The Adventures of Slim & Howdy by Bill Fitzhugh, Kix Brooks, Ronnie Dunn Page A

a hastily conceived floor show between musical acts. His pistol was right there, of course, ready to bring the curtain down on the whole thing if need be, but he had the feeling Howdy’s plan—whatever the hell it was—was gonna do the trick.
    All the sudden, Buddy lunged at Slim, who slashed and jabbed with the broken bottle, saying, “Don’t come in here, less you want some stitches.” It forced Buddy to back off.
    When he did, Howdy poked him in the back with the pool cue again. Said, “Hey!”
    Buddy jerked around. “You poke me with that one more time I’m gone stick it in wunna your ears and out the other.”
    Howdy tipped his hat back and tilted his head to one side, then the other, like he was sizing Buddy up. “Let me ask you something,” he said, as if they suddenly shared a secret. “You by any chance a gambling man?”
    Buddy kept one bloodshot eye on Slim so he couldn’t get him with that bottle, the other was more or less looking at Howdy. “What do you mean?”
    “You know, games of chance,” Howdy said. “Wagering on a throw of the dice or the turn of a wheel or the choice of a card to determine the outcome of events.”
    Buddy gave a half-assed shrug, thinking about that weekend he’d snuck off to Laughlin with redheaded Wanda and won three hundred bucks at the slots. “Yeah, I guess,” he said. “Why?”
    “Let’s cut for it.”
    “Cut for it?”
    “Yeah,” Howdy said, like it was only natural. “High card gets to kick Casanova’s ass.”
    As he watched Howdy working on Buddy, Slim shook his head a little and tried to keep from smiling too much. He liked the way Howdy thought.
    “I already told you,” Buddy said. “I’m gonna kick his ass no matter what.”
    “Well, now I think we’ve agreed that whoever gets second shot at this, ain’t gonna get no satisfaction. So I was thinking, we can turn it into a gamble, at least make it some fun for both parties.”
    “Ain’t interested.”
    “All right,” Howdy said. “I understand, stakes are too low.” He pondered it for a second before saying, “What if we sweeten the pot? High card gets to kick Casanova’s ass and gets paid for the privilege.”
    Buddy got to thinking about his truck payment and said, “How much?”
    “I dunno.” Howdy shrugged. “Fifty bucks?”
    Buddy’s cable bill was overdue too, not to mention his rent. He said, “Make it a hundred.”
    “Deal,” Howdy said. “Cash on the barrelhead.” He slapped his own money on the pool table and turned to the bar, snapping his fingers, yelling, “Hey, Skeets, you got a deck of cards in this place?” As he walked away, Howdy said, “And bring me my glasses while you’re there.”
    As Skeets went to grab Dempsey Kimble’s marked deck, Buddy scraped together all his cash. He laid it on the table and said, “All I got is ninety-six and change.”
    “Close enough.” Howdy gave him a collegial chuck on the shoulder, then stepped past him to take a swing at Slim with the pool cue. “You just keep your ass right where it is, lover boy,” he said. “One of us will be with you directly.”
    Figuring it was best to play along, Slim menaced Howdy with the broken bottle and said, “Bring it on, you sorry-ass swamp cracker.” Gesturing with wiggling fingers. “I’ll kick both your candy asses.”
    Skeets came over and tossed the deck to Buddy, let him pull the cards out of their box, get the feeling they were legit. “Brand-new deck,” Skeets said. “Hardly been used.”
    By now a crowd had gathered around, and Skeets, not being one to miss a good opportunity, was taking various side bets.
    Howdy pointed at the green felt of the pool table near the money. “Spread ’em out,” he said. “You go first or second, I don’t care.”
    Buddy smeared the cards on the table. “I got here first,” he said. “I’ll pick first.” He huffed on his hands and rubbed them together for luck while he looked for a winning card. After a moment, he paused,