Texas Bluff Page 3

“Call.”

  “Clark?”

  “Against my better judgment,” Dick Clark said, “I call.”

  “Well, gents,” Jack said, “this has the look of an interesting hand. How many cards?”

  CHAPTER 9

  Al Newman drew two cards. No secrets there. He had three of a kind. He might have been keeping an Ace kicker. No pro would do that, but Newman was not a pro.

  Coe drew one card, probably trying to fill a straight or a flush. Also could have had two pair.

  Now it was Butler’s turn.

  “I’ll play these.”

  That woke everybody up, although Coe looked the least surprised.

  “I’m going to take three cards and hope for the best,” Jack said.

  More than likely he had a high pair, jack through aces, Butler figured. Although in Butler’s mind if you were going to call with kings, why not call with, say, fives? You still have the potential of three or even four of a kind. Even four deuces was a powerhouse hand.

  “All right, gents,” Jack said. “We all have our cards. Let’s see how we do against Butler’s pat hand.”

  The play moved to Newman, who had opened and drawn two cards.

  “I have to check to the power,” he said, with a nod toward Butler.

  Coe looked at his fanned cards, then folded them into his and said, “I check.”

  Butler knew Coe wanted to fold but couldn’t do that until the play went around the table and somebody made a bet.

  Now Butler had to make his bet. Nobody was going to want to go in against his pat hand, especially if he made a high bet. What he had to do was make a value bet—a bet that was not too high for someone to want to pay to see his cards. Considering the money in front of them on the table, either Jack or Newman might go ahead and pay to see them, just out of curiosity.

  “I bet a thousand,” Butler said.

  “Hmm,” Jack said. “That’s not a very big bet for a pat hand. You’re tryin’ to tell us somethin’.”

  “What’s he trying to tell us?” Al Newman asked.

  “Here comes a poker lesson, courtesy of Three-Eyed Jack,” Dick Clark said good-naturedly.

  “He’s tryin’ to keep us in,” Jack said. “Tryin’ to get some money out of one of us. If he bets too high, we’ll all fold, so he’s making a value bet, hoping one of us will a least be curious enough to see the hand to pay.

  “Or,” Jack went on, “he bluffed a pat hand and doesn’t want to risk a big bet on a bluff. If one of us raises back, he might fold.”

  “If he’s bluffing that he has a pat hand, wouldn’t he bet bigger to support that fact?” Newman asked. He was enjoying his time at the table, and that included all the poker lessons.

  “He might,” Jack said, “but this is Butler. I’ve played with him before, and Charlie you’ve played with him for hours now. What do you think?”

  Coe smiled.

  “I think I’ll wait my turn before I make my play, or even a comment.”

  “Touché,” Jack said. “So the play is to me, and I fold to Butler’s pat hand.”

  Newman stared across the table at Butler, and at his hand.

  “Okay, I’m the donkey,” Newman said. “I want to see his cards, so I call.”

  “I fold,” Charlie Coe said quickly. “Even if Butler doesn’t have a pat hand I can’t beat your three of a kind, Al.”

  “Butler,” Jack said, “you’re called.”

  Butler laid out his hand and they all saw the full house.

  “Nice,” Clark said.

  Newman showed his hand, three jacks.

  “Full house wins,” Jack said. “Very nice hand, Butler.”

  “I know,” Newman said, putting up his hands, “I wasted a thousand dollars.

  “Hey, nobody’s judging your play, Al,” Dick Clark said.

  “Did you want to see his hand?” Coe asked.

  “Very much.”

  “Then your money wasn’t wasted.”

  “Unless Butler would have shown his hand anyway,” Newman pointed out.

  Before Butler could respond, Jack said, “Oh, no, with Butler you have to pay to see his hand.”

  “That’s the way the game should be played,” Charlie Coe said. “If you want to know somebody’s hand without payin’ for it, ask them later, away from the table. Believe me, every poker player remembers every hand.”

