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

by Mike Resnick

  “And he'd win?”

  “He'd win. Garrett is good, don't get me wrong—but the Kid is, well, the Kid.” The bartender stared at him. “Don't take it wrong, Doc, but I think even you couldn't beat him.”

  “Your confidence is appreciated,” said Holliday dryly.

  “Doc, I didn't mean no offense,” said the bartender nervously.

  “None taken,” said Holliday. “Fortunately I'm just a dentist and a card player.”

  The bartender chuckled, though he was clearly still nervous. “So if he walks in here today or tomorrow, I shouldn't tell him you're looking for him?”

  “I wouldn't want Billy the Kid mad at me,” said Holliday. He placed a couple of coins on the bar. “If he does stop by, buy him a drink for me.”

  He left the bar, wandered around aimlessly for a few minutes until the heat of the day began to affect him, and finally returned to the Grand Hotel. He'd never used the bar there; if someone was hunting for him, that would be the first place they'd look.

  It was just off the lobby, a little more elegant than the bars he usually frequented. There were curtains on the windows, leather cushions on the chairs, and the long bar had been polished to the point where one could almost see his face in it. Holliday ordered a bottle and a glass, seated himself across from a painting of George Armstrong Custer, and filled his glass.

  Edison was coming back from wherever he'd spent the morning, spotted Holliday as he walked through the lobby, and joined him.

  “Have a drink,” said Holliday, pushing the bottle over to him.

  “Too early in the day for me,” replied Edison. He stared at it for a minute, then sighed and took a swallow. “I'll be honest, Doc,” he said. “I was just about ready to give up. If none of those things worked on the station, how the devil could I stop Geronimo and the others from containing the United States on the east side of the Mississippi? But now I'm on to something. I don't know why that ultrasound, or so I call it, killed White Eagle but didn't seem to bother Geronimo at all. I don't know if it'll affect Hook Nose, either—but that's the first positive result I've had in two years. It means they can be stopped, and I'm going back to my experiments with renewed enthusiasm.”

  “If anyone can do it, you're the man,” said Holliday sincerely.

  “Thanks, Doc,” said Edison. “It's easy to get discouraged when you're so long between successes, especially when I know my country's depending on me. I appreciate your support.”

  “You want discouragement?” asked Holliday. “Watch the Kid in action. Now, that's discouraging. He doesn't need magic.” He paused. “How's the clean-up coming?”

  “Well, they'll reach the valley tonight or tomorrow morning. I'll be getting daily reports,” said Edison. “As for the Kid, I've never seen him in action—but I've seen you. I don't think you have much to worry about, once I find a way to neutralize Hook Nose's magic.”

  As they were drinking and talking, Charlotte entered the hotel. She was heading toward the stairs when she saw them and entered the bar.

  “Hello, Doc,” she said with a friendly smile.

  “Hello, Charlotte,” said Holliday. “I've been meaning to introduce you to Tom Edison. Tom, say hello to Charlotte Branson.”

  “I'm honored, Ma'am,” said Edison.

  “Not as honored as I am,” she said. “Imagine meeting the greatest genius in the world!”

  “I'm flattered that you should think so,” replied Edison.

  “Would you care to join us?” asked Holliday.

  “I'd like to, but I still have all kinds of things to do,” said Charlotte. “I'm due at the lawyer's office in just a few minutes. I've just got time to get out of these dusty clothes.”

  “Dinner, perhaps?”

  “I'd enjoy that.”

  “Six o'clock?” asked Holliday.

  “I'll be in the lobby then,” she replied, turning and leaving the bar, then climbing the stairs up to her room.

  Holliday got up and walked over to the bar. “How many lawyers are there in town?” he asked softly.

  The man shrugged. “I don't know. Ten, twelve. Maybe a few less, maybe a few more.”

  “Thanks.” He returned to the table.

  “I heard what you asked,” said Edison. “Why should you care?”

  “Just curious.”

