Bucking the Tiger (18 page)

It took more than a little prodding, but Doc was finally convinced to get up from his seat After saying his farewells to the other gamblers, he took hold of a polished black cane that had been propped against the table and leaned on its silver handle as he walked. When he got to the bar, Doc produced a pair of twenty-dollar chips in his right hand before making them disappear again with a slight flourish. “I've been helping myself to these all night,” Doc said. “Those two on either side of me were playing so badly they never even noticed.”

“What's with the cane?” Caleb asked.

Doc shrugged and then postured like an aristocrat in an old painting. “I find it makes me look distinguished.” After seeing that Caleb wasn't impressed, he added, “It also makes things a bit easier on my rough days.”

Caleb knew better than to press Doc on matters regarding his health. Since Doc was clear-eyed and speaking without coughing, he knew the slender Georgian was doing as well as could be expected. “How long have you been in town?”

“Just a few days. I must say, I'm feeling a whole lot better since I've arrived. This mountain air does wonders.”

“Who's Tom Mackey?”

“I am,” Doc replied with a smirk. “I thought you would have deduced that by now.”

“You took a new name?”

“It seemed prudent, especially after the way I left Fort Griffin.” All Doc had to do was nod at the barkeep for him to get a fresh glass of whiskey set in front of him. After taking a sip, Doc added, “It was a bit of a mess.”

“That sounds about how things have turned out around here.”

“Oh really? I take it you've crossed paths with the Tiger?”

“Yeah,” Caleb said. “His name's Morris. Did you know there's a price on our heads?”

Doc nodded. “I heard about that before I got here.”

“It made it back to Fort Griffin already?”

Doc nodded again. “I imagine so.”

“Jesus. This has got to stop. Otherwise, we won't be able to play a game of solitaire anywhere near the circuit. Hell, we'll be forced to run like outlaws once enough money-hungry cowboys get word of this.”

“Say what you want about the Tiger, but they certainly do have an efficient system in place.”

“Fine,” Caleb grunted. “We can just pay our taxes like everyone else and then get on with our business.”

“That's fine talk from you. First you get shot by these animals and now you want to pay them for it.”

“And what the hell have you done, Doc? Besides drink a lot of whiskey and spout off at them, I mean.”

“I walked out of Jacksboro after someone tried to cash in on that bounty you mentioned. I'll be damned if I'll slink off somewhere and hope some group of extortionists forget about me. I've got a life to lead and don't have that kind of time to waste in doing it.”

“You had some trouble in Jacksboro?” Caleb asked.

Doc nodded casually, but kept his mouth shut as the barkeep approached him. The big man had a friendly face, but arms thicker than tree trunks. Somehow, the burly man managed to clean off a glass without crushing it between his thick fingers.

“You still owe for that whiskey you've been drinking, Mr. Mackey,” the barkeep said.

“Oh, how forgetful of me,” Doc said, replying to his new alias without missing a beat. He produced one of his stolen chips and set it on the bar. “I believe that should cover it.”

“And then some. I'll get your change.”

“Keep it. Just keep the drinks coming.”

The big man grinned and nodded. “Thanks, Mr. Mackey.”

“Please, call me Tom.” After the barkeep had moved on, Doc looked to Caleb and said, “That's the sort of fellow I'd rather have on my side.”

“What happened in Fort Griffin?”

“You seem particularly nervous, Caleb. I'd like to know what happened here.”

Realizing that he wasn't going to get any information out of Doc if he didn't want it known, Caleb sighed and said, “Morris made it clear that the Tiger is through making threats and promises. They're starting to play rough, and now Lottie's nowhere to be found.”

“Lottie's here?”

“She was. I went to her room and she was missing. Apparently, she was taken right from her hotel by a couple of men.”

Suddenly, all the humor that was such a natural part of Doc's face was gone. “She's been kidnapped?”

Caleb's gut reaction was to say she had been. Before he could get the words out, however, he stopped himself and stared down at the bar. “From what I heard, a few men came to get her and she left with them. I've been tearing through town expecting to find a door that needed to be kicked down so I could charge in with guns blazing.”

