A Short Western

The town was small, crowded, and smelly. The smell carried back behind the general store to the dead grass and onto the road from Bisbee. Archer Jameson wanted to turn around right when the cow dung, old beer, sweating gallon hats and sun bathed out house scents reached his ears but he had heard of the poker games here and how he would make a killing. Bisbee hadn’t been good to him and he had not left on his own terms. He could handle a smell if it meant winning. Besides, he reckoned he didn’t smell princely either.

His velvet shirt was caked with dirt, his hair was tossed around under his straw tan hat and his month tasted of chewing tobacco and whores lipstick. At least he had gotten a kiss from her before being dragged out by the two largest men he had ever seen and told not to come back to the nice small mining town tucked away in the mountains of Southern Arizona.

            “Tombstone will have ya!” the two men had yelled. Fate, he thought, while walking his horse out of town.

Two rows of new wooden buildings lined the main street and the people strolled between each laughing, talking, and assimilating to the smell. Archer strolled his horse lightly through, envying the shade of the board walks on either side. Some boys were running between the crowds playing with poppers; a few ladies whispered and stared at him and an old timer rocking outside the barber’s leaned forward and gave him a nice toothless smile.

Most of the buildings sold clothes, food, feed, guns and entertainment of some sorts. There was a theater he wasn’t that all interested in, a deputy’s office he wanted to stay clear of and an ice cream parlor that sounded mighty good right now. If it hadn’t been for the sight of men stumbling out of one of the wood buildings he would have gotten himself a nice scoop of vanilla.

Caseys was the name of the place and the doors were still swaying that creaking noise that held a special place in Archer’s heart because it signified entering and leaving. Not a lot of things meant opposites. The stalls up front were all full and he knew his horse needed some nice water for putting up with him. He parked her a few stalls up from the saloon and walked up to the door with the piano sounds, the shrinks and laughter of women, and the pounding of glass on a wooden counter.

It was darker than the afternoon outside but the crowd inside was much more rambunctious than the crowd outside.  Two eager women laughed and exposed their thigh highs with an old man smoking a cigar off in a corner. In the other corner five gambling tables were full with shouts of joy, accusations, threats, sadness, drunkenness and boisterous comments.  The bar was full with a few spurs, business men with soft talking voices and Mexicans drinking tequila. There were other women prancing around to a few circular tables off to his right; gesturing the men upstairs to shouts, screams and whatever they wanted for a few coin.

            If only he had some money, Archer thought. There was nothing like laying next to a woman after a long ride. It made for a quick one usually but the long draw from the cigarette, your hand running through their hair and the raising of their head lying on your breathing chest made you feel calm and you wanted to stay there forever.

The bar tender was a tall, bald man with glasses and a toothpick in his month. He didn’t smile and looked like he had been cleaning the same beer glass his whole life. Archer couldn’t hear what the others were calling him when he leaned against the wood. He didn’t want to seem informal after seeing the last guys get thrown out.

            “Wha’ you havin’?” the bartender asked while setting his glass down and looking over his glasses at him.            

“Whiskey,” Archer said.

“Where you from boy?” a business man asked next to him.

“Jus’ rode in from that copper town south of here.’

“You mean Bisbee?”

“Wasn’t there long ‘nough to get the name.”

“I do business there. I’m into copper, of course. Do you know what you can do with a thing like copper boy?”

“Here you go,” the bartender said; giving him a glass of whiskey.

Archer smiled at the business man and took a long sip of the whiskey. The man scoffed under his white mustache and turned back around to his friend. The whiskey burned and Archer caught himself twitching his jaw back.

“Oooy wiiiii….That’s some mighty strong whiskey bartender. I’ll have another.”

“Put the coin down I’ll get ya.”

“You got credit? I’m lookin’ to do me some gamblin’ over at your tables.’

“Buy-in’s fifty.”

“Fifty?  What kine of place you runnin’ here? I got games in Kansas City for half that.”

“This is high end gamblin’ son. If you don’t want none take your drink and leave now before I kick ya out.’

Archer smiled again but the bartender didn’t budge. He only picked up another glass and kept rubbing.

“You lend me another drink and twenty five and I’ll make ya it all back in an hour or so.”

“You think I got money that grows on trees? You better be some hustler or what not to do that. We got a guy who’s been runnin’ that table for fifteen hours now and no one’s been taking him down.”

“What you got to lose than ‘tender?’

