As soon as the words are out of my mouth, I know I’ve pushed too far. I also don’t particularly care.Too invested, I think again.Far, far too invested.
“Thecounty,” Maddock corrects, staring me down. “Fastest draw. Likely in the whole state. If you’d care to test—”
“Sure as fuck can’t tell by the way you play cards,” Charley cuts in again, the old man sounding like he’s about to draw a pistol himself. “Can we please get back to the goddamn game? Can’t even remember whose turn it is with all this talkin’.”
There’s a sudden fluster of activity, one of Maddock’s men having enough self-preservation to quickly get the hand going again while I continue to bide my time until the next one. Even Maddock’s seething glare eventually moves on as well. Beside me, Arty’s shoulders finally relax.
“Sorry,” he mutters to me after making sure his employer has refocused on the game, so quiet that I almost miss it. In return, I give him the barest hint of a nod to show him there’s no ill feelings. At least, not where he is concerned.
Across from me, Maddock knocks back the remaining contents of his drink and chases it down with a pull from his flask before he looks away from the table, and even if I hadn’t been looking the same direction all night, I would feel no qualms about going all in on where his glare lands. As well as on how all this is going to play out in the end. If I let it.
“How about another, boys?” Clayton asks, pulling his pile of winnings toward him after he takes the hand with a two pair. “Night still has plenty of life in her.”
“I’m in if Maddock is,” I say, giving him what I hope is a contrite smile. “Or maybe he’s grown tired of taking my money.”
Maddock looks at me, a little wary at first, but just as I suspect, even that small appeasement of his ego does wonders in terms of turning his mood around.
“Not nearly,” he says, nodding at the dealer for him to continue before he holds up a hand for another drink. “Although, you never know, perhaps you’ll surprise us all and actually put up a fight.”
“Careful what you wish for, Maddock,” I say, taking my cards when they’re offered. “You might just get it.”
I lose spectacularly for the rest of the evening.
It’s past midnight by the time they finally call it a night, and Cypress once again closes the evening with less than he started. Substantially less, by my estimate. His accumulated debt seeming even worse than the night prior since he stayed far longer.
“Beginning to worry I may be out of my depth,” he’s telling Maddock and the others as the table gets to their feet, shaking his head with a sheepish expression while they try to reassure him otherwise. “Perhaps I ought to excuse myself from tomorrow’s game?”
“You really are having one hell of a bad luck streak. Those last few hands…you have my sympathies,” Maddock says, both his words and his steps swaying slightly with the influence of drink as he rounds the table toward Cypress. “Or you would, if your misfortune wasn’t working so much in my favor.”
“Well,” Cypress replies, continuing to do a good job of looking both innocent and amiable as Maddock laughs at his own joke.“Most important thing is that you’re enjoying yourself.”
From what I’d observed earlier this evening, things had seemed somewhat strained between them for a time, Cypress’s fingers drumming away at the top of the table whenever he didn’t have a hold of cards. But it seems to be water under the bridge now, Maddock still laughing as he says, “Remind me to never ride one of your trains. Given what I’ve seen of you, I’m not sure I’d make it to my final destination.”
“I’d ensure it personally,” Cypress replies, standing impressively firm when Maddock claps his hand hard against his shoulder.
I cover my own laugh behind my hand, positive there’s a double meaning in there, but Maddock doesn’t seem to notice any more than he does that Cypress is letting him win.
Certainlyisa curious thing for the thief to do, unless it’s his goal to go broke, but I don’t think that’s the case simply based on the way he likes to dress and the company he likes to keep. Nor am I of the opinion that he comes from such an endless supply of money that there’s no risk he might run out.
Haven’t met many wealthy people who know how to pick pockets that well. Never consider it a skill they need to bother with when they are plenty comfortable stealing right in front of you. Key difference being that they can afford the consequences of getting caught. If there even are any.
“You’re being too hard on yourself,” Maddock says, draping an arm around Cypress’s shoulders as they start for the door, practically giving the thief an open invitation to rob him blind, and I suppose I ought to try to stop him if I’m to hold up my end of the deal.
With a sigh, I straighten from my barstool, the shift in my position immediately recapturing Cypress’s attention. He turns his head to look at me, and the quickness of his response is enough to get Maddock looking, too. Upon seeing me, hewithdraws his arm from around Cypress, his face screwing up.
“Ah, of course, the legend himself,” my employer says. “Practically the second coming, according to some.” Maddock directs this at the older man who favors cigars, the same one who came up to me earlier talking about things I’d rather forget.
“Think you’ve probably had enough for the night, Maddock,” he says, shaking his head at him. “Maybe should’ve called it when Charley did.”
“I’m far better off than that old bastard,” Maddock snaps back, the end of his sentence slurring in unintentional disagreement. “Besides,Isay when we’re done.” He turns again, squinting in my direction as if to see me better from across the saloon, and some of the other patrons still left in here promptly part ways to clear his path. “Isn’t that right?”
“Sure, boss,” I say, doing a quick count of the twenty remaining souls in the room, including the bartender and the shotgun he has stashed under the bar, before planting my hands on my hips as I stare right back. “Whatever you say goes.”
Maddock smiles. “Look at that. Suddenly, so quick to obey.” He glances back at Cypress. “And we’re supposed to believe he’s some great fighter?”
My jaw tenses, teeth grinding together as I bite back a retort before I catch Cypress’s gaze flicking to me. His own smile stays easy enough, though the way he’stap,tap,tappingagain with his thumb against his thigh says it’s all for show.Does he even know he does that?
“Prudent fighter knows which fights to take on,” Cypress says, voice low as his eyes stay on mine. “And which to leave.”