“I heard you was lucky,” Mike said to Doc. “I also heard you was a cheat. What I know for damn sure you want me to call so bad you can taste it.” Without another word, he pitched his cards onto the table so roughly that they flipped over to reveal a pair of kings. “I’ll get you next time.”
Doc turned his cards over and set them down. There was plenty of paint to be found, but none of it matched.
“Ace high?” Mike snarled.
The cowboy gaped at the cards as if they’d come alive and started to dance.
Virgil let out a disgusted sigh but tipped his hat to the dentist. “You got me, Doc. You’d have a hell of a career in theater.”
“Possibly,” Doc replied. The southern drawl in his voice lent it even more of an amused tone. “But I’d rather be up close to my audience. More fun that way.” He reached out and pulled in a portion of the chips while looking over to Mike.
The miner laughed under his breath at first, but then out loud. It was a sad, regretful laugh that was directed more at himself than the situation. “Good game, Doc. Next time, I’ll know to listen to my gut.”
“And next time, I’ll try to draw better cards.”
Mike was seething. His fingers curled around the edge of the table with such power that his knuckles turned white. “You . . . bluffed me . . . with an . . . ace high?”
“The night’s young, Mike,” Doc drawled. “And you’ve got to admit it was a hell of a ride.”
Letting out a breath that was like steam coming from a bull’s nostrils, Mike stood up and lifted his side of the table with him. Chips scattered and cards fluttered through the air as the heavy table knocked into both Virgil and the miner. By the time the edge of the table slammed against the floor, Mike was reaching for his gun.
“Aww hell,” Caleb grunted as he jumped behind the bar. “Here we go.”
[6]
Caleb jumped onto the bar, slid a few inches over the polished surface, and then dropped down on the other side. He could already hear hell breaking loose behind him, and the money needed to fix the damages rang up like there was a cash register in his head. Glasses were breaking, and chairs were surely to follow, making the stitches in his face the least of Caleb’s pains.
“What’s happening?” Hank asked as he crouched down to try to help Caleb to his feet.
But Caleb was already upright and searching the saloon around him. When he saw the first glint of bared iron, he grabbed hold of the barkeep’s shirt and pulled him down behind the bar. A gunshot barked through the air as the table that had played host to Mike’s game rolled lazily on the floor.
“Just what I thought would happen, that’s what,” Caleb snarled.
“You knew there was gonna be a fight?”
“I had a real good suspicion.”
“Should I call the law?”
“No,” Caleb said as he began searching behind the bar. Finding what he was after, he grabbed hold of the sawed-off shotgun and made sure it was loaded. “I’ll take care of this myself.”
The first gunshot had come from another table not too far from where Doc was sitting. Even though there wasn’t actually a table in front of him any longer, he remained in his seat and looked around as though he was merely sampling a passing breeze. Apparently, someone had tried to take advantage of the sudden turmoil by grabbing the money from another table.
It didn’t seem as though they were going to get away with it.
“You’re dead, Holliday,” Mike said as he kicked his chair onto the floor behind him.
“It was a fair hand,” Doc said while calmly getting to his feet. “Grousing about it won’t help.”
Virgil dusted himself off as he got back onto his feet. While he’d managed to avoid getting hit by too much of the overturned table, the miner sitting next to him had caught the brunt of it. Orville was holding his side but still managing to scoop up as many of his claims as he could hold with his free hand before making a run for it.
“Doc’s right,” Virgil said. “You lost fair and square. We both did.”
Mike’s lips curled back into an animal’s snarl. “Fair, my ass. He either agrees to hand my money back, or I put him out of his goddamn misery.”
Doc’s eyes were even colder than when he’d bet everything he had on an ace high. The hand he was betting on at the moment, however, was the one hovering within a few inches of the pistol holstered beneath his left arm. “You already made a mess,” Doc said in his smooth, southern manner. “Don’t make it any worse.”
As the players at the nearby table still struggled among themselves for the money in their own game, the flaring tempers seemed to spread like wildfire throughout the rest of the saloon. People who’d turned away from their games to see what was happening found their stacks of money depleted or another player peeking at cards that weren’t their own.
Standing in the eye of the hurricane, Mike, Doc, and Virgil stared each other down as if nothing else existed.
Suddenly, thunder filled the Busted Flush as the air exploded with the sound of a shotgun being fired into the ceiling.
“Enough of this!” Caleb shouted from where he stood in the middle of the main room. “Everyone step back, put your guns on the floor, and take a breath! If we can settle up and get on with our night, there won’t be any need to get the law.”
Doc’s voice drifted toward Mike like a stiletto wrapped in silk. “I know how we can settle this. Let’s flip a coin for it. Maybe you’ll have an easier time at that than trying to figure out how to play poker.”
A string of unintelligible curses spewed from Mike’s mouth as his hand snapped toward his gun.
With a flicker of motion and a subtle lean forward, Doc had drawn his own pistol and stuck the barrel underneath Mike’s chin.
Mike froze in his place; his hand still wrapped around a pistol that was almost clear of its holster. After a bit of pressure from the gun against his chin and a devilish tilt of Doc’s head, Mike loosened his grip and allowed the pistol to drop back into its holster.
“That’s better,” Doc said, ignoring the chaos swirling around him.
“Goddammit, Doc,” came a grumbling, familiar voice. “Why couldn’t you just leave well enough alone?”
Doc’s eyes flickered in the direction of that question and found Virgil standing up and shoving aside a drunk who’d decided to try his hand at brawling. As he looked back toward Mike, Doc made a couple of sideways steps so he could watch both men without having to look away from either one.
“That miner had more deeds in his pocket. Deeds that were actually worth something,” Virgil said. “He was about to wager every last one of them before you stepped in and spoiled the whole thing.”
“Well then,” Doc said. “I suppose you had every intention of splitting your share with me?”
Virgil glanced over to the miner, who was busy scrambling toward the front door while doing his best to avoid the incoming punches, kicks, or bottles flying through the air. While the brawl wasn’t the biggest the Busted Flush had ever seen, it was doing a fair amount of damage.
“Damn. He’s headed out the door,” Virgil said.
“He’s a gambler,” Doc pointed out. “Not to mention the fact that he came out ahead today. He’ll be back, and he won’t mind playing with us. It’s this one he’s gonna be wary of.” With that last part, Doc pushed his gun underneath Mike’s chin just enough to point the other man’s head upward a few more degrees.
But Virgil didn’t even seem to take notice of Mike squirming and cursing at the end of Doc’s arm. Instead, he shook his head and slowly lowered his arm until it was within drawing distance of his pistol. “He’s not the one that worries me, Doc. At least he knows his place.”