  “A poker lesson courtesy of Dick Clark,” Jack said.

  Coe looked at Jack, smiled and said, “Touché.”

  CHAPTER 10

  Luke Short set out a dinner for them on a table against the wall. As with the other meals, each player had wandered over during the game, eaten something or taken it back to the table. This time when they broke, all moved to the table to eat and have a drink. Butler limited himself to one beer. He noticed Charlie Coe and Dick Clark had two whiskeys each and then a beer. Three-Eyed Jack had three beers. Al Newman drank half a beer, apparently just to wash down the food.

  “How long do these games go on?” Newman asked, during the break.

  “I can’t tell you,” Butler said. “Sometimes hours, sometimes days. When I sat down here yesterday I had no idea it would go this long.”

  “By the way, thanks for getting me in the game,” Newman said. “I know it was you who spoke to Luke on my behalf.”

  “Hey, we were down to four-handed. Everybody just wanted another body.”

  “Forget it,” Butler said. “I’m going to do my best to take all your money.”

  “Thanks for the warning. But tell me, if I hadn’t called you on that hand, would you have shown it?”

  “I never show my hand for free,” Butler said. “Somebody’s got to pay.”

  “You know,” Newman said, “I used to think I was a good poker player, but I’m learning a lot here.”

  “Good,” Butler said, “just don’t use too much of what you’ve learned on me.”

  The game went on into the night, with Luke Short stopping in to see how everyone was doing. Butler thought Short was not only surprised to see that Al Newman was still in the game, but that he was flourishing. Three-Eyed Jack, who’d had the hot hand for so long, until Butler joined the game, and then Newman, finally had his luck take a turn for the worse. Charlie Coe and Dick Clark were playing pretty even, and Butler had the feeling they were almost done. Treading water for a few days was not worth the effort.

  Butler was well ahead, and Al Newman was winning

  Just as Butler predicted, around three A.M. Charlie Coe announced that he was finished.

  “This is ridiculous,” he said. “After the better part of three days I’m even. Time for me to move on. Gents, it’s been a pleasure.”

  He stood up, shook hands with everybody, and took his leave.

  “So are we playin’ four-handed?” Dick Clark asked, looking around the table.

  “Sure, why not?” Jack said. “I’m game.”

  “Although if I don’t start winning some pots soon, I’m going to have to call it quits, too,” Clark said. “I know how Charlie feels. After all this time I’m close to even, too. It’s not a good feelin’.”

  As it turned out there had been several other players in and out of the game before Butler joined in who had donated their money to the cause. There were virtually no losers at the table at the moment—although Three-Eyed Jack had given back quite a bit of what he’d won the first two days.

  “Okay,” Jack said, “we’re four-handed. The game is five-card stud.”

  CHAPTER 11

  By seven A.M. Dick Clark was ready to quit, Jack had fallen into a hole. Al Newman was ahead, and Butler was the big winner. With players moving in and out of the game there had been eleven overall. With a three thousand dollar buy-in that put better than thirty-three thousand dollars in play—depending on how many players had bought in for more than that—and Butler had more than half of that.

  “You were bad luck for me, Butler,” Three-Eyed Jack said good-naturedly. “My luck went south when you sat down.”


  “Ever think I just outplayed you, Jack?” Butler asked. “Or that you were too hot for too long and just burned out?”

  Jack thought for a moment, and then said, “I don’t like either one of those. I prefer to think you were bad luck for me.”

  They all began taking their jackets off the back of their chairs, tucking money away in their wallets, buttoning their shirts.

  “I need a long bath,” Butler said.

  “I think we all do,” Dick Clark said. “Where are you stayin’?”

  “Up the street,” Butler said. “A place called the Wisteria, whatever that means.”

  “I think it’s a plant,” Al Newman said. “It’s also a very good hotel.”

  “Somebody’s got to let Luke know we’re done,” Clark said. “He’ll want to lock this room.”

  “I’ll find him,” Butler said. “I want to thank him for bringing me into a game with such easy pickings.”

