Arizona

"Let's see 'em," the gruff gentleman in a faded black derby said with a voice that rumbled like a rock slide in the pass. The cigar, mostly burned, marred his every word and gave it an edge that could cut if it wanted to, and at the moment, it seemed none too favorable toward friendly conversation. His hands, chapped from years of hard rustling which he passed for honest work, pushed forward a small stack of chips.

"Of course, but as you're so very confident, how about you lay yours out first?" replied the stranger, a short man and rounding, more reminiscent of a tumble weed than a gambler. He wore a simple brown bowler, small and thin spectacles, and the type of pin-striped vest one expected on a banker or shop keeper. His pudging cheeks spread slightly, revealing hints of small, well-kept teeth. "After all, a proud man like you. What joy could you find in watching me play a hand that I apparently have already lost? Save a fellow the humiliation."

The gentleman chuckled a bit, took a swig of his whiskey, draining the glass down a finger in a single gulp. He ashed the cigar on the sawdust covered saloon floor, and returned it to his mouth, dragging out the reveal. His smug grin betrayed his relish as he spread his battered cards on the table. Two jacks, a pair of kings, and a three. The gathered crowd gave their oohs and ahhs, and for a moment the ladies of the establishment gave up their flirtatious impartiality when it looked like a payday on the horizon. "Two pair," he said through a jaw clenched tightly on his cigar. He leaned back in his chair, cool and confident.

"Impressive indeed," the stranger said, eying the cards with respect. "If I had four strapping fellows watching my back like that, I should be so confident. But surrounding myself with a posse of men has never been my preference." He smiled, his lips trembled at the edges. With a slow sweep, he laid his hand on the table. An ace, a two, and three queens. "You see, I have always found the company of ladies more rewarding."

His grin stretched and twitched as he struggled not to laugh at his own joke. Arms outstretched, he raked the chips from the center, adding them to his own considerable pile. The gentleman across from him stared, eyes burning holes in the growing mountain of wealth. His own had been on steady decline since the moment he sat down with this stranger, this unimpressive waste of a man, trotting about like a New York dandy. But damn it all if the man couldn't play poker.

"Where'd a fellow like you learn to play cards, stranger?" Another swig from his glass and a motion to the bartender to bring another.

"Arizona."

"Arizona, huh?" He chomped down hard, teeth almost grinding in spite of the cigar. "You don't much look like you ever been out west."

"As a wise man once said, 'wherever you go, there you are.'" The stranger sorted his chips into neat, evenly sized stacks that dwarfed what little the gentleman had left. The gentleman glowered, either for losing the hand or the taunting stacks chips or perhaps being made to feel like an idiot by one so small, though the stranger could sense all three behind the furrowed eyebrows. "It means it doesn't matter where I go, I'll be myself regardless. Therefore, saying I don't look like I've ever been out west based solely upon my appearance is about the same as saying you've never been educated beyond, what? fifth grade, based on your own, though in this case, what I said happens to be true."

"How dare you," spat the gentleman, cigar falling from his mouth. His fist slammed hard against the table, knocking over the several of the stranger's neatly stacked chips.

"You wear your heart on your sleeve, sir," commented the stranger flatly.

"Meanin' what?" The edge to his voice itched to cut.

"Meaning, sir, that I can read you like a book. Your face, your mannerisms, your air, everything about you tells me all I need to know. I could tell you had a pair from the start and got your second on the draw. Your other king, I would imagine. Meanwhile, you see my unimpressive attire and assume me some dime store clerk, an easy mark for your card playing abilities. The fact of the matter is, you see what I want you to see, and despite your best efforts, I know you sir."

"Yeah? Well, it seems to me that you..."

"Take a moment to think on your words before you speak them, Mr. Edleson."

The gentleman froze, jaw hanging open as though waiting for words that had become hopelessly lost. He couldn't know. Couldn't possibly. He'd told no one his real name or where he'd come from. How could this over-educated nobody from nowhere possibly recognize him? The stranger's eyes bore into him, and he shuddered under the weight of the gaze.

"You thought no one would know you, didn't you, Mr. Edleson?" The stranger's voice grew stronger, more certain. "You thought so far from home no one would recognize you, would know your little secret."

Edleson began to sweat. He took another gulp from his whiskey and choked a bit. With a brush of his hand, he wiped the alcoholic spittle away from his mouth and the sweat that beaded on his forehead. How could he possibly know? Who was this man?

