The Accomplice (18 page)

The olive-skinned man blinked and looked around as if he’d just heard another language. “What was that?”

Looking up, Doc fixed a stare upon the complainer that left no room for debate. “Place a bet or step away. Those are your only two choices, since you won’t be getting a refund. That’s as simple as I can put it. Or would you prefer if Holly here drew you a picture?”

“Why you hustling little . . .” The rest of the olive-skinned man’s threat was lost as he shoved himself back a step and fumbled for the pistol holstered at his side.

Doc’s hand moved in a flicker of motion as it left the top of the table, glanced toward his shoulder and reappeared wrapped around his Navy model Colt. “Place a bet, sir,” Doc drawled as he thumbed back the Colt’s hammer, “or step away.”

Whether he was trying to save face or trying to keep his trembling hands busy, the man did as he was told and dropped some money onto the ten of spades drawn upon the felt.

Clearing his throat without a single cough, Doc discarded the top card of the deck with his free hand and slipped another card out to be turned over. It was a ten. “Very good. You’re a winner.” Shifting his gun slightly so it was pointed up at the complainer’s face, he added. “I suggest you enjoy your winnings before your luck turns.”

The man reached out hesitantly, since doing so brought his hand closer to Doc’s Colt. He then swept up his money and retracted his arm as if he’d just stolen the bait from a bear trap. “Come on, Mark,” he said to his buddy behind him. “Let’s head over to Thompson’s.”

By this time, Caleb walked over wearing a cordial grin on his face. Before he could say a word to the disgruntled gambler, the olive-skinned man and his friend were already rushing to the door. Caleb looked over and saw Doc easing his Colt back into the holster under his arm.

“You got everything under control here?” Caleb asked.

Doc merely shrugged and smiled as bets started coming in from all sides. Plenty of men were quick to fill the newly vacant spots around the table. “Right as rain,” Doc replied.

When Caleb looked back to where the stranger with the blue bandanna had been sitting, all he saw was an empty chair.

Orville Deagle walked into Thompson’s Varieties after having stopped in to check nearly every other saloon or gambling hall in town. Having burned down in the same fire that had claimed the Alhambra back in October, Thompson’s was located within spitting distance of the St. Charles. When Orville spotted the men leaning against the short bar at the back of Thompson’s main room, he thought he might have wandered into the St. Charles by mistake.

Not only were his two nephews there, but Bret Weeks was there as well, looking very much like a well-fed coyote sitting among the hounds. Weeks was the first one to spot Orville and motioned for the old miner to come over and join him. Reluctantly, Orville shuffled toward the well-dressed businessman.

“Evening, Orville,” Weeks said. “What brings you by?”

“Is there someplace more private we can talk?”

Glancing around at the entire place, Weeks shrugged and replied, “What’s the matter with where we’re at? The men in here are too busy with their own affairs to worry about ours.”

Although there was plenty of drinks served at Thompson’s Varieties, it was more of a place devoted to gambling than spirits. The lighting was just enough for serious card players to read their hands, and the air was thick with cigar smoke. Working girls made their rounds, adding to the varieties promised in the establishment’s name.

While both Kyle and Jim acknowledged their uncle’s presence, neither of them said a word to the grizzled old man.

Orville knew better than to try to convince Weeks to go anywhere he didn’t want to go. Rather than wasting any breath, the miner clasped his hat in both hands and muttered, “I want out.”

“Out? Out of what?”

“Our arrangement,” the miner said with a bit more conviction. “Out of the deal. Out of everything. I just want to go back to working my claims and making an honest living.”

Weeks’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped up to the miner with his arms crossed firmly across his chest. “We had a deal.”

“And nothing’s come of it. I said my piece to the owner of the Flush, but nothing happened. I didn’t expect no compensation when I agreed to say what I did to that Texas Ranger anyhow.”

“But you know that you were going to be cheated in that game,” Weeks pointed out.

Orville nodded. “And the man that was gonna cheat me is dead. Things between me an’ him can’t be any more settled than that.”

