More than any other time, Doc felt like a kid when he was in Seegar’s presence. That much was clear to see in the way he sat as if deferring to the older man. His cool blue eyes were fixed upon a spot on the table, and a grim expression remained a part of his face.
“Remember when you first came to Dallas?” Seegar asked. “I met you at the train station and took you home to meet Martha and the kids. We felt like a real family right from the start. Dr. Hape in Atlanta couldn’t recommend you highly enough, and I was more than happy to take on a young man like yourself with such promising credentials.”
“I remember, John. It wasn’t that long ago.”
Seegar nodded. “No, it wasn’t that long ago, but a lot has happened in the meantime. We had a great practice. An award-winning practice, no less,” he added with a proud smile. “Ever since then, you’ve been drinking and gambling as though it’s going out of season. Even though you won’t come with me and the family to church, I know you were raised better than that.”
“I was just raised Methodist,” Doc said. “It’s not a disease, you know.”
Welcoming Doc’s dry wit the way a starving man welcomed Thanksgiving dinner, Seegar nodded and laughed heartily. After easing back so he could take a look around the saloon, Seegar eventually let his eyes settle upon Doc. This time, Holliday had no problem meeting his gaze.
“You’re slipping, Henry,” Seegar said in a level voice. “I wish there was a better way to put it, but I won’t insult your intelligence by skirting the issue.”
“Is that what you came here for?”
“I think you already know it is.”
Doc lifted the bottle partly to his lips but set it down again without tasting a drop. “I did have a notion. Your forehead wrinkles when you’re worried about business. That, and when you’re about to tell someone they need to get all their teeth pulled.”
Seegar chuckled. “Guess I couldn’t make it too well as a gambler, huh?”
Smirking, Doc replied, “I’d be more than happy to play some high-stakes games against you. Of course, I don’t exactly know what I’d do after winning the practice as well as your house and life savings after a solid half hour of poker.”
“It’d probably be closer to ten minutes. Speaking of that, I’ve heard you’ve become quite the professional where gambling is concerned.”
“I’ve been known to dabble. I find that the games I played as a child around the kitchen table were twice as cutthroat as anything you’re likely to find in a gaming parlor.”
“Used to be that when I heard folks talking about you around here, they’d mention your professionalism as a dentist or even those imported clothes you like to wear. Anymore, I hear people discussing all-night poker games at the St. Charles Saloon or you dealing faro at the Alhambra.”
“There’s just as much respect to be earned being a sporting man as in pulling teeth,” Doc said with a current of annoyance running beneath his tone.
This time, when Seegar spoke, he punctuated his words by knocking his fist against the table. “Dentistry is a respected profession. You went to school for it, and you’ve still got a commitment to your cousin where that is concerned. Or have you already forgotten about Robert?”
Doc’s eyes snapped into sharp focus as they locked onto Dr. Seegar. “Robert can handle himself just fine, and if you’re suggesting I would have any part in harming his future—”
“I know you wouldn’t intend on hurting Robert,” Seegar quickly amended. “But weren’t the two of you going to open a practice once he graduated from his own studies?”
Doc nodded.
“And I understand the two of you were very close as children.”
“Like brothers.”
“Then how do you think he would feel about you drinking yourself into a stupor every other night and not even showing up for work more than two or three days out of the week? How would Robert feel about you taking up as a professional gambler and carrying a pistol like so many of the troublemakers that live in saloons like this?”
“I don’t show up for work because there’s hardly any patients showing up anymore. It’s been that way all year, and it’s only getting worse. And if you have the gall to say I’m to blame for slow business, then I will be forced to disagree.”
Seegar lifted his bands and shook his head. “I wouldn’t dream of blaming you for that. But there are ups and downs in any business. A dental practice isn’t any different. Someone needs to call you out for the mess you’ve made of things on those other accounts.”
“Mess? Whatever do you mean?”
“Don’t make me repeat myself, Henry.”
“I still practice dentistry when I can, and will never give up that profession. In case you haven’t noticed, this lovely Texas air hasn’t cured my condition, which is why I must seek comfort in the arms of this particular mistress,” Doc explained while holding up the whiskey bottle. “I find spitting up blood and having dizzy spells much easier to bear after a few drinks. Besides, since most drunks already have those conditions, I might as well taste the benefits as well.”
“What benefits?”
“Being able to ignore the pitying looks I receive, for one. Folks see me coming, and they give me those god-damned doe eyes like I’m some invalid that somehow managed to get up and dressed for a walk.” Doc’s voice had lowered almost to a hissing snarl. “They ask how I’m feeling or how the fine weather’s been treating me as if they truly gave a damn. At least the men at a card table offer more by way of conversation than the hushed condolences I get otherwise.”
“Folks mean well,” Seegar retorted. “You know that.”
“Then maybe I prefer putting the odds in my favor for a change. You ever think about that?” As if suddenly realizing the aggression in his voice, Doc took a breath and let it out calmly. “Ever since I’ve been born, folks have been planning my funeral. And when I manage to pull through, they say it’s a miracle. Well I have news for you and everyone else. It’s not a miracle. I’ve been fighting every day of my life, and when I was too weak to fight anymore, there have been precious few out there to help me along.
“You say I’m putting those people I care about to shame? I say that I’m still fighting tooth and nail, even though I sometimes don’t see the sense in doing anything but curling up and hacking out my last breath.”
Seegar listened to every word and thought carefully before responding. “Your condition isn’t too far along to—”
“This is the condition that killed my mother,” Doc said, “and she was one of the strongest people I ever knew. It might kill me, and it might not, but I’ll be damned if I’m going to just stay quiet and keep my head bowed as some illness has its way with me! My mother as well as anyone else who truly cares for me would rather see me indulge in all seven of the deadly sins rather than roll over and give in.”
“Anyone would be proud to see the things you’ve accomplished, Henry. All I’m asking is that you don’t throw it all away. By all means, keep living life to the fullest, but don’t waste away in places like this, filling yourself with liquor. You’re better than that!”
Nodding, Doc looked down at the table to collect his thoughts. When he looked up again, his anger had left him completely. In fact, he barely even displayed the effects of drinking half a bottle of whiskey.
“You know what I think the problem is?” Doc asked.
Seegar’s face brightened a bit. “What’s that?”
“You and I have different interpretations of living life to the fullest.”
And with that one sentence, Seegar knew he’d just lost the battle he’d come to fight. “Can I at least ask you to stop dealing faro? That reflects badly on a man in my . . . a man in our profession.”