That question cut below the quick and the man furrowed his brow while snapping the paper back. “You calling me a cheat?”
“Not at all. Just making certain that you wouldn’t be the sort who might look at a man dressed as I am and assume he doesn’t know how much this gold should be worth.”
The old man shrugged and muttered, “I can add another ten percent.”
Doc extended his arm and shook the old man’s hand in a powerful grip. “A pleasure doing business with you, sir. I’ll be certain to steer anyone I know in this direction.”
After counting his money and stashing it in several different pockets, Doc walked outside and onto the streets of Dennison. The last time he’d been there was when he’d first arrived in Texas after leaving Georgia. It felt like a lifetime ago, and he looked upon the place now with a new set of eyes. Rather than looking to eke out a few more years as if he was wringing the last few drops from a wet rag, Doc sized up the place to see what he might be able to wring out of it. His eyes snapped from one spot to another as his mind sifted through limitless possibilities that would get him to where he wanted to go.
He wanted to go back onto the gambler’s circuit.
Doc could hear the cards calling to him like a siren song. Every moment he spent away from a poker table felt like a year wasted.
Rather than charge into the first game he could find, Doc kept thinking about everything he needed to get back into the life he’d been forced to leave behind while he was too sick to leave his room. There was more to life than just gathering money and then spending it. For a gambler’s life, those other things tended to be a bit more colorful. In that regard, Doc had to sharpen the necessary skills the way he would need to prepare his tools before operating on a set of rotten teeth.
Doc’s knowledge of Dennison was good enough for him to pick out a good stretch of open land not too far out of town. He rented a horse and rode out to that lonely stretch of road until he found a spot that suited his needs. It wasn’t anything elaborate; it was just a patch of open ground bordered by some trees and a few mossy stumps.
It felt good for Doc to roll up his sleeves and walk among the tall grass until he found a few rocks and some junk scattered near the road. Throughout his most recent bad spells, Doc hadn’t been well enough to leave his hotel rooms. When he’d visited his family, that situation hadn’t changed. Now that he was fending for himself and breathing the fresh air, Doc swore he could feel years being tacked onto his life.
Having found a few bottles in the grass, Doc set those up on the stumps at various heights. He then took rocks of various sizes along with a few clumps of dirt and scattered them about where he could see them. Once that was done, he whistled to himself and walked a few paces back.
Doc closed his eyes and kept whistling. When he opened them, he turned around to get a fresh look at the display he’d set up. His hand flashed to the pearl-handled .38 under his left shoulder and cleared leather fairly smoothly.
That wasn’t good enough.
After holstering the gun, Doc lowered his head and let his arms hang at his sides. He then looked up, drew the gun without a hitch, and fired a shot at the farthest stump. Some splinters flew, but not much else. The second shot caused one of the bottles to jump and the third made it pop like a soap bubble.
Doc pulled in a breath and forced his eyes open wide so the sunlight could drive away some of the whiskey haze in his head. Shifting his aim, Doc fired another pair of shots that sparked against one of his target rocks and clumps of dirt, respectively. As he pulled his trigger the sixth time, Doc was already drawing his second gun with his left hand. That bullet clipped the neck off of the second bottle, sending glass through the air in a fine spray.
With another set of practiced motions, Doc holstered his first gun and transferred the second into his right hand. He emptied that one a bit quicker and managed to shatter the rest of the second bottle and hit another pair of rocks in the process. He kept his eyes on his targets as he reloaded both guns without looking down to see what his hands were doing.
This time, he raised both guns at the same time and fired at one of the nearby trees. He couldn’t help but grin like a kid when he heard all the thunder coming from his combined guns. Although he hit fewer targets, he got close enough to put a dent into one of the trees that was roughly equivalent to a shotgun blast.
Doc’s perfectly trimmed mustache curled up as he held on to his grin for a bit longer. He flipped one of the pistols around his trigger finger before dropping it into its holster. He did the same to the other one, but added a few flourishes that spun the gun around quickly enough to turn it into a gleaming blur.
