Doctor and the Kid, The (A Weird West Tale) (Weird West Tales) (16 page)

H

There were some thirty tables in the place, all of them filled, some hosting games of poker, others just where friends gathered to drink and visit. He missed the action of the gaming tables, but he simply didn't have enough money to buy into any of the better poker or faro games, and so he was playing solitaire to amuse himself, and to enjoy the feel of a deck of cards in his hands.

He'd been there since sundown. He had no reason to stay, but on the other hand, unless Edison needed him for something, he had no reason to leave. He'd already checked with Edison to see if work had begun in the valley. It had, but they were still a couple of days from finishing it.

“Black nine on the red ten,” said a familiar voice.

“Welcome back,” said Holliday without looking up. “Have you disposed of the illustrious Mr. Garrett yet?”

“Soon,” said the Kid. “You gonna invite me to sit down?”

“Be my guest,” said Holliday. “No reason not to be friendly,” he added with a smile. “We couldn't hurt each other if we wanted to.”

The Kid chuckled at that, and pulled up a chair. “How have you been, Doc?”

“Fine, thank you,” said Holliday. “I'm touched that you care.”

“Don't make fun of me, Doc,” said the Kid, not in a threatening manner. “You're damned near the only friend I've got in this county.”

“From what I hear, your friends don't tend to live to ripe old ages,” said Holliday. He saw the Kid tense, and continued: “Not that you kill them. Just that you lead a very dangerous existence, and those who don't handle a gun as well as Billy the Kid but ride with you tend not to live very long,”

The Kid relaxed noticeably. “I never set out to be an outlaw or a killer, you know,” he said. “Things just happened. And sooner or later you do what you're good at.”

“How did you get to be so good with a gun?”

The Kid shrugged. “I honestly don't know. I never played with toy guns back in New York or Kansas, never dreamed of being a gunslinger, never practiced much with a gun once I got one. I just strapped on a holster one day, and pulled and fired my gun, and hit what I was aiming at every damned time. It's like pointing my finger.”

“I would say that you're what they call a natural,” said Holliday. “Most men can't hit what they point at with their finger.”

“You think so?” asked the Kid. “Coming from you, that sounds right complimentary.”

“Of course, being protected by Hook Nose doesn't hurt either,” added Holliday.

“Who says I'm protected?” demanded the Kid.

“Geronimo.”

“I've heard of him. Never met him, though.”

“Consider yourself lucky,” said Holliday. “Have you actually met Hook Nose?”

The Kid nodded. “Yes. But he calls himself something else.”

“Woo-Ka-Nay?”

“That's it. I wonder why he'd tote around a name like that.”

“Not everyone speaks English,” said Holliday. “Geronimo calls himself Goyathlay.”

“You keep mentioning Geronimo,” said the Kid. “Ain't he supposed to be back south of Tombstone?”

Holliday smiled. “Now, that's kind of difficult to say. He's pretty much wherever he wants to be, much like Hook Nose.”

“I thought all white men were the Apaches' enemies, but you sound like you've actually talked to Geronimo.”

“I have—just like you've talked to Hook Nose.”

“What does Geronimo want from you?”

“He's already got it,” answered Holliday.

“Didn't know you were a gun for hire,” said the Kid. “Who'd you shoot for him?”

“No one.”

The Kid frowned. “I'm not following this. He asked for a favor. What did you do for him, and what did he pay you for it?”

“You know that train station where we first met?” asked Holliday. “About a day's ride west of here?”

“Yeah.” The Kid grinned. “I sure had you fooled, didn't I?”

“You sure did,” agreed Holliday.

“So what about the station?”

“It's not there any more.”

The Kid laughed. “He paid you to burn down a train station? Why didn't he do it himself?”

“I didn't exactly burn it,” said Holliday. “And he couldn't do it because it had a magical protector, a Comanche named White Eagle.”

“I can't tell you how sick I get of all this magic crap!” said the Kid. “Geronimo's a warrior. Why can't he do his own killing and station burning?”