“To save the fair damsel in distress,” Doc said as if to complete Caleb's line of thought. “I never had you figured for the noble sort.”

“What about the stupid sort? That's what I feel like right about now. For all I know, she's got another game set up somewhere.”

“Or she's having a word with the Tiger herself. She did, after all, know who to look for around here.”

Reluctantly, Caleb nodded.

“You must not have taken the Tiger's threat too seriously,” Doc pointed out. “Otherwise, you wouldn't have decided to come here and take in this fine establishment.”

“I got the message from you, Doc. That's why I'm here.”

“Oh, that's right. If it makes you feel any better, I haven't heard a thing about Lottie or any terrible fate that might have befallen her. Still,” he added while swirling the whiskey around in his glass, “she has been known to partake in rather dubious company. We being the exceptions of course.”

“She's been helping me,” Caleb said.

“Are you sure of that?”

“What's that supposed to mean?”

Doc shrugged and sipped his drink. “She's been looking after her own interests for quite a while. She certainly didn't have our well-being in mind at that game in Fort Griffin. I'm sure Mike would agree on that.”

“We've already been through that.”

“Fine, fine,” Doc grumbled. “She's never been too hard to find before, so I doubt she will be now. There's a few people we can ask about her whereabouts. That sure beats running up and down the streets hoping to catch a glimpse of red hair.”

Suddenly, Doc froze while lifting his glass to his mouth. The look of surprise on his face was something Caleb had rarely ever seen before. “Then again,” Doc said, “perhaps waiting for a glimpse of her was all we needed to do.”

Turning to see what had caught Doc's attention, Caleb spotted Lottie at the front door of the Theatre. Caleb headed for the front door in a heartbeat, and the moment he got to her, he wrapped his arms around her and buried his face in her fragrant red hair.

“Where the hell have you been?” he asked.

“I just needed to talk to some friends.”

“Friends? I thought you were dragged out of that hotel.”

“The man at the desk said you were upset when I wasn't there,” she replied. “He also said I could find you here.”

“Who were the men you left with?” Caleb asked. “What friends did you have to see?”

Rather than answer any of those questions, Lottie was staring back toward the bar. The sound of a cane knocking against the floor announced Doc's approach seconds before he spoke up.

“Hello, Lottie,” Doc said. “Good to see you again.”

“Likewise, Doc. I didn't know you were in Denver.”

Taking hold of her and forcing her to look directly at him, Caleb said, “You two can catch up later. I want you to answer my questions.”

“Why are you being so rough with me?” Lottie asked.

“Because Doc and I are being hunted down and you decide to disappear in the middle of it all. Who came to get you at the hotel?”

“He's just an acquaintance of mine.”

“He's still outside, isn't he?” Even though he didn't get a spoken answer to that question, Caleb could tell that he'd hit a nerve. Moving her toward the bar, Caleb told Lottie to stay put as he stomped out of the Theatre.

That left her and Doc facing each other. Although Doc wasn't imposing himself in any way, the intensity in his eyes made Lottie feel as if they were the only two people in the room. She shifted on her feet, but couldn't quite get herself to leave.

“Caleb's not going to find anyone outside, is he?” Doc asked.

“I'm in here with you, Doc. How would I know what he'll find?”

“Fair enough. Then let me ask you another question. Whose side are you on?”

Letting out a breath, Lottie straightened her back and looked Doc dead in the eyes. “I'm on my side. And if you try to come off like you're any different, then you're a damn liar.”

“I prefer to think of myself as a bluffer. A damn good one. The only problem is that you're a damn good one yourself. Something else I know for certain about you is that you're not the sort of woman who needs frequent rescuing. So where have you been that's gotten Caleb so worked up?”

She paused for a moment and then took a quick glance over her shoulder toward the door. When she saw nobody coming in, she looked back to Doc and spoke in a more hurried voice. “I've had a little talk with Morris. He found me because I checked in with him to see where you and Caleb stood. Things are bad and they're about to get worse.”

