The Accomplice: The Silent Partner

by Marcus Galloway

  Johnson scowled, took another look around the saloon, and lowered his voice another notch. “Not when the man saying those words is full of shit and wouldn’t have any problem in siding with known killers.”

  “And I take it you’re not excited about that kind of prospect?”

  “You got that right. The men who I thought I could trust have started asking some questions I don’t like. They’ve been asking about how we could cover our tracks if we needed to get the hell out of the Dakotas and have even mentioned meeting a few people who can’t exactly be seen by the likes of Sheriff Bullock.”

  “And those would be the known killers?” Caleb asked. “Anyone I might know?”

  “There’s a few local boys who you may or may not have heard about, but there’s someone else who’s coming in from New Mexico way that could be real trouble.”

  “Who?”

  After a bit of a pause, Johnson let out a sigh. “I don’t know for certain. That’s where I was hoping to get some help from you. If there is something rotten going on, I doubt my partners trust me enough to let it slip in front of me and I don’t have the time to wait for them to get sloppy. Someone else might have better luck in seeing what’s going on, but mostly I need backup.”

  “And what makes you think you can trust me?”

  “I’ve asked around about you and haven’t heard anything too bad,” Johnson replied with a grin. “I know you’re no miner and ain’t friends with my partners, which means I can trust you more than I trust them.”

  “What’s in it for me?”

  “A percentage of the gold that would have gone to my partners if they hadn’t tried to stab me in the back.”

  “And what if they do come around and expect their share?”

  “A hundred dollars. Considering that we should be able to tell which way my partners are leanin’ pretty damn quick, I’d say that’s fair.”

  Caleb might have been able to win a lot more than that in a good poker game, but he hadn’t made that much in all the time he’d been forced to work at the Hazen House. As he thought it over, he could see Johnson growing more uncomfortable.

  “All right, one-fifty,” Johnson said. “But it could get rough. If I’m right, the men my partners are siding up with ain’t the most reputable. None of them will be happy to know they been found out by me.”

  “Keep it at one hundred,” Caleb replied.

  Johnson seemed pleasantly surprised to hear that. Before he could get too happy, he saw a glint in Caleb’s eye.

  “But if you do find yourself without these traitorous partners of yours,” Caleb added, “I want to take their place. Not just a percentage of their share. I want a full share. If I’m to put my neck on the line for this deal, that’s only fair.”

  For a moment, Johnson didn’t say anything. Caleb did have plenty of experience in reading faces and even he was having a hard time figuring out what was going through the grizzled miner’s head. Finally, Johnson started to nod.

  “I can see I was right about you, Caleb. You ain’t just some thickheaded bouncer who knows how to handle a shooting iron. That’s a real smart offer. Can’t say as I’m glad you came up with it, but it’s real smart.”

  Caleb was the first to extend his hand. “So is it a deal?”

  “Yeah, it’s a deal.”

  “Great.” Slapping the bar with the palm of his hand, Caleb raised his voice so that he could catch the barkeep’s attention as well as be heard by most of the people in the saloon. “Give me a round for the man that stepped up for me today!”

  When Johnson started squirming again, it wasn’t anything like when he’d been in the center of Sally’s attention. “I wanted to keep this quiet, if you don’t mind.”

  “You already been seen talking to me,” Caleb grumbled under his breath. “At least this gives a reason to anyone who’s interested. Come find me here later tonight around two.” A bottle of whiskey was placed onto the bar next to a mostly clean shot glass. “Here you go, friend,” Caleb said loudly. “Enjoy it.”

  Johnson nodded and plastered a smile onto his face. Raising his glass, he looked around to find a bunch of wobbly men eyeing the bottle in his hand. They lost interest when they realized Johnson didn’t intend on sharing.

  “How about you bring that along to my room?” Sally asked as she sidled up next to Johnson. “We can share it without so many people watching. I still need to reward you for your bravery.”

  “I think I’d like that,” Johnson said as he draped an arm around Sally. “Very much, as a matter of fact.”

