“So because they’re having some kind of dispute, they’d have Jim killed?” Butler asked.
“I don’t have much knowledge of business,” Brown admitted, “but it seems to me, that might be cheaper than buyin’ him out.”
“What about being bought out?”
“Peacock likes owning the Lady Gay too much,” Brown said, “so that ain’t gonna happen.”
“Well, he’s got you to watch his back.”
“That didn’t do him so much good tonight, did it?” Brown asked. “You saved both our asses.”
“I just happened to be in the right place at the right time,” Butler said, his eyes on Ben Thompson. The Texan had a reputation with cards and with a gun. Butler wondered if he was as cool with either.
“Don’t say that like it’s an accident,” Neal Brown said. “In my experience, bein’ in the right place at the right time is a talent.”
“You may be right.”
“But you’re right about one thing,” Brown said. “I do want to watch Jim’s back. I got to get back to the Lady Gay. I just wanted to ask you somethin’.”
“What’s that?” Butler took his eyes off Thompson and looked at Brown.
“The rest of the time you’re here,” Brown said, “if you could manage to keep bein’ in the right place at the right time I’d be obliged. I’d like to keep Jim alive. He’s a good friend of mine.”
“I’ll do what I can,” Butler promised.
“Bat may be in Tombstone,” Brown went on, “and maybe they ain’t talkin’, but I don’t wanna have to explain to him why I let another brother get killed in Dodge.”
“Can’t say I blame you for that.”
“Thanks. I’ll see you around tomorrow, then?”
“That’s where I’ll be.” When Brown frowned at him he added, “Around, I mean.”
“Oh, okay,” Brown said. “’night. And good luck.”
Butler watched Neal Brown make his way through the crowd and out the batwing door onto the street. Beyond that he couldn’t help the man anymore tonight. He turned his attention back to Ben Thompson’s poker table, where a man seemed about to get up from his seat.
“Come on, friend,” Dog Kelley said, appearing again and clapping him on the back, “I’ll get you in there.”
CHAPTER 12
There was no house dealer at the table. The games were dealer’s choice. The stakes were higher than the other two tables, due to the presence of Ben Thompson. None of those facts deterred Butler. This was his kind of game—the kind he could win or lose a lot of money in.
He introduced himself to all the players, who nodded and muttered their names. Ben Thompson simply nodded, assuming Butler would know who he was. This was either arrogance or Thompson had already sized Butler up as a man who, in turn, sized up his opponents before sitting down.
The other possibility was that he had heard of Butler before.
The game was five handed. Aside from Butler and Thompson, there were Ed Rahy, the town tailor; Harry Kane, who owned and operated the largest livery in town; and Mike Deaver, a local who considered himself a gambler, with a source of money to back him up. There was always one in the game, Butler thought, thinking of Wichita. Hopefully, this one’s father was not a banker.
Butler was sitting right across from Thompson. On his left was Rahy, who was dealing. That was good. They’d go completely around the table before he had to deal for the first time. He could watch them each closely while they dealt.
Rahy chose five-card stud, and dealt out the first two cards; one up, one down. Butler followed the cards around the table. Thompson got a four of hearts, Deaver a king of spades, Kane a seven of clubs, he got a jack of diamonds, and the dealer, Rahy, gave himself a ten of spades.
Deaver was the first to act. “Fifty dollars,” he said. “Finally got somethin’ I can play.”
Butler saw a look pass over Thompson’s face. He had the feeling the youngest man at the table was bothering him.
“Call,” Kane said.
Butler checked his hole card. “Call.”
“I call,” Rahy said.
“Raise,” Thompson said.
“With a four?” Deaver asked. “Come on, Mr. Thompson. You can wait for a better card than that to bluff with.”
“I raise a hundred,” Thompson said, without looking at or acknowledging Deaver.
“Well, I’ll just have to call that raise,” Deaver said, and tossed in his money. They were using real money, mostly paper, not chips, so there was only a slight rustling sound.
Kane folded.
“I call,” Butler said.
“Now see?” Deaver said. “Him I’m afraid of. He’s got a jack.”
He seemed to be talking to no one in particular, or to the table at large, but Butler had already figured out that Deaver was needling Thompson, and had probably been doing it all night. He also noticed that Deaver had more money in front of him than any other player. Butler hated when the biggest mouth at the table had the biggest poke.
Rahy, the dealer, folded his ten. That left only Deaver, Thompson, and Butler.
“Pot’s right,” Rahy said, and dealt the third card.
Thompson got a three of hearts, Deaver a queen of spades, and Butler a ten of diamonds.
“Looks like we’re all headed for straight flushes,” Deaver said, “but mine’ll be a royal, Mr. Thompson, and yours’ll just be a little baby straight.”
Butler couldn’t understand why a young man like Deaver would needle a known man like Thompson, unless it was the younger man’s intention to try Thompson, at some point.
“It’s your bet, Mike,” Rahy said, sounding fatigued, probably from listening to the young man run his mouth all night.
“I’m gonna bet two hundred,” Deaver said. “I really like my hand. What about you, partner?” He looked at Butler.
“I believe I’ll just call.”
Now they all looked at Thompson.
“Raise two hundred.”
“Mr. Thompson,” Deaver said, shaking his head, “no offense, sir, but your luck has been so bad all night that I’ll just have to call.”
“Call,” Butler said.
“Pot’s right,” Rahy said, and dealt the fourth card around. Thompson paired his fours, killing any chance of the baby straight flush Deaver was predicting for him. However, Deaver got a jack of spades, which kept his chances of a royal flush open—except for one thing.
Butler got a ten, giving him a pair of tens and making him high man on the table.
“I’ll go a hundred,” he said.
“Call,” Thompson said right away.
“Now, how come I’m the onliest one you ever raise, Mr. Thompson?” Deaver asked.
“Maybe it’s because you got a big mouth, Mike,” Rahy said.
“Now you’re a dealin’, Ed, but otherwise you ain’t in this hand, so why don’t you shut up?”
Rahy just rolled his eyes.
“Make your play, Deaver,” Butler said. “None of us is getting any younger.”
“Well, all right then,” Deaver said. “Here’s your hundred and I raise three. How about that?”
“Call,” Butler said.
“I call,” Thompson said.
“Oh, now yer just callin’?” Deaver asked, smiling, showing gaps where teeth used to be. Butler wondered if he’d gotten them knocked out in a poker game or two.
“Last card,” Rahy said, and dealt them out quickly. Nine of spades for Thompson, no help. Ace of spades for Deaver, who now had the jack, queen, king, and ace.
“Woo-wee,” Deaver said, “Lookee that. All I need is the ten—or do I already got it in the hole?”
Butler’s last card was an eight of hearts. He was still high man with a pair of tens.
“Two hundred,” he said.
“I call,” Thompson said, immediately.