“What happened to you while you were there?”

“Nothing. We just talked.”

As Doc studied her, he could hear the front door opening and a set of angry footsteps stomping toward the bar.

“It's too late for me to get out of this,” Lottie said quickly. “I know it's too late for you. It's not too late for Caleb. He can still set up another saloon somewhere instead of scraping out his living under the heels of men like Morris and Stakely.”

“Who's Stakely?”

“He's the one that intends on bringing all of this to an end so bloody that nobody will try to cross him or anyone else collecting his taxes ever again.”

As the steps came closer, Doc looked again, to see Caleb eyeing everyone in the Theatre as he made his way to Lottie's side.

“Where did Stakely take you?” Doc asked in a rush.

“Babbitt's.”

“There's nobody out there,” Caleb said as he stepped up to the bar. “At least, nobody who doesn't belong.”

“Why don't you take her somewhere she can rest?” Doc asked. “Perhaps one of the rooms upstairs would be better than a hotel. I believe the management here is somewhat sympathetic to our situation.”

When she saw Doc looking at her, Lottie gave a quick, appreciative nod.

“I'll check in with you later,” Doc said. “I have an appointment elsewhere.”

Babbitt's was a respectable little gaming hall that catered to men who didn't care about a stage show. Although there was always a bit of music being played and a few dancers around, most of the noise inside the main room was the murmurs of gamblers poring over their cards and the occasional pounding of an angry fist against the top of a table.

The main floor was dark and taken up by card tables and roulette wheels. The bar was only as big as it needed to be to keep the gamblers drunk, and the rooms in the back weren't much more than a place for someone to rest his eyes between big games.

One room, in particular, was bigger than the rest. Normally, it was used as an office for the owner, but it was sometimes lent out to special guests for their own purposes. Stakely was such a guest in any saloon he visited, whether the saloon owners liked it or not.

Walking around the desk like a vulture circling a fresh corpse, Stakely reached out with one hand to slap Morris's feet from where they'd been propped up. Morris reflexively bolted upright with fire shining in his eyes.

“What?” Stakely snarled as he squared his shoulders to the man. “You want to say something to me about my behavior? You want to put me back into line so you can kick back and relax some more?”

Finally, Morris shook his head and situated his legs under the desk.

“You hear about what happened to that soldier in Jacksboro?” Stakely asked.

“Holliday killed him.”

“That's right. And you know what's being done about it?”

Morris didn't bother responding to the question, since he knew hell would be coming no matter what he did.

“Nothing!” Stakely growled. “The fucking army isn't even looking into it, because it's being written off as one of their men stepping out of line and getting into a scrape that he shouldn't have been in.” Leaning forward to press both hands flat on the top of the desk, Stakely glared directly into Morris's eyes and added, “That man was going after the bounty we offered and now nobody in Texas is even
asking
about the money on Holliday's skinny ass. Most folks act like they don't even know about the other one.”

“Caleb Wayfinder,” Morris said.

“I don't give a shit if his name is Benjamin Fucking Franklin! If someone is doing work that's paid by me, he's one of my men, and nobody guns down one of my men in one of the towns under my control!”

“Jacksboro isn't—”

“No, but this town is, and
you're
the man that's supposed to be controlling it! I want Holliday and that Wayfinder asshole
dead
! You hear me? Not warned. Not chased out of town. Not threatened. Dead. I've already seen saloon owners around here acting like they don't need to pay our taxes, and I can't allow that. If we're gonna whip everyone back into line, blood needs to be spilled. Either that blood comes from one of those two that's stirring this shit up, or it comes from you. Those are the only two choices on the table. Understand?”

“Ye—”

“Good,” Stakely growled. With that, Stakely pounded his knuckles against the desk once more before turning and storming toward the door. One of the men that had been doing his best to remain in the background during Stakely's rampage opened the door for him and followed him out.

That left two other men in there with Morris, and judging by the looks on their faces, they were not happy about being there.

Morris put his head in his hands and let out a slow, exasperated breath. “Where's Lottie Deno?”

