Ace in the Hole (6 page)

Clint saw the man ride in and recognized the type immediately. The worn, stove-in horse and faded clothes—he looked like a man fresh from prison.

But Clint gave it no more thought than that.

When Calhoun opened the door, he saw Tom Kent standing in the hall.

“Look at the shiny badge,” he said.

Kent didn't know what to make of that, but then Calhoun smiled and said, “Hello, Tom.”

“Tito.”

“Come on in.”

He backed away and let the sheriff enter his room.

“Sorry it's so cheap,” Calhoun said. “It was all I could afford. That's a lie. I can't afford nothin'. I got one dollar on me.”

“Don't worry,” Kent said. “I'll pay the bill.”

“Even if I don't take the job?”

“I think you'll take the job, Tito.”

Calhoun sat on the edge of the bed.

“With a dollar in my pocket, I guess that's a good bet. What I'm wonderin' is…what's a lawman want with me? What kind of job do you have?”

“One that you're good at and I ain't, Tito,” Kent said. “We're gonna rob somebody.”

Calhoun scratched his nose, stretched his legs out and regarded the tips of his worn boots.

“You gonna be able to gimme an advance so I can buy some new duds? And a horse? And maybe a gun?”

“All of that.”

Calhoun looked up at Kent.

“Then this is a big job you want done.”

“It's a big job, but I don't only want it done. I'll be there with you.”

“Just you and me?”

“I told you,” Kent said. “This is what you know, not what I know. You'll have to tell me if just the two of us can do it.”

“How much are we talkin' about?” Calhoun asked.

This was the delicate part. As soon as Kent told Calhoun how much was involved, he knew the outlaw would want half.

“I got another partner, Tito,” he said carefully. “The money's gonna have to be split in thirds.”

“What about if we have to hire some help?”

“That can come out of my end.”

“So there's a lot of money involved,” Calhoun said, with the emphasis on the word “lot.”

“Yes,” Kent said. “A lot.”

“How much?”

Kent hesitated.

“Don't worry, Tom,” Calhoun said. “I'm just out of prison, I'm gonna be happy with my end. Besides, we're friends. In my business you don't double-cross friends.”

Kent still hesitated, but before Calhoun could speak again, he said, “Six hundred thousand dollars, give or take a thousand.”

“Six hundred thou—” Calhoun frowned. The biggest haul he'd ever made had netted him six grand. Now he was being offered two hundred thousand.

“What the hell are we robbin'? A bank?”

“Kind of,” Kent said. “It's a poker game with some bankers in it.”

“A poker game?” Calhoun asked. “With that much money involved?”

“Yes.”

Calhoun whistled. “I'm gonna need some information.”

“I've got some,” Kent said. “I'm gettin' the rest.”

“How many players?”

“Six.”

“Anybody else around?”

“Somebody's hostin' the game,” Kent said. “Probably some security involved.”

“I'll bet,” Calhoun said. “Who are the players?”

“Not sure.”

“If anybody like Bat Masterson or Luke Short is involved, we'll need more men.”

Kent scratched his chin.

“Any of them involved?”

“Don't know yet.”

“Do you know any of the players involved?”

“Well…”

“Come on, Tom,” Calhoun said. “I need to know everything.”

“Well, the banker in town was going to play, but now he's backin' another player.”

“And who would that player be?”

“His name's Clint Adams.”

“Well, hell,” Calhoun said, “looks like we are gonna need some help, after all.”

Clint had supper with Arliss Morgan at the restaurant in the Stockman Hotel.

“A buggy?” Morgan asked, bristling. “Why? Because of my age?”

“I was concerned about you on horseback,” Clint said. “Since you're the manager of a bank, I assume you spend a lot of time behind a desk.”

Somewhat mollified that he wasn't being called too old to ride, Morgan said, “Well, you might have a point. I wouldn't want to slow us down.”

“Any rough terrain where we're going?” Clint asked. “Something a buggy wouldn't be able to negotiate? Maybe we should get a buckboard instead? Something more solid.”

“A buckboard would be a waste,” Morgan said. “No, a buggy sounds good.”

“Good,” Clint said. “I'll check with the livery and see if they have one I can rent.”

The waiter came with their steaks.

“I'm gong to enjoy this,” Morgan said. “We'll be eating on the trail tomorrow night.”

“Are you saying you're not going to like my bacon and beans?” Clint asked.

Morgan looked appalled.

“That's what we'll be having?”

“It's easy to carry,” Clint said. “Don't worry, there'll be some good, strong trail coffee to wash it down.”

“Well,” Morgan said, “at least where we're going they'll have decent food.”

“And where are we going?” Clint asked. “Or do you want to keep that to yourself until we get there?”

“No,” Morgan said, “of course not.” He cut into his steak, popped a chunk into his mouth and chewed it thoughtfully. Clint thought the man was trying to think of a reason not to tell him. He helped himself to some steak while Morgan chewed his.

“We're going to a ranch owned by a man whose name is John Deal. My friend Deal is very wealthy and loves poker.”

“You said he played?”

“But not very well,” Morgan said. “Actually, I was going to say not as well as I do, but you've already given me your opinion of how I play.”

“Sorry.”

Morgan waved a hand.