“People don’ talk like you round here.”

“Well, I ain’t from ‘round here. Hey copper man, where’s the other gamblin’ at in this town?”

“My name is Ben Stepford not copper man, mind you. I don’t know what is in town like I said…I do business in Bisbee,” he said; turning around.

“Listen boy what you…”

“I’ll give you the money,” Stepford said.

“Now, why’d you do that?” Archer asked.

“Just take the twenty five and give me back when it’s doubled. I’m in the copper business. Do you know what you can do with a thing like copper?” he said, handing him a twenty bill and a few coins.

“Sir…much obliged. I didn’t like you at first but the whiskey and money has changed my mind.”

Archer stepped away and Stepford nodded his hand and returned talking to another business man.  Archer grabbed the other twenty bill and five coins from his pocket and smiled on his way to the table. There was only one spot open at one of the tables and judging by the high chips and the man’s red eyes, this was the fifteen hour man’s table. Whoever had been in the chair before had been scared off and no one passing by had liked it enough to stop and sit down.

            The hands were five card poker with the dealer shuffling after each hand. The dealer didn’t look like the type to be tipping to anyone and Archer didn’t catch any signals. Everyone only looked down as the man with the red eyes dictated the raises and the pace. Even if he didn’t win the hand he made sure to make everyone else take each other out. He was very calculated when he played and sometimes he got away with a lying or at least Archer thought. Something in the way he rubbed his chin and eyes gave it away. Like a good player, though, he never showed his cards at the end of each hand.

“Anyone settlin’ in here?” Archer asked the dealer.

“It’s fifty to buy in, ten minimum bet,” the dealer said.

“That’s fine by me. How y’all doing today?” Archer asked the crowd.

A fat man huffed his breath in and nodded toward Archer. A dim looking farmer, red in the face and hands from long days, rolled his eyes and blew air to the bill of his hat. The other man had a decent stack of chips but his boy tie was loose and his suit was wrinkled like he had spent the night behind the bar. He was drinking a glass of milk but his eyes weren’t as red as the winner. The winner had a handle bar mustache with a little bit of stubble below his red, tired eyes. His sleeves were rolled up and he kept clicking his spur on the ground.

CH-CHA. CH-CHA. CH-CHA his spurs went; rattling against the saw dusted wood.

He slouched low but straightened up when Archer spoke. For how tired the man looked he seemed focused; like he was saving all of his energy for every hand he intended to play.

“You don’ want to join this table, boy,” the farmer said.

“Well, at least I know I won’t have any trouble with you. You better get out before you lose another horse.”

“You’re goin’ lose more than those chips if you keep talking like that.  Back off that month now,” the famer told Archer.

“Are you two going to bet now or keep yelling at each other? I….I….intend to turn this around, chaps,” the fat man said.

“Let’s bet ten,” Archer said.

The winner stayed quiet and the dealer dealt the cards. Archer held them close to the table and only bent them up to see the indicating corner. The fat man held them to his chest while leaning back and the farmer bent the corners up. The winner tipped both up in front quickly and laid them back down just as quick.

“Don’ bend those corners now,” the dealer said.

“I wan’ to take more money out of your pocket,” Archer said.

“Jus’ shut up and play,” the farmer said.

Archer turned the cards up again: two sevens, red ace, black queen, and a five. It wasn’t the worse hand he had gotten but it was pretty close. The others facial expressions were steady from the long hours and Archer told himself to keep smiling so he would be consistent. The milk man had the first bet and then it came to the Archer.  

“I haven’t talked since this man came in,” he said; pointing to Archer. “Time to see what he’s made of then. Let’s raise it another ten.”

Archer slowly looked at his cards again. Whether it was worth the bet was besides the point now because he had a part to play and he needed to make himself believable. He could pull a two pair and the queen and ace weren’t bad. He knew the farmer next to him was done because he was setting his chin in his hand but he’d hate to have red eye’s raise.

“I’ll see it.”

“Ah shit…I’m out,” the farmer said.

The red eyes flipped his cards over and winked a couple of times. Archer saw the watery eyes forming just before he wiped at his eyes. He leaned forward and looked sideways at the rest of the players. The spurs kept tapping and Archer made sure to keep smiling.

“I’m glad you’re smiling,” he said. “It’s gonna be a fun hand. I’ll call it as is. Now ge me some real cards,” he said; throwing four down.

