My Fair Gentleman. Jan Freed

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СКАЧАТЬ get this over with. I’ve got a run goin’ at table five.”

      Frowning, Earl slid grimy-nailed fingers up and down his standing cue stick before hoisting it up into shooting position. Was it Joe’s imagination, or did the old buzzard take longer than usual lining up the shot?

      “Three in the side,” Earl finally announced, drawing back his elbow.

      Ivory clacked.

      Patsy Cline crooned.

      “You miscued,” Billy said on a groan, sending his idol a stunned look. “You never miscue.”

      Curses and disbelieving grumbles broke out. Earl stared at the undisturbed red ball as if it had just sprouted horns. Lifting a trembling hand, he rubbed the back of his neck.

      Joe moved close and spoke low in his friend’s ear. “Don’t worry, buddy. She’ll screw up her first shot, and then you can finish her off.”

      Earl glanced up with a shaken expression. “I think she’s a damn witch. Did you see them eyes?”

      Joe’d seen them. “She psyched you out, all right. But remember, we’ve got the home-stadium advantage.”

      He searched the room and found Catherine removing several cue sticks from the back-wall storage rack. After rolling each one on a nearby table, she settled on the twenty-one-ounce cue with an Astros sticker on the handle. Coincidence, or had she picked his cue on purpose? It was much too long for her, but comparatively new and unwarped.

      Ignoring the suggestions for what to do with a “man-size shaft,” she headed for the table, balancing the cue on one shoulder with all the nonchalance of Huck Finn carrying a cane pole.

      The lady had guts, Joe admitted. He almost hated to see her razzed by the guys. But she’d invaded their turf, not vice versa, which made her fair game.

      She laid her cue on the table rail and studied the scattered balls intently. A red-haired man Joe didn’t recognize thrust a blue chalk cube under her nose.

      “Here you go, babe,” the stranger said, checking to make sure he had his audience’s full attention. “Rub the tip real good now. You look like you could use some friction.”

      Ribald laughter erupted all around. Pinkening cheeks were the only sign that Catherine heard. She took the cube and calmly rotated the end of her cue stick in the chalk.

      “Ooh, that’s it, babe, don’t stop,” the man continued, urged on by hoots and whistles. “With hands like that, who cares if you ain’t much to look at?”

      The laughter trailed off nervously.

      Joe saw the flash of hurt in her clear green eyes. Anger and shame clenched his fists. He headed around the table, aiming to plug the jackass’s mouth with his knuckles.

      Catherine set the chalk cube on the rail. Turning to the leering redhead, she pressed the tip of her cue on his crotch seam and met his astonished eyes. “What’s your name?”

      His Adam’s apple bobbed. “G-Gary.”

      “Well, Gary. I can explode a rack of billiard balls into all four rails with a single stroke. What do you think I could do to these itty bitty things?” she asked, her voice coldly speculating. Sweeping the circle of men with a contemptuous look, she lifted her chin. “One more word out of any of you, and I just might have to satisfy my curiosity. Do we understand each other?”

      Heads nodded, none more vigorously than Gary’s.

      She smiled and lifted her cue stick from chalkmarked denim. “Excellent. Now, everyone please step back three paces from the table so I can breathe.”

      Joe obeyed along with the rest, intrigued by a woman who could be Olive Oyl one instant and Popeye the next. He suddenly found himself rooting for her, the money be damned.

      For the second time that night, she examined the table end to end. When she finally moved into action, Joe had the feeling every shot had been planned.

      She was an ace pool player of course. Sometime during the past half hour he’d decided she would be. Her strokes were strong, her aim damn near scary, her movements graceful and efficient. When she stretched over the table for a double-bank shot, her dress tightened and his eyebrows rose. She might be thin, but she sure as hell wasn’t shapeless.

      As striped balls spun, whammed or lipped over into pockets, he started to believe she would run the table.

      Earl did, too, from the grim look on his leathery face. The reigning champion turned slightly green watching her last ball ricochet toward a side pocket. It hit hard, almost jawed out, then dropped out of sight.

      Once she nailed the eight ball, history would be made at The Pig’s Gut. Earl studied the table…and slowly grinned. Murmurs broke out in the crowd. Joe followed their gazes and silently groaned.

      The eight ball guarded a corner pocket. Blocking it from a clean shot sat doom—the solid red ball that had defeated Earl. There was no way around it, unless…

      He watched Catherine assess the situation from several angles and knew the exact moment she made her decision. When she stepped up to the table and positioned her cue, his muscles tensed in empathy. Bottom of the ninth, two outs, winning run on third. Been there, done that.

      She struck the cue ball hard, low and at precisely the right angle to lift it up and over the red ball. It landed with a thud and nicked black ivory, sending the eight ball rolling with agonizing slowness toward the pocket. Was it enough? Would it fall?

      Yess!

      Joe’s whoop rang out in the stunned silence. Catherine straightened and sent him a grateful smile, her flush of triumph giving him a glimpse of the woman she might be, given a little happiness or makeup.

      She looked toward the bar as if seeking someone’s congratulations. Her smile dimmed.

      Joe’s head snapped around.

      A man watched her from a bar stool. Blond hair, medium build, disapproving expression. Obviously her companion for the evening. Joe didn’t like him.

      The man’s gaze moved to him, and Joe stiffened. Pretty Boy’s appraisal was cold, amused and very thorough. Joe’s dislike verged on something stronger.

      “I’ve been hustled,” Earl protested, breaking the hostile moment.

      Joe turned and grinned at the old man’s sour expression. “No, you were beat fair and square. My debt’s canceled and you owe the lady a handshake.”

      Earl glanced at Catherine with grudging respect. “Maybe she could show me how she did that jump shot. I never been able to do it worth a damn.” He shuffled over to the table, where Catherine stood racking balls with awkward jerky movements.

      Where had her gracefulness gone? Joe eyed the blond-haired man at the bar thoughtfully, then looked back at the disgruntled customers returning to their own interrupted games. Manhood had suffered a blow tonight. They were not happy campers. An irresistible idea hit him.

      He went with the moment and cupped his hand to his mouth. “Listen up, guys. There’s a free beer for СКАЧАТЬ