Red River Showdown (7 page)

“Damn,” Clint muttered as he looked at himself in the mirror in his room.

He knew the suit he'd brought wasn't going to surpass anything worn by some of those well-dressed gamblers in the main room. He didn't have much space to pack a wardrobe into his saddlebags and would have been more than satisfied with the clothes he did bring. What he couldn't bear was the thought of walking into that gambling room wearing something that looked as if it had been dragged through the mud.

Clint stood in front of that mirror and took a moment to think if he had dragged that suit through the mud. He then looked down at himself and at the wrinkled mess that was the suit he wore. He couldn't recall what the hell he'd done to it, but that suit wasn't even an improvement over the battered jeans and rumpled shirt he'd had on before.

One quick change later, Clint walked out of his room with a bundle of clothes tucked under his arm. He made his way toward the upper deck, but didn't have to go all the way to the stairs before he spotted the man he'd been looking for.

“Can I help you, sir?” the man with the salt-and-pepper hair asked as he turned around before Clint had to catch his attention.

“Yes, I was wondering if there's a laundry or anything like that on this boat.”

“On the lower deck toward the back, sir. May I accompany you?”

“If you could just point me in the right direction, that should be fine.”

The older man held up one gloved hand, extended one long finger and pointed that finger toward the back of the boat. “You'll find the stairs that way, sir.”

“Let me guess,” Clint said. “I want the ones going down?”

“Precisely.”

For some reason, Clint found himself chuckling at the way the older man's expression didn't falter in the slightest. “You should be a card player with that face.”

“I'll take it under advisement.”

Clint started to walk down the hall, but stopped and asked, “Next time I've got a stupid question, who should I ask for?”

“Does it have to be me?”

“Yep.”>

“Then you would ask for Arvin.”

“I'll keep that in mind.”

Clint watched for another roll of the eyes from the older man, but Arvin simply remained in his spot until he knew that Clint was walking in the proper direction. After that, he continued down the hall.

The stairs leading down into the lowest level weren't nearly as nice as the ones that Clint had used so far. In fact, they seemed likely to crack under his feet as he made his way down with nothing more than a rope strung through some brass loops to steady him.

He didn't have to go far before he heard several voices chattering amid the rumble of the paddle wheel and ruckus of the furnace room. All Clint had to do was follow the acrid scent of starch emanating from one of the narrow doors to find the one marked “Laundry.” Once there, Clint knocked and waited.

Some of the voices Clint heard stopped the moment his knuckles rapped against the door. Leaning in close to the door, Clint could make out frantic whispering coming from the next room.

“Hello?” Clint said. “I've got some clothes that need some help.”

There was no reply.

“I can pay for the services,” Clint added. “I just need the job done quickly.”

When he heard one faint voice cut short by a gruff obscenity, Clint reached down and tried the handle of the door. The door wasn't locked, but Clint wasn't about to just throw it open and step inside. His hand drifted toward the Colt at his side, but he didn't draw the pistol just yet. Instead, he shifted the clothes to his gun hand so they covered the Colt as well as a good portion of his gun belt. Then, Clint opened the door.

Three women were huddled in a corner of the small room. One of them was Chinese, and she was the only one who wasn't too petrified to move. She stood up and extended an arm to point at Clint while staring at him with wide, terrified eyes.

In the space of a heartbeat, Clint realized two things.

The first thing was that the woman wasn't pointing directly at him but at the doorway.

The second was that there was someone lunging at Clint from where they must have been waiting with their back against the wall in the very spot where the woman was pointing.

Clint turned on the balls of his feet and brought up his arm just in time to catch the arm of the man who'd lunged at him from the doorway. At first, Clint thought he'd just deflected a punch, but he quickly saw the glint of the blade gripped in the other man's fist. The only thing that kept the blade from drawing Clint's blood was the fact that his suit was still wrapped around his arm.

Seeing that knife poised an inch or so from his face gave Clint more than enough strength to push the man's arm away.

“Who the hell are you?” the man asked as he backed up a step and crouched with his knife switching from hand to hand.

Clint took a few cautious sidesteps as he put himself between the man and the women cowering against the far wall. “I just needed a suit cleaned. You've got a bit more to explain.”

The man with the knife was short and lean. His skin was deathly pale, and he moved as if the knife was an extension of his own arm. “I don't need to explain anything to a dead man!” he said as he swapped the knife into his right hand and made a low stab at Clint.

Clint reflexively sucked in his gut and arched his back so he could avoid as much of the blade as possible without giving the man enough room to make a quick follow-up swipe. As soon as the blade passed by him, Clint swung down the arm wrapped up in his suit and slammed the man's knife hand against the wall.

While trying to get his hand free, the man twisted his body so his other arm could get a solid shot at Clint's ribs. Bony knuckles slammed against Clint's side, snapped back and jabbed in again before Clint had a chance to react.

Every muscle in Clint's torso tensed to absorb the punches. The man's fist didn't do any real damage, but it hurt like hell as it cracked into the exact same spot three times in a row. Not wanting to let the man's knife arm loose, Clint rolled along the trapped arm and drove his elbow into the man's face.

That knocked the man flat against the wall to slam the door shut. What caught Clint's attention the most was the sound of the knife rattling against the floor. Before he could do anything about it, however, Clint lost sight of the other man altogether.

The man got away from Clint like a greased pig and almost got behind him before Clint turned and threw another elbow at the only spot the man could have gone. Sure enough, Clint's elbow hit something solid after traveling only an inch or two. He'd put enough muscle behind it to make a satisfying crunch on impact.

“Look out!” one of the ladies screamed.