The cards flipped in everyone’s hands and the facial expressions of the fat man and the winner stayed the same. Archer had to hold back a scream of joy and kept smiling through his draw of two aces. A full house with the seven’s and aces made this hand a little more tempting but more dangerous because poker wasn’t a hand but a series of hands. It was about reeling people in to making them think they knew what you were thinking. These guys already figured he was full of shit so why not keep them thinking.

“Well. You didn’t do me right on that one Buddy,” the milk man told the dealer.

“I ain’t trying to help no one out any more than the other.”

“I’ll raise it ten,” the milk man said.

“I’m goin’ do you right now. Let’s go twenty,” Archer said; throwing his chips in.

“You’re going to spend it all in one hand, my boy. Not something to do at this table,” the fat man said.

“Don’ be givin’ him advice now. He’s stupid enough to figure it out, now,” the farmer said.

“You’re not even in this hand, red. I suggest you act accordingly,” Archer said.

“I’ll do whatever I damn please, boy. Don’t tell me how to “conduct” myself!”

“You two need a room or somethin’? Let us play the game farmer! I didn’ come here to listen to your bitchin’!” the winner said.

The farmer was redder than ever; biting his lip and rubbing his hat. Archer could have hardly cared and wasn’t listening all that much to the others. He loved playing a role. Hell, it was one of the advantages to gambling in places like these. You didn’t have to be you; you just had to be whoever could win.

“What’s your bet?” the dealer asked the winner.

“Oh ya. Sorry. I got caught up in shit that shouldn’t be happening at a poker table. How much you got left there?” the winner asked Archer.

“That twenty was my last,” Archer said.

“How ‘bout I loan you fifty just to play in? Cause I want to bet fifty and I need someone to play against. Fat man over there ain’t going to do it and you…well….you’ll jus’ owe what’s already in the pot anyhow. Wha’ you say?”

“No excuse me…” the fat man started to say.

“Listen, now! I’m talking to this man right now! I apologize but I don’t know your name and once I’m done here I can get it but, for now, you’re the fat man!” the winner yelled.

The fat man pulled back his head, shock it back and forth, and flipped his cards down. The winner smiled and looked back at Archer.

This was how he had been kicked out of the last place, Archer remembered. Getting in too deep was always a high risk, high reward scenario that gave Archer satisfaction. He’d rather get kicked in the butt and ruin a nice pair of jeans than go around thinking about what if. He had never attributed it to being young and stupid but he always used it as an excuse. Really, he thought he was the smartest guy in the room because he had the balls to make mistakes.

“Let’s do it,” Archer said.

“What is going on, boy?” Stepford said from behind him.

“He’s lookin’ to lose your money,” the farmer said.

“Now, now…I think the man here has the best hand,” the milk man said; setting his cards down.

“I trust the fifty at least. The good thing is I can afford to lose it,” Stepford said.

“Where’s the fun in gamblin’ without risk?” the winner said.

“Show your cards now!” the dealer said.

Archer turned his over first, heard the silence, and knew the farmer was steaming. The fat man probably didn’t care and the milk man felt a little reassured. Archer only looked at the winner and kept the same grin on his face.

“You damn sure weren’t bluffing,” he said; turning over two pair of aces and queens.

“Nothin’ to lose for you,” Archer said.

“I jus’ make back the fifty. I jus’ want someone to play with me instead these fairies,” the winner said.

The hands went on and Archer didn’t have to look back from the loan. He played smarter than the first because he knew he had the winner’s attention. Everyone else played about the same and it stayed pretty even for the next hour. The farmer kept glaring over at Archer and he didn’t like that. The milk man chatted enough to not seem awkward but the fat man seemed a little hurt and was only in long enough to make his money back and leave.

“This place doesn’t have any more milk, does it? The cows are all dry in this county, is that it?” the milk man asked.

“None of mine ain’t. You come to the farm and I’ll give ya the best milk in Arizona, by far,” the farmer said.

Archer wanted to say something smart but figured he’d checked the lay of the land before pissing the farmer off more as the farmer and the winner were carrying. The winner was more discreet than the other and Archer only guessed the gun was on his right because of the lean to his left. The farmer had a nice hunting rifle leaning against the table that he occasional stroked when he was thinking about bluffing. The milk man was here for the game and, if he was carrying, it was on his ankle.

