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House of Faro

J.B. Cornelius

    The gaming tables were lined up against the back wall. Half a dozen players surrounded each one. Sadie was sitting on my lap, and our stack of silver coins was making the house nervous. Faro is pretty simple, as long as you remember the soda card and know when to throw on the copper.
    The far wall behind the bar was covered in a hodgepodge of promotional mirrors, as was a popular means of local advertising at that time: Thibodaux Bait and Tackle, Crawdaddy Seine Netting Company, Madame Fu’s Opium Den, Support Your Local Firehouse. It became evident, to me at least, that these leaks were hung in no particular order, other than to afford the dealers a glimpse at the players’ hands. In any case, I shielded my cards with Sadie’s curves.
    I was winning, and I was having a grand time. The whiskey had just worked its way from my belly to my brain. Directly across the table from where I was sitting, a large burly man had been giving me the slant eye for some time. He wore tight trousers with vertical stripes and a billowy silk top that was more of a blouse than a shirt. His long matted hair was tied back with a scarf. He had half-a-dozen bracelets on each wrist, and he sported a ring on every finger.
    Large golden hoops dangled from his earlobes. From one side of his belt hung a foot-long dagger in a bejeweled scabbard; on his other hip swung a musket. He was down to his last few pieces of eight, and he fingered them roughly, whispering something to his other two friends. Then he looked my way again. No one bothered to tell me that this was the notorious pirate known as Stoney Marquis.
    “I cannot abide your luck, mate.” He said loudly enough for all to hear. “Maybe you should take a little break from the action.”
    “No thank you.” I was trying to be cordial. The man was twice my size and twice my age. I pinched Sadie on the bottom, and she wisely stood up and walked back behind the bar.
    “Everyone plays against the house, sir.” The dealer informed him. “This gentleman is not affecting your game. I can assure you.”
    “Like hell he’s not. There’re only so many cards in that deck. There are only so many ways it can go.” The buccaneer began to raise his voice. “I do not need some scrawny young greenhorn sucking all the luck out of my table.” He looked across at me again. “So why don’t you just get.”
    “I will not.” I answered flatly and stared back at him.
    “I’m going to have to ask you to leave, sir.” The dealer was motioning for the floor boss. The noisy room went suddenly silent.
    “Shut your mouth.” The ruffian stood and unlashed his sidearm, pointing it right at the dealer’s face. “I ain’t even talking to you.”
    Also unknown to me until that moment: apparently I have a pretty quick draw. I pulled my pistol and blew a hole clean through his shoulder. When the smoke finally cleared, the brute was laid out on the wooden floor, bleeding freely and cursing like the devil. Before his two companions could go for their own weapons, every other patron in the saloon had already drawn a bead on both of them. The sound of sixty separate hammers cocking all at once filled the casino. Even the piano player produced a derringer from up his cuff. Sadie was leaning over the counter aiming a double-barreled scattergun just below their beltlines.
    “Whoa, hey there,” said the one on the right, raising his hands slowly. “We hardly even know that guy.”
    “Yeah, take it easy,” agreed the one on the left. “We just met him yesterday.”
    That was not likely, seeing as they were dressed about as queerly as the one on the ground. The man who had been shot began swearing even more stridently. Just then, horse hooves could be heard approaching on the brick street outside.
    “Well?” Frenchy, the owner, hollered from his brass money cage in the corner. “Somebody go get the sheriff.”
    Already standing in the front doorway was a tall silhouetted shape, with a straw skimmer pulled down over one eye. There was a star pinned to his vest and he held two Pattersons – one in each hand. “You two ... ” he pointed a barrel at each of the accomplices. “... pick your friend up and drag him over to my office.” Then he turned my direction. “Follow me kid, and try not to shoot anybody else today.”

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