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

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Doctor and the Kid, The (A Weird West Tale) (Weird West Tales) Page 9

by Mike Resnick


  “Didn't you ever talk back to a judge when you were sentenced?”

  “I know it's going to come as a shock and a profound disappointment to you, but I've never been convicted of anything.”

  “You just love them big words, don't you?” said the Kid, not without a touch of admiration. “I'll bet you've had a lot of schooling.”

  “I'm a doctor. Well, a dentist.”

  “I envy that kind of book-learning,” admitted the Kid. “I know they write me up in the dime novels, but I can barely wade through the first page before I give it up.” He frowned. “And I'm never on the first page!”

  “We all have to live with disappointment,” said Holliday. “At least you live to the end of the story.”

  “Other people read ‘em and tell me about ‘em,” said the Kid. “Some bastard wrote one last month that has Garrett calling me out and shooting me down in the street at high noon.” He frowned. “I think I'll kill both the writer and Garrett for that.”

  “I'm sure Woo-Ka-Nay will be thrilled,” said Holliday dryly.

  “So who are you here to kill?” asked the Kid, signaling to the bartender for another glass. “I hope you don't mind if I share your poison?”

  “Not at all,” said Holliday, filling his glass when it arrived. “As for why I'm here, I lived here for more than a year.”

  “Yeah, everyone's heard about the Gunflight.” The Kid leaned forward. “Was it as bloody as they say?”

  “Nine people showed up. Three died, two ran away, three were wounded.”

  “And Wyatt Earp got off Scott-free!” said the Kid. “I heard that.” He paused. “Were all nine of you really in that little alley?”

  Holliday nodded. “According to the Tombstone Epitaph, which measured the place, the farthest any of us could be from the men on the other side was nineteen feet.”

  “Sounds crowded.”

  “It was,” answered Holliday. “One of the McLaurys even had his horse there.”

  “I wish I'd been there,” said the Kid wistfully. “They'll be talking about that shootout a century from now.”

  “I doubt it,” said Holliday. “The whole thing was over in half a minute, tops, and there was so much smoke from the gun barrels that you couldn't see half of what was happening anyway.”

  “Still, ain't no one ever gonna remember the Lincoln County War.”

  “Sure they will,” said Holliday. “It was a war, it's got Lincoln's name, and the notorious Billy the Kid fought in it. What more does it need?”

  “You really think so?” said the Kid eagerly.

  “I really do.”

  “I like you, Doc Holliday!” said the Kid, draining his glass. “I think we're going to be great friends.”

  “Might as well be,” said Holliday. “After all, we can't shoot each other even if we want to.”

  And I've got to get Tom working on that.

  “Let's finish the bottle and then go straighten our backs at the Wildcat,” suggested the Kid.

  “I don't know if they'll let us in after last night,” said Holliday with a smile. “We frightened away half their clientele.”

  “Who's going to stop us?” said the Kid.

  “A telling point,” agreed Holliday, finishing the whiskey and getting to his feet.

  “I'll tell you true, Doc,” said the Kid, also rising. “I'm sure glad I can't kill you.”

  “Me, too,” said Holliday, swaying just a little as a wave of dizziness passed over him. He coughed into his bloody handkerchief.

  But I'm going to have to find a way to kill you, and before too much longer, or I'll be too damned weak to make it back to Leadville.

  H

  OLLIDAY WALKED DOWN THE DIRT STREET past all the empty hitching posts. Ned adds a few more carriages to the Bunt Line and they might as well get rid of these damned hitching posts, thought Holliday. Hell, they might even pave the streets. He turned a corner and saw Edison's and Buntline's houses. From the outside, they appeared to be normal residences. Only the brass-enclosed connecting passage between the two gave any indication that they weren't what they seemed to be, but Holliday knew from previous demonstrations that these were the best-protected buildings in Cochise County.

  He approached Edison's house. Before he could knock on the door, the security system had identified him and the brass portal swung inward.

  “Hello, Doc,” said Edison's voice. “I'm in the lab.”

