The Accomplice (15 page)

“Actually, things may get a little rough before they get better,” Doc said. “Are you up for it?”

Caleb took the gun from Doc’s hand and let his finger settle over the trigger. From there, he extended his arm, took aim, and fired enough times to empty the cylinder. When the smoke cleared, all but one of the six remaining bottles had been shattered.

“I think I can handle myself just fine,” Caleb said while handing the gun back to its owner.

It was just past nine that night when Doc came back into the Busted Flush. The suit he wore was freshly pressed and so black that it made his diamond stickpin stand out like a single star in an otherwise barren night sky. A large, flat case was tucked under one arm, and the smile on his face was wide enough to light up the room. Tipping his hat to everyone he met, Doc made his way to the bar where Hank was waiting.

“I’d like to have a word with Caleb, if you please,” Doc said in his cordial southern drawl.

Hank nodded and took in the sight before him. “I hear you’re to be dealing faro.”

“That is correct, sir.”

“That’s an awful big change from dentistry, ain’t it?”

“Every man is allowed his distractions, and with the annoying trend in which people have been maintaining their oral hygiene, I find that the added income is all too welcome.”

Although it had been Hank’s intention to put Doc through the same paces that he put every gambler, he soon found himself sharing the same high spirits that had gotten into the young dentist. “Caleb’s set to come out here and work behind the bar. I’ll have him check in on you before I leave, since it’s bound to get busy in here tonight.”

“Ah yes, the big poker tournament.”

“Well, we hope it’ll be big. I just hope it’ll be bigger than the last few.”

“Perhaps I can sit in for a few hands.”

“Why don’t you worry about dealing faro for now,” Hank said. “Your table’s right over there.”

Looking in the direction where Hank was pointing, Doc spotted a table against the far wall that was sectioned off with rope.

“Holly’s to be your lookout,” Hank said.

“Fine. Hopefully she’ll be able to keep her eyes on the cards instead of the dealer.”

“That’s what she gets paid for,” Hank replied. After Doc had turned and walked through the room, the barkeep shook his head and stepped up to the door leading into Caleb’s office. He knocked and stepped inside to find Caleb already jumping out of his seat. “Dr. Holliday is here.”

Caleb smiled and stepped around his desk. “Great. Did you show him to his table?”

“Yep. He brought his own setup and is getting situated now.”

“Perfect.”

“I don’t know about all this, Caleb. I mean, Holliday has a reputation around Dallas that don’t have a thing to do with his dental practice.”

“In case you haven’t heard, I’ve been getting a reputation myself after Mike Abel got himself killed in here.”

“How about a little respect? You were the one that killed him, after all.”

“Don’t start preaching to me,” Caleb grunted. “What the hell’s wrong with you, anyway?”

“Just what I said. Something about having Holliday in here don’t set well.”

“You’re just hungry. Go have some supper and leave the Flush to me. You’ve earned a night off. Besides,” Caleb added, “you always get nervous when we hold poker tournaments.”

“I guess it’s the gamblers. They all wear guns and don’t mind using them.”

Caleb waved off those words and walked past Hank. “Then you chose the wrong line of work, my friend. Spend a night alone with your wife, and maybe you’ll feel better come the morning.”

Hank nodded and grinned. “You may be right about that. Just be sure to let Holly know all that goes into watching over a faro game.”

“She’s done it a few times. Now will you get out of here before a rush comes in and you’re forced to stay?”

“I’m leaving, I’m leaving. See you tomorrow.”

But Caleb seemed to have already forgotten about the barkeep in his rush to get up front. It always got busy on tournament nights. Although the rush usually petered out after most of the locals realized just how unlucky they were, Caleb never missed those first few hours.

Nights like those were the ones that had gotten Caleb into the saloon business in the first place. There simply wasn’t anything to compare with the feeling of gambling for more money than most folks saw in months of back-breaking work. The whiskey tasted better when it was poured between shuffles by a smiling woman leaning over your shoulder. The same old songs from the same piano sounded better when that music drifted through the smoky air and mingled with all those raised voices.

