Butler's Wager, page 5
“Go ahead,” Thompson said. “I have no beef with you, Butler.”
Butler pulled some money from his inside jacket pocket. It was the five thousand he’d gotten from Three-Eyed Jack for the marker the kid had written him. He peeled off three thousand and put the other two back.
“I call,” he said, and tossed the money into the pot.
“You call?” Deaver asked, in disbelief.
“Not only don’t you have a royal, son,” Butler said, “you’ve got nothing at all.”
“H-how do you know that?” Deaver demanded. “I could have a royal.”
“No you can’t you stupid shit,” Rahy said. “I folded your ten of spades. If you’d watch the cards you’d know that.”
“Huh?” Deaver thought a moment, then said, “I want my money back.”
“Leave it!” Thompson shouted.
By now everybody in the Alhambra was either watching or, if they were too far away or blocked, listening.
“He’s right,” Thompson said, “we both got you beat. I’ve got three fours, but I’m folding because I think Butler has us both beat.”
Ben Thompson turned all his cards facedown.
“You’re called, Mike,” Rahy, the dealer, said. “Whataya got?”
“Huh? Oh, I got…well…”
“Just turn the card over,” the dealer said.
Deaver did. Butler had been wrong. He did have something. A pair of kings. Still would have made him third in a three-handed pot. Butler turned over his third ten.
“Three tens is the winner,” Rahy said.
“Nice hand, Mr, Butler,” Thompson said, putting his gun away.
“Thank you, Mr. Thompson.” Butler raked in his money.
Mike Deaver sat with a stunned look on his ace. Butler watched him carefully, now that Thompson’s gun was off the table.
“You still playing, Mike?” Rahy asked as Ben Thompson gathered the cards for his deal.
“Huh? Oh, uh, no, I’m…busted.”
“Then get the hell up and let somebody else play,” Thompson said to him. “Go on…get!”
Deaver stood up and Butler saw the silver gun with a pearl handle on his hip. The boy was no gunman, just a show off.
As Deaver left and new players sat down, Butler thought it had been a hell of a first hand.
CHAPTER 13
Two hours later Butler was still ahead, most of it on Mike Deaver’s money. Since that first hand he’d been playing pretty evenly, while Ben Thompson—his mood improved by Deaver’s absence—got hot.
“I’m gonna have a beer and come right back,” Butler said, pushing away from the table.
“You can have a beer at the table,” Rahy said. “We don’t mind.”
“Sorry,” Butler said, “but I ain’t smart enough to do two things at one time like that.”
That made Ben Thompson laugh, and he asked, “You mind if I join you for one? These boys can play three-handed for a while…right boys?”
“Sure, Ben,” the other echoed.
Thompson stood up and said to Butler, “Come on, I’ll buy.”
“Much obliged, Ben.”
As they walked to the bar, men moved and formed a path for Ben Thompson and his new friend.
“Two beers,” Thompson said when they reached the mile-long Alhambra bar.
“You really don’t have to—” Butler started, but Thompson cut him off.
“This is for busting that big-mouthed kid out of the game,” he said. “For some reason I just couldn’t get it done myself. What you did was a thing of beauty.”
“Thanks,” Butler said. “He wasn’t really that hard to read.”
He froze, for a moment wondering if Thompson would take that as an insult.
“I know it,” Thompson said. “For some reason he just got my goat running his mouth at me like that. I thought he was trying to push me into a fight, but he had his chance when he stood up. See that fancy piece of his?”
“I saw it,” Butler said. “Turns out he was no more a gunman than he was a poker player.”
“I guess not.”
Their beers arrived and they each drank down half the mug before coming up for air.
“First night in town, or first night playing?” Thompson asked.
“First night in town.”
“Staying long?”
“Long enough to make some more money.”
“Saw Dog usher you into your seat,” Thompson said. “Friend of his?”
“Just met tonight, over at the Lady Gay,” Butler said. “There was, uh, some commotion.”