  Holliday made his way through the foyer and the book-lined corridor to the laboratory, which was almost devoid of chemicals and test tubes but abounded in electrical and brass devices. “Making any progress?” he asked.

  “I wish I knew,” said Edison.

  “You're Thomas Alva Edison,” replied Holliday. “How can you not know?”

  “It's not that simple, Doc,” said Edison, looking up from his notepad, where he had been furiously scribbling. “I may be close to the solution, I may be on the wrong track. It's impossible to know for sure until I test it out. For example, we know the Brass Mole can bore through three thousand feet of rock…but I don't know if it can move an eighth of an inch into the station.” He held up a strange-looking device that was shaped like a cylinder with a button at one end and a tiny hole at the other. “I can melt anything short of Ned's super-hardened brass with this, and I suppose if I kept it trained on the brass I might even make a dent in it before the battery wore down. But I don't know if it can make that same dent in the station, or the track, or even the people who are waiting for the train, if you and Geronimo are right that they're all protected.”

  “Maybe there's a way to kill two birds with one stone, to borrow an expression I heard up in Denver,” said Holliday.

  “I'm open to suggestions.”

  “I'm sure I can get the Kid to come over here to meet the great Edison. Once he's here, let's see if you've got anything that can kill him.”

  “And if the first attempt fails, you think he'll just sit still for the next?”

  “Absolutely,” said Holliday.

  Edison stared at him. “That doesn't make any sense, Doc.”

  “He knows he can't be hurt. Once you prove that even you can't hurt him, what has he got to fear from staying?”

  “First, he'll probably kill us,” said Edison. “Well, me, anyway. I forgot: he can't kill you. And more importantly, even if I can hurt him, even kill him, that won't prove a thing.”

  “The hell it won't,” said Holliday. “If you can kill him, you can destroy the station.”

  “Why?”

  “They're both protected by Hook Nose. If you can break through his magic on the Kid, you can break through it on the train station.”

  “But are they both protected by Hook Nose?” asked Edison. “You told me Geronimo didn't know who was protecting the train station. It might be Hook Nose, it might not. If it's a different medicine man, it's probably a different magical spell.”

  Holliday frowned as he considered what the inventor had said. “I hadn't thought it through,” he admitted. “But if we can kill the Kid, then I don't have to destroy the station. I can take the reward and go back to Colorado.”

  “Geronimo didn't have any trouble finding you there before,” noted Edison. “I don't think he'd have any trouble this time—and if we can kill the Kid and we leave the station alone, I think he'll make certain that you don't die fast, or peacefully, or in a sanitarium.”

  “Shit!” spat Holliday. “I thought I had something there.”

  “A man who can hold the United States at bay on the other side of the Mississippi River doesn't ask for easy favors,” replied Edison.

  “When you put it that way, I realize the full magnitude of what he's asking,” said Holliday. “Can it be done?”

  “All problems are capable of solution,” said Edison. “Some just take longer.”

  “All problems?” repeated Holliday dubiously.

  “All problems,” said Edison emphatically. “I know it's hard to believe, but someday we're going to reach
the Moon, and the planets, and even the stars. We're going to replace old, diseased, used-up organs like the heart and the lungs with new ones.” He peered wistfully into the future. “We'll eradicate every disease. We'll even create machines that think.” He blinked his eyes rapidly and brought himself back to the present. “So of course we'll figure out how to counteract the spell and destroy the station, and we'll do it without trying—probably unsuccessfully—to kill the Kid.”

  Holliday shrugged. “You're the genius. I'm just a card-playing dentist.”

  Ned Buntline wandered over through the enclosed passageway between the two houses, crossed through an unused bedroom that stored more books and equipment, and entered the lab.

  “Hi, Doc,” he said. “I thought I saw you come in.” He turned to Edison, “I've been playing around with that compound I mentioned. It may have some promise. At least, it'll make a hell of a big bang.”

