The Hunt for Clint Adams (11 page)

Clint and Bat went to their rooms after the game was over and slept for hours. Clint slept until there was a knock at his door. He staggered to his feet, grabbed his gun from the table next to the bed, and stumbled to the door as the knock came again.

“Yeah, yeah, coming,” he called out.

The players in the game were given two-room suites, so he had to go from the bedroom through the sitting room to open the door. He'd decided to get some sleep here before returning to his room at the Denver House. After all, he was paying for that one.

When he got to the door and opened it, he saw Jane standing in the lobby. She was still wearing her black trousers and crisp white shirt—or simply another of each.

“Good evening,” she said, looking him up and down. He realized he was wearing only his underwear.

“Evening?” he asked. “What time is it?”

“Ten p.m.,” she said. “You've been asleep for ten hours.”

Clint remembered that he and Bat had had something to eat before they went to their rooms.

“I see,” he said. “And why was it necessary to wake me up and tell me that?”

“Oh, that's not what I woke you up to tell you,” she said.

“Then why did you wake me up?”

“Well,” she said, “for that, I'd have to come inside.”

“In a man's room? Late at night?” he asked.

“I'll risk it if you will,” she said.

He bowed, and backed away to allow her to enter. As she did, she saw the gun in his hand. He closed the door, walked to the bed, and put the gun back on the table.

“Well now if you'll give me time to get dressed . . .” he said, turning. He stopped short when he saw her crisp white shirt fall to the floor.

“I don't think that will be necessary.”

“Miss Dealer,” he said.

“It's Jane,” she said. “Remember?”

She reached behind her to unfasten her ponytail. As she did her breasts—fuller and heavier than he would have thought—lifted and jutted out at him. Her nipples were a light brown he hadn't really encountered before.

Her hair fell to her pale shoulders in shimmering waves.

“Remember,” she said, “we had an appointment after the game?”

“Did we?”

“I thought we did.”

She kicked off her shoes, then stuck her fingers into the waist of her trousers and peeled them down. She wore no underwear beneath. He figured she'd done that in anticipation of their . . . appointment.

She was breathtakingly naked.

“You know,” he said, “From the moment I saw you I wondered what was beneath that white shirt.”

“Liar,” she said. “You didn't start wondering that until you knew I was the dealer and not just the bartender. But that's okay. I didn't really wonder about you until we sat down at the poker table.”

“Is that a fact?”

“Yes, it is,” she said. She moved closer to him—not close enough to touch—but close enough for him to feel the heat from her body.

“I have to thank you,” she said.

“For what?”

“Apparently, saving my job.”

“That was nothing,” he said. “I just didn't want Orchid taking his frustration out on you.”

“Well then,” she said, moving closer and pressing herself up against him, “this is not a thank you. We'll just consider it a . . .” She felt him grow hard between them. “ . . . hello?”

“Where's your sister?” Harry Orchid asked Dave.

“How do I know?” Dave asked. “I don't keep track of her.”

“You've got to make sure she stays quiet,” Orchid said, “or we're gonna have a lot of people asking for their money back.”

“We?” Dave Masters asked. “I didn't take any money from anyone.”

“It's a figure of speech, Dave,” Orchid said. “I'm not asking you to be partners with me.”

“I didn't think you were . . . boss.”

Orchid was behind his desk, a drink in his hand.

“You're not gonna fire Jane, are you?”

“No,” Orchid said. “She has a big mouth . . . but no.”

Dave walked to the door. “I'll find her,” he said. “She won't say a word.”

“I'm counting on you to see that she doesn't,” Orchid said.

Her breasts were heavy against his chest, her nipples hard. She put her arms around his neck and pulled his mouth down to hers. She kissed him hungrily, and he returned the kiss with the same vigor.

“I see you're finally awake,” she said, grinding herself against him.

“Completely.”

“There's still something between us, though,” she said. “Allow me?”

“Of course.”

She dropped to her knees and slid his underwear down to his ankles. His penis sprang free, almost hitting her in the face. It made her laugh, but only for the moment. Then she became very serious.

“Mmm,” she said, taking the shaft in both her hands. She found it solid and very smooth. She flicked her tongue at him, just barely touching the swollen head. Then she licked it more deliberately, up and down the shaft until she was back at the top. She popped it into her mouth, circled it with her tongue, soaking it with her saliva. When she withdrew her tongue a string of saliva came with it and then broke.

He reached down, grabbed her, and pulled her to her feet. He kissed her again, then slid his mouth to her neck, her shoulders, and then her breasts. He took her breasts in his hands, held them to his mouth, and licked and sucked the nipples until she moaned. He put his hands on her waist and directed her to the bed. The back of her knees hit the mattress and they fell onto it together.

She rolled onto her side and he spooned her, his penis nestling in her delicious butt crack. He reached around for her breasts, toying with her nipples while nibbling on her neck and ear.

“If you're hungry,” she said, “I can arrange for something to be brought up.”

He turned her over, looked into her eyes and said, “Oh, I think I have everything I want right here.”

 

Across the street, Bobby Davis and Tom Melvin stood in the darkened doorway of an abandoned building.

“What are we doin' this for?” Bobby asked.

“This is what Tarver's telegram told us to do,” Tom said. “Just keep an eye on Adams.”

“Keep an eye on him,” Bobby said. “We don't even know if he's in there.”

“The game's over,” Tom said, “and we ain't seen him come out, so he's in there. Stop givin' me so much grief, Bobby.”

“Hey, don't blame me because you backed the wrong horse,” Bobby said.