“Was that you?” Thompson asked. “I heard somebody kept Jim Masterson from getting shot in the back.”
“Yeah, that was me. Right place, right time.”
“So you’re as good with a gun as you are with a deck of cards?” Thompson asked.
“I get by with both.”
“You do more than get by, my friend,” the other man said. “You’re damned good.”
“Thanks. Ben. I appreciate that.”
“I appreciate a man who can handle his cards,” Thompson said. “You’re a slick dealer, too. Not that I’m saying you cheat, don’t get me wrong. You just handle the cards real well. I’ll bet if you were bottom dealing I’d hardly see it.”
“I’ll bet if I was bottom dealing,” Butler said, “you would have seen it right off and I wouldn’t be standing here.”
Thompson laughed and slapped Butler on the back.
“Let’s finish these drinks and get back to the table. We got some sheep to shear.”
The emptied their mugs and retraced their steps back through the path in the crowd to their poker table. The other three didn’t look real happy to see them. It seemed the only time one of them had won a hand was just now, while Butler and Thompson were gone.
Butler sat down, thinking his luck was going to change now—and for the better.
CHAPTER 14
Butler woke up the next morning with a warm, naked hip pressed against his. He frowned, then remembered that he had finally decided to take Dog Kelley up on his offer for a free woman. He lifted himself up onto his elbows to take a look at her. Her face, in repose, was pretty, and young looking. Her body was long and lean, her skin smooth and clear. Butler figured she wasn’t more than twenty-five. He remembered more, that Kelley had given him his choice of any woman, and when he had picked this one, Dog had congratulated him.
“You got the pick of the litter, my friend. Enjoy.”
He’d come back to his room in the Dodge House and had done just that, until they were both exhausted, and then they had drifted off to sleep.
He was about to wake her up when he realized he could not remember her name. He recalled most of what had transpired last night—the poker game, apparently making friends with Ben Thompson, picking the girl—but for the life of him he couldn’t dredge up her name.
She shifted then, stretched prettily and licked her pretty mouth. As her eyes fluttered open it suddenly came to him in a flash.
“Good morning, Sheila.”
She smiled.
“You remembered.”
“Of course I remembered,” he said. “How could I not after a night like last night.”
“You’re sweet,” she said. She sat up, swung her legs to the floor, then looked over her shoulder at him. She looked very fetching, but his stomach was growling, demanding to be tended to.
“Do you want a morning poke before I go?” she asked.
“Um, if it wouldn’t insult you, no,” he said. “I really have to get going.”
“I’m not offended,” she said, standing up. He hadn’t noticed last night that her butt was kind of flat, like a boy’s. And now that she was standing he could see how small her breasts were. She really wasn’t the type of woman he usually liked. He wondered how much he’d had to drink last night? Had he and Ben Thompson gone to the bar again after the game broke up?
She grabbed her dress and slipped into it, then put on her shoes.
“Last night was nice,” she said.
“Yeah, it was,” he said. “Thanks.”
She went to the door, opened it, then turned and wriggled her fingers at him.
“Bye. See you later, maybe.”
“Bye, Sheila.”
After she left he got up, washed himself using the pitcher and basin on top of the chest of drawers, then got dressed, strapped on his gun and went down to have breakfast.
The steak at the Delmonico had been excellent the night before but he decided to have breakfast in the Dodge House’s restaurant. When he entered he saw that the tables were pretty much taken, leading him to believe that the breakfast there must be pretty good. His stomach grumbled even more as a waiter approached him.
“I’m sorry, sir but—”
“I’m with him,” Butler said, pointing.
The waiter turned and saw a man at a table waving at them.
“Very well, sir,” the waiter said. “This way.”
Butler followed the waiter to the table, then quickly asked for coffee, eggs, bacon, and biscuits.
“Coming up, sir.”
Butler sat down with the man, who had not yet been served his breakfast, and said, “Good morning, Mr. Mayor.”