“Budd said she was headed for that theater down on Blake Street.”

“Go there and find her. She's probably with Wayfinder, and if she's not, I want you to take her and use her to draw him out.”

The big man wore a large, Navy model Colt tucked under his belt and a hunting knife at his hip. Despite those fearsome weapons on his person, he cringed when he was given that order. “But…she and Stakely just got through—”

“I don't give a shit what she's been through,” Morris interrupted. “Didn't you hear what just happened? Do you think I'm the only one that will be replaced if Stakely decides to make changes around here?”

“No, sir.”

“Then just go and do what you're told. If you catch sight of Wayfinder, kill him. I don't care where he is or what he's doing. Kill him, and we'll deal with the consequences later.”

While the big man was nodding, someone knocked on the door.

Morris looked up and said, “That's probably the food. Bring it in.”

The big guard opened the door a crack and looked outside. Turning to glance over his shoulder, he said, “It's Budd Ryan.”

Morris flapped his hand impatiently to get the other man to open the door. Standing in the hall was a solidly built man with a prominent gut hanging just over his belt buckle. “What is it?” Morris asked.

Budd's mouth hung open, so he licked his lips and forced it shut. His labored breathing made it sound as if he'd run all the way from the Rocky Mountains rather than his usual poker table in the next room. “There's…uhh…something you should see.”

“Come in and tell me about it or show me. Just be quick about it.”

The gunman stepped aside and opened the door the rest of the way so Budd could step inside. Although he wasn't as big as the gunman at the door, Budd filled out a good portion of the doorway. He was most certainly bigger than the skinny, pale figure that came in directly behind him.

Doc stepped in while staying directly behind Budd, surveying the room with quickly darting eyes.

“What the hell?” Morris shouted as he jumped to his feet.

Before Morris or any of his men could make another move, Budd held out both hands and said, “Don't! He's got a gun to my back.”

Doc smirked and laughed under his breath. “Oh, I must apologize about that. The law around here is quite strict about such things.” With that, he shoved Budd forward to reveal the end of his cane protruding from his fist. Doc loosened his fingers and allowed the cane to slide through them until the handle fell into his grasp and the tip knocked against the floor.

“But Budd was nice enough to remedy the problem,” Doc added as he lifted his other hand to show the pistol he held in it, “by lending me the firearm from his own pocket. Wasn't that thoughtful?”

Morris looked around at his men, both of whom were glancing right back at him, waiting for orders. “You're Doc Holliday?”

“Correct.”

“Why are you here? I would have gladly sat down with you to discus—”

“Discuss what? The price on my head? Or would you prefer to discuss what you did to Lottie Deno?”

“That wasn't me. It was Stakely.”

“And where's Stakely?”

Suddenly, the fear that was in Morris's eyes evaporated. Just hearing Stakely's name repeated a few times was like a splash of cold water in his face. He lowered his hand to his desk to open the drawer and check that his gun was still where he'd left it. A quick look to either side was enough to see that his two gunmen were in prime positions on either side of the door.

“You and your friend had your chances to pay us off,” Morris said. “You even had a chance to run away, but you insisted on staying where you're not wanted.”

“I like it here,” Doc said in his smooth, Southern drawl. “The mountain air is good for my condition.”

“Well, I'll be sure to bury you in a nice spot in the Rockies.” To his men, Morris said, “Kill him.”

Doc's eyes were the first things to move. He looked toward the first trace of motion he saw and found the gunman to his right lifting his pistol to sight along its barrel. Doc shifted his weight from one foot to the other, brought his left arm across his body, and fired. Since he was using his off-hand, Doc fired once more just to be certain.

The gunman lurched back and stumbled toward the wall with both arms splayed out to either side.

The other gunman fired a shot as quickly as he could while snarling an obscenity through gritted teeth.

That bullet hissed through the air near Doc's head, without causing so much as a twitch from Doc in response.

While looking toward the second gunman, Doc saw Morris bringing up his gun as well. Relying on his memory, Doc kept his eyes on Morris while quickly aiming at the man that was just out of his field of vision. Doc pulled his trigger once and then shifted into a duelist's stance, which lined up his shoulders to Morris so he presented a narrower target.

