Haskell said, “It’s tough out there now, Welles. All the newcomers of summer are fighting to find winter work. Thought you were keeping busy with California Theater.”
Welles looked down at his meager pile of coins. “I got the boot from the California.”
Sympathetic murmurs rippled around the table.
Walter Ash, a cigarette held casually in one hand, squinted through the smoke. “How so? You never miss a beat, Welles. Or a note.”
“Someone offered to play for less.” He set his jaw. “I had another position lined up, but it didn’t work out.”
Haskell pointed his cigar at Welles. “And that’s why you fellas got to form a union.”
“We tried,” said Welles testily. “You were there, Haskell. You remember what a mess it was.”
“What happened?” asked Giotto.
Welles just shook his head.
Haskell said, “Way I heard it, there was infighting, different fellas thinking they oughta be king. Some thought rival organizations were conniving to make sure the union failed. Others claimed the leaders were out for themselves and not for the common good.”
“The union was a sham,” said Welles. “Just like now, every man for himself.”
“We’re artists!” interjected Isaac Pérez. “Not dockworkers or sailors. What use is a union to us?”
Walter and William nodded in synchronized agreement.
“Cards, gentlemen?” Inez prodded.
Haskell tossed a couple onto the table. “Two.”
Inez obliged.
Welles held up three fingers, and pushed his discards toward Inez. Replacements sailed his way.
Giotto rapped the table with his knuckles, standing pat.
Pérez discarded three.
The Ash brothers each took one.
Welles shifted in his chair as he examined his updated hand. “The missus and I, we had one in diapers and another on the way. I was trying to save up every penny I could, and wasn’t crazy about paying union dues. It seemed like all the plum jobs went to the officers and their cronies anyway. Soured me on unions.”
Haskell added, “Plus, after the union disbanded, the treasury funds were supposed to be divvied up among the members. Before that could happen, the treasurer disappeared.”
Curiosity piqued, Inez asked, “The treasurer absconded with the funds?”
Welles grunted and didn’t answer. Haskell responded, “Who knows? All anyone could say was that a big chunk of the money disappeared along with the guy who was supposed to keep track of it. A black day for the members, I remember that. Reported on it and hated doing so. Shenanigans like that give unions a bad name. Welles doesn’t want to talk about it, but you could ask Nico for details, if you want. He was part of the union, too, back then.”
Haskell leaned back in his chair and blew a smoke ring at the ceiling. “On second thought, you probably shouldn’t ask Nico. He’s kinda sensitive about the subject, like Welles. It was just after the Donato parents had died, and he was taking care of Carmella while hustling for work. Not a good time for anyone.”
Welles threw in a nickel. “Let’s get this game rolling.”
Eyebrows raised. Murmurs circled the table. Pérez peered at Welles. “Madre de Dios. Luck finally breaking your way, Thomas?”
Welles looked at the Spaniard with a stony expression. “Guess you’ll have to pay to find out, Isaac.”
Inez winced. Welles seemed uncommonly testy. Perhaps due to the loss of his job and then having a replacement position slip through his fingers. He was usually implacable and hard to read, particularly at the poker table. Rather like Harry Gallagher, who had been one of her regulars at the Silver Queen. Harry had been an enigma from the start. No more so than during their brief affair, which had flared into existence soon after her then-husband Mark had disappeared and she’d believed him dead. The liaison had been quickly extinguished once she had discovered Harry was a married man.
Haskell still seemed to be ruminating over Welles’ misfortune. “I’ll keep my ear to the ground for someone needing an experienced domino thumper,” he said. “Competition’s fierce in that area right now. More talented hopefuls pouring into the city every day.”
As good a segue as any.
“By the way,” Inez nonchalantly rearranged her hand of cards, “does the name Robert Gallagher ring a bell for anyone? New to town?”
She scanned her visitors.
Blank-faced, the lot of them.
“What does he play?” asked Walter Ash.
Inez realized that neither Flo nor Harry had said and she had neglected to ask.
“I don’t know. He would be fairly new to town, though. Six months? Less?”
“Why are you asking?” said Otto, taking a cigarette from his case and hunting his pockets for a match.
“Someone from out of town queried me about him today. It was not a name I’ve encountered, but I thought one of you might have heard of him.”
Shakes of heads and shrugs of shoulders were the only responses.
She relaxed. At least none in her immediate circle recognized the name. Now, to find an opening in which to inquire about Jamie Monroe’s whereabouts. She returned her attention to her pair of sevens, which had not been bettered a whit despite three new cards.
Haskell started the next round of betting with two pennies. Welles raised one more cent. Good-natured grumbling followed. All stayed in, except Walter Ash, who decided to fold and hang tight to his three copper coins.
“Call,” said Giotto after nudging his contribution to the pot.
Welles had a full house, queens and nines. A flicker of approval curled through Inez when the hands of the other players fell short. Haskell examined his three-of-a-kind jacks and shrugged. “Thought I had it sewn up. Good show, Welles. Maybe your luck has changed.”
Welles, looking less gloomy, merged his winnings with his remaining coins.
Haskell tipped his chair onto its back legs. “Mrs. Stannert, did you hear that the city is enforcing that gambling ban I told you about last week?”
Inez raised an eyebrow. “Is that so?”
“All gambling-houses in the area bounded by Larkin, Market, Church, Eighteenth, and Channel streets and the waterfront. Guess we’re