“That's okay. Don't worry about it. It just makes me a smart man for getting you to play in this game instead of me.”

“Do you know any of the other players?”

“I know there are two men coming from Europe,” the banker said. “One is English, the other German. Other than that I don't know anything.”

“But the two foreigners,” Clint said, “surely they're coming all this way to play themselves.”

“That is my understanding.”

“Good,” Clint said.

“Why is that?”

“We only have to worry about three players bringing in outside talent,” Clint said.

“And if that outside talent is someone you know?” Morgan asked. “A friend? Would that be a problem?”

“Hell, no,” Clint said. “Poker's poker. There are no friends at the poker table.”

“I'm glad to hear you say that.”

They continued their meal in silence until Clint thought of another question. The banker obviously did not believe in the concept of chitchat.

Clint's question was prompted by the appearance of the man he'd seen ride into town. The change was startling. He was wearing new clothes and he'd had a shave and a bath. He sat down alone at a table and ordered a steak dinner.

“What's wrong?”

“You know that fellow?” Clint asked. “Sitting against the wall? Black hat.”

Morgan looked.

“Never saw him before. You?”

“No,” Clint said, “but I saw him ride into town today. He's eating in the most expensive place in town but earlier he was dressed like he was fresh from prison.”

“You can tell such a thing from the way a man's dressed?” the banker asked.

“Oh, yeah.”

“So what does that mean?”

Clint thought a moment, then said, “Nothing, really. Tell me, who else have you told where we're going?”

Morgan stared at him for a moment, then said, “No one.”

“No one? At all?”

“No one,” Morgan said again.

He's told his wife, Clint thought. At least his wife.

Morgan kept his eyes on his plate the rest of the meal, which only confirmed what Clint was thinking.

After Clint and Arliss Morgan parted company in front of the Stockman, Clint wondered again about the stranger who had ridden in earlier in the day. Obviously, the man had come into some money. Or perhaps he simply had a bank account and had withdrawn money. There was a second bank in town.

Clint decided to put the man out of his head and go to the livery to arrange for a buggy for Morgan. He felt better about their one-day ride now that he didn't have to worry about the banker falling off his horse.

Tito Calhoun entered the livery, wearing new clothes, new boots and a new gun belt. The only thing he had on that he'd ridden into town with was his Peacemaker. That he had left in someone's care, and they had kept it clean for him. He was also fresh from a haircut and a shave.

As he entered, he saw the liveryman talking to another man, and they were standing next to a buggy. He'd seen the same man in the restaurant just a little while ago. But the first time he'd seen him was when he rode past one of the hotels coming into town. From Tom Kent's description, he thought he knew who the man was.

“You can pick yer horse from out back,” the liveryman said.

Calhoun had intended to interrupt the two men, but now he decided to just wait and listen.

Clint saw the man as soon as he entered, and he no longer wanted to discuss his business.

“You can take care of this fellow,” he said. “I'll go out back and have a look.”

He needed one horse to pull the buggy, and it had to be a good one. He went out back to the corral to inspect the stock, hoping the liveryman would complete his business with the stranger and join him.

Clint Adams was obviously a careful man, Calhoun thought.

“Yer back,” the liveryman said.

“Yep,” Calhoun said. “I need to buy a horse.”

“Got a corral full out back,” the man said. “Other fella's lookin' for a horse to rent to pull a buggy. You can go out back and look at the same time.”

“Thanks,” Calhoun said. “I think I'll do that.”

The back door to the barn opened and the liveryman—Clint thought he'd said his name was Pete—came through leading the stranger. Seemed like they were destined for a meeting, one way or another.

The two men came over to the corral, where Clint was already inside, examining the stock.

“Got another feller here lookin' fer a horse,” Pete called out. “Only he's lookin' ta buy.”

“Good for you,” Clint said. He looked at the other man. “My name's Clint Adams.”

“Calhoun,” the man said. “Just rode in today.”

“I know,” Clint said. “I saw you.”

“Saw you, too,” Calhoun said. “Got business here?”

“Just passing through, really.”

“Yeah, me, too. Know anybody in town?”

“Not before I got here,” Clint said, “but I've met a few people. You?”

“Sheriff's an old friend of mine,” Calhoun said. “Just thought I'd stop in and say hello. I've been…away a while.”

Clint thought it was funny how men who had been in prison usually said the same thing.

Calhoun entered the corral and began to inspect the stock along with Clint. He seemed to know what he was doing. He keyed in on a five-year-old steel dust that Clint had given a look to and decided was too good to pull a buggy.

“Nice animal,” Clint said as Calhoun ran his hands up and down the horse's legs. “You've got a good eye.”

“Thanks. The right horse is important. The one I rode in on is a nag.”

Clint didn't comment. He knew Calhoun had either bought that one cheap or stolen it.

“I'll take this one,” Calhoun told Pete. “Let's go inside and work on a price. And make it reasonable. I ain't about to haggle.”

“Hagglin's part of horse tradin',” Pete said.

“I ain't tradin', I'm buyin',” Calhoun said, “and I ain't hagglin'.”

He nodded to Clint, left the corral and headed back to the barn. Pete exchanged a look with Clint, who said. “Better come up with a fair price the first time.”

Pete nodded and followed Calhoun.