“’Mornin’,” Dog Kelley said, “and I ain’t Mr. Mayor anymore, so it’s just Dog, like I said last night.”
“You eat breakfast here every morning?” Butler asked.
Kelley nodded. “Start every day here.”
Butler looked around. It looked to him as if the other diners were making a concerted effort not to look at Kelly.
“Yeah, you’re not sittin’ with a real popular man in Dodge,” Kelley said. “I can probably get them to bring another table out for you.”
“I don’t have a problem with the company I keep,” Butler said. “Don’t worry about it.”
“I’m much obliged,” Kelley said. “I usually can’t get through breakfast without somebody comin’ up to me, askin’ me for a favor or just kissin’ my ass so I’ll make some kind of a decision go their way. I actually don’t mind bein’ left alone.”
Butler didn’t much believe that. He had the impression Dog Kelley quite enjoyed being a politician.
The waiter came with his coffee, promised his breakfast very shortly.
“How’d you do last night?” Kelley asked. “Heard from my bartender you sat down with Ben Thompson.”
“I did well,” Butler said, “but so did Ben.”
“Ben? You got on a first-name basis with him?”
“Pretty much,” Butler said. Briefly, he told Kelley about the opening hand, and by the time he finished his story the waiter was there with their breakfasts. Kelly’s matched Butler’s, except for the thick piece of steak that sat in the center of the plate. It was running and turning the eggs pink.
“I like to start the day with a nice rare steak,” Kelley explained. He cut off a piece and stuck it in his mouth. “I know the kid you’re talkin’ about. That pearl-handle gun is a giveaway. His Pa’s got a spread outside of town, pretty big one.”
“Is he going to run home and tell Daddy we took his money?” Butler asked.
“Maybe, but if he does his Pa will probably smack him,” Kelley said. “Big Bob Deaver believes in a man standin’ up for himself.”
“Well, I think if he’d tried to stand up to Ben Thompson he would’ve ended up dead.”
“No doubt.”
“He made the right decision to walk away.”
“However,” Kelley said, “if I was you I’d watch my back. He may not be as afraid of you as he is of Ben.”
“That’s just the thing,” Butler said around a mouthful of eggs, “he wasn’t afraid of Ben at all—at least, not in the beginning. As soon as I sat down I could tell he’d been needling Ben all night.”
“Yeah, I heard about the gun on the table, too.”
“I guess not much happens in your place without you knowing it, huh?” Butler asked.
“I try to keep track,” Kelley said. “It’ll probably be easier to run my business, though, now that I don’t have to run the town.”
Once again Butler could tell the man wasn’t happy about the latter.
“You won’t take offense if I check out the Long Branch Saloon tonight, will you?” he asked.
“Hell, no,” Kelley said. “Chalk’s got to make a livin’; like everyone else. Give him my best.”
“I will.”
“By the way,” Kelley asked, “how was Sheila last night?”
“She was fine,” Butler said, “just fine.”
“Hank told me you took me up on my offer of a free poke.”
“I’m afraid we fell asleep, though,” Butler said, “so you’ll probably have to charge me for the whole night.”
Kelley chased some steak and eggs with a mouthful of coffee, then said, “Forget it. Maybe a night with Sheila will get you to come back for more. Maybe a different girl, next time.”
“She was good,” Butler said, “she’s just not the type I usually pick.” He didn’t want to admit he couldn’t remember picking her. He should not have gotten that drunk the first night in a strange town—certainly not Dodge City.
“We got others,” Kelley said, “short, tall, fat, skinny, you name it.”
“I’ll keep that in mind.”
Over the rest of the meal and some more coffee they discussed some town politics, mainly because Butler had made the mistake of asking, “So what do you think of your new mayor?” He was forced to listen to Kelley hold forth on all of Mayor A. B. Webster’s shortcomings.
When they were done eating Kelley said, “I’m sorry. I chewed your ear about politics, which you probably ain’t interested in.”
“Not usually,” Butler said, “but this is Dodge City. I’m interested in the history.”
