“Just don’t go into any of those downtown places,” Short said. “The city fathers are up in arms about gambling halls skinnin’ customers, and it’s none of our doin’. It’s those damned places. I ought to go down there and shoot a couple of them up.”
“Is that wise?”
“No, damn it, it ain’t,” Short said. “But it’s what I want to do. Hey.” He lit up like he just had a great idea. “Why don’t you come with me?”
“To shoot the places up.”
“No, I’m havin’ a meetin’ down there this afternoon with a fella called Cramer. We got some business together. Come along.”
“Why would you want me in on your business?”
“Bat said you do a pretty fair job of watchin’ a fella’s back,” Short said. “I’m goin’ to Hell’s Half Acre—which, by the way, covers more like three acres. I think I need someone I can count on behind me.”
“I’m flattered that you’d think of me, Luke,” Butler said. “Sure, I’d be happy to go with you. Am I going to need my horse?”
“We can take a cab,” Short said. “Actually, we could probably walk it, but I think a cab would be better. I’ll have one out front at three o’clock. Meet me then, okay?”
“Three o’clock, out front,” Butler said. “I’ll be there.”
Butler made it back to the White Elephant early, so he went to the bar for a beer. The bartender who greeted him the first night came over with a smile.
“Whataya have, Mr. Butler?”
“How do you know my name?”
“Mr. Short made me memorize it,” the man said, “but I had it after the first time.”
“And what’s your name?”
“I’m Jerry.”
“Well, Jerry, I’ll have one of those cold beers that freeze your hand.”
“Comin’ up.”
Jerry went down the bar and returned with a frosty mug.
“Heard you and the boss were going to the Acre.”
“Word gets around fast.”
“Well, when somebody hates those places as much as Mr. Short does…You gonna help him shoot them up?”
“Nobody’s going to shoot any place up, Jerry,” Butler said. “I’m just going to watch his back.”
“Well, he’s gonna need it if you go there,” Jerry said. “Especially if he’s goin’ to see Cramer.”
“He mentioned a man named Cramer.”
“Yeah, he owns a few of those places downtown that are fleecin’ people,” Jerry said. “Mr. Short hates that. He likes to run a straight game. He don’t like when we get lumped in with those places in the newspapers.”
“I can’t blame him for that,” Butler said, “but we’re still not going to shoot any place up.”
“Well, maybe you can keep him from doin’ it,” Jerry said. “’Scuse me. More customers. Place is startin’ to fill up now.”
Butler turned around with his beer in hand and saw that Jerry was right. The gaming tables were starting to fill up, and he wondered how things were going up in the casino. He knew Luke Short was running the casino upstairs, but he wondered if the dapper little gambler also had a piece of the few downstairs games. Wouldn’t seem worth his while, since most of the players at these games were penny-ante locals.
He was half finished with the beer when he checked his watch and saw it was almost three. He didn’t know if he was supposed to watch Luke’s back or keep him from getting into trouble, but whichever it was he was ready.
CHAPTER 14
In the cab, Luke Short gave Butler a brief history of Fort Worth’s downtown, alternately called Hell’s Half Acre and the Bloody Third Ward.
“Originally it was limited to Rusk Street, or the lower half of it, anyway, but lately it’s grown to include other streets like Main, Calhoun, and Jones. From north to south it covers Front to Seventh Street. The
Butler didn’t tell Short that he’d already heard some of this from Jerry the bartender.
“It pisses me off when we get included in what the newspapers are decrying the Acre,” Short went on. “The White Elephant is nothing like these places.”
“What are we doing here, Luke?” Butler asked.
“I’m having a meeting with a man named Ed Cramer,” Short said, “not to be confused with my friend Nat Kramer, who runs the Cattle Exchange Saloon on Houston Street. Do you know Nat has never carried a gun, and has never had occasion to need one? I don’t know how he does it.”
“Who knows?” Butler asked. “Maybe if we didn’t carry them we wouldn’t need them, either.”
Short laughed and said, “If I didn’t wear my gun I’d be dead in ten minutes.”
“You’re probably right,” Butler said. With the price that was still on his head, put there not by the law but by a private citizen, he probably wouldn’t last much longer than that.
The cab pulled to a stop in front of a building on Rusk Street. As they alighted to the street Butler saw the name, the Bloody Spur Saloon, over the door.
“Nice name,” he commented.
“Actually,” Short said, “that is one of the nicer-named places down here.”
The traffic on Rusk Street looked the same as any other street Butler had seen in Fort Worth. However, he’d been to enough red-light districts to know that the trouble started when the sun went down.
“Let’s go inside,” Short said. “I have an appointment to talk to Cramer in about ten minutes. He’ll keep me waiting at least that long.”
“What’s this about?”
“I heard some rumors that Cramer has hired someone to harass our customers, maybe even come to our place and cause trouble. I want to try to cut him off at the pass, so to speak. Reason with him.”
“Is he a reasonable man?”
“Never has been before,” Short said, “but one can always hope. Just keep your eyes peeled for trouble while I do the talkin’.”
“Gotcha.”
They entered the place, attracted the eyes of several customers who were lounging against the bar. It was much smaller than the White Elephant—probably a quarter of the size—and the furnishings were unremarkable. In fact, the clientele appeared as rundown as the furniture and bar. And then there was the smell…
“Jesus,” Short said, as the odor struck him.
“Yeah.”
The closest Butler could come to identifying it was vomit and sweat. He didn’t understand how anyone could drink, or even sit, in the place.
“They’re used to it,” Short said, as if reading his mind.
“How?”
Short shrugged, led the way to the bar.
“Would you tell your boss Luke Short is here to see him?” he asked the bartender.
“Sure thing,” the man said. “You got an appointment?” He laughed, showing rotted stumps where his teeth used to be.
“As a matter of fact, I do,” Short said.
That seemed to disappoint the man, whose laughter abruptly stopped.
“I’ll tell ’im,” he said, and left the bar.