After reloading a second time, Doc drew the pistols and aimed at one of the remaining targets. There was no need for a flourish this time, since he’d already proved his point to the only person that mattered.
He was ready.
18
Breckenridge, TexasJuly 1877
At first glance, Breckenridge barely even looked like a town. That wasn’t exactly a fair criticism, considering the place wasn’t much more than a year old, but Doc had seen trading posts that felt more permanent. Then again, at least Breckenridge’s buildings weren’t sheets of canvas propped up by wooden frames. One thing Doc certainly couldn’t fault the place for was its saloons.
He didn’t take the time to count them all, but those saloons seemed to match the stores and other businesses one to one. Breckenridge had plenty of room to grow, but Doc wasn’t there to speculate about the town’s future. He was in Breckenridge to gamble and there was plenty of that to be done.
The gambler’s circuit wasn’t exactly a formal thing. There were no maps to follow or books to read regarding what places were hosting the best games. In fact, it wasn’t much more than the right words being passed around by the right mouths. Once Doc had started playing again over the last few months, he’d bought his way into some bigger games. Some of those players pointed him toward another game being held a few miles down the road and some of those players had pointed him toward Breckenridge. The moment Doc arrived to find all those saloons and all those gambling parlors, he felt like he’d truly come home.
By the end of his second day there, Doc had settled upon the Reading as his unofficial residence. It was a clean place with a well-stocked bar that never made him wait for a drink. The Reading was a saloon, but had more gamblers than drunks, which made for higher stakes at the tables. Most important, the Reading never closed. Different faces showed up behind the bar and different ladies would bring the drinks, but the gamblers could play for hours or days on end. At the moment, Doc was putting that policy to the test.
The game had started just over thirty hours ago. When Doc had first approached the table, he’d needed to push in between two of the existing six players. Now he was one of only four remaining. The pots, on the other hand, had only been getting bigger.
“Raise,” Doc announced after glancing at his cards. He tossed a few clay chips onto the pile in the middle of the table and cleared his throat.
The man to Doc’s left was a slender fellow in his mid-thirties. He had the build of a cowboy and a permanent scowl etched onto his face. His light red hair was cut close to the scalp, making his face seem even more lean. Despite appearances, Marc Abel was a friendly fellow who took his losses graciously and fought like the devil for every win. It was that tenacity that saw him through several near busts and built his stack of chips to a respectable height.
“Sounds good to me,” Abel said with a sly grin. “Why not raise it some more? How’s another hundred grab ya?”
Although he had to wait a bit before responding, Doc locked eyes with Abel and studied him. Abel stared right back, ignoring the next man in the betting order who was a Mexican landowner in his late forties named Armando.
Armando never gave a last name and nobody asked for one. He didn’t mention what sort of land he owned and nobody asked about it. Armando let his cards do his talking. This time,
he let his chips say a few words as he tossed in enough to cover both raises, plus another two hundred to boot.
Doc slowly shifted his eyes toward the man to his right, who was also the next person to act. “I suppose you’ll fold, Henry.”
Henry Kahn was a burly fellow with clothes that looked as if they’d just been stitched together that morning. Despite the fine quality of the material, he was sweating through it enough to darken the spots under his arms as well as larger patches on his back and chest.
“What the hell do you know, Holliday?” Kahn replied. Pitching a bundle of money onto the pot, he flicked his eyebrows up and asked, “What do you think of that?”
Coughing as he cocked his head to one side, Doc threw his cards toward the dealer. That man also happened to be Henry Kahn. “I think you’re about to lose a good amount of money.”
Armando and Abel chuckled, but Kahn didn’t think it was so funny.
“A man should keep his mouth shut if he don’t intend on playing a hand,” Kahn snapped.
“Is that a rule now?” Doc asked with exaggerated confusion. “I must have missed that lesson.”