  “Keep at it if you want,” said Edison, “but I just don't think a stronger explosive is the answer. Don't forget: cannonballs didn't make a dent in the place.” He shook his head. “I'm convinced the way to break through that spell is with something Hook Nose, or whoever cast it, has never encountered before.”

  “No one's ever seen an explosion like this one,” said Buntline. “In theory, anyway.”

  “The order of magnitude may differ, but he's seen explosions, and if the place is protected against small ones, it'll be protected against big ones—or at least it figures to be.”

  “What do you have in mind?” asked Buntline.

  “I'm not quite sure,” answered Edison. “But I'll bet he's never encountered an electric charge before.”

  “Where do you apply it?” asked Holliday. “If the body of the spell is half a mile in each direction, where's the heart?”

  “I don't know,” said Edison. “Yet.” He grimaced. “First I have to come up with a weapon, something that's not only beyond Hook Nose's experience, but also totally beyond his ability to imagine and prepare for. Then we'll worry about where to apply it.” He paused thoughtfully. “Weapon is the wrong word. What I need, what we need, is a device.”

  “Comes to the same thing in the end,” said Holliday.

  “Not so,” insisted Edison. “If I do it right, the device won't harm anyone. All we want to do is counteract the spell that's made the station impregnable.”

  Suddenly Holliday grinned.

  “What is it?” asked Buntline.

  “A new word for the Kid,” replied Holliday. “Just about the time he learns ‘invulnerable' I'll hit him with ‘impregnable.'”

  “That's a rather infantile joy,” commented Buntline.

  “I can't hurt him, he can't hurt me,” said Holliday. “I'll take my triumphs where I can.”

  “What's he like?” asked Buntline.

  Holliday shrugged. “He's a nice enough kid, I suppose.”

  “For a crazed killer,” added Edison.

  “I've rubbed shoulders with crazed killers,” replied Holliday. “He's not like them.”

  “He's got more of a reputation than any of them, and he's barely old enough to shave,” said Buntline.

  “He's good at his trade,” said Holliday. “I don't know what got him started. I suppose I'll ask him one of these days. Doesn't make any difference, though. I'm here to kill him, so I'll be just as happy if I don't find myself liking him too much.”

  “It didn't stop you from killing Johnny Ringo,” noted Buntline.

  “Ringo was out to kill me. The Kid isn't.”

  “I seem to remember you saying that it was inevitable that you and Ringo would face off, that you both sought the highest level of competition,” said Edison. “Doesn't the Kid qualify as the highest level too?”

  “Circumstances have changed,” said Holliday. “With Ringo it was the competition. He was the Clantons' enforcer, I was the Earps'. But the only reason I want to kill the Kid is so I can die in comfort in a Colorado sanitarium.” He paused and smiled wryly. “It's actually not a bad situation to be in. If I win, I get the best medical care available for what remains of my life, and if I lose, I'll be dead two seconds later and at least I won't have to cough myself to death in total poverty.”

  “And you find that a cheerful situation?” asked Edison, frowning.

  “I wouldn't call it cheerful, but there are worse.”

  “Remember what I told you a few minutes ago?” said Edison. “Eventually they'll cure every disease, including consumption.”

  “I don't doubt you,” said Holliday. “But no one's going to cure it in time to save me.”

  Edison stared at him for a long moment. “No, almost certainly not,” he agreed.

  “You know,” continued Holliday, “this conversation has given me an idea.”

  “Oh?”

  “Whatever the hell device you create, you're going to need someone to carry it to the station before activating it. And if it works, you can be sure Hook Nose is going to be mightily pissed off. He'll almost certainly take his anger out on the guy with the device. You and Ned are too important to lose, and there's every chance Geronimo will protect me, not out of any love for me but just to get even with Hook Nose for screwing up the Apache burial ground. So,” he concluded, “I'm the one who should take the device to the station.”

  “We're ahead of you, Doc,” said Edison.

  “We are?” asked Buntline, surprised.

  Edison nodded. “We've got the perfect conduit for the device. And if Hook Nose goes on a rampage, no one gets hurt.”

  “Oh?”