Anything could happen on nights like those. Fortunes could be won or lost. Bullets could fly. Romance could bloom. All of that and more seemed possible when Caleb tied that apron around his waist and stepped up to his bar. The only way for it to get any better was if he was the one sitting at a table, planning his next bluff or testing his luck against the tricky turns of fate.

“Gimme another!” shouted Thirsty from his spot at the end of the bar.

Caleb looked over to the regular and asked, “What’re you drinking tonight? Beer or whiskey?”

“W ... whis . . .” Rather than complete his order, Thirsty opened his mouth, leaned over, and dumped his last two meals onto the floor. “Whiskey!” he shouted after swiping his mouth with the back of his hand. From there, he wobbled on his feet and slumped forward to use the bar as his pillow.

So much for the bright side of saloon ownership.

Caleb dropped some rags onto the floor to stop the pungent fluids from spreading while one of the other bar-tenders went to fetch a bucket and mop.

“While you’re down there,” came a voice from the other side of the bar, “why don’t you shine my boots?”

Caleb looked up with his toe still pressing a rag into the puke when he got a look at a very unwelcome sight. The humpback leaned against the bar with a leering grin upon his ugly face and a full week’s worth of uneven stubble around his crooked mouth.

“If you’re here to talk some more trash to me about paying off your uncle, you can turn right around and leave,” Caleb said.

Jim shook his head. “Too late for that. And it’s too late for no more of yer reward offers, too.”

“Good, because that offer’s not good anymore.”

“Deal’s changed, asshole. Me’n my cousin got some real backing now, so you’d best step in line before you end up dead.”

Caleb straightened up and leaned forward. Although that put him close enough to choke on Jim’s stench, it also put him within easy reach of the polished club nestled just under the bar. “What did you just say?”

“You heard me, cocksucker. You either hand over the shares of this here place, or you won’t have it no more.”

“Get out of here before you’re tossed out.”

“Oh? And who’s gonna do that? Y—”

Jim was unable to finish his sentence because he was already being dragged over the bar and tossed into the chunky puddle that Thirsty had spewed onto the floor.

Keeping one hand firmly clenched around the front of Jim’s shirt, Caleb shoved the humpback down until he’d dipped every bit of his face into the puke. “You need to learn what happens when you push a man too many times, Jim.”

Caleb pounded Jim’s face into the puke once more.

“It’s an ugly thing. Wouldn’t you agree?”

As soon as Jim had a moment to suck in a dry breath, he squirmed and struggled to break Caleb’s grip. “You son of a bitch! My uncle helped you out, and this is how you—”

Instead of being shoved into the vomit, Jim was flipped onto his back and slammed down just hard enough for the breath to be forced from his lungs. He was then dragged across the floor, kicking and swearing the entire way.

Ignoring the words that flew from Jim’s mouth, Caleb hauled the humpback to the back door and kicked it open. Jim’s shirt was starting to tear, so Caleb grabbed hold with both hands to make sure the humpback felt every wooden step as he was pulled out of the Busted Flush and dumped into the lot behind it.

“You asshole!” Jim snarled.

After shutting the door and making sure nobody was in the immediate area, Caleb clamped one hand around a fresh section of Jim’s shirt and his other hand around the humpback’s throat. He then lifted Jim to his feet and shoved him against the wall.

“What did you say to me?” Caleb asked. “You’d best think before answering, because you don’t have your lard-ass cousin here with you.”

Jim steadied himself and quickly tugged his shirt back into line. “You heard me, Injun. I said you need to sign over them shares, or you’ll wind up dead. After that, I called you an asshole.”

Caleb tightened his hand into a fist and buried it into Jim’s gut. The humpback folded around Caleb’s arm, and a loud groan filled the night air.

“Get the hell out of here, Jimmy. There’s no more business between me and your uncle. If you leave now, there won’t even be anything between you and me.”

Although Jim started to walk away, he was moving too slowly to be seriously considering Caleb’s offer. Sure enough, he reached behind him for something under his shirt at the small of his back. When his hand reappeared, it was wrapped around a slender boot knife.

Jim wore a gnarled smile as he hunkered down and lunged forward with his knife. Turning to one side, Caleb swatted at the humpback’s wrist and diverted the blade before it got anywhere close to grazing him.