  Caleb kept his eyes pointed toward the poker tables, but was more focused on what was happening at the edge of his field of vision. A subtle grin worked its way onto his face. The more he thought about Creek Johnson’s business proposal, the more possibilities sprang to mind.

  3

  Doc hadn’t left his chair for hours. He didn’t know exactly how many hours it had been, for he didn’t bother looking at his watch when he played. More often than not, he would have had too much whiskey in his system to care what time it was anyhow.

  For the last several hands, Doc had barely even looked at his cards. Instead, his slightly hooded eyes gazed around the table at the other players, sizing them up carefully. To Doc’s left was a skinny man named Vasily who spoke with a heavy Russian accent. He played tight as a drum and didn’t drink. The next man around the table claimed to be a prominent local businessman and he had the big belly to back up his claims of easy living. Next to that one was a drunk named Ed who was easier to read than a children’s storybook. Between that drunk and Doc was a woman named Alice Ivers. Everyone called her Poker Alice.

  Alice had a rounded, pretty face that was framed by soft, well-maintained curls of light brown hair that fell just past her shoulders. Her eyes were kind but always on the prowl, and her hands were smoother than the silk of her expensive dress. Of the others at the table, she was the one who was dressed as nicely as Doc. When she caught Doc looking her way, she would always return his smile or shake her head at his occasional wink.

  “Is it my turn?” Doc asked innocently.

  Vasily kept his back straight and his voice tense when he replied, “You know it is, Mr. Holliday. Please take it.”

  “You seem awfully anxious. Perhaps I should fold.”

  “Whatever you do, do it soon, please.”

  Coughing once as he peeked at the cards he’d been dealt, Doc shrugged and tossed in enough chips to cover the bet. “There you go.”

  Vasily called without hesitation, leaving the businessman next to him to make his move. “’Bout damn time,” the rotund man grunted as he tossed in his chips.

  “All right, then,” Alice said. “No need to get impatient. How many cards you want, Doc?”

  “Whatever you see fit to give me, darlin’.”

  “How about you take the guesswork out of it?”

  “Jesus Christ,” the businessman snapped as he shifted his bulk against his chair. “You two wanna smooch, then get a damn room. Otherwise play cards.”

  Doc grinned in a way that made him look livelier than all three of the other men combined. For a man in the advanced stages of consumption, that was no small feat. “Better make it two, then.”

  Alice flipped the cards to Doc and filled in the other players’ hands. When it was her turn, she set the deck down.

  “Standing pat?” Doc asked. “If I wasn’t so supremely confident in my good fortune, I’d be worried.”

  “Worried enough to fold?” Alice asked.

  Doc watched her for another second before tossing in a ten-dollar bet. “Almost, but not quite.”

  Vasily smirked and counted out his chips. “You drink so much, Holliday. I think it makes this too easy for me. I raise to fifty dollars.”

  The businessman let out a heavy sigh and raised his cards less than a quarter inch off the table.

  “Everybody watch out,” Doc slurred. “The big man is making his move.”

  Randal started to
shake his head and tighten his grip on his cards as if he was bracing to toss them into the middle of the table.

  “What business do you own, anyway?” Doc asked.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Your business, Randal. What is it?”

  Randal shifted in his chair and replied, “I’m part owner of Nye’s Opera House.”

  “Really? Is that the one that’s about to be shut down from lack of interest?”

  “Lack of culture is more like it.”

  Doc leaned back and cocked his head as if he was genuinely taken aback by what he’d just heard. “As a member of this community, I am sorely perturbed.”

  “You been in Deadwood less than a month, Holliday, and that’s only because Sheriff Bullock hasn’t drummed you out yet.”

  Looking over at Alice, Doc said, “There are plenty of good theaters in these parts. I hear the miners in a camp about half this size put on a dandy Macbeth.”

  “What the hell did you just say?” Randal sputtered.

  Doc was quick to change his tone and stare across the table with wide eyes. “Sorry about that. My mistake.” His smirk quickly returned as he looked back toward Alice. “You’re supposed to call it the Scottish play.”

