“He’s either going to come looking for me,” Butler said, “or send somebody.”
“Why wouldn’t he take you down himself?”
“He had a shot at me tonight,” Butler said, “and he didn’t take it. There must be a reason. I’m thinking he’s going to send some friends to look for me.”
“Meanwhile, what’s he going to be doing?” Short asked.
“I don’t know what’s on his mind now,” Butler said. “The man who was paying him is dead. Unless he’s suddenly got more ambition, Sutherland’s pretty much just a gunman for hire.”
“Maybe,” Short said, “if he starts making his own decisions, he’ll make some mistakes.
“Oh, he’s made plenty of mistakes, already,” Butler said. “He missed me once, and he killed his boss. Now he’s killed Zeke, the bartender. And I was able to find him.”
“Do you think you can find him again?” Short asked.
“I wish I knew more about him,” Butler said. “If he’s got any kind of smarts, he’d set himself up somewhere and wait for me to find him again. Maybe get some help.”
“So if he does that, and sets up an ambush, what are you going to do? Walk right into it?”
“I could do that,” Butler said, “but then we’d have to have something set up, too.”
“Like what?”
“Well, we don’t know much about him, but we do know that we’re smart,” Butler said. “We just have to think about it.”
Sutherland had a small room above a dockside saloon that catered only to seamen. He never went down there. He didn’t like seamen, but he figured nobody would look for him there.
He entered his room and locked the door behind him. He was still holding the bottle of whiskey in his left hand. He’d kept his right hand free in case he had to go for his gun.
He went to the window and stared down at the docks. He was only a two-block walk from Rosie’s, but he wasn’t planning on going back there for a while.
He took a deep swallow from the whiskey bottle and turned away from the window. He had to think, and he was the first to admit this wasn’t his strong suit. He was a man of action, with somebody else usually doing the thinking, just pointing him in the right direction. But he’d killed Ed Cramer, and there was only one other man in Fort Worth who regularly had use for his talents. He could go to that man and ask for guidance, but he decided to try and think it out himself, first.
He took the bottle of whiskey to bed with him, sucked on it until it was empty, and fell asleep.
CHAPTER 40
Butler woke the next morning to the insistent pressure of a naked hip against his. It was smooth and warm and very pleasurable. He reluctantly rolled away from it then turned over to have a look. Her name was Laura and she’d been sent up to his room by Jerry, who said not to worry about paying her.
Her auburn hair was long and covered her face, which he knew to be lovely. Beneath the covers he knew she had round breasts, rounded hips and buttocks. He told Jerry he did not want a skinny girl.
Sitting between Ruby and Kimmie the night before had been stimulating. And when he got back to the White Elephant he had still been feeling it, so he asked Jerry if he knew of any girls, and Jerry being a bartender, of course he did.
He got out of bed, used the pitcher and basin to wash up, and got dressed. He was strapping on his gun when she rolled over and looked at him.
“You don’t want a wake-me-up?” she asked, smiling.
“Nope,” he said. “I think I had that a couple of hours ago. I might not survive another one.”
He took some money from his pocket, showed it to her, and put it on the dresser.
“Jerry said you weren’t supposed to pay.”
“Will he pay you?”
“No.”
“Is he your pimp?”
“Jerry? No.”
“Then you don’t have to give any of this to him?” Butler asked.
“Well, no…”
“Fine,” he said, “then this is just between us.”
She sat up and the sheet fell away, exposing her lovely, chubby breasts.
“Are you gonna want me tonight?”
He didn’t usually use whores, but last night had been a special case.
“I don’t know, Laura,” he said, even though he did know. “Can I contact you through Jerry?”
“Sure.”
“Then I’ll let you know.”
“Well…okay.”
“Thanks,” he said.
As he was going out the door she shouted, “Well, take care, then.”
Sutherland woke up with a fuzzy tongue and even fuzzier head. He immediately gave up the idea of doing any thinking for himself. He was going to get something to eat and then go see his other employer. He’d lay out the whole situation and listen to what the man had to say. If he didn’t want to get involved, fine. Sutherland would just have to try not to get mad and kill the man. He might need him again somewhere down the line. Besides, this really wasn’t his problem, anyway. Sutherland had gotten himself into this mess, and he was going to have to get himself out the way he always did.
With a gun.
Butler went downstairs and had breakfast in the White Elephant dining room. The waiter, who knew him by now, automatically brought steak and eggs and coffee.
“Has Mr. Short been in yet?” Butler asked.
“No, sir, not yet.”
“Okay, thanks.”
“If he comes in would you like me to bring him over?” the young man asked, eager to please the boss’s friend.
“Yes, you can do that. Thanks”—he groped for the man’s name, and found it—“Philip.”
He ate with gusto. Sex was an appetite builder, and sex with Laura had particularly built his appetite. He started to think, why not have her again that night? And then he thought, if I’m alive.
