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“It’s mystical in its own way,” a wiryframed guy named Warren told me. Warren, who sports a ZZ Top beard and rides with the Bandidos, was the parttime bartender and bouncer. “People know right away if they belong here,” he said. “Others don’t come back. If you don’t start any shit, you won’t get any shit.” Then he added, “But some people are goofy. If they come looking for trouble, they’ll find it.” Built around World War I, the old stone building on Congress Avenue and a stone’s throw from Slaughter Lane has long been a refuge for outlaws and those who prefer life on the outskirts of polite society. A notorious whorehouse named Hattie’s was once located just down the road. The infamous bank robbers, the Newton Boys, used to stop by for a cold beer in the days when cowboys tied their horses up front and cattle grazed where 1-35 now stands. As land was gobbled up for development, the old-time cowboys slowly drifted away and the bikers came thundering down Congress, inspiring mythic tales of ass-kicking, hog-riding, and beer-guzzling. In the mid-1980s a battle between a group of carnies and a gang of bikers earned Beverly’s a mention in The New York Times \(“The Toughest Bar in Pappy remembers the mythical battle like this: “We were playing dominoes and one of the carnies pinched a biker’s old lady in the bottom. The whole bar went to pieces like a bar brawl in an ol’ West Town. Everybody was fighting except for Old Man Charlie. “He had a good hand of dominoes, so he just stood up back against the wall with his hands full of dominoes. Didn’t mean shit though, since the rest of those APRIL 29, 2005 THE TEXAS OBSERVER 29