Clint wheeled around in the same direction as he'd thrown the last elbow. The smaller man had already moved from that spot and dropped down to sweep the knife up off the floor.

Rather than try to switch the direction his arm was swinging, the other man spun his entire body around. When he'd made a complete, tight circle, he brought his arm around and snapped it out like a whip. This time, Clint knew better than to try and just lean out of the way. He saw that blade coming toward him and jumped back before it cut right through him.

The sharpened steel whistled through the air. Clint could feel a cold breeze as the blade swiped past his neck. For a moment, Clint wasn't even sure if he'd been cut. He reached up to press a hand to his throat and felt his stomach drop when he felt something wet against his fingers.

Pulling his hand down, Clint quickly took a look and saw nothing more than sweat on his hand. When he looked up again, the smaller man already had the door partially open.

“Oh no you don't,” Clint grunted as he rushed forward.

The man gritted his teeth and lashed out with the blade once to stop Clint in his tracks. He kept slashing quick patterns through the air to get Clint to keep his distance. Dark, burning eyes fixed upon Clint and watched every little move he made. The instant he saw Clint go for his gun, the man made a forward stab aimed for Clint's wrist.

Clint reflexively jumped back. Even though it was only one step, it was enough to knock his heel against a basket of clothes on the floor. He took half a second to look behind him and regain his balance, which was enough for the other man to slip through the door and out into the hall.

Keeping his hand on the Colt's grip and ready to draw in the blink of an eye, Clint moved to the door and extended an arm to push it open. Just as his fingertips made contact with the wooden surface, he felt a solid thump against the wall. When he tried to open the door, it wouldn't budge.

Clint took half a step back and then slammed his shoulder against the door hard enough to knock it off its hinges. Fortunately, the broom that had been wedged against the door from the outside snapped in two before the hinges gave way. Stumbling into the hall with his gun held at the ready, Clint looked around for a target.

The narrow hall was empty on both sides, but he soon heard commotion coming from the direction of the stairs. Clint rushed that way and found several doors open and several heads poking out.

“Did you see anyone rush past here?” Clint asked.

The heads eventually all shook and the faces looked at Clint with growing nervousness.

Clint stood in the hall and listened for a sign of where he should go next. He heard nothing, so he holstered the Colt and walked up and down the hall. The few doors there were already open, and the rooms were wide-open storage areas or places where people were doing their work. Those people were all either hiding the man or didn't have the first clue where he went. Either way, Clint knew he'd hit a dead end.

After making his way back to the laundry, Clint checked on the three women. “Are you ladies all right?” he asked.

They nodded.

“Do you know who that was?”

“No,” the Chinese woman replied. “He was in here poking around and threatened to kill us. That's when you came here. You saved our lives,” she added while hugging Clint around the waist. “How can I thank you?”

“Well,” he said, while looking down at the rumpled pile of clothes on the floor, “it looks like I could use a new suit.”

When Clint returned to the main card room, Mia didn't even recognize him. She did turn to watch him enter, but her eyes lingered on his as if she couldn't quite place where she'd seen him before. Once she got a better look at his face, she got up and rushed over to him.

“Clint? I barely recognized you!” she said.

He wore a black suit complete with tailored cuffs and a jacket with tails that nearly reached down to his heels. Still straightening the collar, he replied, “I barely recognized myself when I got a look at this thing.”

“I didn't think you'd be the sort to have a suit like that.”

“I'm not. I'm only wearing this until my own suit is stitched up.”

“What happened to it?” she asked.

“It's a long story. This place looks a lot busier than when I was last here.”

Mia's hand lingered on Clint's arm as if she didn't even realize it was there, but a part of her didn't want to let him go. “You should see the other rooms,” she said while taking a look around. “They're so full, it's a wonder this thing stays afloat. All the big games are in here for now, though.”

“That'll change later tonight. The big money has a way of seeking out the smaller rooms.”

“Sounds like a man with plenty of experience.”

Clint shrugged and gave up on trying to feel comfortable inside the expensive suit. Even though the clothes had been freshly cleaned and were waiting to be picked up by their owner, Clint couldn't help but feel like he wanted to crawl out of them and get back into his old jeans. “You didn't happen to hear about some little fellow running around with a knife, did you?”

Mia furrowed her brow and replied, “No. Why do you ask?”

“Another long story. Since I didn't come here to tell stories,” Clint said as he rubbed his hands together anxiously, “I might as well get down to business.”

Before Clint could take two steps, he was stopped by a large man who stepped in front of him like a massive door being swung shut in Clint's face. The big man was built like a fort, but dressed better than most everyone else in the room. In fact, his suit looked suspiciously similar to the one Clint was wearing.

“You can't go in there like that,” the big man snarled.

“It's all right,” Clint said. “I have an invitation.”

But the big man didn't move. “No guns allowed.”

“There wasn't a problem before.”

“That was before. This is now.”

Mia shrugged and said, “They came through while you were away and took everyone's guns. With this many card games going on, it only makes sense.”

Normally, Clint wouldn't have a problem leaving his gun behind. In fact, he could see the logic behind the request very easily. Considering he'd just been attacked not too long ago on this very boat, handing over his weapon wasn't such an easy thing for Clint to do. But the big man obviously wasn't going to make an exception for him, so Clint unbuckled his gun belt and handed it over.

The big man took the weapon, draped the belt over his arm and handed Clint a slip of paper with a number on it. “You can claim it whenever you leave, but there won't be any more guns allowed in any card room.”

“What about knives?” Clint asked. “Have you had any problems with knives being swung around here?”