  “Well, I can stay here all afternoon and get drunk, or I can go back to my room and work on some of my ideas.”

  “I'll see you later.”

  Edison left the bar and went through the lobby to the staircase. A moment later Holliday finished his drink and walked out into the street. He considered following Charlotte when she emerged from the hotel, but he couldn't do it without being spotted, and he didn't want her to think he was suspicious of her.

  He was still troubled, not by the thought of her visiting a lover, but by the fact that she felt the need to lie about it. He had no claim on her, none whatsoever, so why these lies, why this secrecy? It was that that made him want to follow her, to find out what was really going on.

  But he knew he wouldn't follow her when she emerged. He didn't like being deceived by someone he admired, but he was honest enough to admit that she was under no obligation to tell him the truth. They'd shared a coach ride and a few dinners, nothing more. In fact, he thought, I'd better get out of sight before she comes out, or she might feel obligated to lead me on a two-hour wild goose chase.

  He ducked into a store and stood there, watching the hotel until Charlotte emerged a few minutes later. She turned right to the corner, then right again, and he lost sight of her.

  Almost against his will, Holliday asked the shopkeeper where he could find a lawyer.

  “I'm no expert on which ones are any good, but just about every lawyer in town is two or three blocks down on the left, mostly on this side of the street, but one or two are across the street.”

  “Thanks,” said Holliday.

  He went back to the hotel, spent another hour in the bar, climbed the stairs to his room, rinsed the sweat off his face, felt restless, killed another hour in the bar, and then decided to go over to the sheriff's office to see if the reward on the Kid had gotten any larger.

  The building was the only all-brick structure on the block, and he could see the bars of a trio of cells facing the alley between the building and the neighboring bootmaker's shop. His experience told him that this was a stupid way to build a jail; you never wanted a window where a prisoner's confederates could work at removing the bars.

  “Good afternoon,” he said, entering the office and tipping his hat to the deputy who sat behind a battered desk.

  “Hi,” said the deputy. “You're Doc Holliday, ain't you?”

  “That I am.”

  “Garrett said you might be stopping by one of these days. He said you'd talk about a bunch of other things, but you'd really want to know about the reward.” The deputy smiled. “It's still ten grand.”

  “I take it Mr. Garrett isn't in town?”

  “No. He got word that the Kid was seen about forty miles west of here, so off he went.” The deputy leaned forward, “Best thing could happen is for him not to find him.”

  “You get no argument from me,” agreed Holliday. “By the way, how did you know I was me—I mean, that I'm Holliday?”

  “He said you made a skeleton look fat. Fits you top to bottom.” The deputy stared at him for a moment, then opened a drawer. “Care for a chaw?” he asked, offering him some tobacco.

  Holliday shook his head. “That's one of the very few vices that has eluded me.”

  “I could offer you a drink, but I got word that you've been drinking all over town and it's only early afternoon.”

  “Drinking's my hobby,” said Holliday wryly. “I assume Garrett's keeping a watch on me?”

  “Well, you have killed fifty-six or fifty-seven men.”

  Holliday smiled at the way the number kept growing. “I'll accept your kind offer.”

  The deputy opened another drawer, pulled out
a bottle, uncorked it, took a swallow, and handed it to Holliday, who did the same.

  “I hope you'll keep this between us, Doc,” said the deputy. “I could get fired for drinking when I'm on duty.”

  “My lips are sealed,” said Holliday. Suddenly he smiled. “Except when I do this,” he added, taking another swallow.

  “Tell me about the gunfight,” said the deputy.

  “Which gunfight was that?” asked Holliday.

  “Aw, come on, Doc, you know what I mean.”

  For the next few minutes Holliday recounted the Gunfight at the O.K. Corral. He had just finished when he saw the deputy suddenly looking past him, out the front window.

  “Here comes another one,” the deputy announced, getting to his feet.

  Two burly men, one of them a Mexican, carried a body wrapped in blankets into the office.

  “Third cell,” said the deputy. “The door's open.”