Archer had a sidearm on his left because he was special. He wished he had a gun on both sides because he had always wanted to try to shot two at a time. Granted, anyone he’d seen who had tried went out with a few bullets in them and couldn’t even hit a barn door. If he tried with one gun he was much better off.

The farmer was down to his last chips and the winner had ordered his fifth whiskey since Archer had sat down. The saloon was thinning out as the whores did their jobs and the day past. Poker played tricks on men’s minds and, as long as they had the money, they could play for hours and it would seem like minutes.

The winner kept looking at the farmer; trying to force him out of the game with his eyes. Archer knew when a man was about to break and the farmer was one who had been close for a few hands.

“That there is a royal flush, red,” the winner told the farmer; setting down his cards. Now…” the winner said. “You got any daughters out on that farm? I’d like to drink their milk.”

“YOU MUTHA….,” the farmer said.

The farmer stood up quick and flung the gun up the same. Before Archer knew it the nozzle was pointing right in the winner’s face. The winner stood still as the milk man flung his chair back and fell on the ground. Archer stood still and set down the chip he had been playing with.

“TAKE THAT BACK NOW!” the farmer screamed.

“Take what?”

“You know damn well! I should blow your god damn head off righ’ now for wha’ you gone and said. I’ll give ya my money but you ain’t goin’ take nothin’ else from me,” he said.

“HEY! YOU TWO JUS’ CALM DOWN NOW!” Archer yelled; throwing his chair back and drawing his gun.

“This ain’t you boy. Sit back down!” the farmer said.

“You better oblige sir. I would lay down where I’m at,” the milk man said.

“SHUT UP! ALL OF YAS! PUT THE GUN DOWN HANK!” the bartender yelled.

Archer turned his head real quick and began to back up. The bartender was out in front of the stools and the rest of the place had cleared out all except for the bartender and Stepford under a chair. Archer heard a couple of doors creaking open up top and hushed whispers from the whores. The Mexicans had gone and Archer figured they didn’t speak enough English to tell anyone what had happened. He hoped the rest of the men were stuck up in the rooms or else the law would be strolling in soon.

“VIRGIL! YOU DIDN’T HEAR WHAT THIS MAN SAID! GOD….AIN’T ANYONE GOT RIGHTS NOW-A-DAYS? HE INSULTED MY KIN!”

“HEY BOY! STOP BACK ING UP TOWARD ME! I’M LIABLE TO CUT YOU DOWN. PAY YOUR BILL AND GET OUT! THIS IS MY MATTER!” the bartender yelled at Archer.

“NO, NO! I INTEND TO LEAVE WITH MY MONEY NOW! EVEN IF I HAVE TO STAND AND SEE SOME BRAINS FLY!” Archer yelled.

“Just leave boy! It’s not worth your life now,” Stepford said as Archer neared closer.

“Copper man. Leave it be. You got a horse in this,” Archer said.  

“WHAT WILL IT BE, FARMER? THAT MILK SURE DO SOUND GOOD RIGHT NOW. MAYBE BRING YOUR DAUGHTER OVER….”

BANG! The winner’s brains splattered out, his body fell on the table, and his red eyes rolled.

BANG! The farmers head went back, the gun cha-chugged to the ground, and he collapsed right next to his sit.

 BANG! Archer’s mind went blank, blood splattered out in front of him, and he fell to the ground.

“NO GOOD MOTHERS. COMIN’ INTO MY BAR AND…”

BANG! The bartender stared down at his chest, the adrenaline helping him stand. He looked up and saw the milk man with a small smoking pistol crouched down and flashing him a smile under his thin mustache. BA DON!

“Well, well….that was not what I expected. You over there? What is it….Stepford? GET UP!” the milk man yelled.

“Oh…oh…pa…pa…please don’ hurt….”

The milk man walked over and threw the chair Stepford was under to the side.

“I’m not going to hurt you. How much did that boy owe you?”

“Fif…fif….fifty.”

The milk man jumped over the bar. He rummaged around until he found the change box with all the bill and coin. There was rustling outside as he jumped back over the bar. The sheriff had to coming, he thought.

“Here’s your fifty. Me and you are straight. I suggest you follow me out the back before they think you killed all of these people.”

“There’s a…a…back to this place?” Stepford asked.

“There’s always a back to a whore house,” the milk man said walking toward the back rooms.

“Come on Stepford! It’s a pity you know.”

“What?”

“If only they’d had had another glass of that nice farmer’s milk all of this could have been avoided.”