The Accomplice (9 page)

It was the busiest time of the night for any saloon, but the Busted Flush was even busier than usual. The moment Caleb walked in, the entire place exploded with cheers and joyous hollers, which died down just before shots got fired into the rafters.

Caleb waded through the people, most of which he recognized, and made his way to the bar. Hank was all smiles as he reached across to slap Caleb on the shoulder like a proud father on graduation day.

“Glad to have you back, Caleb!” Hank said. “I knew you wouldn’t be gone for long!”

Caleb’s head was spinning as he looked around at the folks who were already getting back to their own revelry. “Jesus, I didn’t know so many people cared about what happened to saloon owners around here.”

As if on cue, one of the less familiar faces in the crowd shoved past Caleb and snapped his fingers to get Hank’s attention. “Hey barkeep, you still handing out them free drinks?”

Hank turned and quickly poured a splash of whiskey into one of the smallest glasses. When the other man saw that he was barely getting a finger and a half of liquor, he shrugged and downed it in one gulp. After letting out a wheezing breath followed by a twitch, the man dropped the glass and headed for the door.

“Ah,” Caleb said as he looked around at everyone crammed into the Busted Flush. “Now it makes sense.”

“We are happy to have you back, Caleb,” Hank said. “I just thought a party would brighten your spirits.”

“It did, Hank. Thanks.”

Suddenly, Hank’s eyes widened, and he put on another grin. “Is that you, Dr. Holliday?”

“It certainly is. Did I hear mention of free drinks?”

“Well, one free drink anyway. For the party. Here you go.” Hank poured the splash of whiskey into a clean glass and set it onto the bar.

Doc scooped up the glass and downed the whiskey in a fluid, practiced motion. Reacting as if he’d taken a sip of milk, Doc set the glass down and nudged it forward. “Just one, you said?”

Before Hank could respond, Caleb hopped over the bar and said, “Doc’s drinks are on the house. Every last one of them.”

Although Hank smiled amiably, he shot more than a few wary glances in Caleb’s direction. “Are you . . . uh . . . sure about that?”

“Yep.” Snapping his eyes in Doc’s direction, he added, “But just for tonight.”

“Fair enough,” the dentist replied. Then he nudged the empty glass a bit more in Hank’s direction.

Fretting to himself, Hank reached to the shelf behind the bar for one of the bottles of whiskey. After lingering for a moment, he shifted his hand toward one of the less expensive selections and placed it in front of Doc.

With the bottle in one hand and his glass in the other, Doc poured himself a generous portion and downed it in much the same way as he did the first time around. As before, he barely even flinched as the firewater burned its way through his system. Lifting his empty glass to the barkeep, Doc said, “Hank, my friend, you and I are going to get along marvelously.”

Seeing that Doc was doing just fine on his own, Hank walked toward the office in the back and motioned for Caleb to follow him. After fixing himself a drink of his own, Caleb went along happily as one of the other bar-keeps stepped in to take his place.

“When did you and Dr. Holliday get so close?” Hank asked in a quick, hurried whisper.

“We’re not blood brothers or anything, but he’s a good enough sort.”

“I’ve only seen him about town a few times, but I’ve never seen him get involved as much as he did earlier tonight when he came around here.”

“What happened?”

Taking a quick glance behind him, Hank put his back to where Doc was sitting and explained, “He asked every last soul in here about what they saw the other night and if they knew where to find the others that were here. He even came to me and asked what I’d be telling Ben Mays when he came calling.”

“I hope you intended on making me look good.”

“Of course I did,” Hank said dismissively. “But some of those others seemed more inclined to call you a murderer than anything else.”

“That’s just not true, Hank.”

“I know you’re not a killer, but some folks around here don’t like the things they’ve heard about you. Some of them point to the rougher days in your youth and say you’re a bad influence on this town.”

“Good Lord, all I ever did was get into some fights and pull some stupid shit when I was a kid. Whatever they heard about me must be a bunch of gossip. I’ve done nothing but run the Flush since I first made it to Dallas.”

Patting the air to soothe Caleb’s nerves, Hank said, “I know, I know. All I’m saying is that I was mighty surprised to hear some of them folks sing your praises to the law after they were pointing fingers at you when Loco Mike was bleeding out on the floor.”

Once again, Caleb could feel his face getting warmer. The pounding in his ears made a throbbing rhythm in his head that was almost enough to drown out the sound of his teeth grinding together. After a few breaths, Caleb looked around at the festivities around him.

“You say Doc told those people to lie?” Caleb asked.

Hank shrugged his shoulders. “I don’t know what they told that ranger, exactly. It was just odd to have so many people backing me up when I told what happened between you and Mike.”

“And you told the truth?”

“Sure I did.”

“Then I guess there’s no problem. After the night I had, I’m willing to take what I can get and move on from there.”

