Eight
Tyler leaned back in the wooden chair causing it to creak. The salon was elegant—with polished wooden walls and floor, and an gleaming rosewood piano by the bar that took up the whole of one wall. A couple of other round tables in the salon also had people playing games. Most of the players had a coffee in front of them, and the air was thick and hazy with the smell of smoke. The windows and doors were open to get the fresh air in and the stale air out.
It was getting to be later in the morning and the egg and ham breakfast he’d had was wearing off.
He studied the faces of the three men who sat around his table, all intent on their cards. The dealer, a butcher named Hugh, had just raised the pot by a dollar. Tyler looked down at his cards, he felt some doubt about his hand being t
