Even as the incoming bullets hissed past his ears, Doc never felt compelled to run or even duck. He simply looked for his next target, took his shot, and moved on. After spotting his own gun in Theison’s belt, Doc walked over to retrieve it.
Theison snarled through his bloody mask when he saw Doc lean toward him. He was set to fire point-blank at the dentist, but before his finger tightened around his trigger, the roar of Doc’s Colt filled the air. Hot lead punched the deputy square in the chest, and another round blazed a tunnel through his skull. He was dead before the back of his head hit the floor.
Now that he was using his own gun, Doc was firing his shots even quicker than before. His eyes were narrowed and seeking his next target as he straightened up to stand amid the swirling cloud of black smoke.
Cambridge fired a quick shot but caught a round in the chest, which put him down for good.
That only left one other man. Danny was bleeding from a wound in his arm, but that didn’t stop him from squeezing his trigger again and again. His ammunition had been spent in his initial, panicked frenzy, which left him with nothing but a series of metallic clicks as his hammer dropped upon one spent shell after another.
Doc walked slowly up to the last deputy. “Now I remember where I’ve seen you,” he said.
The other man was too busy looking at the bodies on the floor and the gun in Doc’s hand to do much of anything but mutter, “Jesus . . . Jesus Christ!”
“You boys are the ones who toss drunks out of the Alhambra,” Doc said. “That would mean you’re not really the law after all.”
“P-put the gun down,” Danny stammered.
“Or what? You’ll arrest me?” Doc shook his head and stepped back so he had the man in his sights. “Tell me what you were meant to do here, and I might consider allowing you to walk out of here.”
Although Danny wanted to hold his tongue, he was too rattled to even look Doc in the eyes. “We was supposed to . . . kill you.”
“I figured that much. Now tell me why.”
“Mr. Weeks . . . he said to make sure that Injun found you. Weeks arranged for all of this.”
“What else is on his mind?”
Danny’s eyes wobbled in their sockets as he fought to come up with something to say that would save his life. When he came up empty, tears started to well up and slide down his cheek.
“Toss that gun,” Doc said.
Danny let the empty weapon slip from his fingers.
“And any backup you might have.”
“I don’t have any others. I swear.”
Doc’s eyes narrowed as he cocked his head a bit to one side and sighted along the barrel of his gun.
Reflexively, Danny cowered and threw up his hands. “I swear to God, I don’t have any more guns. Please don’t kill me!”
Doc holstered his pistol and held out his hand. “Come on, now. Get up.”
At first, Danny seemed surprised that he was still drawing breath. Then, he took Doc’s hand and allowed himself to be hoisted onto his feet. “Y-you ain’t gonna kill me?”
“Not unless you’d prefer it that way.”
Danny shook his head so hard it almost twisted from the top of his neck.
“I want you to take me back to Weeks.”
The gratitude in Danny’s eyes started to fade and was soon replaced with confusion. “Huh? Why?”
“Just for a little chat. But first, you’re going to help me move these bodies somewhere a little less conspicuous.”
[25]
Weeks shot up from his chair in the back room of the St. Charles as if he’d been kicked toward the ceiling. “What the hell is this?” he snarled. “What’s he doing here?”
Doc walked into the room, accompanied by the man who’d been posing as a deputy.
“Answer me, Danny,” Weeks demanded.
The deputy patted the air and stopped where he was, allowing Doc to step forward. “He wanted to have a word with you, Mr. Weeks, that’s all.”
“Bullshit. Where’s Theison?”
“Theison’s gone. So’s Cambridge.”
Weeks looked nervously from Doc to Danny and back again. “What about Mays?”
“He can come visit me,” Doc said in a friendly tone. “When I turn myself in to Sheriff Hopper.”
“Then what the hell are you doing here?” Weeks asked.
“Simple. I think you’ve made a mistake.”
“A mistake?”
Doc nodded.
“What’s he talking about, Danny?” Weeks asked. “And where the fuck are those other two?”
“They made a mistake, too,” Doc said plainly. “And I defended myself.”
That brought Weeks’s eyes to Doc and kept them there. “You killed them?”
“Let’s not dwell on that. Instead, I’d like to talk about the future.”
“You ain’t got no future, Doc.”
“That’s where you’re wrong,” Doc said with a grin. “In fact, I see us both having one hell of a future . . . as co-owners of all the major saloons in town.”
Weeks was speechless. At least, he was for a few moments. He walked around his small desk and sat upon its edge. After studying Doc carefully, he smiled. “You want the same deal I offered Wayfinder? Unless you’re the owner of the Busted Flush, I don’t see how that would apply.”
“I may not be the owner, but I know Caleb well enough to steer him in a mutually beneficial direction.”
“And why should I listen to a damn word you’re saying? Especially since I’ve got men in this very room who’ll be glad to burn you down.”
Doc looked around and saw the other two gunmen sitting nearby. “If you think these men will fare any better than those supposed deputies, then by all means, give the order. But I don’t think that’s what you’re after. You want the Flush, and I can give it to you.”
Motioning for the gunmen to stay put, Weeks asked, “How, exactly?”
“We can arrange for you to win it, fair and square. Well,” Doc added, “at least as fair and square as we can afford to be.”
Weeks rubbed his chin thoughtfully and kept his eyes fixed on Doc. After a few quiet moments, he asked, “You talking about the game being held at the Alhambra next week?”
“That one’s as good as any. I’ll need some elbow room and a bit of time to talk him into it, but I should be able to swing it. Once Caleb thinks he’s weathered the storm you’ve sent his way, it shouldn’t be difficult to get him into that game. But for this to work, I’ll need someone else working with me in the game itself. It should be someone that Caleb already recognizes.”
“You have anyone in mind?”
Doc nodded. “Actually, I do.”
The front door to the Busted Flush came open, and a familiar, slender figure walked into the saloon.
“There you are, Doc!” Caleb said as he rushed forward to greet the dentist. “I went down to where they took the rest of the gamblers that were swept up, and you never showed. What the hell happened to you?”
“There was a bit of trouble,” Doc said. “And I’ll be more than happy to tell you about it over a drink.”
“How about you tell me before you start downing the whiskey?”
“Well, I was dragged into an empty building and lined up for execution by three of Weeks’s gun hands. I managed to get a gun from one of them and then kill a few to secure my escape. Now, how about that drink?”
Caleb’s mouth hung open, and it took a while for him to close it again. “Sure, Doc,” he said after a few seconds. “I think I’ll join you.”
As Caleb poured, Doc gave him a rundown of what happened after he was escorted out of the Flush. When he was done, he drained the glass in front of him and let out a slow, measured breath.