“No, I couldn’t,” Sutherland said.
The man thought a moment, then asked, “Do you have any friends?”
“No.”
“Every man has at least one friend.”
“Don’t need ’em.”
“Do you know any men who would help you with this?”
“I know a few.”
“Good men?”
“Good at doin’ what they’re told.” Like me, he added to himself, only not as good.
“Okay,” the other man said, “give me some time to think it over. How do I get in touch with you?”
“You don’t,” Sutherland said. “I’ll come to you.”
“It’ll be better if you give me something,” the man said. “Doesn’t have to be where you live, just some place I could leave a message.”
Sutherland thought about the Bloody Spur. But that was out. Finally, he told the man the name of the saloon he lived above, without mentioning that fact.
“You can leave me a message there.”
“Okay, good,” the man said.
He got up and walked Sutherland to the back door of his home.
“I’m sorry I came to your house,” he said, before leaving. “I didn’t know any other way.”
“It’s all right,” the man said. “I’ll come up with something for you. It’ll be all right.”
“Thanks.”
The man slapped Sutherland on the back and let him out.
Butler knocked on the front door of Al Newman’s house. The door was opened by his wife, who gave him a disapproving look.
“Mrs. Newman,” he said, quickly, “I’m just here to talk to Al. Honest.”
“About what?”
“Helen? Who is it?”
Instead of telling her husband who it was she asked, “Why can’t you people leave him alone?” and turned and walked away. In moments Newman appeared.
“Hey, Butler,” Newman said. “Come on in. Luke’s not in jail again, is he?”
“Not yet,” Butler said, entering, “but there was another murder last night.”
“Jesus, who?”
“A bartender down at the Bloody Spur. Worked for Ed Cramer. He was killed the same way.”
“Come on in. Brandy?”
“Sure,” Butler said, even though it was early.
“I know it’s early, but this is one of the perks of being retired. I don’t have to go to an office today.”
He handed Butler a brandy snifter, then sipped from his own.
“What can I do for you today?”
“Just a few questions,” Butler said. “You told me you ran for district attorney once.”
“Twice,” Newman said. “Narrowly defeated both times.”
“Well, would this give you any familiarity with the criminal element here in Fort Worth?”
“Yes, it would, plus the fact that I was a criminal attorney here for years.”
Butler felt stupid for having forgotten that.
“Why? Are you looking for a criminal?”
“A man named Sutherland,” Butler said. “Have you ever heard of him?”
“Local strongarm,” Newman said. “Works with a gun, and sometimes his hands.”
“You wouldn’t happen to know where he lives, would you?”
“Afraid not,” Newman said. “I haven’t had any personal dealings with the man.”
“I see.”
“But I would imagine he lives down in Hell’s Half Acre somewhere.”
“I’ve looked there. Found a whorehouse he frequents, but not where he lives. Nobody seems to know him that well.”
“I guess I could keep my ears open, maybe ask around,” Newman said. “One of my old colleagues might know something.”
“I’d appreciate it, Al.”
“How’s Luke doing?” Newman asked as he walked Butler to the front door.
“We’re trying to get this worked out so we can all get back to the business of the day.”
“Gambling.”
“Yes.”
Newman laughed as he opened the door.
“Well, keep me in mind.”
“Don’t worry,” Butler said. “I still owe you, so you’ll be in the first game we put together.”
“Again,” Newman said, “sorry about the wife.”
“She’s got a right to be annoyed,” Butler said. “Sounds like you got more people than just me bothering you.”
“What?”
“Oh, just something she said.”
“What was that?”
“She said, ‘Why can’t you people leave him be?’ or something to that effect. Assumed it meant some other folks had been bothering you with their problems.”
“No,” Newman said, “just you.” He laughed. “I’ll have to ask her what she meant by that.”
“Well,” Butler said, “I didn’t mean to start a fight between you two.”
“Don’t worry about it,” Newman said. “Even if we do fight, Helen has a short memory for things like that. She never stays mad long.”
“That would make her a rare woman, indeed,” Butler said, not believing a word of it.
CHAPTER 42
As Butler left Al Newman’s house he had the feeling that the man had lied to him. Well, not so much a lie, as a bluff. He’d picked up something about Newman at the poker table, and felt that he knew every time the man bluffed—and he was bluffing now.
But about what?
A simple lie about his wife, maybe? He didn’t want Butler to think she was a shrew? The woman had displayed no good qualities in Butler’s presence, at all. And, apparently, Newman had spoken to her about being rude but she had ignored his counsel.
Or was it something else?
Maybe about Sutherland?
Maybe he knew Sutherland’s reputation and wanted to keep Butler from going after him?
Maybe he didn’t want Butler dead, because then he’d never get into another of Luke Short’s games?
And maybe Butler was just being unfair and Newman was trying to look out for him out of friendship?
When a man bluffed it usually meant he had no hand.
In this case, what did it mean?
“They have to stop coming here, Albert,” Helen Newman said to her husband in the kitchen.
“Yes, dear.”
“I mean it,” she said. “You’re not part of that world anymore. And you were never part of that gambling world. I don’t like that.”