“Well,” Kelley said, wiping his mouth with a napkin, “if it’s history that interests you let me tell you some wild stories about Jim Masterson’s brother, Bat…”
CHAPTER 15
Not only did Kelley tell tales of Bat Masterson but Wyatt Earp and his brother as well. They took the conversation outside, where an April breeze raised dust from the dry dirt of Front Street. Butler could see, though, where ruts in the street would fill with water from a good rain. Like most towns, the street would turn to mud when somebody spit.
They grabbed a couple of wooden chairs and sat in front of the hotel, Butler still listening to Kelley’s stories.
“So what’s going on between Bat and Jim?” Butler asked when the ex-mayor paused for a breath.
“Damned if I know,” Kelley said. “Damned if anybody knows. That’s between Bat and Jim, and ain’t one of them talkin’ about it.”
“What about this thing between Jim and his partner?”
“Jim made a bad move partnering with A. J. Peacock. The man’s a snake, and his brother-in-law ain’t much better. I think he’s tryin’ to force Jim to sell out to him.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Kelley shrugged. “That’s between Jim and Peacock. I got enough problems getting’ along with my own partner.”
“Problems there, too?”
“Not the kind that Jim has, no,” Kelley said. “Just normal partner problems.”
They sat for a few moments in silence, and then Kelley said, “This is very odd.”
“What?”
Kelley had been staring out at the street. Now he turned to look directly at Butler.
“Being able to sit here and talk without havin’ to worry about going to City Hall.”
“It’s probably early to think about this,” Butler said, “but are you thinking of running again?”
“Hell, yeah,” Kelley said fervently. “Wait until this town sees what a mess Webster makes. I’m damn sure gonna run against him next time.” Kelley firmed his jaw. “I miss the damn job already.”
He stood up, and Butler followed suit.
“Don’t listen to me when I say I’m glad to be out of that job,” Kelley said. “Politics is in my blood, and it kills me that I ain’t mayor anymore.” The man fell silent a moment, then repeated, “It kills me.”
He stepped down into the street and crossed without another word. Butler didn’t even have a chance to thank him for the stories, or for picking up the breakfast check.
The slump of Dog Kelley’s shoulders was decidedly sad.
A. J. Peacock came downstairs from his room and found his brother-in-law, Al Updegraff, sleeping on top of the Lady Gay’s bar. He walked over to the snoring man and rolled him off. Updegraff came awake when he hit the floor with a thud, rolled over onto his back.
“Ow,” he said, peering up at Peacock. “What’d you do that for?”
“I don’t want Masterson comin’ down and findin’ you on the bar,” Peacock said. “That is, unless you’re ready to burn powder with him.”
“I ain’t even awake,” Updegraff said, “how’m I supposed to trade lead with Jim Masterson.”
“Get up, then,” Peacock said, quelling the desire to kick his brother-in-law. “For an ex-lawman, you’re a disgrace.”
Updegraff climbed to his feet, staggered behind the bar, grabbed a half-full bottle of whiskey and tipped it up, draining it.
“What’s your problem?” he asked Peacock, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
“I’ve taken sides with you against Masterson, that’s my problem,” Peacock said.
“You want Masterson’s piece of the Lady Gay, that’s why yer takin’ my side. You think I don’t know that?”
“Whatever the reason,” Peacock said, “the day may come when you and me have to take matters into our own hands.”
“Hey,” Updegraff said, “if it wasn’t for that tinhorn gambler, Masterson would be dead.”
“Yeah, well, let’s not forget if we kill Jim we may have to deal with Bat. That’s why we can’t be the ones who pull the trigger.”
“Well, those boys you sent last night sure didn’t get the job done,” Updegraff muttered.
“Boys I sent?” Peacock asked. “You picked them out, Al!”
“You sent them after him.”
Peacock and Updegraff stared at each other, then both looked upstairs, where Jim Masterson’s room was. If he’d heard them he would have come out by now.