  Randal glared at Doc and then stared at his cards. Gritting his teeth, he glared at Doc some more and then stared at his cards again with such intensity that he practically burned a hole through them. Shaking his head, he tossed his cards into the muck.

  Ed looked at most of his cards and then folded.

  Alice did a good job of keeping herself from giggling, but couldn’t help but look in Doc’s direction. “I call.”

  Despite the confidence that was ingrained onto Doc’s face, he didn’t wait too long before tossing his own hand onto the rest of the discards.

  “All of that just to fold?” Vasily asked. “What kind of game is this?”

  “I ask that same question about the big, dusty world we live in,” Doc spouted. “Someday, perhaps a bard will put the answers into a fine production for all to see. Let’s just hope he gets an audience. I suppose he’d better stay away from Nye’s Opera House.”

  Randal muttered a few obscenities and got up so he could reach across the table for Doc’s throat. Before Randal could make it halfway, Doc had reached under his coat to draw the pistol holstered under his arm.

  Randal froze for a moment before easing himself back onto his chair. “My apologies.”

  Doc kept his eye on Randal until the businessman averted his gaze and squirmed as if he wanted to crawl away. Only then did Doc holster his pistol. When he glanced over at Alice, he saw her reach for something in a pocket that was just out of sight. Doc poured himself a drink as Alice took out a slender cigar and placed it between her teeth.

  “Care for a light?” Doc asked.

  Alice shook her head. “It’s fine the way it is.”

  “As are you, darlin’. As are you.”

  The game went on for another two hours, but it felt like a different table altogether. Ed was all but passed out most of the time. Vasily hardly said a word and Doc was able to keep Randal’s temper at a constant boil. Eventually, the businessman was barely able to contain himself when Doc threw his chips into the middle of the table.

  “It’s getting late,” Randal said after losing a pot that robbed him of all but a few white chips. “I’d like to be going now.”

  Seeing that Randal’s eyes were on him, Doc tipped his hat and said, “By all means, sir.”

  Even after getting Doc’s permission, Randal wasn’t quick to get up. He shuffled toward the front door and dragged himself toward the street. Since most of his chips had wound up in front of Doc or Alice, he didn’t even bother stopping to cash the remainders in.

  “I suppose this game is over?” Vasily asked.

  “I hear there’s a game every now and then at the Bella Union,” Doc replied. “They may not always be as exciting as this one, but they can usually get fairly interesting.”

  “Perhaps I will look in on you there.” The Russian took his money and showed Doc and Alice a beaming smile. He then turned and headed to cash in his chips.

  Doc cleared his throat and then poured some more whiskey down it.

  “I do believe he’ll take you up on that offer, Doc,” Alice said.

  While feeling the burn of the liquor work its way through his system, Doc replied, “And our friend the theater owner will probably join him if he gets the notion that he can put me in my place.”

  Alice did a good job of keeping her smile under control. When she got up and gathered her winnings, she looked at Doc with just the right amount of friendliness to avoid suspicion. “You’ve got a real talent for rubbing people the wrong way. Just be careful you don’t upset the wrong man.”

  “Good point,” Doc replied as he hacked noisily into his handkerchief. “I wouldn’t want to jeopardize my bright future.”

  Cocking her head in response to the sarcasm that dripped from Doc’s voice, Alice said, “You know what I mean.”

  “Of course I do. It would be a shame to break up our little syndicate at the Bella Union.”

  “We’d sure hate to lose you.”

  “You may for the next few weeks. Isn’t there going to be a string of games being hosted in Kansas?”

  Alice nodded. Even though she was dressed better than every other woman in or around the Hazen House, she didn’t carry herself with the airs that usually went along with such trappings. And though she and Doc were both in their mid-twenties, she seemed almost motherly when she reached out to rub her hand along his cheek.

  “We’re all dying of something,” she said. “Just because you wear yours on your sleeve doesn’t make it any more or less fatal than what’s coming for the rest of us.”

  “On my sleeve, but mostly in my handkerchief.”

