Texas Bluff

CHAPTER 14

In the cab, Luke Short gave Butler a brief history of Fort Worth’s downtown, alternately called Hell’s Half Acre and the Bloody Third Ward.

“Originally it was limited to Rusk Street, or the lower half of it, anyway, but lately it’s grown to include other streets like Main, Calhoun, and Jones. From north to south it covers Front to Seventh Street. The Fort Worth Democrat claims it now covers two-and-a-half acres.”

Butler didn’t tell Short that he’d already heard some of this from Jerry the bartender.

“It pisses me off when we get included in what the newspapers are decrying the Acre,” Short went on. “The White Elephant is nothing like these places.”

“What are we doing here, Luke?” Butler asked.

“I’m having a meeting with a man named Ed Cramer,” Short said, “not to be confused with my friend Nat Kramer, who runs the Cattle Exchange Saloon on Houston Street. Do you know Nat has never carried a gun, and has never had occasion to need one? I don’t know how he does it.”

“Who knows?” Butler asked. “Maybe if we didn’t carry them we wouldn’t need them, either.”

Short laughed and said, “If I didn’t wear my gun I’d be dead in ten minutes.”

“You’re probably right,” Butler said. With the price that was still on his head, put there not by the law but by a private citizen, he probably wouldn’t last much longer than that.

The cab pulled to a stop in front of a building on Rusk Street. As they alighted to the street Butler saw the name, the Bloody Spur Saloon, over the door.

“Nice name,” he commented.

“Actually,” Short said, “that is one of the nicer-named places down here.”

The traffic on Rusk Street looked the same as any other street Butler had seen in Fort Worth. However, he’d been to enough red-light districts to know that the trouble started when the sun went down.

“Let’s go inside,” Short said. “I have an appointment to talk to Cramer in about ten minutes. He’ll keep me waiting at least that long.”

“What’s this about?”

“I heard some rumors that Cramer has hired someone to harass our customers, maybe even come to our place and cause trouble. I want to try to cut him off at the pass, so to speak. Reason with him.”

“Is he a reasonable man?”

“Never has been before,” Short said, “but one can always hope. Just keep your eyes peeled for trouble while I do the talkin’.”

“Gotcha.”

They entered the place, attracted the eyes of several customers who were lounging against the bar. It was much smaller than the White Elephant—probably a quarter of the size—and the furnishings were unremarkable. In fact, the clientele appeared as rundown as the furniture and bar. And then there was the smell…

“Jesus,” Short said, as the odor struck him.

“Yeah.”

The closest Butler could come to identifying it was vomit and sweat. He didn’t understand how anyone could drink, or even sit, in the place.

“They’re used to it,” Short said, as if reading his mind.

“How?”

Short shrugged, led the way to the bar.

“Would you tell your boss Luke Short is here to see him?” he asked the bartender.

“Sure thing,” the man said. “You got an appointment?” He laughed, showing rotted stumps where his teeth used to be.

“As a matter of fact, I do,” Short said.

That seemed to disappoint the man, whose laughter abruptly stopped.

“I’ll tell ’im,” he said, and left the bar.

“Don’t have a drink in here,” Short whispered to Butler.

“You don’t have to tell me twice.”

The bartender walked to the back and went through a curtained doorway. Moments later he reappeared with another man. This one was much better dressed than anyone else in the place, but his suit did not come close to matching the caliber of Luke Short’s or Butler’s.

“Hey, Luke, good to see you.” He approached with his hand held out for a handshake. Butler detected some hesitation in Short, who finally did shake hands.

“How are you, Ed?”

“Can’t complain. Who’s your friend?” Cramer gave Butler a critical once over.

“Friend of mine named Butler,” Short said. “I brought him to the Acre to see how the other half lives.”

Cramer laughed.

“Always the joker, Luke. You wanna come back to my office and talk?” Cramer asked.

“Why don’t we just take a table near the back,” Short suggested.

“Sure, Luke,” Cramer said. “You wanna stay out in the open, we can do that. How about your friend? Does he want to come along?”

“No, he’ll stay at the bar.”

“Fine. Hey, Zeke, give the man what he wants on the house.”

“What’ll ya have?” the bartender asked as Short and Cramer walked to the back.

“Whiskey,” Butler said.

A least it would come from a bottle, and the liquor would kill whatever was in the glass—not that he intended to drink it.

Butler noticed another doorway, this one way in the corner. He thought he saw part of a stairway. He also thought he saw a shadow. He decided to keep a wary eye on that spot. Cramer probably just had his own backup, there was no harm in that.

Yet.