Even though Caleb was doing his best to put some feeling into the smile he was wearing, Hank wasn’t faring so well. Instead, the barkeep looked more like he’d just discovered a splinter wedged in his nether regions.

“I’m glad you’re out of jail and all,” Hank said. “But there’s been some folks asking around for you since Mays came and went.”

“One of those witnesses you were concerned about?”

Hank nodded.

Just then, the sound of the front door slamming against the wall rattled over the rest of the noise inside the saloon, followed by a snarling voice. “There’s the man I wanted to see!”

Caleb turned and saw one man practically filling the doorway with his bulk and wearing a sloppy, shit-eating grin. Coming in behind the big fellow was a smaller man witb a grimy face followed by an old man who struck Caleb as familiar.

The first two were staring daggers across the saloon, and both of them wore guns strapped around their waists.

“Let me guess,” Caleb said. “Those are the men you’re talking about?”

Hank nodded sheepishly. “Yep. That’d be them.”

Doc held the bottle he’d been given by the neck and dragged it along with him to a table with only one other occupied chair. The crowd inside the Busted Flush was thinning a bit, but there were more than enough people left to provide ample cover for a man who clearly wanted some time to himself.

After sitting down and putting his bottle in front of him, Doc reached for his glass. Unfortunately, the glass he was looking for was still on the bar where he’d left it. “Damn it,” Doc muttered. Meeting the curious gaze of the gray-haired gentleman sitting across the table from him, Doc lifted his bottle and tipped it back to pour some whiskey straight down his throat. By the time he set the bottle down again, the other man was gone.

Letting out a satisfied sigh, Doc felt a scratch at the back of his throat and clenched for the coughing fit that he knew was closing in on him. He snatched a handkerchief from his breast pocket and draped it over the back of his hand with a well-practiced flip of his wrist. Hacking a few times into the folded linen, Doc drowned the remaining coughs with whiskey and sighed again as the fit subsided.

Lifting the bottle once more, Doc swirled the whiskey inside and took quick measure of how much was left. Before he could take another swig, he spotted a well-dressed gentleman working his way through the crowd. Doc’s light blue eyes fixed upon the man with the freshly trimmed beard and fashionable, navy blue suit.

“Good evening, Henry.”

Doc smirked at that and replied, “Evening, John.”

John Seegar was one of the few people who called Doc by his middle name. It seemed to be appropriate since the fifty-year-old dentist shared Doc’s first name and cut down on some confusion since both men also shared the same dental practice on Elm Street.

After settling himself into the chair, Seegar pulled in a breath and then winced as if he’d instantly regretted it. “Normally you spend your nights at the St. Charles.”

“They do host better games over there.”

“Yes. Indeed.”

A few awkward moments passed as Seegar squirmed and stared down at his hands, which were picking at a stray splinter on the table in front of him. Finally, the older dentist looked up and caught Doc taking another drink. “What the hell are you doing, Henry?”

“I’m having a drink. Care to join me?”

“Thank you, no. What I meant to ask was, what are you doing to yourself? You know I don’t approve of the way you spend your nights, but surely you can see that this isn’t—”

At that moment, the front door was kicked open, and the odd-looking trio of men shouted across the saloon to catch Caleb’s attention. Doc’s eyes went over to the bulky man and immediately picked out the miner who’d sat in on the poker game with himself, Mike Abel, and Virgil Ellis.

Although Doc started to get up, he was stopped by the stern look etched onto Seegar’s face. Seeing Caleb stride through the crowd and step up to the two armed men and the older miner was enough to put Doc somewhat at ease. It seemed Caleb was confident enough talking to the men on his own.

“Are you going to answer me?” Seegar asked. Although he’d noticed the noisy entrance of the three men, he regarded it as just another vulgar display that was all too common in such places as the Busted Flush.

“I do my job,” Doc replied as he sank back into his chair.

“Just barely.” Softening his voice, he added, “You’re a fine dentist, Henry. It’s just that lately you’ve allowed your nightlife to interfere. I mean, do I really need to point this out to you?”

Doc’s grip tightened around the neck of the bottle. “You’ve always stood by me, John. That’s why you should know that I can’t just go about like I have a nice, cheery future in front of me.”

“You certainly won’t have a future if you keep pouring that liquor down your throat.”

“I don’t know if I’ll live to see next Christmas, and my nightlife doesn’t have much to do with it.”

Seegar nodded solemnly. “Your consumption doesn’t bother you as much out here in Texas as it did in Georgia. You told me so, yourself.”

“When I first got to Dallas, maybe. But that was a year ago. Besides, you don’t have to be a doctor to know that the reaper will find me here just as surely as he would have found me back home. I don’t see any reason why I should sit back and wait quietly for the inevitable.”

“I always admired that fighting spirit. Henry. But how are you so certain what’s inevitable and what isn’t?”

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.