Suddenly, he stopped thinking about Laura and started thinking about Sutherland. Somebody had to know where the man lived. If he was down in Hell’s Half Acre all the time he must have a friend, or somebody who at least knew something about him.
Then he thought of Al Newman. Maybe a man who ran for district attorney would know something about the local criminal element.
He decided he would risk the wrath of Mrs. Newman and go see Al after breakfast.
CHAPTER 41
“Sutherland,” the man said, “it sounds like you’ve gotten yourself into a real mess.”
“I guess so.”
“I warned you this would happen if you kept working for Ed Cramer.”
“Yeah, you did.”
“You didn’t happen to kill Cramer, did you?” the man asked.
“No,” Sutherland lied, “best I know, Luke Short did that.”
The man nodded. Sutherland had already told him what Cramer wanted him to do—kill Luke Short—and what he himself had wanted to do—kill Butler for the price on his head, and then kill Short for his reputation.
“And I assume you still want the two things you told me about?” the man asked.
“Yep.”
“Short’s rep is that important to you?”
“Yeah, and so’s the money.”
“Which is more important?”
“I need both.”
“So if I told you that the best thing for you to do would be to leave town, you wouldn’t do it, right?”
“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,” Suthe
rland 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.”
“I know dear.”
“I don’t like any of them, and I don’t want them in my house.”
“I’ll remember that.”
She turned and looked at him.
“You’re just yesing me, aren’t you, Albert?” she demanded. “You’re just going to go on doing what you want to do, aren’t you? No Matter what I say?”
He smiled at her and said, “Yes, dear.”
She turned her back on him and busied herself at the stove.
“Will you be staying in for lunch today?”
“I believe I will.”
She fell silent, then said, “You could at least keep them out of my kitchen.”
He came up behind her, took her shoulders, kissed her hair and said, “Yes, dear.”
Butler thought he might be reading something into nothing, but he didn’t have many other options. Catching Sutherland and proving that he was the killer was the only way to get Luke Short out from under. And it was the only way for him to be able to move on. Things had not gone the way he planned in Fort Worth. Other than that one game—and he had done very well in it—there had been no high-stakes poker. Just like Dodge City and Denver, he’d gotten himself wrapped up in the troubles of his new friends, to the detriment of his poker. He needed to get this matter resolved so he could leave town and head for California before he got himself killed.
He watched as Helen Newman came out of her house, closed the door behind her, and walked away. As far as he knew, Al Newman was still inside. But at the moment he wasn’t concerned with Al, he was concerned with Helen.
He left his hiding place, fell in behind her, and started to follow her.
CHAPTER 43
It was not Butler’s intention to follow Mrs. Newman for any period of time. What he wanted to do was find a place where he could approach and speak with her. He certainly had no intention of pulling her into a wall the way he did Walt the night before. He needed something a little more subtle.
He finally just decided to go ahead and approach her while she was shopping. And even though he tried making it look as if they had simply run into each other, she managed to see through that subterfuge very quick
ly.
“Mr. Butler,” she said, “are you following me?”
“No, Mrs. Newman, I just happened—”
“You just happened to be walking by the very millinery shop where I buy my hats?”
He looked up and saw that he had, indeed, “bumped” into her as she was coming out of a hat shop.
“Well,” he said, “I guess you caught me, then…”
“What is it you wish to talk to me about?”
“Actually, it’s about your husband and—”
That was when she cut him off and told him that if he wanted to talk to her, he’d have to accompany her to her next destination.
He never expected it to be a tea room.
“Tea, Mr. Butler?” she asked, after the waitress had left them an entire pot.
“Sure, why not?”
She poured him a cup, and then herself. He dubiously eyed the array of small cakes and sandwiches arranged on a blue china plate, laid out to accompany the tea.
“Watercress sandwich?” she asked.
“Uh, no, thanks,” he said. “I had a big breakfast.”
“I can never get Albert to come here with me,” she said. “He claims it’s effeminate. Do you think it’s effeminate, Mr. Butler?”
“Ma’am, let’s just say I hope no one who knows me passes by and looks in.”
“You men,” she said. “Always so concerned about what other people think.”
“Well, I don’t think you can say that just about men, Mrs. Newman,” Butler said. “After all, why do you buy all sorts of hats and shoes and dresses and perfumes? Certainly not so you can wear them in your house when you’re alone and look in the mirror at yourself.”
“Touché, Mr. Butler,” she said. “I see there is more to you than meets the eye. You seem so…educated.”
“I’m not a native westerner, Mrs. Newman.”
“Yes, that is becoming apparent,” she said. “My husband tells me I’ve been rude to you on more than one occasion. Let me take this opportunity to…apologize, which is not something I do easily.”
“Then I appreciate it,” he said, “even though I don’t think it’s necessary.”
“Very well,” she said. “Since we have that out of the way, and since you won’t have something to eat—”
“I will take one of these lemon cakes,” he said, after surreptitiously eyeing the entire assortment for something he recognized.
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