  “What's this?” asked Holliday. “I thought Garrett was out of town.”

  “He is. Gonna have to pay a bounty on this one.” He rifled through a stack of warrants and posters. “Charlie Sanford, four hundred dollars, dead or alive. Nice afternoon's work.”

  “How do you know which one to pay?”

  “They're not bounty hunters,” said the deputy. “They've just been paid to tote the body over here. In fact, there's only one bounty hunter in town at the moment, unless you've joined the ranks,” said the deputy. “Damned good one. This is the third this week.”

  “I'm impressed,” said Holliday. “If I were the Kid, I'd be on my guard.” The two men walked out through the office into the street. “I was going to ask where I could meet this guy, but hell, I've probably run into him already in one of the bars.”

  “I sure as hell doubt it,” said the deputy.

  “Why do you say that?”

  “Because here she comes now.”

  The door opened and Charlotte Branson walked in.

  “Hello, Doc,” she said, unperturbed. “What a surprise meeting you here.”

  “You're not half as surprised as I am,” replied Holliday.

  The deputy unlocked a drawer, counted out eight fifty-dollar bills, and handed them over to her.

  “Are we still on for dinner?” she asked. Suddenly she smiled and held up the money. “It'll be my treat.”

  “I

  HAD NO IDEA WE WERE RIVALS,” said Charlotte, as the waiter brought their dinners to the table on a silver serving dish and then left them alone in a corner of the restaurant. “I'm only after one bounty,” replied Holliday.

  “I thought I was, too,” she said.

  Holliday looked around to make sure no one could overhear them. There were some fifteen tables with tablecloths and dishes that would not have impressed at the better restaurants back East but were the height of elegance in Lincoln. Only the three farthest were occupied; clearly none of the respectable citizenry that frequented the restaurant had any urge to sit near the notorious Holliday.

  “You'll forgive me if I point out that you are far from the typical bounty hunter,” said Holliday.

  “I find that it works to my advantage.”

  “How so?” he asked curiously.

  “I come and go without attracting any attention. There must be a lot of hot-blooded empty-headed young men who want to call you out on the street and draw against you. After all, you're Doc Holliday, and anyone who kills you will find his reputation is immediately enhanced.” She smiled. “But who wants to prove his manhood against an overweight middle-aged woman whose hair is starting to turn gray.”

  “Eventually someone must draw against you,” replied Holliday. “I mean, eventually you have to go to work.”

  “I don't wear a holster, Doc,” said Charlotte. “I don't shoot it out with the men I'm after. They're killers. They've got to be wanted dead or alive. I'm not capable of bring them in alive, so I only go after the ones with a price on their heads even if they're dead. And I don't believe in giving wanted killers an even chance. You might invite the Kid or Clay Allison out into the street to have it out, but there's no need to. They're outlaws, the law wants them dead or alive, and I'm not required to enter into a shootout with them.”

  “So what do you do?” asked Holliday.

  “I wait until they're alone, or perhaps playing poker or faro, and then I walk up behind them and put a bullet in their ear. Most of them never know what happened.”

  Holliday stared at her. “How many men have you killed?”

  “A few.”

  “How many?” he repeated.

  “Counting today, seven.”

  He shook his head in wonderment. “And I've never heard of you.”

  “If you had, I'd be totally ineffective,” she responded with a smile. “If any of these men knew who and what I was, I wouldn't stand a chance.”

  “Well, I'm impressed as all hell,” said Holliday.

  “Thank you, I think,” said Charlotte. “Now eat your dinner. It's getting cold.”

  “Yes, ma'am,” he replied. “I sure wouldn't want to get a deadly killer like yourself mad at me.” He began cutting his steak with exaggerated motions.

  She laughed at his efforts. He kept them up for a few more seconds, then stopped and had a swallow of his whiskey.

  “What got you started?” he asked.

  “The same man you're after,” she said.

  “The Kid?”

  “He killed my husband.”

  “I'm sorry to hear that,” said Holliday.

