held up his hands. “I just deal the cards, Mr. Delgado. Straight and fair.”
“Mentiroso!” Delgado said, calling H.D. a liar. “Tramposo!” he added to Beares, calling him a cheat.
Fargo stood up. “The hand was fair, Delgado,” he said. “You just got outplayed. Sit down and finish the game or walk away, but in either case, shut up.”
Delgado snarled several more invectives and began to sit down, but Fargo knew better. As Delgado bent his knees, he also went for the gun he wore in a reverse rig under his shoulder.
Fargo wasn’t sure who Delgado was going to shoot and didn’t care. The Colt was out of its holster in a blink and he put a round through Delgado’s outstretched gun hand. The bullet passed through his palm and into his ribs, knocking him over backward. His unused gun fell to the floor with a clatter.
Moving forward, Fargo picked up the gun and tucked it in his belt, then looked down at the wounded man. “You won’t die from that wound,” he said. “But you probably should get yourself to the doctor right quick.”
Delgado struggled to his feet, seething with rage. Fargo knew that if the man had another weapon, he’d have tried to use it. “I have heard of you, Senor Fargo,” he said. “Before I came to Louisiana, your name was mentioned quite a lot near the border. The Trailsman. Some say you are nothing but a hired gun; others say worse. I will make sure that word of this gets back there, as well.”
Fargo nudged his wounded ribs with the barrel of the Colt and Delgado cursed. “I bet you will,” he said. “You just want to remember that words and actions both have a way of coming back to haunt a man. You don’t want me on your trail, Delgado. Now get out of here. You’re done.”
Delgado stared at him a moment more, then nodded. “Yes,” he said. “I am done.” He started to reach for the last of his chips on the table.
“Leave them!” Fargo barked. “Once you pay in, that’s it. The money stays in play.”
“Hijo de puta,” Delgado said.
“You’re not the first one to say so,” Fargo said. He gestured with the Colt. “Don’t make me ask you again.”
Delgado spun on his heel, slamming the door shut behind him.
The room was deathly silent; then H.D. said, “Fargo, is there anyone you meet that you don’t shoot?”
Everyone broke out laughing at once, and then Parker said, “Come on, gents. We’ve got a game going here.”
For a man who’d just lost fifteen thousand dollars, he seemed to be in a pretty good mood. And Beares was almost euphoric as he stacked up his winnings. He now had a substantial lead.
The last of Delgado’s chips were divided up equally among the players, and Fargo reloaded the Colt and sat back down as the game resumed with the five remaining players.
Once more, several hands passed in calm and then the colonel made a move after the draw. He took two cards, and when the bets came around again, he said, “Twenty thousand.”
“Colonel, you must have gotten the cards you wanted,” Horn said. He’d taken three cards. “But I’ll call, anyway.”
Fargo knew why. The colonel was the only man at the table who was perspiring. He was bluffing and if Fargo could recognize it, then the others likely could, too. Parker did, and called immediately. Anderson folded, as did Beares.
Neither of them, Fargo assumed, had a hand, or both would have played.
“Cards, gentlemen?” H.D. said.
The colonel was sweating like a pig as he turned over his two pair, eights and aces.
Horn laughed. “Not even close,” he said. He turned his own cards over. “Three nines.”
Parker chuckled softly. “Thought you might have had me, Horn,” he said. “But not while I’m holding a straight.” He laid out the cards: six, seven, eight, nine, and ten.
Horn frowned but said nothing, while the colonel swore under his breath. Parker raked in a large pot and now shared the lead with Beares.
Anderson, Fargo noted, had been folding most of his hands early, winning small pots now and again, and losing very little. Horn had been playing well until he’d convinced himself that beating the colonel meant winning the hand. He’d have to make up ground quick to stay in it.
The colonel was all but done and he knew it.
On the next hand, he went all in for his last few thousand and lost it to Anderson, who seized on the opportunity afforded him by three-of-a-kind jacks. Unlike Delgado, however, the colonel appeared to take his loss in stride and he shrugged. “Ah, well, gentlemen. It’s only money, right?”
“Of course,” Parker said. “Which is why you spend it so freely.”
The colonel laughed. “Senator, I’ve been wealthy and I’ve been dirt poor. I prefer being rich—and I am—but I know what truly matters in this world. Do you?”
“I wouldn’t be a senator if I didn’t,” Parker snapped, disliking the implied insult. “I was elected because I take care of the people in my parish, and look to their needs.”
The colonel laughed. “Oh, bullshit,” he said. “You got elected because you had your men stuff ballot boxes like they were Thanksgiving turkeys.”
Parker’s face reddened and he started to rise. Fargo got to his feet. “Sit down, Senator,” he said. “The colonel is leaving.” He paused, then added, “Aren’t you, sir?”
The colonel nodded. “Indeed, Mr. Fargo.” He tipped his hat to the others. “Good night and good luck, gentlemen.”
He turned and left the room.
“He took that well,” Anderson said. “All considered. ”
“What do you mean by that?” Horn asked.
“He’s not wealthy,” Anderson replied. “He’s broke. His plantation will be on the market by tomorrow afternoon and if he’s lucky, he’ll make enough to clear his debt and maybe start over somewhere else.”
“How do you know that?” Horn asked.
Anderson smiled. “Because I’m the one he owes money to,” he said.
“How much?” H.D. asked, his curiosity getting the better of his usually quiet nature.
“Enough,” Anderson said, “that even if I lose tonight, I can always start building a new Storyville somewhere else. I understand that the weather in California is most agreeable.”
“Another liar,” Beares said. “If you had that much, you wouldn’t be here tonight, playing for the stakes we’ve agreed on.”
Anderson put his next ante in the middle of the table and didn’t bother to reply. He simply looked at H.D. and said, “Let’s keep going, shall we?”
They were almost four hours into the game and had lost two players. The ones remaining, Fargo knew, would last quite a bit longer and he settled himself in for a long night of watching. So far, no one had been cheating that he could see.
Hattie refilled everyone’s drinks, then took up her station behind the bar for another half hour before she said, “Gentlemen, if you’ll excuse me, I need to check on the girls upstairs.”