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room and out the door. Marco knew that she would try to entice him to spend the night with her, but he would refuse as he had done in the past. Drinking and gaming was one thing, but he would not grieve his mother by associating with the local soiled doves. After all, a man needed to have his standards.
    Leo motioned him to take a seat at the table. Marco moved closer but didn’t sit. One of the drunks took a look at his cards. “I’ll take one,” he commanded, discarding the same.
    The bar owner smiled and dealt a seven of clubs. The drunk moaned and fell back against his chair. “I fold.”
    The man at his right shook his head. “Ain’t natural you losin’ another hand.” His slurred Italian was barely understandable.
    â€œMaybe you boys should call it a night,” Leo said, gathering the cards.
    â€œNot until I win back my money,” the first man declared.
    Marco knew the man only by reputation. The boys at themine called him Coscia d’agnello or Leg of Lamb, because of the Italian revolver he carried. The pistol held that affectionate nickname, and so it seemed natural to carry it over to the only man in their area to own one. However, the man was also known for a temperament that was far more aggressive than any lamb.
    â€œLet’s go again,” the man demanded.
    â€œYou in this time?” Leo asked Marco.
    He considered refusing, then thought better of it. The tension was already palpable, and Marco didn’t want to offend Leo by refusing. He took the seat beside Leg of Lamb and pulled some money from his pocket. “I might as well.” Bianca appeared just then with his beer. Marco took a long drink as the woman began to rub the knots in his neck.
    â€œLet’s see if lady luck is with you now,” Leo said and began dealing the cards.
    The next few hands went peacefully, much to Marco’s relief. Lamb won enough back to remain intrigued and said nothing more. Marco didn’t do so bad himself, although he couldn’t claim quite the victory that Lamb was enjoying. The man bet aggressively as if he had nothing to lose, but when the cards failed him, he pounded the table with his fists. Losing didn’t sit well, but with the next hand he recouped his losses and was content once again. It went on and on like this for the next hour.
    Marco lost track of how many beers he’d had. His head was spinning and his vision blurred as he studied the cards in his hand. He had a pair of sevens, but little else. Lamb had already raised the stakes, and Marco didn’t feel confident enough of his pair to continue. He folded instead and drained the schooner once again.
    â€œYou want another?” Bianca asked.
    He looked at her, knowing she was still hoping he would pay for her services. Instead, Marco took several coins from his winnings and handed them to her. “I’m done for the night. You were good company, so this is for you.” She smiled, but he could tell she wasn’t pleased. Even so, she knew when it was time to leave.
    Lamb roared in approval as another hand went his way. Marco started to gather his money, but Leo put out his hand.
    â€œThe night’s still young. Stick around.”
    Marco couldn’t suppress a yawn. “I’m done in.”
    â€œNonsense,” Leo said. “You’re doing just fine.”
    Marco shrugged and leaned back in the chair. “I guess a few more rounds won’t hurt.”
    With Lamb’s confidence returning, he became more reckless as other players came and went. He also became more boastful and outrageous with his comments. Marco couldn’t imagine that Leo would put up with the man for long, but the barkeep said nothing and just continued dealing the cards.
    The hours blurred together and Marco found himself wishing he hadn’t sent Bianca away. His mouth felt dry—full of cotton stuffing. He would have enjoyed a drink right about now. Especially in