Page 23 of Worst Hand Wins in Deadwood

I jump on that. “Not really? That sounds like guy-talk for, “It’s okay. It’s just a bullet hole, I’ll be fine.”

He laughs. “Well, I guess you’re right. Anytime a cop goes on duty, there’s a chance he can get hurt. And what I do, in itself cannot get me hurt, but there are those who don’t want me to discover their hidden secrets and could cause me trouble… but” —He looks deeply into my eyes— “that’s my job and I knew what I sighed up for when I accepted the position.”

This is all fine and good, but I’m not getting what I want to know. I’ve got to figure out some way to ask the right question.

“Sure.” I nod. “I get that, but— Do I need to be worried about some ricocheting bullets from some crazed drug lord looking to nail your ass?”

Oh how I wish I could grab him by the shoulders and shake him and scream, “What are you looking for?”

“Look.” He put the pot pie on the entry table that holds a bowl where he tosses his keys and empties his pockets. His holster and gun are laying there, too. “More cops are hurt directing traffic than looking for illegal activity.”

Illegal activity?Does that mean a card game? I fight my face to not looked surprised. “Sure.” I force myself to say casually. What I want to do is run home and sit in a corner, clasping my knees to my chest, and rock like an insane woman who just found out she will be hung at daybreak. “But one never knows, right?”

“Right.” He takes me by the shoulders and pulls me into him. I lay my head against his muscle-carved chest. His musk and soap scent makes my knees turn to pudding. All my anxiety about what he knows fades like fog in sunlight.

“I promise to be careful.” His voice rumbles in his chest along with a heart beat that I realize is pounding as fast as my own. I want so badly to stay here in his arms all night. To forget that one of these days, he’s going to figure out what Big Mike is doing and that all those guys are going to think I led him to the secret room.

Anxiety alive and well, again, in spite of Blaze’s intoxicating grip on my libido, I think I have what I came here for. I need to go home. And never allow myself to flirt with the idea that Blaze and I could ever be anything more than neighbors.

In fact, somehow, I have to never speak to Blaze again. I cannot risk him ever knowing that I know where and when and how to join an underground game. I pull away from his grasp.

“I know you need to go. Enjoy your pot pie.” I say, although my throat is uncomfortably dry. I open my mouth, but there is really nothing else to say. I need to go.

I feel his stormy eyes on me as I rush, best I can, back to the safety of my house. My heart is as tortured as my lungs when I reach my door. I push through and let the tears fall like Niagara. It’s going to be a long night.

Chapter Eleven?

“Okay, so we all agree.” I say, letting my eyes rove over Michelle, Cindy, Trisha, and Suzie.

They nod in unison.

“Like I said,” Suzie reiterates. “I can’t do much, but what I have, she can have. I just wish I had more than five hundred dollars.”

“That’s fine.” I assure her. “In this case, it literally is the thought that counts.” I smile. Knowing I have every penny of what Kate needs, I don’t have to flaunt that fact in their faces. If they want to contribute, I don’t want to minimize their generosity. It simply flabbergasts me that they want to help. Such a different attitude toward Kate from the first time I mentioned her name.

“Now,” I continue, “how are we going to convince Kate to accept the gift?”

“Ladies and Gentlemen.” Mister DJ announces loudly over the amplification of the speakers. “It’s time to sing Karaoke.” He says as if he were announcing a match on the World Wrestling Entertainment network on TV. We applaud in response.

“First up, we have Valorie Montgomery, singing Dancing Queen!” Mister DJ leads the crowd in more applause as a waif of a gal pops up out of her seat and trots to the stage. She’s grinning from ear to ear and bowing, thanking every one for the attention. Like we don’t clap enthusiastically for anybody who goes up there.

I lean over closer to my girlfriends. “I have a great idea.”

They turn from the singer to look at me. I continue. “What if we, somehow, talk Mister DJ, or Dell Griffin, into staging a Karaoke Contest. Only it’s rigged to let Kate win. The prize can be our gift money and she’ll think she won it on her own accord.”

“That’s brilliant!” Cindy yells over the screeching that’s happening at the microphone. “Do you think he’ll agree to it?”

I shrug. “Do any of you know the owner well enough to ask him?”

Trisha put her hand up as if she had the answer in class but didn’t want to make a big show of lifting her hand. “I know him.”

We all look at her for more, but she’s not forthcoming.

“He a client?” I ask.

She purses her lips. “I can’t say, but I know him well enough to ask him for a favor.”

“Okay. Let’s let Trisha set the contest up and report back to us when it’s locked in.”

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