  “She even knows she's expendable, and it won't bother her a bit.” He pressed another button, and a moment later a large-breasted narrow-waisted gleaming brass woman entered the room.

  “Bessie!” said Buntline and Holliday together.

  “Sirs?” asked Bessie.

  “It has to be more useful than bedding cowboys or making our dinner, wouldn't you agree?” said Edison.

  “It occurs to me,” said Holliday, “that there's a lot more to being a genius than I thought.”

  H

  OLLIDAY SPENT A BAD NIGHT, half-drunk, half-sick, coughing up blood every few minutes. He was almost glad when the sunlight came through his window at the American Hotel. He couldn't feel much worse and still be alive, so he had to start feeling better. Halfway through the night he'd made up his mind to return to Lincoln, that, with no money to gamble at the Oriental, he was just wasting his time here. By the time another hour had passed he had decided to stay in Tombstone. After all, he couldn't gamble in Lincoln either. He didn't know anyone there, and this way he could at least check on Edison's and Buntline's progress every day. Also, he actually had another friend here in Henry Wiggins, and he'd be able to spend some time with the Kid and probe for weaknesses.

  Of course, all of that presupposed that he would have the strength to climb out of bed, which was by no means a certainty or even a probability until he did it. Finally it was a need to pass what remained of the whiskey he'd drunk the previous night that got him out of bed and onto his feet. The American had two large privies on each floor, one for men, one for women, and by the time he returned to his room he was ready to face the day.

  He ran his hand over his cheek, decided he needed a shave, realized he was hungry, and put the trip to the barber off until he'd stopped by the restaurant and had some breakfast.

  He picked up his cane—he'd done without it since arriving in Tombstone, but he knew he'd need it today—and made his way down the stairs and through the lobby to the restaurant. He sat down at a table, read the menu, realized that the thought of food, which was so vital to him not two minutes ago, made him sick, and ordered a bottle of whiskey instead. When it arrived he took one look at it, felt queasy, and moved it as far away as he could reach.

  “For me?” said a voice. “How thoughtful.”

  He looked up and saw the Kid approaching his table.

  “I saw you through the window as I was walking by,” said the Kid, sitting down
across from him. “You look like hell warmed over.”

  “I wish I felt that good,” muttered Holliday.

  “It's a little early in the day for me,” said the Kid, opening the bottle and pouring an inch into the glass, “but what the hell.”

  A waiter noticed him and brought a second glass to the table.

  “Are you sure I can't bring you anything to eat, Doctor Holliday?”

  “Doc,” said Holliday irritably.

  The waiter turned to the new arrival. “And you, sir?”

  “Cook up half a dozen eggs,” said the Kid. “I'll eat what he doesn't.”

  “How do you want them?”

  “Fast and without questions.”

  The waiter looked at him, nodded, and rapidly retreated to the kitchen.

  “So what have you been doing with yourself?” asked the Kid.

  “Drinking, coughing, sleeping, not much else,” replied Holliday. “How about you?”

  “Mostly I've been admiring all the things your pals have done to the town. Electric lights at night, stagecoaches with no horses, and all that brass!”

  “Yeah, they've pretty much remade it,” agreed Holliday.

  “And the metal whores are the best part of it!” enthused the Kid. “You know,” he said confidentially, “I know a whore's probably heard and tried everything, but there are things I was always too shy to suggest to one. But not to a machine! I've been having the time of my life at the Wildcat!”

  “I'm very happy for you,” said Holliday, wishing the room would stop spinning.

  “They tell me you used to actually live there,” continued the Kid. “Is that so?”

  “Yes.”

  “Did you ever make it with three of the metal whores at once?”

  “I never even made it with one.”

  The Kid looked his disbelief. “Why not?”

  “Did anyone tell you why I lived there?”

  “Something to do with the madam.”

  Holliday nodded delicately. “Kate Elder.”

  “Big-Nose Kate. I've heard of her. They say she broke you out of jail.”

  “Once, a few years ago,” said Holliday. “She felt that put me under an obligation of fidelity to her.”

 

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