  “You’re not leaving town, are you?” Dick Clark asked.

  “Are you kidding?” Butler asked. “I may never leave.”

  “Good, I’ll be here awhile, we can have another go at it.”

  “Any time,” Butler said.

  “Jack?”

  “I’m supposed to head out,” Three-Eyed Jack said, “but after this I may need to rest up. I’m not as young as I used to be.”

  “You ready for some more, Al?” Dick Clark asked.

  Al Newman seemed very pleased to be asked and said, “Just name the time.”

  “We’ll set it up with Luke and let you know,” Clark promised.

  They all left the room together, made their way down a hall and came out into the casino, which at that time of the morning was empty.

  “I’ve never seen this room like this,” Dick Clark said.

  “It’s so quiet,” Newman said.

  All the gaming tables were covered and the bar was closed. They went down the long stairway to the main floor and found the same to be true there.

  “Luke is probably in his bed,” Dick Clark said. “His wife probably wouldn’t take too kindly to us wakin’ him—and her.”

  “You’re probably right,” Butler said. “I’ll come by later and see him.”

  However, when they made their way to the front door they found a man sleeping in a chair. He was wearing a gun and had his hat pulled down over his eyes.

  “I think this is our man,” Butler said. “He’s probably here to lock the doors after we leave.”

  “I hate to wake him,” Jack said.

  “You already did,” the man said. He pushed his hat up off his eyes and squinted up at them. “You the fellers were in the private game?”

  “That’s right,” Clark said. “The game’s over.”

  “Okay,” he said, getting to his feet. “I’ll lock up behind ya.”

  “Thanks,” Clark said. “Let Luke know we appreciate it.”

  “I’ll tell ’im.” The man yawned widely.

  “What’s your name?” Butler asked.

  “I’m Victor,” the man said. “Just Victor.”

  “Well, get some sleep, Victor,” Butler said. “Sorry to have to wake you.”

  “No problem,” Victor assured them. “This is what I get paid for.”

  Outside Newman asked, “Anybody for breakfast? I know a great place just down the street.”

  “As the only player who lives here, I’ll bet you do,” Butler said. “I’ll take you up on that offer.”

  “Not me,” Dick Clark said. “I’m turnin’ in.”

  “Me too,” Jack said. “These old bones need rest.”

  “’Night, gents,” Newman said. “Thanks again for the game—and the lessons.”

  “Seems to me you learned your lessons pretty well, Al,” Jack told him.

  “Good night,” Clark said.

  “How far we going?” Butler asked Newman.

  “Like I said, just down the street, this way.”

  “Lead on, then,” Butler said. “I’m almost as hungry as I am tired.”

  CHAPTER 12

  The restaurant Newman took Butler to was packed with people eating breakfast. There was not a table with less than four diners at it. Apparently, the Stockyard was every bit as good as Newman had promised—so good that the locals flocked to it.

  “When you said it was good,” Butler said, “you didn’t mention how popular it was.”

  “I’m sorry,” Newman said, “I guess it’s not as early as I thought. We’ll have to wait.”

  But there was one table with only two people at it, and Luke Short stood up and waved at them.

  “I guess we won’t have to wait,” Butler said, pointing.

  They walked over to where Short was sitting with his partner, Bill Ward. Newman knew Ward, of course, so Short introduced Butler, and the two men sat down and joined the partners.

  “You fellas called it a game, huh?” Short asked.

  “I guess it was about time,” Butler said. “Coe and Clark and Jack were at it a lot longer than we were.”

  “Lot of people in and out of that game,” Short said. “How’d you boys do?”

  “Very well,” Butler said.

  “I did okay,” Newman said.

  “He did better than okay,” Butler added. “He held his own and then some.”

  “Who was the big loser?” Ward asked.

  “Since I didn’t see all the players involved, I don’t know that,” Butler said, “but I can tell you who the biggest sore loser was.”

  “Tunney,” Short said.

