Louisiana Laydown by Jon Sharpe Page B

high-stakes game of poker. The money is part of it, but the real stakes are unspoken. The winner gets Basin Street and Storyville. The losers can find somewhere else to play.”
    “I figured it was something like that,” Fargo said. “The problem is that the whole game has to be rigged. Somehow. Otherwise, Parker wouldn’t have suggested it.”
    “You think he’ll cheat?”
    Fargo shook his head. “I don’t reckon he’ll be that obvious about it. There must be something else involved. He likes the odds to favor him.”
    “Fargo, H.D.’s told me the story about what happened out in Kansas. He says you’re the hardest man he’s ever met—but you’re also fair. Will you help keep the game fair at least?”
    “If I spot anyone doing anything out of line,” Fargo said, “you can be sure I’ll say something. There’s more than money or a business on the line here, I think. There’s all the folks who live and work in this area. Seems to me like you’ve tried to do right by them, much as you can. I’m not sure Parker and Beares are so high-minded.”
    “They aren’t,” Anderson said. “Ask around and you’ll learn the truth.”
    “I intend to,” Fargo said.
    He was about to add something more, when Anderson stood. Coming through the door were the two men who’d left earlier, dragging another man between them.
    It was the man who’d stolen Fargo’s horse.
    “Ahhh, if it isn’t Slick Willie Smith,” Anderson said. “How are you, Willie?”
    Willie’s eyes were wide and frightened. It didn’t look like the men had roughed him up too much, but his coat was torn and his lip was bleeding. “I’m . . . I’m sorry, Mr. Anderson. I didn’t know he was a friend of yours! I swear it! I just thought he was passing through!”
    “Willie, we’ve talked about this before, haven’t we? You aren’t supposed to be stealing at all. What happened to that job I got you over at the stables?”
    “I got drunk,” the man said. “Ol’ man Simms, he fired me on the spot.”
    “I would’ve, too,” Anderson said. He looked up at his men. “Did you retrieve Mr. Fargo’s belongings?”
    One of the men nodded. “Yes, sir. Willie was trying to sell the tack when we caught up with him.”
    Fargo breathed a sigh of relief. He and the Ovaro had been through a lot together. Losing his tack and gear would be one thing—those were replaceable—but a great horse like the Ovaro would be all but impossible to find again.
    “Well, Fargo,” Anderson said, “what do you want done with him?”
    Willie was all but gibbering now, and Fargo shook his head. “Let him go,” he said to the men. They released him and as Willie started to backpedal, Fargo snatched his coat lapels and yanked him forward, lifting him off his feet.
    “Don’t hurt me, please, mister!” Willie screeched.
    “Stealing is a sorry-assed way to make your way in the world, Willie,” Fargo said. “Mr. Anderson here gave you a shot at the straight life—got you a job—and you ruined it. Now I’m going to give you one: get sober and get a job. If I find out you’ve been stealing again, from anyone, there won’t be a second chance. I’ll hang you from the nearest post I can find and spare the world a lot of grief.” Fargo shook him until his bones rattled. “You understand me?”
    “Yes, sir,” Willie said. “Yes, sir, Mr. Fargo. I understand. ”
    Fargo shoved him away. “Now get out of here,” he said.
    Willie ran for the door and Anderson chuckled. “I thought he was going to wet himself for a minute there.”
    “So did I,” Fargo said. “I’d best get going. I still need to see to my horse and meet up with H.D., and I still haven’t gotten a room yet.”
    “Where did Parker tell you to stay?” Anderson asked.
    “The Bayou,” he said. “Across from the Blue Emporium. ”
    “I know it,” Anderson said. “He owns it, but it’s a decent enough place.” He looked at Fargo seriously. “This is a dangerous bit of business