Alberto straightened his back and said, “One.”
All faces quickly turned toward him, making Alberto smile smugly. He knew that his bluff was fast coming to an end.'But it was time… .
“How many cards, uh, what did you say your last name was?” the dealer asked, looking toward Michael. He moved his cigarette around with the tip of his tongue, then puffed on it once again.
Michael ran a hand through his hair, then mumbled, “I didn't say.” He eyed the man suspiciously, then added, “But you can call me Michael. And how many cards do I want?” He laughed a bit throatily, glancing toward Alberto. “One. I need one.”
Alberto's face drained of color. Damn. Could Michael. .. ? He placed his cards face down on the table in front of him after throwing in his discard. When the dealer dealt him his one requested card, Alberto shuffled it into his other four and picked them up; continuing to shuffle them in his hands, almost afraid to look at them. If Michael had only needed one card, Alberto knew that his own chances weren't so great. He continued to shuffle the cards, watching Michael's expression as he lifted his dealt card before his eyes. Alberto's heartbeat faltered when he saw Michael's light up in various colors of blues, and his face flush a rose color. Then when the bet was passed on around to Alberto, he tossed in ten one-dollar bills, knowing he would have even bet more if ten hadn't been the limit set down on the first bet passed around the table.
Then when all the men dropped out and Michael was the only one left to call Alberto's hand, Alberto grumbled, “I'll raise you ten more dollars.” He threw out ten more one-dollar bills.
All grew silent in the room. It seemed that even the three men who were now only observers had ceased to breathe. The continuation of spiraling smoke in the air was the only indication that there were more in the room besides Alberto and Michael.
“Okay. I'll call you,” Michael said, slapping his money on the table. He glanced down at his cards, seeing his three, four, five, six and seven of Clubs. He had hoped for an eight, but having been lucky enough to be given the three, he knew that had been just as good. His heart pounded wildly. He chewed and puffed on the cigar, waiting for Alberto to reveal his hand.
Alberto glanced downward at his cards, trembling inside. It was at times like this that he was reminded of the weak side of himself. He felt as though he might retch from the excitement. His four twos and Jack of Spades normally would be a winner for sure. But he had to remember that Michael had also drawn only one more card.
“Well? Alberto?” Michael prodded, growing impatient. He placed his cigar on an ashtray, spreading his cards out face down, close to the middle of the table, letting Alberto and the rest of the men see them.
“Ah hell,” Alberto grumbled, then spread his cards out onto the table, face up. He felt the sickness at the pit of his stomach increase in intensity when he heard a low, throaty laughter emerge from deep inside Michael. I'm beaten, Alberto thought to himself. Or why the laugh . .. ? He watched as Michael flipped the cards over, face side up, one by one, until all five were revealed to the staring eyes of all the men, who had grown even more stone silent.
“Well, I'll be damned,” Alberto said, hitting his fist against the table top. “I'll be damned. A damned straight flush.”
“Got cha beat,-Alberto oP boy. Four of a kind just isn't good enough,” Michael laughed, scooping the money over in front of him. “Ready for another hand?”
“You bet,” Alberto said, already counting money, placing it in the middle of the table. “You'd better know I am. I'm going to beat your pants off, if I have to play you all night.”
Michael laughed, scooting his cards to the gentleman next to him. “Deal,” he said, fitting his fingertips together in front of him, still watching Alberto.
The card game went on for hours. Michael would win one hand, then Alberto, with an occasional win from one of the other men at the table. When midnight was drawing nigh, Michael and Alberto had won an even number of hands. And when they were the only two left at the gambling table, Michael slapped the cards down on the table and scooted the chair back and said, “Well, I guess that's all for now.” He watched Alberto amusedly, seeing that he appeared to be upset by this night's cards.
Alberto slammed his cards on the table, then placed his winnings inside his front breeches pocket. “None of this turned out the way I wanted it to,” he grumbled.
“Well, I have to admit, I would have preferred to have done a much better job at beating your ass off,” Michael laughed.
“And now that your card playing is over, you're going to have one of Ruby's girls, huh?” Alberto said, eyes wavering.
“I don't think so,” Michael said. “Guess I'd best be running back to my hotel. I'm kind of beat. I've got a few things to do tomorrow that will have to be done with a clear head.”
Alberto laughed hoarsely as he pushed his chair back and rose from it. “Well, I now know your plans can't have anything to do with Maria,” he said. “It seems Nathan Hawkins beat you inside her breeches.”
Michael pushed his chair back and went to Alberto and grabbed him by the throat, threatening him with a doubled-up fist. “Alberto, if you know what's good for you, you'll keep your damn mouth shut about Maria,” he said. “If youdon't, you may not haveany teeth left in that warped head of yours. Do you hear?”
“Hey. Ease up, Hopper,” Alberto gulped, straining, feeling the color fast draining from his face. He didn't care to fight Michael. He knew who would be the winner. He had dreamed of one day getting even with Michael, but now that he felt the strength in Michael's hands, he knew that another way would have to be found.
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Michael dropped both arms, then straightened his coat, shrugging his shoulders. “Okay. As long as you understand,” he mumbled, then left the room.
Alberto swallowed hard, lifting a hand to his throat. He could feel the pulsebeat growing stronger. God. Would he ever become a man in every sense of the word? First not to be able to bed up with a female in the proper way, then not be able to defend himself. .. ?
He rushed from the room and down the stairs, moving on through the parlor to the kitchen, and out ‘the back door. He didn't want to run into Ruby again tonight. He didn't want to run into anyone. He wanted to rush home, climb beneath his covers and try to go to sleep to forget all that had happened both that day and that night.
As he rushed down the back steps, he stopped, hearing some scuffling in the dark. He tensed, then eased on around the house, wondering who might be fighting. He stumbled over something in the dark and -gasped when he glanced downward and found both of Ruby's dogs lying still in the grass. He bent and checked them over carefully. Were they dead? What had happened to them? Then muffled cursings drew him to stand next to the house, in the shadows, growing frightened. When the three wrestling figures moved out into the open, beneath the direct rays of the moon, Alberto gasped even further, seeing that one of the men was Michael Hopper. The other two were two of the men who had been playing cards with them all evening.
Alberto recoiled even more, but when he saw the flash of a knife, and saw that it was moving toward Michael's stomach, something made him jump for the man who was holding the knife. He grabbed the man by the neck, panting, and wrestled him to the ground, relieved when the knife fell to the ground beside them.
With one blow, he clipped this man on the chin, then another blow, and another, then rose, panting even more when the man lay quiet, breathing shallowly. He wiped his brow when he saw Michael lumbering toward him, blood streaming from both his mouth and nose.