  “You got it right,” Butler said. “How did you know?”

  “I saw him on his way out,” Short answered. “He was not happy. Said he thought you and Jack were playin’ partners.”

  “What did you tell him?”

  “I told him to get out of my place and not come back,” Short said.

  “You didn’t,” Ward said.

  “I did.”

  “John Tunney loses a lot of money in our place, Luke,” Ward pointed out.

  “Not anymore,” Short said.

  “We better talk about this later,” Ward said, obviously not wanting to discuss business in front of Butler and Newman.

  “We can talk about it now, Bill,” Short said. “The man accused two of my people of cheating. I don’t tolerate that.”

  “Your people?” Ward said. “You never even wanted to give Al here a chance to play. Now, all of a sudden, he’s your people?”

  Butler was watching Newman when Short said “my people” and it obviously pleased him. Now, after hearing what Bill Ward had to say, he looked crestfallen.

  “Bill, now that Al has played in my game and acquitted himself well, yes, he’s one of my people. And you wanted me to buy into the White Elephant so that I would bring my people in, right?”

  “That’s true, but I didn’t want you chasing other people out.”

  “Believe me,” Short said, “Tunney didn’t gamble so much that I can’t replace him.”

  “Luke, damn it—“”

  “You know what?” Short said. “You’re right.”

  “I am?” Ward looked shocked. Obviously, he did not win a lot of arguments with Luke Short.

  “Yes,” Short said, “we should talk about this later.”

  Short and Ward had just put in their orders for breakfast, so Butler and Newman were able to order theirs in time for all four plates to come at the same time. Newman assured Butler that steak and eggs was the specialty, and since that’s what everyone was ordering, he just made it four.

  Through the conversation Butler learned that Newman was retired. He no longer practiced law unless it was as a favor to a friend. He lived in a small house in a modest section of town, even though he could have afforded a better place. It was the house where his first wife had died, and he could not bring himself to leave. It all sounded a little bit morbid to Butler, but he didn’t make a comment.

  The steak was so tender it almost melted when Butler put his knife to i
t. The eggs were perfectly prepared, and the potatoes were crisp and delicious. To top it all off, the coffee was excellent. So far, Butler had found the best places in town to stay, to gamble, and to eat, and he said so.

  “Now you just need to find the best place in town for a woman,” Short said.

  “Don’t tell me—“”

  “No,” Short said, cutting him off, “we are not running women upstairs in the White Elephant. Bill is way too moral to let me do that.”

  “There are enough brothels in Fort Worth,” Ward said. “We’re not about that.”

  “No, we’re not,” Short said. “We’re all about the gambling.”

  “And we have an excellent restaurant of our own,” Ward added.

  “Steaks as good as these?” Butler asked.

  “Well, no…but the food is good.”

  “He’s right,” Short said, “we do serve good food. It could be better, though. We’re looking for a new cook.”

  “We are?” Ward asked.

  Short patted the man’s arm and said, “Later, Bill.”

  Butler didn’t know if he could be partners with a man as condescending as Short was to Bill Ward. He did not see a long and happy future for this partnership.

  After breakfast all four men exited the restaurant together, with the same idea.

  “Time to get some rest,” Short said. “We’ve got to open in a few hours and start it all over again.”

  “Thanks again for allowing me to play, Luke,” Newman said, shaking hands with the man.

  “Don’t thank me, Al,” Short said. “This puts you in my debt, and someday soon I may want to collect.”

  Later, Butler would recall just how prophetic that statement was.

  CHAPTER 13

  Over the next few days another poker game of grand proportions did not come together. Butler played in a couple of games that petered out after he won most of the money.

  On the fourth day he was in the White Elephant, standing at the bar, when Short came walking over to him.

  “Looks like Bat was right about you,” he said.

  “Right about what?”

  “You’re scaring off the competition,” Short said. “By all accounts you’re a helluva poker player.”

  “I’m sure you can put a game together with all your connections.”