away that same night in a poker game. Same as always.”
“Good. Maybe he’ll start pulling his weight before that weight pulls him down.”
[17]
The Busted Flush’s poker tournament was usually a large affair and accounted for a good deal of the saloon’s income during the month of March. This March, however, saw a tournament that came and went without much ado. Over the week the tournament was held, Caleb saw marginal profits coming from the poker players themselves. Taking in the entire month as a whole, on the other hand, was another story.
Although the tournament itself was something of a disappointment, Caleb found that he was happier than he had any right to be. April was already looking to be a better mouth for profits, and standing behind that bar while avoiding the dreary office behind it did wonders for his constitution. He felt more alive and in higher spirits than he had in a good, long time. With Hank more than happy to take on the structured schedule that came along with keeping the books in line, he was happier as well. At least, his family was happier since they got to see him at more respectable hours.
Caleb found himself sleeping until noon and staying up until sunrise as the sole custodian of the Busted Flush during its most lucrative part of the night. And although the poker tournament hadn’t panned out too well, the saloon’s profits were slowly climbing to unforeseen heights. The cause of this was its new appreciation for the game of faro.
The first few nights had been slow at Doc’s table. Faro wasn’t exactly anything new to the Busted Flush, but it took a distant second to Caleb’s personal favorite of poker. What few tables that were given to faro usually wound up being used to hold hot dishes or sandwiches meant to entice gamblers to stay put and play a few more hands of five-card draw or seven-card stud.
Once Doc laid out his kit, folks started taking notice. At first, they’d been more curious about the dealer than his game. Caleb didn’t care to keep up with the rumors and gossip that floated through every saloon in every town, but it was hard to ignore the fact that the subject of a good deal of that gossip was the dentist-turned-gambler now working at the Flush.
“Will you look at that?” Caleb mused as Hank made some repairs to one of the beer taps.
Hank glanced over at Doc’s faro table and shrugged. “It’s not even full.”
“Yeah, but that’s a damn mob compared to the action faro usually gets in this place.”
“We could’ve done better ourselves if we put some effort into it.”
“What do you mean? Doc’s doing a hell of a job. The man loves his work.”
“You call that work?” Hank asked, answering his own question with a grunt of a laugh forced out under his breath.
“As opposed to pouring drinks into Thirsty’s gullet? At least Doc doesn’t have to clean puke off the floor.”
“Gambling ain’t no way to make a living,” Hank grumbled. “You’d do well to remember that.”
Doc’s grasp for figuring numbers and calculating odds seemed like magic to someone who didn’t know the tricks of a gambler’s trade. Sometimes, Doc had such a good handle on the odds that it seemed like he had to be cheating. And as far as cheating went, that practice was so commonplace in saloon gambling that it was damn near accepted. The only thing that was truly frowned upon in that regard was getting caught.
Explaining even a piece of that to Hank was a waste of time. And besides that, Caleb was too busy enjoying his saloon to fuss about relieving the older man’s pessimism. “You want to know why Doc’s working out so well?” Caleb asked.
Hank pulled a pipe from beneath the tap and started pushing a rag through it to clean out the mold and sludge that had gathered in there. “Why don’t you enlighten me?”
Caleb pointed to the Flush’s front doors, which were being propped open by a brick instead of a drunk that refused to leave after being chucked out. Walking in, wearing a smile that practically spilled out and dripped onto the floor beneath him, was a man in his mid-thirties dressed in a rumpled brown suit. The jacket was folded and draped over one arm, and the sleeves of his white cotton shirt were rolled up just past his elbows.
Accompanying the man was an attractive woman in a dress decorated with a red flower pattern. Her long brown hair was tied back with a simple pink ribbon that matched the choker tied around her neck. To say that she wasn’t as excited to be in the Busted Flush as her husband would have been an understatement.
“Are you sure about this, Steve?” she asked while taking in the sights and smells of the saloon. “I mean, I hear the Alhambra is so much nicer. Or what about the Crutchfield House? That’s just across the street.”
Steve took another few steps into the Flush and started nodding enthusiastically. “I won’t hear any of it, Jen. This is the place I want to be.” His eyes widened when he spotted the poker tables, and it was an obvious struggle for him to keep from running over there. “The man I talked to at the train station said this is the place I wanted.”
“The man probably gets a dollar every time he points someone in this direction,” the woman replied. “Come on. We haven’t even found a hotel yet.”
Caleb moseyed over to the couple and put on a smile. “I didn’t mean to snoop, but I can have a room rented in your name so you can get right to business. What’s your game?”
The man was slightly taller than Caleb and had a bit more bulk around his midsection. Of course, that wasn’t saying much, since some posts had more bulk around their midsections than Caleb Wayfinder. When he removed his dented bowler hat, he pushed back the stray tufts of dark hair that had been set free. “Actually, I was hoping to play some poker. I hear there’s a tournament?”
Caleb winced. “You just missed the tournament, but we still hold more poker games a night than you can shake a stick at.”
“Perfect!”
“By the way, I’m Caleb Wayfinder. I own this place.”
Extending his hand, the man said, “Steve Wright. This lovely lady is my wife Jen.”
Caleb shook Steve’s hand as well as Jen’s. Although she smiled politely enough, she was still easing her way toward the door. Leaning in and lowering his voice to a stage whisper, Caleb said, “Actually, Mrs. Wright, Field’s Opera House does put on a better variety show than we do. If you’d rather take that in, I know a girl named Sarah who would be plenty happy to accompany you.”
That not only put a genuine smile on Jen’s face but also made her squeeze Caleb’s hand a little tighter as she shook it. “Really? That sounds wonderful.”
“My partner was just about to leave. If you’d like him to walk you over there, Hank would be more than happy to oblige.”
Still gazing longingly at the poker tables, Steve nodded but wound up shaking his head. “Actually, if it’s all the same to you, I think I should take her there myself.”
“Should I set up a spot for you at one of our tables?”
“Sure. I guess.”
Caleb spotted something familiar in the way Steve was looking at the gambling tables. It was a look in the man’s eyes that reminded Caleb of a kid that just couldn’t pick out the right flavor of candy stick from the selection in front of him.
“What about faro?” Caleb asked. “Doc’s going to be dealing all night and he’s been a favorite among those who buck the tiger.”
“You host faro games, too?” Steve asked.
“Sure do.”
“That sounds fine, but I’m more of a poker player.”
“I think you might be able to twist Doc’s arm into starting a game. He has a knack for putting together some wild ones.” The more he spoke, the deeper Caleb felt the hook sink into Steve’s mouth. All he needed was one last tug to land the catch for good. “How about I reserve a table for you and let Doc know you’re coming? I’m sure you can pick up a few more players at the show if you drop his name.”
Steve nodded and said, “I’ll do that. It’s been great meeting you, Caleb.”
Even after Steve escorted his wife out the door, Caleb still found himself smiling. The other man’s enthusiasm