Morris fired once by anxiously jerking his finger around his trigger, which sent his bullet into the wall to Doc's right. He took another quick shot while praying desperately for one of his men to finish Doc off.

Rather than think about the bullets flying around him, Doc focused on the blind panic in Morris's eyes. That, alone, was enough to convince him that he could take his time with his next shot to make sure it was done properly. His ears rang from the gunfire, making the dry wheezing in the back of his own throat the only thing Doc could hear with any clarity.

The pistol bucked against Doc's palm once more, punching a hole directly through the center of Morris's face. Morris dropped back into his chair and then fell into a heap on the floor. The impact of his body against the boards was covered by the sound of Doc's pistol as it sent another round into the second gunman.

Just then, Doc realized he'd been holding his breath. He let it out and took a step toward the second gunman to make sure the man was down for good. Sure enough, there were two holes in that one's chest. Doc figured the shot that was off-center and in the man's stomach was the shot he'd taken without looking.

When he pulled in a breath, the acrid smoke lanced like a set of talons straight down the back of Doc's throat. He coughed once, which lit a burning pain in his lungs as the taste of blood spattered against the back of his tongue.

The ringing in Doc's ears faded just enough for him to hear the pounding of footsteps approaching the door. At any moment, he knew someone would work up the courage to open the door or just shoot through it with the biggest gun they could find.

“I got you now!” Budd shouted as he charged Doc with both hands balled into fists.

Doc's first reaction was to pull away from the man while also bringing his arm up to fire the pistol he'd taken. But the Colt's long barrel weighed heavily in his grasp and the gun began feeling like a cannon at the end of his arm.

Too rattled to be afraid of the gun, Budd grabbed hold of Doc's wrist and wrenched it to one side. Just as he was thinking he might have broken Doc's arm, Budd felt the Georgian regain his composure and fight to take back control of the weapon.

Doc snapped up his right hand, which was still wrapped around the handle of his cane. His silver knob caught Budd solidly in the gut. Although he felt the dull thud of the cane's impact, Budd hauled another breath into his lungs to replace the wind that had just been knocked out of him. His next breath came a lot easier once he felt the gun come loose from Doc's hand.

Budd grinned triumphantly as he lifted the gun. One moment, he was sighting down its barrel, and the next found him staring straight up at the ceiling as Doc's cane caught him solidly under the jaw. Feeling as if the floor were being tilted under his feet, Budd staggered back until his shoulders hit the door behind him and slammed it shut just as it was being tentatively pushed open.

Letting out a haggard breath, Doc swung his cane with all the strength he could manage. After landing the previous two blows with the makeshift weapon, his blood was burning through his veins like wildfire. When his cane smashed into Budd's arm, Doc felt the impact all the way up to his shoulder.

Budd let out the cry of a wounded animal as his finger reflexively tightened around his trigger. The gunshot punched a hole through the floor, while also shearing off the smallest toe on Budd's right foot.

Although he was relieved to see Budd crumple over and lean against the wall, Doc knew it hadn't been any of his blows that had put him there. When he saw the bloody mess on the side of Budd's foot, he couldn't help but laugh.

“What's so…god…damn…funny?” Budd gasped.

“All the tough talk you spout off when you're playing cards,” Doc said with a wheeze just beneath his voice, “and you wind up shooting yourself in the foot when everything boils over. I guess…that proves what men like you are made of.”

Budd gritted his teeth and forced his eyes open. Focusing on Doc's pale, sweating face, he said, “You're crazy, Holliday.”

“I want you to tell the Tiger to come find me. I believe Stakely is his name.”

Budd lifted his gun and shoved the barrel into Doc's chest. The only move Doc made was to lean against it with all of his weight.

When Budd pulled his trigger, all he got for his trouble was the hollow slap of a hammer against empty brass.

“Looks like this moment's just not your best.” Doc taunted him. “For a man that's so good with numbers, I would have thought you'd at least be able to count down from six.”