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

turned to Howdy, and said, “High card wins, right? Gets to kick Romeo’s ass and gets a hundred bucks from the loser?”
    Howdy shook his head and said, “Casanova.”
    “What?”
    “Romeo was the star-crossed lover,” Howdy said. “Casanova, on the other hand, was a famous seducer. I think that’s what we got here.”
    Skeets cleared his throat in a manner to suggest Howdy should just get on with it. Slim just rolled his eyes.
    “I don’t get it,” Buddy said.
    “Don’t matter,” Howdy replied. “Romeo it is.” He put the glasses on, waved a hand at the fifty-two cards spread out on the Kelly green felt, and said, “Go for it.”
    Buddy picked the jack of hearts and grinned like he was showing off new teeth. He turned to Slim, taunting him with the one-eye jack. “Your ass is mine, boy.”
    Slim taunted back with his jagged glass. “Fat lady ain’t sung yet.”
    “All right,” Howdy said. “My turn.” He waved a hand slowly over the cards, hesitating, acting like he was going for one card, then another. Ratcheting up the anticipation, the crowd pushed in closer with each fake. Finally, he picked a card. “Ha!” He showed it to Buddy and said, “Jack of spades.” Just screwing with Slim. The crowd loved it.
    “What’s that mean?” Buddy asked. “We both do it?”
    “I think it means we tied,” Howdy said with a wink and nod toward Slim. “Pick again.”
    Slim glowered.
    Second time Buddy drew a nine.
    Howdy picked a queen and that was all she wrote. Howdy scraped Buddy’s money toward the corner pocket where his other hand waited to meet it. Folded it into his roll and put it away. Skeets was collecting on the side bets while the onlookers began drifting back to their tables. But after a minute it was clear that Buddy wasn’t going anywhere, just stood there with arms folded across his chest. Finally he said, “Go on, then. Kick his ass.” Nodding at Slim.
    Howdy turned on a dime, got in Buddy’s face. “I don’t appreciate people telling me what to do.” He didn’t blink. Just two dark eyes staring from under the black hat, like a wild animal under the front porch.
    Buddy held his ground.
    Skeets, back at the bar counting his money, looked up long enough to see what was going on. He figured things might go south if he didn’t bring the curtain down now. He slipped the pistol into his waistband and walked across his bar like he was Augustus McCrae. Howdy was saying something when he got there.
    “Hey, cowboy, I won the bet,” he said. “I’ll kick his ass when I’m good and ready and not before. That’s what it’s like to be the winner.” Howdy walked past him saying, “Better luck next time.”
    Buddy turned to follow but got blocked by Skeets, standing there with his hand on the ivory grip of his pistol. “Son,” he said, “know when to walk away.”
    22
    MONDAY MORNING SLIM AND HOWDY HIT THE ROAD WITH a sack of the sausage and biscuit sandwiches and a couple of large coffees. It was Howdy’s turn to drive and he was looking forward to it, there being few things that lifted his spirit more than a clean windshield, a full tank of gas, and the open road. It was a four-hundred-mile drive, more or less, and they wouldn’t be creeping through Bluff Dale, Rockwood, and Eldorado with Howdy behind the wheel. They’d be taking I-35 down through Austin and San Antonio before turning west on Highway 90, heading for Uvalde and finally Del Rio.
    But that was a long way off. And, based on their history so far, they both knew there was no telling what might happen between where they were and where they were going.
    Just have to wait and see.
    They hadn’t been on the road too long before they started chewing over the previous night’s events, specifically the run-in with big Buddy Cooper. Even though Slim insisted he had the upper hand in the fight, had it all under control, didn’t need any help from anybody, he was quick to give Howdy his due on stepping in when he did with