Kahn chuckled nervously and said, “You want some more lessons, you just keep watching me play. That is, if you stay alive long enough.”
Doc coughed a few more times, which Kahn found amusing, but otherwise didn’t reply.
Shaking his head, Abel eyed his stack of chips. He wound up eyeing the chips in the pot even more. “I suppose it’s too late to back out now,” he said as he tossed in enough to cover the raise. “What’ve you got there, Armando?”
The Mexican smirked and nodded slowly as he laid down his hand to display a queen-high straight.
Since Kahn seemed more interested in chewing his lip than doing anything, Abel filled the silence by letting out a short string of profanities.
“You beat my three wise men,” Abel said as he showed his triple kings. “Nice hand.”
Armando nodded to acknowledge the compliment while choosing to ignore the profanities that had preceded it. By the time he looked over at Kahn, Armando’s shade of a smile was gone. “What have you got?”
Kahn’s cheeks had flushed red and the muscles in his jaw were flinching beneath his skin. After grabbing his cards, he looked over at Doc and found the pale Georgian eyeing him intently. Finally, Kahn nudged his cards facedown onto the ones Doc had discarded. “You win,” Kahn muttered.
“What did you have?” Doc asked.
“Never you mind, Holliday. You didn’t pay to see ’em.”
“I did,” Abel said.
“So did I,” Armando added.
Kahn looked around at the table like a dog that was about to bite someone’s hand. When he snapped his mouth open, it was only to say, “You got your money, Armando. Don’t push it.”
The Mexican shrugged and lost interest in the matter. He was kept busy enough raking in the pot.
Abel looked as though he was going to say something, but backed off when he saw the spark in Kahn’s eyes. “Just trying to keep things friendly,” he said.
The cards were collected and passed over to Doc, who shuffled and dealt them to each man. “Don’t fret too much, Henry,” Doc said. “I’m sure your father can give you some money so you can keep playing with us.”
“That supposed to be funny?”
After dealing the last of the cards, Doc raised his eyebrows and replied, “Why, not at all. Wasn’t that your father who gave you all that money before the game started? I thought there was a resemblance.”
“I don’t need no help from my father or anyone else.”
“I wouldn’t dare to imply otherwise.”
Kahn was leaning toward Doc as if he was in the middle of a fight. What made the scene look so odd was that Doc reclined in his chair and calmly arranged his hand as though he was playing at someone’s kitchen table.
While Kahn glared at Doc, Abel started moving a few dollars into the pot. “You ever been to Dallas, Doc?” he asked.
Doc nodded. “Sure. That’s a fine town.”
“You know someone named Mike?”
“Why, no.” Doc chuckled. “If I’d crossed paths with someone who had such a distinct name as that, I’m sure I’d remember.”
Marc nodded and added, “Mike Abel. He was shot dead in a place called the Busted Flush over in Dallas.”
“You mean Loco Mike Abel?”
“That’s the one!” Marc replied.
But Doc shook his head and continued arranging his cards. “Never heard of him.”
“He was my cousin and I heard you were in town when he died.”
Lifting his eyes so he could look directly at Marc, Doc said, “There was plenty going on in Dallas while I was there and there’s been plenty going on since. I’ve been to the Busted Flush and I may have seen your cousin once or twice. I did not, however, kill the man.”
Suddenly losing the intensity in his eyes, Marc said, “Just asking a question, is all. Mike was an asshole, but it’d be nice to know how he met his Maker. After what I heard about you I thought . . .” Apparently, Marc also gave a thought about what his next words should be. Finally, he shrugged and said, “I thought you might have known something.”
Doc shook his head. “All I know about Mike is what you’ve already mentioned.”
Since Marc wasn’t quite sure how to take that, he finished making his bet and let the matter drop.
The bet was small, but Armando still didn’t seem interested in bumping it up. He tossed in enough to match it and waved to the bartender for another beer to be brought over.
“All right, Holliday,” Kahn muttered as he quickly looked at his cards. “If we’re done swapping stories about Dallas, I’ll raise it another fifty.”
