Powder Keg (2 page)

A
man in a top hat, a red silk vest, and a smile he probably practiced in front of a mirror handed out numbers to the people impatiently waiting to get into the casino. Most of these high-toned people just couldn’t wait to lose their money. They filled the reception area outside the massive casino doors. They would be admitted according to the numbers the slick man in the top hat handed them.

This was where my badge was better than a bribe. I tapped it and said, “I’m here to arrest somebody.”

“But you have a lovely woman with you.”

“So I do. But I’m still going to arrest somebody.”

The other customers didn’t like me or my badge. They had a lot more money than I did, but I had my badge and they didn’t think that was fair at all. This was a world of money, was it not?

Top Hat opened the double doors. The crowd behind us tried to push inside. Top Hat was harsh: “Try that again and I won’t let any of you in for an hour.”

The casino was an assault of talk, laughter, smoke, light from huge chandeliers, the scent of good
whiskey, the noise of gambling devices clicking and clacking, blackjack dealer patter, coy serving girls pampering lustful old patriarchs, callow rich boys pampering coy serving girls, and the whispers of professional gamblers deciding which poker table looked to have the most amateurs.

Compared to the finery worn by the women and men around us, we looked like hill trash. I felt sorry for Susan. Some of the glances set upon her by the grande dames were more insulting than words could ever be. A security person stayed with us, four feet behind.

It probably took us fifteen minutes to walk around the huge room. Susan got more and more anxious. We didn’t see Tom anywhere.

She stayed on my arm until we’d made a complete circle of the place. Then she broke away momentarily, looking pale. She found two straight-back chairs—the casino discouraged sitting any place but at a gambling table so they provided chairs but they made them damned uncomfortable—and half-collapsed into one of them.

In moments, she’d gone from looking wan to looking flushed.

I leaned down so I could whisper. “Are you sick?” I asked.

She put her lips next to my ear. “It’s my woman’s time of the month. I get chills. They’re even worse than the cramps.”

“I’m sorry.” I started to bring my head up, then stopped: “Why don’t you stay here? I’ll look around some more.”

Her grip was iron.

“I’m going with you.”

When we had made another quarter circle of the huge room I stopped and looked back at our security guard.

“You interested in money?”

“No, I hate money. That’s why I work in a casino.”

“We need to find some people and fast. They may be in danger.”

“Then it’s casino business and I won’t take money. Just tell me what you’d like me to do.”

“There’ll be two men together. One is Harry Connelly, the other is a man named Clint Pepper.”

I described them.

“You didn’t find them on the floor?”

“No. Is there a private room somewhere for high rollers?”

“I’m not at liberty to talk about anything like that. You’d need to talk to the casino manager.”

“There isn’t time for that. You can get in that private room a lot faster than I can. You go in there and see if they’re there. If they are, tell them that Noah Ford needs to talk to them. And tell them it’s urgent.”

“I’ll have to get permission to leave the floor.”

“That’s fine. But there’s one more thing.” I looked at Susan. “Describe Tom to him.”

She did, even including the clothes he’d been wearing.

Connelly had put on some weight but he was still the urbane dandy that far too many women found appealing. Pepper had lost some weight. A casino was their natural habitat and they were turned out nicely for it in the kind of Edwardian coats, brocaded vests, and mutton-chopped sideburns favored by the
prosperous city men of the day. The clothes were an affectation. They hid the truth about the men who wore them.

That night, they’d probably been playing without benefit of cheating. There were all sorts of places where you could skin rubes alive and get away with it, but in a casino like that one, cheating could be dangerous, even deadly, even though they would have been just about the only armed men in the casino. Guns were not permitted at poker tables, neither big nor small, but federal agents had a lot more freedom than most people.

Both of these men lived outside the law. They used their status as federal agents to stay free of jail cells. Crooked agents were standard ever since the war. The best spies, it had been discovered, were often pretty terrible people. But they were usually not quite as terrible as the people they were after. So they were given the chance to hide behind their badges. Agents didn’t come much more terrible than Harry Connelly and Clint Pepper. Their specialties were robbery and rape. They’d broken three major cases over the past two years, though, so the powerful senators who sponsored them were adamant about keeping them in place.

“Good evening,” Connelly said. He’d been with a traveling theater troupe in the West before the war. He tried to add flourish to everything he said and did. “When the security man told me that I’d get to gaze upon the beauty of Susan Daly, I of course came with great dispatch.”

Pepper laughed. “Good old Harry never changes, does he?”

“I doubt you do, either, Pepper.”

“Our fellow agent doesn’t sound very happy to see us,” Connelly said.

“Shut up and listen. Tom Daly is drinking again. He’s still bitter that Washington thinks he stole those secrets. He’s out tonight looking for you two. And he just might try something.”

Pepper glanced at Connelly and said, “I don’t know about you, Harry. But I’m positively terrified.”

They were working their old familiar stage act. I’d gotten tired of it a long time ago.