“He's a warrior
too
,” answered Holliday. “But first and foremost he's a medicine man. If he could have destroyed the station on his own, he would have. But he couldn't, so he asked me to do it for him.”

“And you agreed, just like that?” asked the Kid, snapping his fingers.

Holliday shook his head. “No, we made a trade. I did him a favor, and he's doing one for me.”

“What's he doing for you?”

Holliday stared at the Kid. “I couldn't kill you before. Now there's a chance that I can in another couple of days.”

The Kid tensed. “You want to step outside and try it right now?”

Holliday shook his head. “The same thing would happen that happened in that whorehouse in Tombstone.” He paused. “But in the meantime,
I've
got a trade to make with
you.”

The Kid stared coldly at him. “I'm listening.”

“There's a woman of my acquaintance who's staying at my hotel,” said Holliday. “Her name is Charlotte Branson.”

“Never heard of her,” said the Kid.

“I'll introduce you as soon as I get the chance,” continued Holliday. “I'll want you to take a good look and remember her.”

“And what else?”

“Don't kill her.”

“You think I just go around killing women as the mood suits me?” demanded the Kid.

“No, I know you don't. All I'm saying is if you see her, keep out of sight. That's not asking too much, is it?”

“I don't know.”

“That's my proposition,” said Holliday. “You promise not to kill her, and I promise that you and I will never have to find out who's the better shootist.”

“You got a soft spot for this lady?” asked the Kid, suddenly amused. “I hear Big-Nose Kate can be pretty formidable when she's jealous.”

“She's hundreds of miles away,” said Holliday. “Let
me
worry about her. Do we have a deal?”

“First I want to know why I would ever see this Branson woman.”

“She has a grudge against you.”

“Oh?”

“You killed her husband,” said Holliday.

“Branson, Branson,” repeated the Kid, frowning. “I don't know any Branson.”

“He got caught in the middle in the Lincoln County War.”

“Then he should have kept his head down, or ridden around us.”

“I admire your sense of compassion,” said Holliday.

“People were shooting at me. Ain't my fault if he got in the way.”

“Nobody's blaming you,” said Holliday. “I just want to know: Have we got an agreement?”

The Kid frowned as he considered his options. “Let me just make sure I understand this. If I don't kill this woman, who I've never seen and won't recognize if you don't point her out to me, you'll be my friend?”

“I'm already your friend,” said Holliday. “It won't stop me from hunting you down if you kill her.”

“Let me say it another way, then,” replied the Kid. “If I don't kill her, you and I will never have to draw on one another?”

“That's a promise,” said Holliday.

The Kid reached his hand across the table. “Shake on it.”

Holliday extended his hand gingerly as a cheer arose at a neighboring table when someone won a large pot. The Kid ignored the cheer, took Holliday's hand, gripped it tightly, and shook it vigorously. Holliday found himself in agony, but refused to complain. Finally the Kid released him, and he tried to rub a little life into his fingers.

“You ain't got much of a grip there, Doc,” noted the younger man.

“I'm told it was a fine firm grip when I was fourteen,” said Holliday. “Of course, they probably lied.”

The Kid laughed. “I
like
you, Doc! I've liked you from the start.” He reached across the table for the bottle.

“I'll signal for a glass,” said Holliday.

“No need,” said the Kid, lifting the bottle to his lips. He took a deep swallow. “Good stuff. What is it?”

“Just Kentucky whiskey. Probably fertilized by Aristides or Hindoo.”

The Kid looked amused. “Who the hell are they?”

“Bat Masterson could tell you a lot more about them that I can,” replied Holliday. “In fact, I heard it all from him. Aristides won the first Kentucky Derby, a race they started six or seven years ago. Hindoo's supposed to be the fastest horse ever to look through a bridle since the American Eclipse.”

“The
American
Eclipse?”

“There was an Eclipse in England, too. That's how you know which one people are talking about.”

