CHAPTER 15
Not only did Kelley tell tales of Bat Masterson but Wyatt Earp and his brother as well. They took the conversation outside, where an April breeze raised dust from the dry dirt of Front Street. Butler could see, though, where ruts in the street would fill with water from a good rain. Like most towns, the street would turn to mud when somebody spit.
They grabbed a couple of wooden chairs and sat in front of the hotel, Butler still listening to Kelley’s stories.
“So what’s going on between Bat and Jim?” Butler asked when the ex-mayor paused for a breath.
“Damned if I know,” Kelley said. “Damned if anybody knows. That’s between Bat and Jim, and ain’t one of them talkin’ about it.”
“What about this thing between Jim and his partner?”
“Jim made a bad move partnering with A. J. Peacock. The man’s a snake, and his brother-in-law ain’t much better. I think he’s tryin’ to force Jim to sell out to him.”
“And if he doesn’t?”
Kelley shrugged. “That’s between Jim and Peacock. I got enough problems getting’ along with my own partner.”
“Problems there, too?”
“Not the kind that Jim has, no,” Kelley said. “Just normal partner problems.”
They sat for a few moments in silence, and then Kelley said, “This is very odd.”
“What?”
Kelley had been staring out at the street. Now he turned to look directly at Butler.
“Being able to sit here and talk without havin’ to worry about going to City Hall.”
“It’s probably early to think about this,” Butler said, “but are you thinking of running again?”
“Hell, yeah,” Kelley said fervently. “Wait until this town sees what a mess Webster makes. I’m damn sure gonna run against him next time.” Kelley firmed his jaw. “I miss the damn job already.”
He stood up, and Butler followed suit.
“Don’t listen to me when I say I’m glad to be out of that job,” Kelley said. “Politics is in my blood, and it kills me that I ain’t mayor anymore.” The man fell silent a moment, then repeated, “It kills me.”
He stepped down into the street and crossed without another word. Butler didn’t even have a chance to thank him for the stories, or for picking up the breakfast check.
The slump of Dog Kelley’s shoulders was decidedly sad.
A. J. Peacock came downstairs from his room and found his brother-in-law, Al Updegraff, sleeping on top of the Lady Gay’s bar. He walked over to the snoring man and rolled him off. Updegraff came awake when he hit the floor with a thud, rolled over onto his back.
“Ow,” he said, peering up at Peacock. “What’d you do that for?”
“I don’t want Masterson comin’ down and findin’ you on the bar,” Peacock said. “That is, unless you’re ready to burn powder with him.”
“I ain’t even awake,” Updegraff said, “how’m I supposed to trade lead with Jim Masterson.”
“Get up, then,” Peacock said, quelling the desire to kick his brother-in-law. “For an ex-lawman, you’re a disgrace.”
Updegraff climbed to his feet, staggered behind the bar, grabbed a half-full bottle of whiskey and tipped it up, draining it.
“What’s your problem?” he asked Peacock, wiping his mouth on his sleeve.
“I’ve taken sides with you against Masterson, that’s my problem,” Peacock said.
“You want Masterson’s piece of the Lady Gay, that’s why yer takin’ my side. You think I don’t know that?”
“Whatever the reason,” Peacock said, “the day may come when you and me have to take matters into our own hands.”
“Hey,” Updegraff said, “if it wasn’t for that tinhorn gambler, Masterson would be dead.”
“Yeah, well, let’s not forget if we kill Jim we may have to deal with Bat. That’s why we can’t be the ones who pull the trigger.”
“Well, those boys you sent last night sure didn’t get the job done,” Updegraff muttered.
“Boys I sent?” Peacock asked. “You picked them out, Al!”
“You sent them after him.”
Peacock and Updegraff stared at each other, then both looked upstairs, where Jim Masterson’s room was. If he’d heard them he would have come out by now.
“Keep your damned voice down,” Peacock said. “Look, you find three or four boys who can do the job, understand? Tinhorn gambler or no. And let me know when you get them.”
“Yeah, okay.”
Updegraff reached for another bottle and Peacock said—still keeping his voice down—“and stop drinkin’ my whiskey!”
Butler took a turn around Dodge City, taking in everything, including the not yet open Long Branch Saloon, and the fairly dead red-light district. Nothing in the district opened until late in the day.
Along the way he picked up a copy of the Dodge City Times. It was obvious that Mike Deaver’s old man was going to find out what had happened to his son in the Alhambra the night before, because it was in the newspaper. There must have been a reporter in the Lady Gay, observing everything, because the story was very accurate. So accurate, in fact, that it mentioned everyone at the table—including him.
He folded the paper and shook his head. This wasn’t good, but then who back East read the Dodge City Times? And it wasn’t as if they weren’t going to find him again. They were. They would always find him and try him. He supposed that one day he’d get tired of it and return to the East, but this wasn’t that day.
He stood on the corner of Front and 2nd Avenue. It was nearing lunchtime and the town had come to life long ago. Wagons and horses moving up and down Front Street, men and women passing him on the street, some bidding him good morning or good day, others nodding, still others ignoring. He was wearing a dark suit, boiled white shirt, and string tie, along with his good boots. It was the way he usually dressed, and pretty much branded him a gambler, but he liked the way he looked when he dressed this way. And he never tried to hide his profession from anyone.
He’d spotted a small café during his walk, and decided it was a likely place for lunch. He’d sniffed the aromas coming from inside, recognized the smell of baking. He was in the mood for coffee and pie.
CHAPTER 16
The café was small and filled with delicious smells. Even after the full breakfast he’d had, his mouth started to water when he walked in. There were only a few tables—mismatched, and they looked handmade, as did the chairs—and none of them were taken, at the moment. He looked around, waited and when no one appeared, he seated himself. After a few moments he called out, “Anybody home?”
Abruptly, a man stuck his head in from what Butler assumed was a curtained doorway to the kitchen.
“Oh, sorry,” he said, “didn’t hear you come in.” He came out the door, cleaning his hands on the once white apron he wore around his ample waist. “Fact, is, hardly nobody ever comes in here.”
“I don’t see why not?” Butler asked. “There sure are good smells coming from here.”
“Obliged to you for that, Mister,” the man said. “You must be a stranger in town. See, most local folks eat over to the Delmonico, or in one of the hotels. I keep stuff on the stove just in case, but most of the time me and my family ends up eatin’ it ourselves.”
“Well, I wouldn’t want to deprive your family of anything—” Butler started to say.
“No, hey,” the man said, “I’m in business, after all. What’s your pleasure? I got some real good beef stew on the stove.”
His intention had been to only have some pie, but now he felt he needed to order something more.
“Sounds good,” Butler said. “I’ll try a bowl of that, and follow it with some pie.”