When I arrived at the Variety, the same man met me and took me upstairs to a small office. Bat was inside, and as I entered, he walked to a small wooden window that was covered by a sliding cover. From the window, you could see most of the Variety's gaming tables.
"Take a look at that table over there," he said. "Do any of those fellers look familiar?"
As I looked through the small opening, my eyes were drawn to a table where seven men were engaged in a loud poker game. It didn't take me long to spot the familiar and unwelcome face of Nate Bledsoe. He was older, grayer, and heavier, and his chin was covered with a new salt-and-pepper goatee, but I would know his distinctive gravelly voice anywhere. His mouth was a thin gash that cut between fleshy jowls. His eyes were as black and hard a