“Lady Luck’s never been particularly fond of me,” Doc answered in a voice that had just enough of a wheeze in it to get his point across. “But make it another twenty, anyhow.”
Abel flipped his cards to Doc and said, “I think I’ll join Armando for another beer.”
Doc nodded as if he’d seen that one coming a mile away and kept nodding when Armando separated the pittance from his stack of chips required to cover the bet. “Your move, Henry,” Doc said. “Or would you rather have someone fetch your daddy?”
“Fuck you, Holliday.” Grinning as if he’d just delivered the Gettysburg Address, Kahn called the raise and threw one of his cards toward Doc.
Ignoring the discard that had come out of turn, Doc looked across the table at Armando. “How many, sir?” he asked in his stately Southern manner.
Armando held up two fingers and then slid that many of his cards to Doc.
After replacing those cards with fresh ones from the deck, Doc gradually shifted his eyes to Kahn.
“I already told you what I need,” Kahn snapped.
Doc took his time in dealing one card to fill up Kahn’s hand. “And the dealer takes two,” Doc announced.
Knowing it was his turn to act, Armando looked up at Doc and then over at Kahn. He didn’t need a second glance at his own cards before he folded them.
“Smart move,” Kahn boasted. When he glanced down at his newly re-formed hand, Kahn blinked and pulled in a quick breath the way a dog would test the air for a scent. “I’ll bet fifty.”
Doc had yet to look at his own two replacement cards. Instead, his eyes were more focused upon the dwindling pile of money in front of Kahn. “How much do you have left there, Henry?”
“Two hundred.”
“Looks more like one eighty-eight to me.”
“Close enough, goddammit.”
Doc smirked and forced a straight expression onto his face. “All right, then. I’ll see your fifty and raise another two hundred.”
Kahn’s knuckles whitened as he tightened his grip around his cards. “Trying to buy this pot, Holliday?”
“Can’t you call?” Doc asked innocently. “Or don’t you trust your own prowess at mathematics?”
Letting out a snorting breath, Kahn
fumbled through his chips. When he was done, he looked at the dents around his chubby fingers. The rings that had been there a few days ago were now resting among Doc’s chips. Thinking back to how Doc had purposely held that jewelry back after winning it made Kahn’s jaw clamp shut even tighter.
“Tell you what,” Doc replied smoothly. “I’d lower my bet to one eighty-eight, but you would only call. It might be better if you—”
“I do call,” Kahn said quickly as he pushed in his chips. He smiled and nodded as if he was receiving a round of applause for his actions. Looking around at Abel and Armando in turn, he said, “The cocky prick hasn’t even looked at his cards yet. Looks like your mouth’s flapping too quick for your brain to catch up. What’s the matter, Holliday?” Kahn asked when he didn’t get an immediate response from Doc. “Didn’t you think we all saw you drinking that whiskey like it was water? I knew it’d catch up to you sooner rather than later.”
“Call with what?” Doc asked. “You’re out of money.”
“I’m good for it.”
Doc didn’t move from his spot. When he spoke, his lips barely moved to form his words. “Daddy’s not here, Henry. Match the bet or fold.”
Kahn’s eyes kept darting around the table. “This is bullshit. This ain’t a way to run a game! Don’t you two have anything to say?”
Abel started to mutter something, but cut himself short before he could make a sound. Instead, he simply held up his hands and leaned back from the table. The only words he eventually got out were, “I’m out of this hand.”
“What about you, Armando?” Kahn asked.
The Mexican shrugged and looked at Doc with an unmistakably scolding tilt of his head. “This has been a friendly game and a man should be given a chance to cover his bet.”
Despite the surprise on his face upon hearing that response, Kahn pounced on it. “There! You see?”
“What can you put up to cover your bet?” Doc asked.
“It’s only sporting to bet something I can cover.”
The Accomplice: The Silent Partner Page 17