“What?”

“I'm betting you're in such a foul mood because you lost your bet, right?” Bobby asked. “You picked the wrong poker player?”

“Never mind.”

“I knew it.”

“Look,” Tom said, “we don't both have to be here. We're just gonna watch, we ain't gonna make a try for him. Why don't you go back to the hotel.”

“What for?” Bobby asked. “To sleep? I had enough sleep. I'm ready for some action. Besides, ain't we supposed to spook him some more?”

“Like we said before,” Tom reminded his partner, “we don't wanna take a chance that we'll have to face him and Masterson together.”

“Why don't we just backshoot Masterson like we did that big feller in Colorado Springs?”

“We do that and Adams would track us forever,” Tom said. “No, we're gonna do what we're getting paid to do—watch.”

“Yeah,” Bobby said, “but when are we gettin' paid, that's what I wanna know.”

“Damn it, Bobby, just shut up.”

 

As soon as they were on the bed, Clint maneuvered Jane so that he was on top. She was more than a handful of woman, which was just what he liked. He filled his hands and his senses with her, squeezed her breasts together, pressed his face in between them, breathed in her heady scent, enjoyed the warmth of her skin.

“You're not a man who's in a hurry, are you?” she asked.

“Not with a woman like you.”

“A woman like me?”

He slid his hand up and down one of her thighs, over her belly.

“A woman who should be . . . enjoyed.”

“Is that what you're going to do, Clint?” she asked. “Enjoy me?”

“Oh no, Miss Dealer,” he said, “I'm going to relish you!”

“My breasts are sore,” Jane said, lying on her back next to Clint.

“That's what you get for being so delicious,” he said, “and having such chewable nipples.”

She laughed.

“No man's ever said that to me before,” she said. She held her breasts in her hands and looked down at them. “Chewable.”

She slid her hand down his belly and took hold of his penis.

“You're kinda chewable yourself, you know.”

“No woman's ever told me that before.”

“Well,” she said, “maybe I'll show you, too.”

She slithered down his body, rubbing her skin over his until she was nestled between his spread legs. She stroked him with one hand while with fondling his testicles with the other. She licked him, starting at the base of his penis and working her way to the top. She wet the head, then took him in her mouth and sucked him—wetly, and noisily—until it was long and hard, then drew back and stared at it, glistening with her spit.

“Oh my,” she said, sliding the tip of her index finger and down the length of him. His penis twitched beneath her touch. “Look at him . . . so pretty . . . and just straining to explode . . .”

She took him in her mouth again, began to suck him avidly until he was on the verge of coming. She released him at the last moment, just when he thought his head was going to blow clean off. His penis prodded at the air, jerked and pulsed, and just when he thought he had control she touched him again, just once, with the tip of her finger right beneath the spongy head—and he blew.

“Jesus!” he bellowed, lifting his hips up off the bed. She rocked back on her knees and clapped her hands until the geyser stopped and he stopped bouncing around on the bed.

“What the hell—” he said.

“Pretty good for a non-professional, huh?” she asked.

“Pretty damn good for the best goddamned whore in the business,” he said.

“Let's just call me a talented amateur.”

She lay back down beside him and held his limp penis in her hand lovingly.

They fell asleep that way.

Later, true to her word, Jane arranged for food to be brought up to the room for them. She whispered to the bellman who brought it and ushered him out of the suite.

“What did you tell him?” he asked, as they sat down to make turkey and roast beef sandwiches with big, doughy fresh rolls.

“I told him not to tell anyone where I was,” she answered.

“And will he?”

“Probably.”

“Who are you hiding from?” he asked. “Your boss?”

“My boss, my brother,” she said. “Who knows.”

“Tell me something,” he said.

“Anything.”

“You blowing the whistle on your boss's scheme,” he said. “It was no accident, was it?”

She laughed and said, “No, it wasn't. I'm not that dumb. I wanted you to know.”

“Why?”

“Because I knew we'd end up here,” she said. “And I wanted to see him squirm.”

“Are you and Orchid . . .?”

“He thinks we are.”

“So there was no chance he would fire you?” Clint asked.

“Oh, he might've,” she admitted, “if you hadn't spoken up. I did really want to thank you for that. You and Mr. Masterson.”

“But you didn't thank Bat the way you just thanked me, right?”

“I thought we said this wasn't a thank you,” she said, “but a hello.”

“Okay.”

“I didn't say hello to Bat the way I just said hello to you, no.”

“Good.”

“I thought he was your friend?”

“He is,” Clint said, “but I don't like to share, even with my friends.”

She smiled and said, “Good.”

They ate for a few moments in silence, having both worked up a hell of an appetite, and then she said, “Wasn't that last hand amazing?”

“That's the most money I've ever won with an ace high hand,” he said.

“I thought one of you would fill in.”

“That's okay,” he said. “You did good.”

“You know,” she said, “I
could
have fixed it for you to win that last hand.”

“Are you that good with the cards?”

“Oh, yes.”

“But you didn't fix it.”

“How do you know?”

“One of us—Bat or me—we would have noticed,” Clint said.

“He's better than you, you know,” she said. “If you'd gone on and kept playing head-to-head he would have eventually won.”

“I know that,” he said. “We've played many times before. The only times I've ever beaten him have been pure, blind luck.”

“Like this time?”

“Like this time.”

“And you're dead sure I didn't fix the game?” she teased.

He smiled across the table at her and said, “Oh, Jane, I'm very sure.”

After they ate Clint said he had to go back to his hotel.