“I don’t give a rat’s ass what’s settled or not,” Weeks snarled. “You don’t get to walk away from this. Not when I’ve already put so much time into getting my hands on a piece of that damn saloon.” He softened a bit and added, “Besides, you’re the one who came to me. Remember?”

“I asked for a loan to cover my losses since my claims didn’t pay out. The rest was your idea.”

“And it was the way we agreed for you to work off your loan. I already paid off your debts, so it’s up to you to hold up your end.”

“I can pay you back the old-fashioned way.”

“But that won’t get me controlling interest in the Busted Flush. That’s what I want, and that was our deal.”

“But you already own a share in nearly every saloon in town,” Orville protested. “You already make more money than you know what to do with, so what’s the point in going after a place like the Busted Flush?”

“Not that I need to explain myself to you, but plenty of action has been headed over to the Busted Flush lately. By the looks of it, they’re set to account for a bigger piece of gambling revenue than this place or the St. Charles combined.”

Weeks was approaching Orville as he spoke, not stopping until he was close enough to glare directly into the miner’s eyes. “All you need to worry about is that I paid you good money to do your job, and that job ain’t been done yet.”

“I went and said what you told me to that Caleb fellow,” Orville protested. “Nothing came of it. If I go to the law, I won’t last a single day in court because what I say can’t hold up.”

“All right then,” Weeks said. “But you haven’t done nearly enough to earn the money I put out on your behalf.”

“My nephews have done plenty.” Hesitantly, Orville reached into his pocket and pulled out a bundle of folded bills. Some of the money looked new enough to have been freshly printed, while some of it seemed to have been washed up after a rainstorm. “I had to borrow to get some of it, but it’s all there. I can’t abide by this no more.”

“Abide by what?” Weeks asked, refusing to even look at the cash in the miner’s trembling hand.

“What you got my nephews doing, that’s between them and their maker. As for me, I’m done.”

Weeks looked like he was ready to explode with rage. His ears had turned beet red and his lips curled back into a threatening snarl. Before he could act on those impulses, he pulled in a breath and let it out with a measured hiss. “I know you’ve had to wait around since Wayfinder has proven to be a little more stubborn than expected, but my pieces are in place, and I’m set to make some moves that will put the Busted Flush in my hands.

“In case you don’t realize what that means, I’ll have a share of all the major gambling spots in Dallas. I’ll also have effectively eliminated anyone big enough to give me any real competition. Once I sink into the Busted Flush, any place that wants to become bigger than some back-room watering hole will have to go through me.”

Orville nodded while still holding out the folded money. “I understand all that, Mr. Weeks, but all that kind of thing is well over my head.”

“When I win, all my partners win, Orville. That includes you and your nephews.”

“But to earn my keep, I’ll have to be a man that I ain’t and do things that I’ll never be proud of. My nephews may be right by that, but I’d rather scrape half a living out of the dirt than lie, cheat, and steal just to line my pockets.”

“Every businessman lies,” Weeks said without so much as a tremble showing in his smile. “It’s part of the game. Just like every gambler cheats. The only trick is to keep from getting caught and believe me, we won’t get caught.”

“But I know what I done,” Orville replied. This time, he took hold of Weeks’s hand and pressed the folded money straight into it. “My nephews can do what they want, but I’m out. That’s all there is to it.”

Weeks closed his fist around the money and looked over his shoulder to where Jim and Kyle were watching. Jim’s arm was held straight by a wooden splint and wrapped up in tight bandages.

“You know this Caleb Wayfinder is a dangerous man,” Weeks said as he looked back to Orville.

The miner nodded.

“He killed Mike Abel, and he might just kill you for the threats you already made.”

“I been fine over the past month or so. If he wants to find me now, then that’s the way it’ll be.”

“He’s been asking about you,” Weeks pressed. “If you’re off my payroll, I won’t have much reason to put myself on the line to protect you.”

Orville’s brow furrowed as he studied the other man’s face. He hadn’t heard one instance of Caleb Wayfinder asking about him. He’d even seen the owner of the Busted Flush and gotten nothing more than a tip of the hat for his troubles. But the menace in Weeks’s voice was more than enough to make Orville concerned.