“Fucking Injun!” Jim spat as he staggered for a step and then collected himself to take another swing. This time, Jim lashed out with a backhanded swipe that was surprisingly quick compared to his first attempt.

Caleb managed to hop back but wasn’t fast enough to get out unscathed. He felt the blade tear through the front of his shirt as well as a few layers of skin as it raked over his belly and sent a fine, bloody mist onto the saloon’s door.

Looking down, Caleb pressed his hand against his midsection and looked at the blood for himself. With his heart slamming in his chest and his ears filled with the pounding noise of every thump, he didn’t feel the first hit of pain. Instead, there was an icy calm that came over him and prodded Caleb onward, despite the blade that Jim was swinging at him for a third time.

Rather than trying to dodge the blade, Caleb reached out for it and felt the steel chew into the side of his hand. Jim smirked wider at the sight of blood and pressed on with even more resolve.

“Yer dead now,” Jim snarled as he took a few quick stabs at Caleb. “We can just take what we want after yer in the ground.”

Caleb stepped back quickly, avoiding the next few stabs. It didn’t take much for him to read the pattern in Jim’s strikes, and Caleb prepared for another lunge. Since most beginning fighters went for the spot they’d already wounded, Caleb reached down with both hands to catch Jim in the very same act.

Leaning in, Jim reached out to sink the blade into Caleb’s belly. Instead, he was stopped short and unable to pull his arm back. Both of Caleb’s hands enclosed Jim’s wrist and then twisted sharply. Jim let out a pained holler and let go of the knife as if it had suddenly become red-hot.

While keeping hold of Jim’s wrist, Caleb swept the knife away with the side of his boot. “You ain’t the first to swing a blade at me,” Caleb said. “But I’ll see that this is the last time you try it.”

With that, Caleb twisted Jim’s hand against the wrist until he heard bones crunching and grinding together. The humpback was staring at him with his mouth agape but in too much pain to make a sound. That way, he could hear the sound of the bones in his wrist as they finally snapped like wet twigs beneath his skin.

There was no more resistance in Jim’s wrist, so Caleb let it go. He then took hold of Jim’s shoulders and pushed him away from the saloon. “Stay out of my sight,” Caleb growled. “Or the next thing I’ll break is your neck.”

Jim might have tried to say something, but his words became tangled up in a series of labored breaths and whimpers. He managed to keep moving through the lot behind the Busted Flush and all the way to Commerce Street before shouting a few more halfhearted insults over his shoulder.

Caleb couldn’t have cared less what Jim said. He didn’t even care too much about the blood trickling down his belly and soaking into the front of his shirt. A few quick touches and a glance was all he needed to be sure that the wound wasn’t much more than a scrape. When he looked up again, he saw the door swinging open and a pale face looking out at him.

“Having a bit of trouble out here?”

“Better late than never, huh, Doc?” Caleb replied.

“Well, I did manage to look up in time to see Jim’s legs kicking over the side of the bar. By the time I realized he wasn’t going after a free drink, I decided to come a check on you.”

Letting out a breath, Caleb nodded and said, “I’m doing fine, Doc.”

“Then I suppose that cut across your stomach is a fashion statement?”

“Not exactly, but it’s nothing serious.”

Doc extended a finger and pulled down the flap of Caleb’s shirt that had been cut open. After a quick examination of his own, he nodded. “Did he say anything interesting, or was he too busy scampering off?”

“Actually, he mentioned something about having someone else backing him.” Caleb didn’t care too much for the way Doc pondered that possibility. “Do you think he was bluffing?”

Doc shrugged and replied, “I didn’t see his face, so I couldn’t say for sure. I do know that these Deagles are pressing awfully hard for something that is more or less out of their reach. I admire a man for taking a shot at something, but this is above and beyond what one might expect.”

“You admire these assholes for trying to carve off a piece of my saloon?” Caleb asked.

“No. I admire the effort.” Seeing the unapprecialtive scowl on Caleb’s face, Doc patted him on the shoulder and started walking back into the saloon. “Looks like you’ve discouraged any further efforts.”