Black Opium

Chapter 1 – A Glimpse of Things to Come

It had been a long, slow trip down to New Orleans; at least that was the first thought that crossed my mind as I rode into the city. I hadn't been in a hurry, after all – as soon as I got out of Memphis I'd settled in to taking my time. Part way by riverboat, part way by stagecoach, then the last leg of the journey on horseback. A lot had happened while in Tennessee, and I had things to think about.

Most of you know me by now. The name's Bart Maverick, and folks would tell you I'm a gambler by trade. That's not a strictly accurate description, but it's close enough. I've been a lot of other things, too, most recently I answered to the title 'Pinkerton Agent,' but that was only temporary. As is anything but poker, and playing poker was exactly what I'd come to New Orleans to do. That and collect a rather large debt that had been outstanding for quite a while from a fellow named Matthew Langford. What I didn't know was Matt considered that he had an even bigger debt to collect from me. One he'd been waiting on for a long, long time.

Not knowing any better, I checked into a hotel I'd frequented before in the French Quarter – Le Richelieu. It was luxurious but relatively cheap and had one of the better poker rooms around, known mostly to the local inhabitants. Once upon a time Matt frequented Le Richelieu's regularly, and I wondered if his habits had changed since I'd seen him last.

I'd been on horseback all day and decided a nap and a good meal were needed before I settled in for a night of poker. The meal took precedence, and when I left the hotel I ducked around the corner to a small café that I'd eaten in many times in the past. The food was just as good as it had always been, and I was delighted to find a favorite lady still waiting on customers. Once finished, I made my way back to my hotel room and was shocked to find a message waiting for me at the front desk. I took it back up to my room before opening it and was disquieted to see that it was from Matthew.

'Think you could sneak into town without my knowing you were here? Think again. See you at poker tonight? Matt Langford'

Quite a surprise, I must say. I'd made no contact with Matt, and no inquiries regarding him to anyone, and I wondered just how he knew I was in New Orleans. Not only that, but to have found me so quickly was truly perplexing. It was the first time I'd be surprised by him on this trip, but it certainly wouldn't be the last. Nevertheless, I settled down on top of the covers on the bed and soon drifted off to sleep.

It was somewhere around eight o'clock when I made my way down to the poker room, which was already full of men and smoke. I checked around the room as best I could but didn't see anyone familiar, much less Matt, so I found a table to my liking and sat in. Poker is poker – sometimes it's good, sometimes it's bad, but it's always exciting – at least it is to me. The hands went quickly and I did well, and before I knew it we were the last table still playing. I checked my watch; it was almost five in the morning. I'd been here all night, and there'd been no sign of Matt. I finally won what turned out to be the last hand of the night and was gathering my winnings when I heard a familiar voice.

"No words of greeting for an old friend?"

I looked up and got my second shock of the last twenty-four hours. Standing on the other side of the poker table was someone that I'd seen at the tables on and off all night. The last time I spent time with Matthew he looked good; tired but good. The man in front of me was scarecrow thin. On more than one occasion I've been told I need to gain weight, that I was too thin for my own good, but this person made me look positively fat. His hair was lank and rapidly graying, and he had a persistent runny nose, as if in the midst of a severe cold. The hand he extended across the poker table was emaciated and bony. The only thing recognizable was the timber and tone of the words he'd spoken.

"Matthew?" I asked incredulously, and quickly shook his hand. His grip, once as robust and firm as Bret's, felt more like an old woman's.

"Where's that famous poker face?" he asked. "Try not to look so shocked."

"Sorry," I answered quickly. "You look so . . . different." I stood up then, and the man in front of me seemed to have shrunk several inches in height. Once taller than me, he was now decidedly shorter.

"Do I?" his question came back at me. "It's this damn cold. I've had it for months it seems like, and I just can't shake it. How are you, Bart? You look good."

"Uh, fine, Matt. I'm fine. Sorry I didn't say somethin' earlier. Payin' too much attention to the cards, as usual." I did my best to gather my wits about me and stop sounding like a fool. There had to be a reason for Matt's appearance, and it obviously wasn't a cold. If that's what he wanted me to believe, then that's what I would believe. For now.

"You're not ready for bed yet, are you? How about a walk and a smoke? I could use some fresh air."

"Sure. Sounds good to me," I told him, and followed him out of the poker room and across the hotel lobby to the front doors. I hurried to open a door for him; he didn't look like he was capable of doing it for himself.

"Thanks," he acknowledged, and we found ourselves outside. I pulled out a cigar, he did the same. I struck a match and lit first mine, then his, and couldn't help but ask, "Should you be smokin' with that cold you've got?"

"Doesn't seem to bother it. How long did it take you to get here from Memphis?"

I hadn't said a thing about Memphis, but I held onto my poker face and answered him casually, "Almost three weeks. I wasn't in any hurry. How'd you know I was in Memphis?"

He gave a little laugh then, and it almost sounded like a cackle. "You'd be surprised what I know about you, Pinkerton man."

Another unexpected jolt. I forced a laugh. "Ain't that somethin'? Never ceases to amaze me, what you'll let yourself get sucked into to help a beautiful woman."

"Ginny Malone, you mean. I thought she was more or less your brother's girl."

I nodded to cover my surprise. "She is. But she's still a good friend. Say, you been havin' me followed, or what? You seem to know an awful lot about what I been up to."

"I'm still in your debt, remember? I've been lookin' for you for quite a while. It's past time that you got what was owed to you."

Something about the way he said that put me off, but I did my best to ignore the implications and shrugged. "I know you're good for it, Matthew. There was never any doubt about that."

"Still, it's been botherin' me for a while. I'll feel better when I pay you everything I owe you."

I hoped that wasn't as ominous as it sounded. Something about this whole encounter was beginning to feel like the beginning of an unwelcome adventure, rather than simply reuniting with an old friend. "Any interest in breakfast?" I finally asked. My God, the man could use a good meal.

He shook his head. "No appetite since this thing started. Besides, I have a previous commitment. How about tomorrow?"

"Sure," I answered, "that sounds like a fine idea. You be at the poker room tonight?"

"I will. After ten o'clock. I'll see you there." He paused, and then asked quietly, "Just like old times, 'eh, Bart?" Matthew headed off down the boardwalk and I stood there, not quite sure just who or what my old poker friend had turned into. His gait was more a shuffle than a walk, and I couldn't help but wonder just exactly what was going on. It would be a long time before I would finally come to know the complexity of his deception.