  “There’s that smart mouth again. I swear it’s a talent. Take care of yourself, Doc. And stop sulking,” she said sharply. After flattening the hand that she’d rubbed against Doc’s cheek, she smacked him just hard enough to catch his attention. “It doesn’t suit you.”

  “What on earth was that for?” Doc asked with genuine surprise.

  “To sober you up for the walk back to the the Grand.” Alice kept her eyes on him as she turned around and headed for the front door. Her lips curled into a smile that somehow even managed to make the unlit cigar between her teeth look cute.

  Doc shook his head and watched her go. Once she was out of his sight, Doc strode over to the bar and knocked on it. “Bottle of whiskey, my good man,” he said to the barkeep.

  “Didn’t I just give you one a while ago?”

  “Why yes, and now it’s gone. I’ll have another.”

  The barkeep started to reach for a bottle similar to the first one he’d served Doc, but then reached for a more expensive brand. When he turned around again, he saw Doc staring him down with eyes that were much sharper than a man in his condition should have had.

  “Switching brands on me?” Doc asked. “Now I see why I prefer the Bella Union.”

  “Sorry, I just thought you’d prefer . . .”

  The bartender’s halfhearted explanation was cut short when Doc reached out to snatch the bottle away from him. Doc’s other hand reached for his coat, which caused the bartender to jump as if something had stung the bottom of his foot.

  “Cash these in for me,” the Georgian said as he piled several poker chips onto the bar.

  When he saw those chips, the bartender let out a whistle and said, “Those are the big ones. I’ll have to go in the back.”

  “I’ll be waiting right here.” Doc turned so he could lean back against the bar. Spotting a familiar face, he grinned and held up his bottle.

  “I hope you counted those chips already,” Caleb said as he walked over and stood at the bar next to Doc.

  “Are you worried I may be cheated?”

  “As drunk as you are, he may assume you won’t know any better.”

  “I just hope
he also assumes he’d get a bullet through his skull if he tried to short me on my winnings.”

  Smirking, Caleb said, “After all the times we’ve pulled similar tricks, I’m amazed you can say that with a straight face.”

  Doc pulled in a breath and let it out noisily. “I suppose you’re right. Still, I’m not about to become one of the suckers who deserve to be plucked. That is . . . if that made any sense.”

  “I know what you meant. Why don’t you call it a night?”

  “Because I’d be lying,” Doc replied as he filled his glass with whiskey. “I should call it morning.”

  Caleb wondered if he should go through the trouble of clarifying himself, but knew that Doc was just being difficult. Before he could say anything more, the barkeep reemerged from the back room with a wad of money in his hands.

  “I was just looking for you, Caleb,” the barkeep said.

  “What for?”

  “To make sure this money gets out of here safely. Then again, I’m sure Mr. Holliday isn’t in any real danger.”

  “You see what happens when I forget to hang a shingle?” Doc asked. “Folks forget to address me by my proper moniker.”

  “Moni . . . what?” the barkeep asked while scowling as if he’d smelled something rotten. “Here’s your money.”

  Tucking the money away, Doc said, “You may walk me to the door, Caleb, but don’t get any ideas. I will not allow you to take advantage of me.”

  Caleb walked next to Doc, but couldn’t help noticing the perplexed look on the barkeep’s face. “He’s drunk, Will. That’s all there is to it.”

  The barkeep shrugged and then started making his rounds to refresh the glasses that were still being guarded by paying customers.

  Once they were outside, Doc took his hand from his pocket and extended it toward Caleb. “Here’s your cut for tonight’s game. You keep steering men like that our way and there’ll be plenty more.”

  Caleb took the money, but didn’t look happy about it. He counted it, winced, and then counted it again. “There’s too much here.”

  While Doc’s Southern drawl tended to get thicker when he was drunk, the first touch of cold night air against his face was enough to ease it back a notch. “You’ve earned it. Not only did I get a fine read on that Russian, but that businessman got angry enough to drop most of what he brought straight into my lap. Does he really own half of Nye’s Opera House?”