“To be safe, go back to your rooms and stay there. I’ll find him and get him home.”

“I’d be willing to spend the night with his missus,” Connelly said.

“I’d kill myself before I’d let that happen,” Susan snapped.

“If I didn’t know any better, Harry, I’d say neither one of these folks are glad to see us.”

“Well, I warned you. That’s all I can do,” I said.

“You know your problem, Noah? You always think you’re in charge of every situation that comes up. You’re going to be worm food a lot sooner than Pepper and I will be. The day I’m afraid of some nervous little bastard like Tom Daly, I’ll start wearing a dress.”

He leered at Susan. “That offer still stands, Mrs. Daly. I’d be right happy to keep you company tonight.”

She was even angrier than I thought. A second after she took a single step forward, a huge silver globule of spittle hung from Connelly’s nose.

He couldn’t help himself. He lunged for her the
way he would a man. I stepped in front of him and shoved him back at Pepper.

Pepper grabbed his arms and said, “Cool down, Harry. Any bitch who’d marry somebody like Daly isn’t worth getting mad at.” He smirked at her. “If I know Daly, she’s still a virgin, anyway.”

The security guard had seen the dustup. He came over. “Everything all right here?”

“A little disagreement, is all,” I said.

“Old friends,” Pepper said. “Just a little too much to drink, is all.”

Connelly was still boiling. “I’ll tell you one thing, Ford. If I do run into Daly and he gives me any excuse at all, this little woman here’ll be pickin’ out a pine box for him by sunup.”

“You gave him every excuse there is to shoot if he sees Daly,” Pepper said. “You warned him that Daly was stalkin’ him. No court in the world’d blame Harry here for bein’ scared enough to shoot first.”

The guard could see that this argument wasn’t going to end anytime soon. “Why don’t you take the lady here and go stand on the porch in back? I’ll see that these two gentlemen get a drink on the house and some more gambling. How’s that sound?”

He was good at what he did. He had a job I wouldn’t want. Trying to soothe people who’d just dropped a lot of money or break up fights between drunks wasn’t my idea of a good time.

I took Susan’s arm and started to steer her toward the back porch, which was about ten feet away.

And that was when it happened.

Just as we had turned, and presumably just as
Connelly and Pepper had turned, Tom Daly made his appearance.

He stood in the doorway of the back porch, his .45 aimed and ready to fire. “Which one of you wants it first? Connelly or Pepper?” His smile was drunken and ugly. “Get Susan out of here, Noah, so I can do my job.”

T
he bouncer froze. His instincts were obviously to rush Tom, who looked like the world’s oldest altar boy in his slicked-down hair with the cowlick in back, the cheap disheveled suit, and the face that would have been adolescent if not for all the wrinkles and lines.

To the bouncer, Tom said: “Get them to turn around and then take their guns. I’ll kill at least two of you if you try anything.”

The bouncer’s first responsibility was to see that nobody got killed. Bad enough that a drunken little man with a gun could cause a scandal in such an exalted casino. He said to me, “Is he your friend?”

“Yes.”

“Then talk to him.”

“No!” Tom said. “No talking. Just have them turn around and face me. And then you take their guns.”

I nodded to the bouncer. At that moment there wasn’t much hope of calming Tom down.

“All right you men, turn around slowly and then
hand me your guns. And let’s keep everything friendly here. I’m sure we can talk to this man.”

“Just stand here and let him shoot us when he wants to?” Connelly asked.

“There isn’t going to be any shooting,” the bouncer said.

“You going to guarantee that?” Pepper asked.

“C’mon now. We all agreed. You two turn around and then we’ll talk.”

The bouncer sounded a lot more confident than he looked. He was as pale as Susan and his right hand had begun to twitch, little tremor-like explosions. I was pretty sure he was coming to the conclusion that he had little or no control of the situation, the kind of moment a bouncer isn’t used to.

“Now, c’mon, men. Just turn around here.”

The bouncer sounded like a camp counselor pleading with bullies.

By then, we had an audience, an ever-expanding one. This would be something else the owner would not be happy about. The worst thing that could happen to a casino was when its customers were distracted away from the tables.

They turned around.

Connelly was covering his fear with jokes.

“I don’t know about you, Pepper, but I sure don’t want to get shot by a dwarf.”

“And a drunk one at that,” Pepper said.

“Shut up, you two,” I said.

“Oh, oh,” Connelly said, “it’s the boss.”

“We sure wouldn’t want to make the boss mad.”

“You notice how the boss is kind’ve standing be
hind the dwarf’s wife there? Like if there’s any shooting, he’ll hide behind her.”

“Well, the boss is too valuable to kill. He told me so himself.”

A few people in the crowd laughed. They had to be thinking what Connelly and Pepper wanted them to think—that here were two really tough men. Even in the face of a madman holding a gun on them, they had enough presence to joke it up.