"The fact is, Harlan, that I never sit down at the table unless I know whom I sit across from, and I know you, man."

"You..." stammered Edleson, "you're crazy... you're... You're a damn, dirty..."

"Tsk tsk," chided the stranger. "I would choose very carefully the next word to come out of your mouth. Especially considering your... reputation... at home."

"Who are you?" asked the gentleman, no longer hiding the fear.

"My name is none of your concern."

"So what? Am I..." He paused, and looked around. The stranger played like the Devil himself, and if it came down to a fight, he certainly didn't want to stand alone against this mysterious fellow. "Are we supposed to just call you Arizona, then?"

"Everyone else does."

Edleson's heart froze, his blood turned to ice. A chill swept down his spine and pierced deep into his marrow. This couldn't be the Arizona, could it? So small and unimpressive a man. And yet to claim to be the fastest draw in the west, hell, the world? He shook, trembled like and shuddered like a weather vane in a storm. But then, the man had claimed nothing. This insignificant twig must be trying to ply his trade with another's hard earned name. He needn't fear him.

"I assure you, Mr. Edleson, that you do not want to try me. I can tell by your face you are reconsidering me, sizing me up. Perhaps you think me an imposter. I would trust your first instinct. It would be wiser."

Edleson's eyebrows furrowed as his gaze tried to peel back the layers on his inscrutable opponent. How could he...?

"The eyes, sir," replied Arizona to the unasked question. "They are a window to the soul, and you, Edleson, have dressed up the rest of your house but have failed to purchase curtains, let alone learn to close them."

Could he be so transparent? Did his expression reveal so much? Arizona gave a bored, but sadistic smile. This was a game. One big, twisted game. He'd been toying with Edleson from the start. He called every bluff, folded early every time he'd gotten a decent hand. Never bet on a hand he didn't win. Arizona always knew how he would react, sometimes before he knew himself. Almost as if...

Arizona gave a wink, and screwed his grin up high on the right corner of his taunting smile.

Impossible. No way, not in a million years. But he had winked. If he could, if he knew. Arizona could know everything. Every sin, every detail of every misdeed. Edleson trembled at the thought of a lifetime under Arizona's thumb, held in check by whatever secrets the legend may have gleaned. If he wanted to end the nightmare, to get away with his freedom intact, he would have to-

Before he could finish the thought, before he could send the message to his hand to grab his gun, he felt the cold steel of a revolver's barrel pressed into his throat, Arizona's face all the while carrying the same calm smile. "You lost, Mr. Edleson. Fair and square. Don't think your pistol will save you. I promise, I am faster."

Edleson raised his shaking hands over his head and began to speak, his voice equally unstable. "I wouldn't think of it, Arizona, sir."

"But you would, Mr. Edleson." He cocked back the hammer. "Wouldn't you?"

"N-n-no, sir."

"Tsk tsk. You know what they say about honesty being the best policy." The gun pressed hard into his adam's apple, making it difficult to speak.

"Not anymore, sir. I've learned my lesson. P-please. Take my chips. T-t-take all of them. They're yours." Edleson began to tear up, and a wet spot appeared on his trousers. "Just... don't tell anyone..."

In an instant, Arizona was all smiles once more, pistol reholstered and eyes beaming. "Relax, Mr. Edleson. I won't have any chips I didn't win. I'm no thief. Those are yours. Take them. Enjoy yourself. Your secrets are safe with me."

"Y-y-yes, sir..." Edleson said, fluids of all sorts dripping from his face, tears, sweat, spittle. He scooped his remaining chips up in his hands and made his way to cash out. "Th-thank you, sir."

"And Edleson?"

The once proud gambler turned like a beaten butler, humbled before man and god. "Yes sir?"

"When you tell this story, as I know you will, you have my permission to tell the unvarnished truth. Who knows? Someone might even believe you."

Arizona counted his chips as the newly broken Edleson shuffled away, out of his life. A pity really. His mind contained so many valuable secrets. He could make a fortune off of his misdeeds alone. Unfortunately, blackmail required too much work, even for someone of Arizona's abilities, and the pay off was always either unreliable or too slow coming. No, best to keep his efforts on gambling. Faster. Safer. He checked his tally against a few mental figures, and decided to try for one more hand before calling it quits. Surely there had to be at least one more man present with more dollars than sense.

"So," he said as he opened his mind and listened in to the thoughts drifting about the room. "Who's up for a round of poker?"