“What the hell do you want here?” Weeks asked. “I had my trial and paid my fine. You would’ve known that if you and that Injun hadn’t run out of Dallas like a couple dogs with your tails tucked between your legs.”
“I came to visit you, Bret,” Doc said calmly. “And to toast your new start in another town.”
“Other town? What other town?”
“Any one but this one.”
Weeks gritted his teeth and started breathing in loud, powerful gusts.
“Or do you need me to drag you through the mud one more time?” Doc asked in a biting tone.
That was all Weeks could take. Just by looking at him, Doc could tell that Weeks wasn’t anything close to the man he’d been when he still had all his saloons and men to back him up. The desperation showed in the dark circles under his eyes as well as the strain in his voice. His anger showed in the flexing of his jaw muscles and the way he swore under his breath as he went to pull his gun from its holster.
Doc’s hand swept toward the holster under his left arm. He cleared leather in a motion that was every bit as smooth and sure as his Georgia accent. The Colt spat out a brief shower of sparks to illuminate the front of Doc’s dark gray suit as a bullet hissed through the air to slap wetly into Weeks’s forehead.
For a moment, Weeks merely stood there with a stunned expression on his face. His hand wavered slightly and then became too weak to hold his gun. Weeks’s knees pounded against the floor at the same time as his weapon, and then he slumped over to spill the contents of his skull onto the floor.
“The place is yours again, Charlie,” Doc said. “Just as it should be.”
Slack-jawed, Charlie glanced between Doc and Weeks. “But . . . there’s folks still out on the street,” he said. “Someone’s bound to have heard the shot.”
Caleb was already inside and lifting Weeks’s body over his shoulder. “You two were drunk and had some words,” he said. “Anyone who knows Doc will believe that one.”
Holstering his Colt, Doc added, “What if the shots were just to celebrate the New Year?”
“Just pick one and stick to it,” Caleb said as he dragged Weeks into the alley. “I’ll meet up with you back in Dennison.”
“I don’t have the words, Doc,” Charlie said. “You just took one hell of a thorn out of my side.”
Already, there were men gathering at the front door of the St. Charles. One of them was a deputy and stepped in to get a look.
“Whatever you tell folks that happened here, just keep Caleb’s name out of it,” Doc said as he set his gun on the bar and turned to face the deputy. “He’s got enough on his plate without being an accomplice.”
“Accomplice to what?” Charlie asked.
Doc grinned as he removed his flask from his pocket and took a drink. “I’ve got a few ideas.”