Short himself.”
“I might just have something,” Butler said.
“Well, you better trot it on out, then,” the bartender said. “Gotta go. Duty calls.”
The bar was so long there were two bartenders serving drinks.
“’Scuse me,” the man next to him said.
Butler turned to look at him. He was well dressed—although not as well dressed as Butler—and had the look of a man fresh from a bath and shave. He smelled of bay rum and his mustache was carefully curled on the ends.
“I couldn’t help hearin’ your conversation,” the man said. “I’ve been tryin’ to get into one of Luke Short’s private games for weeks.”
“Pretty tough to do, huh?” Butler asked. “The bartender seems to think I’d need to know somebody.”
“I know Short’s partner, Bill Ward,” the man said, “and I still can’t get invited.”
“Wow,” Butler said, “that does sound tough.”
The man put his hand out and said, “Al Newman. I heard you say you just got to Fort Worth. I live here. Welcome.”
“Ty Butler,” Butler said, shaking the man’s hand.
“I come here every night, have a beer, gamble upstairs, and hope I’ll do something that will attract Luke Short’s attention.”
“Well,” Butler said, “you could shoot somebody.”
“I don’t want that much attention.”
“Doesn’t look like there’s much going on here in the way of gambling,” Butler said. “Upstairs, you say?”
“That’s where the real casino is,” Newman said. “You go up this long stairway, passing the losers who are comin’ down.”
“Well,” Butler said, “that sounds like the place I should be.”
“Finish up your beer, my new friend, and I’ll show you how to get up there.”
Butler was really in no hurry to finish the beer. It was cold, and the taste was excellent. Newman had a similar brew in front of him. So they finished up together while Newman told Butler he had a business in town.
“I’m a lawyer,” he said.
“Criminal lawyer?”
“As a matter of fact, yes,” Newman said.
“Since you say you’re a friend of Luke’s partner, I’m going to guess that you’re a fairly prominent lawyer.”
“I’d say you were right,” Newman said. “Fact is I ran for district attorney one year. Didn’t win, but yeah, I guess I’m fairly well known.”
“And even that can’t get you into one of the private games?” Butler asked.
“Luke Short is impressed with what people can do at a poker table, not what they do in their everyday lives.”
“Well,” Butler said, “I guess I’m ready to go up and have a look at where all the action takes place.”
They both drained their mugs and Newman said, “Follow me.”
CHAPTER 3
“Why not Al Newman?” Bill Ward asked Luke Short. “You say you’re lookin’ for another man?”
“I’m not just lookin’ for another body, Bill,” Short said. “I’m lookin’ for a poker player.”
“Well, there are plenty of them downstairs, too,” Ward said. “Pick one.”
“Do you know why all these men want to get into the private games, Bill?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me.”
“Because they are private,” Short said. “If anybody could sit in, these men would be lookin’ elsewhere.”
“Look, Bill,” he continued, “when I bought in we agreed I’d handle the gambling—especially the big games with the big names, right?”
“That’s what we said, Luke.”
They were in the office that was generally considered to belong to Bill Ward. Since it was Short who bought into Ward’s property, he insisted Ward keep it. Now he approached Ward, who was seated behind the desk, and put his hand on the man’s shoulder.
“So why don’t you stop tryin’ to get me to let your friends in to play?”
Ward threw up his hands and said, “Okay, okay, I’m done.”
“I’m gonna go out and see how we’re doin’ tonight,” Luke said.
“I’ll go downstairs and say hello to some friends,” Ward said.
He stood up and they both left the office together. They were standing in a hall that would lead them each to where they wanted to go. This was another of Luke Short’s improvements. He had the hall built, and they could get downstairs or upstairs from there.
“Have a good night,” Ward said to Short.
“Let’s just have a productive night,” Short said. “That’s what counts.”
Ward shook his head as Luke Short walked down to the other end of the hall. Once again he silently congratulated himself for having chosen the right partner…this time around. Short was his third partner in as many years, but Bill Ward felt that this time he’d finally gotten it right. He turned and walked to the other end of the hall.
Butler was impressed with the setup.
As Newman had predicted, they walked up the long enclosed stairwell and had to step aside to let some grim-looking men down.
“Losers,” Newman said to Butler.
“Is there another stairway for the winners?” Butler asked.
“Who are you kiddin’?” Newman said. “Nobody leaves here a winner.”
“Then why do they come?” Butler was a good card player. At this point in his life he hardly considered it gambling. He usually won. If he never won another game, he wondered how long he would go on playing?
“They can’t not come,” Newman said. “They each have their game, and they have to come and play it. It’s not like they have a choice.”
Butler had known compulsive gamblers, but he did not understand the malady.
They continued up the stairs and when Butler came out into the casino, he was impressed. There were some poker games being played downstairs, and the faro game, but this…everywhere he looked a game was going on, and the room seemed to have every game imaginable. He saw blackjack, poker, faro, red dog, roulette, craps, and a couple of tables of games he did not recognize.
“What’s your game?” Newman asked.
“Poker.”
“No,” the lawyer said, “I mean other than poker.”
“I usually just play poker, Al.”
“Well then, that explains why you’re so much better dressed than I am,” Newman said. “If I can’t get into a poker game I’ll play almost anything else. I prefer blackjack, but there are times I can’t resist the lure of the roulette wheel, or the dice.”
Yes, Butler said to himself, that is why I’m better dressed than you are.
“Well,” Butler said, “you go ahead and find a game. I’ll walk around and take a look. I have been known to play a few hands of blackjack, though not often. There are just too many times the dealer has twenty-one to your twenty for my taste.”
“I know what you mean,” Newman said.
“Good luck,” Butler said.
“Thanks. If I catch up to you later I’ll buy you a drink—or, if I’m broke, you can buy me one.”
