Eclipse at Noon by James Axler

Doc eased himself into one of the high stools, nodding at the five men gathered around. “No objection to a newcomer joining you?” he asked.

“Five-card stud, ten for openers, no limit,” the dealer snapped.

“That sounds jolly fun.” He fumbled in the deep pockets of his antique frock coat for a handful of jack that Ryan had given to him. “I’m in, gentlemen.”

J.B. AND MILDRED HAD MADE slow, gentle love in their locked cabin, kissing and touching, bringing each other sighing pleasure.

It was only after the second coupling that Mildred got up to wash at the basin in the en suite bathroom, becoming aware that the steady movement of the steamer had altered in the past hour or so. They were pitching much more roughly from side to side, the waves jolting under the bow. The soapy water swished in the basin, slopping over the rim onto the floor.

“Getting unsteady, John,” she called.

“Yeah.” He stood and peered between the slats of the shutters. “White water breaking on the banks,” he said. “Choppy waves, coming from behind us.”

“Think we’ll have to stop?”

“Boat this size should be able to cut through most weather.” He put on his glasses in order to be able to see better. “But the sky’s black as pitch.”

RYAN AND THE OTHERS had also noticed the menacing change in the weather.

The glasses had begun to slide on the polished wood, and waiters were going around raising the slotted sides of the tables to prevent things falling to the floor.

Ryan stood and went to see how Doc was getting on. He’d been playing steadily for well over an hour, and his pile of chips was the largest of any of the players’.

“The gods smile upon me, Ryan, my dear friend,” he said, clasping his hand to his chest. “When I have lost I have lost small, and the few winning hands have been big ones.”

“Shut your flapping mouth and play, you lucky old fart,” barked a heavily built man with a nicotine-stained mustache and rings on every finger.

“Take it easy, mister,” Ryan warned, easing back his coat to show the butt of the SIG-Sauer.

“I’ll raise ten,” Doc said.

Two of the players dropped out, leaving the man with the mustache and a younger, red-haired gambler, dressed as a priest. Both went along with Doc.

Ryan leaned over his shoulder. “Show me,” he whispered.

Doc slowly fanned out the five cards ten of diamonds, king of hearts, king of clubs, ten of spades and the king of diamonds. High-ranking full house.

“Raise another twenty,” he said, leaning back in his chair.

The priest folded, but the mustached man pressed on. “Your twenty and another twenty. See what kind of balls you got, old-timer.”

“Big enough, I believe. Your twenty and forty.”

This brought a long hesitation. Krysty and Jak joined Ryan at the table, watching to see how the gambling was going. Behind them, at a roulette table, a young female croupier was trying hard to attract some morning attention to her wheel.

“I offered a rise of forty,” Doc repeated. “Did I not hear some comment about showing the size of my genitals? I’ve shown you mine. Now you show me yours.”

The man gnawed at the ends of his mustache. “You’re fuckin’ bluffing me, you outlander retard!”

“Pay to see.”

The house dealer was looking a little worried at the growing anger, glancing behind him to see if any of the wandering pit bosses was nearby. The wind outside was now rising audibly, and the movement of the Golden Eagle was gathering, making glasses rattle, the chandeliers tinkling.

“It’s a bluff.”

Doc was losing patience. “A gentleman at the gaming table does not willfully keep another gentleman waiting.”

“Shit!” He threw his cards on the baize, revealing three eights.

Doc leaned forward to stack his own cards, unseen, but his opponent reached for them. “Let’s see what bluffing shit you was pulling on me.”

The dealer opened his mouth to check this piece of appalling behavior, and Doc Tanner began to stand. But Ryan was the quickest. He drew his blaster and pushed the muzzle into the angry face of the beaten player.