  “Dwayne wasn't even involved in the Lincoln County War. He was just riding through, after his mine over in Cochise County had played out. The Kid thought he was on the other side and never gave him a chance to explain. He just shot him down in cold blood.” She paused, her face reflecting her emotions. “I was teaching school a couple of hundred miles north of here. When I heard about it I made up my mind to kill him.” She stopped again when she realized she had picked up her steak knife and was holding like a dagger. She placed it down on the table and continued.

  “I bought a gun and spent months practicing with it. I knew I could not beat the Kid in anything remotely resembling a shootout, but I was and am quite prepared to trade my life for his.”

  “Whether you shoot him from six inches or sixty feet, you'd better make your first shot count,” said Holliday, “because you'll never get a second.”

  “When I was ready to take my revenge,” Charlotte continued, “he'd either left Lincoln County or gone into hiding. I knew he'd come back, and in the meantime, there was a wanted bandit taking up residence in my little town. I went to the sheriff's office, found that he was worth five hundred dollars dead or alive, and asked why the sheriff hadn't killed or jailed him. He explained to me that law officers can't collect rewards, and that he wasn't willing to risk his life for the small salary they were paying him.”

  “Can't say that I blame him,” agreed Holliday with a smile.

  “Well, I blame him,” she said. “What's the point of having law officers if they won't go after these villains? At least Pat Garrett wants the Kid as badly as I do.” She took a sip of her tea, decided it had grown too cold, signaled to the waiter, and asked for a fresh cup. “Anyway, I knew if I was going to travel to New Mexico to hunt for the Kid, I'd need money. So one day I saw Jonah sitting on a rocking chair outside the general store—”

  “Jonah?” interrupted Holliday.

  “Jonah Stone,” she replied. “The outlaw. I walked toward the store, and he paid no attention to me. So when I passed behind him I pulled my gun out of my purse, held it an inch from the back of his head, and pulled the trigger.”

  “I'll bet that woke everyone up,” said Holliday in amused tones.

  “Everybody but Jonah,” she agreed. “The sheriff came up, identified him, told the people that I had every right to shoot him, and invited me to return to his office with him, where I signed some official documents and he wired for my money. It arrived the next day, I quit the school as so
on as they found another teacher, and I began my new career.” She smiled. “I killed three more men up north, then heard that the Kid had shown up in Lincoln County again, and decided to come down here to find him. That was when I met you.”

  “I gather you haven't been exactly sedate and inactive since you got here,” said Holliday.

  “Not exactly,” she agreed, still smiling.

  “If you kill the Kid, is that the end of it? Do you retire to a nice little home, or maybe go back to teaching school?”

  She shook her head. “I made more today than I'd make in three years of teaching, and I've made sure one desperado will never kill again. I think I've found my metier.”

  Holliday stared at her. “You're making a serious mistake.”

  “I don't think so.”

  “I admire your courage, but it's born of ignorance,” said Holliday. “No one knows who you are yet, and you've somehow managed to kill seven men. Maybe you can protect your identity a little longer, maybe you can't—but if you kill the Kid, you're a marked woman, and the smartest thing you can do is take a new name and go live in Chicago or Baltimore or some other city east of the Mississippi.” He pushed his mostly uneaten meal aside and leaned forward. “Don't you understand that you're not a bystander anymore? The second you became a bounty hunter, you became the enemy to a couple of hundred deadly killers. The only reason you're alive today, the only reason they're not taking aim at you through the door and windows right now, is because they don't know what you are or who you are.”

  “And I plan to keep it that way,” said Charlotte.

  “It's too late,” persisted Holliday. “The deputy knows you're a bounty hunter. I know it. Probably Garrett knows it. The lawmen up north who paid you know it.”

  “They're officers of the law,” she pointed out.

  “You think they'll protect your identity when a desperate killer points a gun between their eyes and demands to know who some bounty was paid to?”

  “I'll have to think about it, Doc,” said Charlotte. Then: “Would you give them my name?”