“Why would Masterson know all this?” asked the Kid.

“He was a sportswriter first and a lawman second,” answered Holliday.

“You were friends?”

“From time to time.”

“That sounds kinda flighty,” said the Kid disapprovingly.

“We were never close, but we got along, and found ourselves on the same side most of the time.”

“I saw a baseball game back in Kansas,” offered the Kid. Then: “Silly sport.”

Holliday, who had been playing solitaire all through the conversation, finished his game, scooped up the cards, shuffled them, and began dealing another game.

“How about you and me playing a little blackjack?” offered the Kid.

Holliday shook his head. “I'm short of funds.”

“The great Doc Holliday? I don't believe it.”

“Believe what you want, but if you win, I'll have to kill you for the reward so I can pay off my losses.”

The Kid threw back his head and roared with laughter.

“And I'll send off for the money five minutes later,” said a voice, and both men turned to see Garrett's deputy standing near the doorway.

“Hi, Doc,” said the deputy.

“Good evening…” began Holliday. “You know, I never did catch your name.”

“Nate,” said the deputy. “Nate Crosley.”

“Good evening, Nate,” said Holliday.

“Leave us alone,” said the Kid. “We ain't bothering anybody.”

“I never said you were,” answered Crosley. “I just said I'd send for the reward five minutes after Doc kills you.”

“And if I kill
him?”
demanded the Kid.

“Then I'll send for it after his ladyfriend kills you. Hell, for all I know, she's better with a gun anyway.”

The Kid looked sharply at Holliday. “The woman we made the deal about—she's a bounty hunter?”

“On occasion,” answered Holliday.

“And she's here for
me
?”

“I've seen her,” said Holliday. “She's not in your class. Just steer clear of her. You won't enhance your reputation by killing a middle-aged widow.”

“Well, what the hell,” said Crosley, “we can just wait for Garrett to kill him and save the taxpayers ten thousand dollars.”

“I've had enough of what passes for your sense of humor!” said the Kid angrily. “You think being a lawman's something special? Hell, I've been a lawman!”

“You have?” asked Holliday.

“You bet your ass,” said the Kid, still hot under the collar. “Back in March of ’78 I was one of the Regulators. We were the toughest lawmen you ever saw.”

“I heard about them,” said Holliday.

“They were great lawmen,” said Crosley sarcastically. “The first thing they did was go out and kill Sheriff Bill Brady and his deputy, a guy named Hindman.”

“Killing deputies could get to be a habit!” growled the Kid.

“You won't talk that tough when Garrett gets back,” said Crosley. “He told me how he used to tan your hide.”

“He lied!” roared the Kid, leaping to his feet as the men at the closest tables scattered or ducked.

“Then kill
him
and leave this nice gentleman alone,” said Holliday.

“I don't let anyone rag me,” growled the Kid.

“Why don't you walk down the street and hit some other drinking hole, Nate?” suggested Holliday.

“When I'm ready to,” replied Crosley. “I've got as much right to this space as anyone.”

“Good!” snapped the Kid. “Then
keep
it!”

His gun was out and firing before Crosley even realized he was in trouble. Two, three, four shots tore into his chest, and he was dead before he hit the floor. It took the smoke from his gun a good fifteen seconds to dissipate, and the smell of cordite filled the air. The room was deathly silent.

“Anyone else got anything to say?” yelled the Kid to the room at large.

No one said a word.

He turned to Holliday. “What about you?”

Holliday held his hands above the table. “We have a deal. He wasn't part of it.”

“Good,” said the Kid, still in a fury. “You get to live another day.”

He stalked out of the tavern, and some men rushed over to Crosley to see if there were any signs of life.

Holliday stood up, brushed himself off, put his deck in his pocket, left the tavern, and began walking slowly back to the Grand Hotel, wondering if he'd have had a chance to stop the Kid if they were done working in the valley, and if he'd have risked his life to do so. He was just honest enough to admit to himself that he didn't know.