“Don’t have a drink in here,” Short whispered to Butler.
“You don’t have to tell me twice.”
The bartender walked to the back and went through a curtained doorway. Moments later he reappeared with another man. This one was much better dressed than anyone else in the place, but his suit did not come close to matching the caliber of Luke Short’s or Butler’s.
“Hey, Luke, good to see you.” He approached with his hand held out for a handshake. Butler detected some hesitation in Short, who finally did shake hands.
“How are you, Ed?”
“Can’t complain. Who’s your friend?” Cramer gave Butler a critical once over.
“Friend of mine named Butler,” Short said. “I brought him to the Acre to see how the other half lives.”
Cramer laughed.
“Always the joker, Luke. You wanna come back to my office and talk?” Cramer asked.
“Why don’t we just take a table near the back,” Short suggested.
“Sure, Luke,” Cramer said. “You wanna stay out in the open, we can do that. How about your friend? Does he want to come along?”
“No, he’ll stay at the bar.”
“Fine. Hey, Zeke, give the man what he wants on the house.”
“What’ll ya have?” the bartender asked as Short and Cramer walked to the back.
“Whiskey,” Butler said.
A least it would come from a bottle, and the liquor would kill whatever was in the glass—not that he intended to drink it.
Butler noticed another doorway, this one way in the corner. He thought he saw part of a stairway. He also thought he saw a shadow. He decided to keep a wary eye on that spot. Cramer probably just had his own backup, there was no harm in that.
Yet.
CHAPTER 15
The conversation between Cramer and Short seemed to start out amiably enough, but soon Short was getting red in the face. Butler was impressed that Cramer seemed to be keeping his composure.
“Your boss keeps that up he’s gonna have a heart attack,” Zeke the bartender said.
“He’s not my boss,” Butler said. “We’re friends.”
“Yeah, right.”
Butler decided it didn’t matter what the bartender thought. He kept an eye on the two men at the table, and on that doorway in the corner.
“What’s over there?” he asked Zeke.
“Where?”
“That doorway.” Butler pointed.
“Oh,” Zeke said. “Stairway to upstairs.”
“What’s upstairs?”
Zeke grinned, showing more of his yellow and black stumps, and said, “Girls. You want one?”
“Not from here.”
“Best in town.”
“I’ll pass.”
“You want a boy?” Zeke asked. “You one of them? We got them, too.”
“I don’t think your boys would be any cleaner than your girls, do you?” Butler asked.
“You sayin’ we got diseased whores here?”
“I’m saying,” Butler replied, “that you probably have diseased whores here, yes.”
“And I suppose the whores at the White Elephant are all clean, huh?”
“There are no whores at the White Elephant,” Butler said.
“Yeah, right,” the bartender said again.
Butler decided it was useless talking to the man, but the bartender wouldn’t leave him alone.
“You gonna drink that?” the man asked, indicating the whiskey. “Or afraid that’s dirty, too?
“Yes.”
The man grabbed the glass and drained it himself, then put it back with the other glasses without washing or even wiping it.
Suddenly, there was some commotion from the corner. Luke Short stood up so fast his chair fell over. Cramer sat back in his chair and smiled, spreading his hands to show Short he wasn’t armed. Some of the customers looked over there but lost interest quickly.
Zeke put his hand under the bar.
“You come up with a gun I’m going to shove it up your ass,” Butler said.
Zeke pulled his hand back as if he’d touched something very hot.
Butler now had to watch Short, the bartender, and the doorway to the stairs. As Short’s voice got louder— Butler heard him call Cramer a “sonofabitch and whoremonger,”—Butler saw the shadow in the stairway move, and then the barrel of a gun poked out.
“Don’t make a move,” he told Zeke as he pushed away from the bar. “Nobody has to get hurt here.”
He quickly crossed the room, and as a hand appeared holding the gun he grabbed it by the wrist and yanked. The man came stumbling out of the stairway and, as he did, Butler drew his gun, pressing it to the man’s temple.
“Drop it.”
“I didn’t do nothin’.”
“Sure,” Butler said, “you always walk around with a gun in your hand.”
The man opened his hand and his gun hit the floor. Butler kicked it across the room.
“Go stand with your friend at the bar,” he ordered.
The man walked across the room and stood in front of the bar. Butler stayed where he was, because from there he could cover the whole room. He stole a look up the stairway, but there was nobody there.
“Clear, Luke,” he said.
“Is that what you had planned for me?” Short demanded of Cramer. “Bushwackin’ me?”
“I didn’t have anything to do with that, Luke,” Cramer claimed.
Short pulled his gun, put his knee against Cramer’s chest and pressed the barrel against the man’s lips.
“Open up, you sonofabitch,” he said.
Slowly, Cramer opened his mouth and Short slid his gun barrel in.
“You send anybody to the White Elephant to even spit on the floor,” he said, “I’ll come back here and blow the back of your head out. You understand? Nod your head if you do, but not too hard. This is a hair trigger. I don’t want to kill you accidentally.”
Cramer nodded very slowly.
Short slid the gun out of his mouth, but kept the hammer cocked.
“Cover me, Butler,” Short said. “When I get to the door I’ll cover you.”
“Right.”
Butler kept the room covered, even though he thought the only two he had to worry about were the men at the bar. Cramer was still sitting in his chair, looking remarkably calm.
“Okay,” Short said, and covered Butler as he crossed the room.
“Remember what I said, Ed,” Short told Cramer.
“I’ll remember everything that happened here today, Luke,” Cramer promised.
Butler and Short backed out through the batwing doors. Once outside Short holstered his gun.
“He won’t come out after us?” Butler asked.