Susan took three steps toward Tom. He got a little frantic there, trying to keep his eye on Connelly and Pepper, but also to peripherally watch Susan as she approached.

“Stay there, Susan!”

“I just want to take you home, Tom. You’ll feel better after you get a good night’s sleep.”

“We’d still be in Washington if it hadn’t been for these two stealing that information and then making it look like I took it.”

“They don’t matter, Tom. Only you and I matter. Now please just give me the gun and let me take you home. The kids’ll be so glad to see you.”

“No!” he shouted. Then he raged at me. “I asked you to get her out of here, Noah. Now take her away. I’m going to get a written confession from these two because if I don’t, they’re going to die here tonight.”

“But you’ll die, too,” Susan said.

“I don’t care anymore, honey. I had a good record at the agency until these two messed everything up for me. I don’t want my children to think I would sell government secrets. You think I want our children to grow up with that on their shoulders?”

“They wouldn’t think that, Tom. They love you and they’re proud of you. And they’d know the truth, no matter what anybody else said.”

“All right, sir. They’re ready to put their guns down.”

The confusion was getting to Tom. He wasn’t finished talking with Susan, which had to be good for him even under these circumstances, but he also had to watch the two men he wanted to kill.

His eyes flicked back to them and that was when I moved. It was eight steps to the porch. I eased myself around Tom—his gun couldn’t cover all of us at the same time—and got myself a couple steps closer to the back porch. A heavy summer moon hung lazy in the plains sky. Somewhere a fiddler, innocent of the little drama in the casino, played a sweet sentimental song. The only thing to spoil moon and tune was the other bouncer sneaking up on Tom with a sawed-off shotgun.

He’d have killed Tom. He didn’t look as if he had much interest in life, just death. Who wanted to spend all that time talking, all that time providing thrills for the onlookers who’d just turn it into dinner table chatter, anyway?

I moved. Tom saw me. There was no way I could stop that, but he had to choose between keeping me covered or keeping his gun on Pepper and Connelly.

I saw a moment of panic on his face, and then something like defeat, and then he turned away from me, bringing his gun solidly on to Connelly and Pepper.

I heard the sound of his hammer cocking, but I had no more time for Tom. I had to worry about the
bouncer on the back porch who was going to try and shoot Tom in the back.

He was maybe five feet from the back door when I stepped in front of him. At that moment, I was like him. I didn’t have any desire for talk, either. I hit him hard enough on the jaw to drop him to his knees. Then I hit him a second time, sending him over backward. The sawed-off I pitched off the porch.

“I’m not going to sign one damned thing,” Connelly was saying.

“Then you’re going to die,” Tom said.

“Why don’t I buy everybody a round or two of drinks and we’ll sit down and try and hash it all out?”

I was beginning to like this bouncer. Even if he was just cynical, just didn’t want bloodshed because of the casino’s reputation, he wanted a peaceful conclusion.

I checked to see if the bouncer had taken their guns. He had. They sat together on a near table. But not near enough for Connelly and Pepper to lunge for them.

I took a deep breath and felt some of the tension leak out of me. Everything was under control by then. Everything was going to be all right. Tom was still drunk, still wanting to shoot Connelly and Pepper with that gun he was waving around, but he was talking now. The longer he talked the more he would sober up. Soon, I knew, he would start crying, and then it would all be over.

Just as long as no one started shooting first.

And then I saw him. A security man, tall, bearded, encircling Connelly and Pepper and aiming his Colt at Tom.

He was going to be the hero. He was going to be
the one written up in the newspaper stories. He was the one his lodge would be bragging about for the rest of its days.

I knew I had only a few seconds. I had to combine what I’d been planning to do with this new problem.

On my third step toward Tom, I raised my .44 and fired two quick shots at our hero, a few inches above his head. He did what I’d hoped he would do. He hit the floor for cover without even thinking of firing his gun. Suddenly, being a hero wasn’t half as important as saving his ass.

Tom was just starting to turn back to me when I grabbed him and threw him down on the floor.

Though I’d been planning on holding him until the inside bouncer could get some cuffs on him, the outside bouncer changed my plans. It seemed he was sort of pissed off that I’d knocked him out and thrown his sawed-off away.

He charged at me through the doorway, his hands leading him, shaping themselves to fit my throat. He must have looked just like a bear cub when he was born because right then he appeared to be the size and power of a full-grown grizzly.

I hadn’t counted on him but he hadn’t counted on me, either. One thing I rarely did was just stand there when somebody was about to attack me. Somehow, that didn’t seem like a very sensible thing to do.

But I did have to stand there long enough to put the point of my Texas boot straight into his groin.

He went into heavy dramatics. Falling face down, clutching his crotch, the noises of frustrated rage muffled somewhat by the fact that his mouth was about an inch from the floor.

Then I looked back to see what was going on behind me. And that was when Connelly threw a full whiskey bottle at me, crashing against the side of my head and momentarily sending me down into some deep damp darkness.