David Barbour - Shadows Bend

The dealer was looking off toward the dining area where a pair of well-dressed gentlemen were nursing their drinks. He turned back to Howard and nervously interrupted his conversation to challenge him to go double or nothing on one last hand.

“What-am I winnin’ too much for ya?”

“No, sir. I’m going off duty in a minute. You’re more than welcome to continue with the new dealer, but I thought I should do you the honor.”

Lovecraft could not fail to notice where the dealer’s eyes kept looking. Howard accepted the challenge and won again. “That was fast,” said Howard. “How about another hand before you’re off?”

“Sir, ah…”

Lovecraft pulled Howard aside and whispered, sternly, “Bob, listen to me very carefully. I would strongly suggest that you heed the old maxim ‘quit while you’re ahead.’ ”

Howard took a deep breath, ready to argue his point, but the genuine concern in Lovecraft’s eyes sobered him, and in a moment he regained control of his senses. “You-you’re right, HP. Hell, I’ve got more than enough to get my car fixed up.”

“Yes, you do. Now, shall we see if Miss McKenna has returned?”

Howard swept up his winnings with a flourish and thanked the dealer while Lovecraft eyed the man warily and cast a furtive glance back toward the dark corner booth. There was something familiar about that palpably thick darkness, and a sense of dread made Lovecraft hasten his steps to follow Howard out of the room.

They found that Beatrice was back in the cashier’s booth and Glory was loitering just in front of the bars, talking to her. Howard proudly scattered his winnings on the speckled marble counter in front of a rather surprised Beatrice and announced jubilantly, “Miss McKenna, I just won fifty dollars at the blackjack table thanks to the chips you gave me an’ HP.”

Beatrice was incredulous. “In ten minutes? With only a dollar to start with? Why you must be a regular card shark, Mr. Howard.”

Howard beamed with misplaced pride; Lovecraft rolled his eyes as Beatrice exchanged the chips for cash and counted it out. “Glory,” said Howard, “now we can get that damn suspension fixed so ya won’t be bangin’ your head on the roof no more.”

“I need to talk to you boys for a minute,” said Glory, her voice almost grave. She led the puzzled men away from the counter and her, sister. She hesitated before she said, “I-I’m staying here.”

“What?” Howard suddenly realized how much he wanted her to come with them. It was some unconscious assumption he had made, but now the thought of her staying in Vegas made him feel an unexpected desperation. “But you can’t—” He stopped himself as he realized that she had no way of knowing all the things the old shaman had told him and Lovecraft the night before.

Lovecraft quickly interjected to cover his companion’s gaping question mark. “Miss McKenna, Bob and I think that owing to the strangeness of the situations we’ve encountered recently, it might perhaps be in everyone’s best interests for you to accompany us on the remainder of our journey. Or at least until we can get things sorted out.”

Howard glanced over at Lovecraft, impressed by the subtle way he had just pleaded with Glory, but when he looked at her to see if she had bought any of it, she was frowning.

“What does that mean?” she asked. “Whose best interests? Yours or mine?”

For once, Lovecraft found himself at a complete loss for words.

“Look, I appreciate the ride and all—” Glory stopped in mid-sentence and laughed at what she had just said. “No, actually I don’t appreciate the ride at all, it’s been pretty god damn hellish for the most part!” The men were forced to acknowledge her candor with subdued, nervous chuckles, but she didn’t let that disarm her. “To tell you the truth, I’m just plain scared of whatever it is you two are mixed up in, and I’ve got a terrible feeling in the pit of my stomach that it’s going to get worse if I don’t get out of it right now.”

They knew she was right. And yet, even with what Imanito had told them about her still ringing in their ears, they had to admit that they did not fully believe him. They looked at each other, both thinking that they must tell her what the old shaman had said. Howard began:

“Look, Glory—ah, I don’t even know what the hell’s really happening here, but there’s something we’ve gotta tell ya—somethin’ the Indian told us about—”

Glory interrupted forcefully, “You both thought he was a crazy old man, right?”

“For the most part, yes,” Lovecraft reluctantly agreed.

“Right, so I couldn’t care less whatever it is he said when you all had that little powwow I couldn’t see. Look, I’m sorry, but I’m staying here with my sister and my little nephew-and that’s that.” Glory stood with her arms folded defiantly at her stomach, but her tone was soft now. “I wish you both the best on this quest or whatever it is you’re on.”

They had lost the argument.

“Thank you,” said Lovecraft. He saw that Howard’s posture was sagging, and yet tense, as if he had not decided whether to accept defeat or explode in anger.

“Thanks,” Howard said, shoving his hands into his pockets.

Glory stepped up to them, lowering her arms, and then she suddenly hugged them both at the same time, much to their astonishment and embarrassment. “Good-bye,” she said. “Say hello to your friend Smith for me when you get to California and tell him that I loved ‘The Litany of the Seven Kisses.’ I think it’s the best poem he ever wrote.”

Lovecraft pretended to straighten his already too-wrinkled suit. “Ah-I will gladly pass along your compliments to our dear friend, although I believe ‘The Hashish Eater’ to be his finest achievement myself.”

Glory smiled at Lovecraft’s maddening habit of always having to have the last word. As she walked away from the two men she turned. “Never thought I’d say this, but I’m thinking I might actually miss you, HP.” She gave a tiny wave and went on her way.

Lovecraft was puzzled but secretly flattered; he turned to Howard to say something, clearly unable to hide the pleasure on his face.

“Now what the hell does that mean?” said Howard. “‘I think I might actually miss you, HP.’” He did a coy imitation of Glory’s voice. “There somethin’ you ain’t tellin’ me?”

“Not a thing,” Lovecraft replied. “Not a thing.”

IN THE SHADOWED corner booth across the large game room, two dark figures sat watching. It appeared that they were playing five-card draw, but it was either a laughable imitation or some perverse variation of their own making. The men held their five-card hands splayed out, faces directed at the other player. They did not draw from the pile in front of them, and they did not discard. At first glance they seemed merely to be showing each other their hands, holding the cards still as if the other had difficulty reading them; but on closer examination one would have seen subtle changes-the red ink on the two of hearts bleeding into a six of diamonds, the face of a one-eyed jack contorting into that of a suicide king. To fix your gaze on a single card would have been like trying to hold down a bead of quicksilver under a finger only to have it scatter and re-form elsewhere. What the shadow men played at was a test of wills, each holding his hand while trying to change his opponent’s into something inferior, and when they were done they scattered the rectangular cuts of paper across the tabletop, entirely blank.

THE CHEVY CLANKED and clattered especially loudly as if it were on its proverbial last legs, and Howard could have sworn he felt potholes in the immaculately paved Vegas street. At the garage he ordered the cracked windshield and suspension to be repaired, slipping the elderly mechanic an extra five to have it done by nightfall instead of having to wait overnight.