“I’m out,” the miner said with resolve. “That’s all there is to it.” With that, he turned his back on Weeks, the money, and his nephews so he could head for the front doors. Orville reached out for them, wincing at the thought of a bullet drilling a hole through his back.

That bullet came after a pop of noise and the slap of lead against flesh. Orville felt a jolt of pain followed by the kick of the round which sent him face-first to the ground. Before he hit, Orville’s vision was fading. He couldn’t breathe. He couldn’t hear. He couldn’t even feel his chin slam against the wooden slats.

“Jesus Christ,” someone at one of the card tables shouted.

But Weeks was already stepping forward wearing a surprised look on his face. “That old man just tried to kill me!” he said for the benefit of everyone looking on.

Although plenty of the others were surprised enough to buy Weeks’s act, Kyle and Jim knew better. Before they could do anything about what they’d just witnessed, strong arms wrapped around them and dragged them out of sight. Both cousins kicked and struggled but were unable to get free in the short amount of time it took for them to be hauled away.

Weeks strutted into the back room behind the men carrying the two cousins as the commotion in the main room grew louder and louder. Neither Kyle nor Jim could get a look at the men holding them, but that didn’t much matter. Their eyes were searching for Weeks.

“What the hell was that?” Kyle grunted as the door to the back room slammed shut and Weeks stepped into view. “You just killed Uncle Orville!”

“He wanted out of our arrangement,” Weeks said simply. “Now he’s out. Tell you the truth, he wasn’t working out too well.”

Jim squirmed and kicked with such force that the bigger man holding onto him was forced to tighten his grip and lift Jim off the floor. Even as the other man’s arms cinched in around his splinted arm, Jim kept right on struggling. “You didn’t have to do that! Orville wouldn’t hurt nobody!”

With a flicking wave of two fingers, Weeks signaled to the men holding onto Jim and Kyle. At that signal, the grip around both men shifted so a beefy hand could clamp down over both of their mouths.

“I believe things happen for a reason,” Weeks stated. “Your uncle pulling this shit forced me to move away from a plan that was going nowhere and force me to put my second alternative into motion. It also allows me to see if you two are truly with me or against me.”

Kyle tried to talk but found his words muffled by the hand over his mouth. After a nod from Weeks, that hand moved away, and Kyle was allowed to speak. “We’re with you. We just didn’t think that our uncle would have to die.”

“That was his doing.”

“Yeah,” Kyle grunted. “I know.”

After studying Kyle for a few moments, Weeks looked over the fat man’s shoulder and nodded. He did the same to the man holding the humpback, and both cousins were let go. Weeks stood just in front of the door that separated the small supply room from the rest of the gambling hall. “All right,” he said. “I want you to go out there and back up what I said about your uncle trying to kill me. After that, we can discuss where to go now that he’s dead.”

The cousins glanced at each other for half a second before they came to a silent agreement.

“Fuck you, bastard,” Jim said as his hand flashed for the gun at his side.

Weeks flipped open his jacket and snatched the pistol from his fashionably tooled holster in the blink of an eye. Bringing the gun up just high enough to clear leather, his other hand crossed over to drop the hammer upon the round beneath it. The room filled with the thunder of that first shot, but Weeks wasn’t done yet. His hand was already fanning the hammer back a second time. Smoke and fire spewed from the gun barrel again so quickly that it sounded more like a single, stuttering blast rather than two separate ones.

The first round caught Jim dead center and passed through to gouge the man behind him. The second bullet punched a hole through Jim’s heart and knocked him against the wall as his eyes glazed over.

Kyle went for his gun as well but didn’t even get his finger on the trigger before feeling an arm wrap around his neck from behind. Once more, he was lifted up as a sudden pain lanced through his stomach. That pain was soon followed by the flow of something warm over his belly and down his crotch.

Kyle was already growing weak. It was hard to take a breath, and his vision was blurred by the time he was able to make out the shape of a fist pressed against his stomach. That fist lifted slightly to reveal a bit of the blade that had been stuck into his gut. Slowly, the man behind Kyle dragged the knife across to widen the gash in Kyle’s stomach.