Gambler Don't Come Cheap
Chapter 10 – Round Two"Mr. Maverick."
Huh? Who was calling him?
"Mr. Maverick."
And what did they want?
"Mr. Maverick, it's your bet."
How long had he been sitting there looking at his cards? And what did he have, for heaven's sake? And how much was the bet? He looked at the five cards in his hand – four of clubs, four of diamonds, four of hearts; Queen of spades, King of hearts. Three of a kind, possible full house. Now he remembered. The bet was five hundred dollars. Had he been asked to discard yet? Why was he having so much trouble focusing?
Finally. "Call." He threw money into the pot. He was so tired and it was hard to concentrate. It hurt to breathe; it hurt to sit; it hurt to keep his eyes open. He had to stay alert. Arthur and Millie were depending on him. At last, there was the call for cards. When it was his turn he asked for one and threw the King in. 'Why did you do that, Bart?' Why hold the Queen of Spades rather than the King of Hearts? It was the closest Bart Maverick came to a superstition; he never discarded the Queen of Spades. This time it paid off; he drew the Queen of clubs. Full house. Now what?
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Seth Johnson smiled. It seemed that Raymond's little visit to Maverick, which appeared to have not worked earlier, was now inclined to start paying dividends. In the last hour he'd lost a hand and almost failed to call when he should have; it was obvious he was in pain by his inattention to the game and the beads of sweat ringing his forehead. Seth was a good poker player, but it never hurt to have a little insurance, and Raymond's visit had provided that. They'd succeeded in breaking Morgan's back earlier in the evening; two down and two to go.
When it came to poker Seth had no allies. Everyone playing against him was an opponent, whether they agreed with his political views or not. He had no more problem running the table against Morgan Edwards and Andrew Watson than he did Bart Maverick. And this game was for the biggest win of his life. "I'll see your five hundred and raise a thousand." He had a King high straight and didn't expect Maverick to come back with anything higher, although he was the hardest opponent to read that Seth had ever played against. This would make it two in a row against the card sharp, and a nice big pot to go along with it. He expected to hear 'fold' from his opponent; instead he heard 'yours and another thousand.'
What the hell? When did the gambler start paying attention again? And what did he have over there? He'd only asked for one card, could he be holding that good a hand? Or was this a sucker's bet, and he was waiting for Johnson to fall into the trap? After playing against the man for two full nights he still didn't know when Maverick was bluffing and when he had the cards.
He looked at the pile of money in front of each of them. Maverick's was bigger; that didn't mean he'd won more. He wasn't going to give this hand away – he took twenty-five hundred dollars off his pile and threw it on the table, along with "raise another fifteen hundred." Again he waited for the 'fold' from across the table; this time he got 'call' and another fifteen-hundred dollars went into the pile in the center of the table. "King high," he announced as he set down his straight. Instead of raking in the pot he was forced to watch the gambler do so, after he called "Queens over fours, full."
Damn. Didn't see that coming. How did this man play when he was obviously in so much pain? Raymond had described the assault in detail; he knew what damage the bodyguard could inflict when motivated. Ribs had to be cracked or broken, he'd seen it done a hundred times or more. Yet Maverick kept playing as if nothing more than the black eye had been visited upon him. Perhaps it was time to take things a step further?
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When the thousand dollar raise came Bart questioned himself – how high would he go in this hand? Once he'd made the decision to ride the bet as long as it took it was just a matter of keeping track of the money. Even in the state he was in he knew how good a poker player Johnson was. Still, he had Queens full.
He looked around the table. Morgan Edwards was done, funds run dry about six hours ago. Jasper Finley was getting low on table money; whether Jasper replenished his funds or not remained to be seen. So at the moment it was the gambler and the kingpin. All the gambler wanted to do was lay down so the pain would quit its constant assault on his body. Maybe DeCorda would call a halt after this hand. Funny how cracked ribs could give you a different perspective on the way a poker match was conducted.
When the moment to call came he was relieved to see nothing more than the King high straight laid down. He called his Queens full and pulled in the pot, then watched the dealer to see if the break was coming. He almost let his relief show when DeCorda did just that.
"Six a.m. gentlemen. Game closed, to resume at five p.m. tonight. Here are your money bags; it's been my privilege. You'll have a new dealer tonight."
Immediately Jasper leaned over to him. "Bart, you alright? You've looked better, son."
The best he could do was a reply through clenched teeth. "Yeah. I've felt better." Without getting up he made a quick count of the money in front of him. Fifty-six thousand, eight hundred dollars. He put it in the money bag and locked it; retrieved the key and handed the bag back to Manny DeCorda, then touched his hat in respect. "Mr. DeCorda, thanks for the deal." He turned his attention back to Jasper. "Get me up, Jasper. I can't do it by myself."
Finley got up and discreetly grabbed Bart's arm to help him up out of the chair. His shirt sleeve was sopping wet with sweat, and the gambler winced as he got to his feet. Jasper looked at him in alarm but said nothing. Bart picked his coat up from the back of his chair and folded it over his arm; he took a step that turned into a stagger and almost collapsed right there. Jasper threw his arm around Bart's shoulders and pulled him into a friendly embrace to hold him erect. "Let's get you out of here." He nodded and leaned on the older man, the only thing holding him up at the moment.
They made it out the door just as Raymond was going in; again the startled look from the bodyguard. Raymond shook his head in disbelief; the slender man had taken a beating designed to disable most and was still walking. Raymond almost smiled out of respect, then thought better of it and simply made way for the men to pass.
"Get me . . . . . .room . . . . . bed . . . . . hurry," Bart gasped, almost at the end of his rope. With Finley's guidance he stumbled down the stairs, and when they made the turn in the hallway that led to his room a quiet moan escaped his lips. 'Just a few more feet,' he reminded himself as they entered the suite and Bart fell into the bed, not caring how much the landing was going to hurt. Jasper removed the coat from Bart's arms and took it to the closet. By the time he got back to the gambler Millie and Arthur had appeared at the door, and the girl immediately ran for the towel and water on the dresser. Her father turned to Jasper for information.
The big man shook his head. "I don't know how he did it," he told Arthur. "I could barely get him out of there. And he's ahead, Arthur. It's just the three of us, and I can't keep up with those two. He'll never be able to go back tonight. We've got to find a way to stall this game."
Arthur Ridgeway looked at the man in the bed, currently being tended to by his daughter. "I've got an idea, Jasper. Let's go send a telegram." Arthur and Jasper left the room while Millie wiped off Bart's face.
"Can you hear me, Bart? Gamblin' man? What do you need?"
"Water," came the feeble answer. The girl got up and went to the dresser, where she poured a glass from the pitcher and brought it back to the bed. She put her arm under the pillow and lifted Bart's head so he could drink, which he did until the glass was empty. Then she laid the pillow down gently and brushed the damp hair from his face.
"Better?"
"Mmmmmhmmm." Bart opened his eyes and looked at her. "You're way prettier than Seth Johnson."
"You can't play tonight." There was anger, fear and worry in her voice.
"Not arguing." His eyes closed again. "Not arguing."