The Accomplice (22 page)

“Beats the hell out of digging around in bloody gums.”

“Yeah,” Caleb sighed. “It seems Weeks wants to be a partner of mine as well.”

“Could be good for you. His other partnerships seemed fairly lucrative.”

“A man who negotiates with gunmen and killers backing him up rarely cuts a fair deal.”

“Weeks has killers working for him?” Doc asked.

“At least one. He claims to have started the big fire last October.”

That stopped Doc cold. “What?”

Caleb nodded. “That’s what he claims. Said the fire was started because the Alhambra and Thompson’s Varieties didn’t fall in line with Weeks’s plan.”

“You really think Weeks could do something like that?”

“Maybe not him, but one of the men he had working for him sure could have done it. By the looks of that one’s face, he’s gotten closer to more fires than an old kettle. Besides that, I’ve had enough men try to threaten me to know when someone’s bluffing. This one wasn’t bluffing. I can’t prove he started that fire, but I wouldn’t put it past him.”

Doc lifted his teacup to his mouth and took a sip. “My old practice was nearly caught in that blaze.” After taking another sip, he asked, “What did Weeks say to you? What were his exact words?”

“Just that I could either join up with him or get burned down. He also mentioned something about locking me up. That struck me as peculiar.”

Leaning back, Doc allowed the server to set down plates of the food they’d ordered. Once the server was gone, Doc asked, “What’s so peculiar if he was the backer that Jim Deagle was going on about? Then he’s already tried to work the law against you.”

“Yeah, but those Deagles are dead and buried.”

“You certain about that?”

Caleb nodded.

“Interesting,” Doc muttered.

“The law’s already admitted that the shooting at my place was self-defense,” Caleb continued. “There wasn’t even much of a trial to speak of. Hell, all I got was a talking to from a judge that didn’t even make a ripple around here.”

“Folks are too excited about the new courthouse they’ve been building to worry about any trial that won’t make the papers. I just figured it was best not to look the proverbial gift horse in the mouth.”

Caleb looked around and leaned forward, even though there wasn’t anyone in the restaurant who seemed at all interested in his conversation. “I think Weeks might have an in with the sheriff or the Texas Rangers.”

Doc scowled and stirred his tea. “I doubt he’d pull much weight with Sheriff Hopper, and those Texas Rangers tend to think pretty highly of themselves to stoop to being bribed by some saloon owner.”

“A very
rich
saloon owner.”

“True.” Doc said as he picked at the small steak and baked potato he’d ordered. “If Weeks is telling the truth, it makes sense that he’d have some kind of in with the law to keep it all running. Otherwise, Charlie or any of those other saloon owners would have just turned him in.”

“That’s my point,” Caleb said as he used his fork to point over the table. “And no matter which lawman is in on this with Weeks, I’m in one hell of a bad position.”

“Bad position?” Doc scoffed. “My friend, I’d say those words don’t do justice to where you’re positioned.”

“Thanks.”

“But that doesn’t mean we can’t stand to gain from any of this.”

Chewing on his own steak, Caleb shook his head and scooped some mashed potatoes onto his fork. “Even after all this, you’re still trying to think of a way to make a profit?”

After waiting a moment, Doc allowed a smirk to show on his face. “Between you and me, Weeks has tipped his hand. He wants something you’ve got and is obviously pretty desperate to get it. You tell me how this is any different than a high-stakes card game.”

The scowl that had appeared on Caleb’s face melted away, and he soon found himself starting to nod. “We can either play it to win or fold our cards.”

“Just like our friend Champagne Charlie,” Dcc said. “Not that Charlie is weak or cowardly in the least. He just didn’t have any cards to play against a dangerous man like Weeks.”

“And we do?”

Pointing across the table with his fork, Doc explained, “First of all, we now know that Weeks is the one behind all of this and that he’s got no small number of guns behind him.”

“Not to mention whatever lawmen are eating out of his hand,” Caleb added.

“Which leads me to my second point.” The more he talked, he more color appeared in Doc’s face. “We need to figure out which lawman that is.”

Groaning, Caleb said, “Or if it’s both the sheriff and that ranger.”

But Doc shook his head with confidence. “Can’t be both of them; otherwise, Weeks would have come after you a whole lot harder.”

“I guess that makes sense. By the way, Doc, he also mentioned that he could be coming after you as well as me.”

Doc shrugged that off without a thought. “That goes without saying. What’s important is that we keep our own cards covered without letting him know that he made a mistake in showing his.”

“What cards are you talking about? I’m just trying to keep my saloon and skin in one piece.”

“You’re a bright fellow, Caleb,” Doc said patiently. “But every now and then I wonder how much of that is just the whiskey making me see things.”

Caleb cut another slice off his steak and dipped it into the gravy pooling on the side of his plate. “I’ll take that as a compliment.”

“Good. Now how about we take Bret Weeks for damn near everything he’s got?”

Nearly spitting out his food in his haste to speak. Caleb had to drink some water to keep himself from choking. “What?”

“We’ve got a few weeks,” Doc said thoughtfully. “That should be plenty of time.”

“And what about those killers on Weeks’s payroll? What about that asshole with the melted face?”

“We’ll be going against them sooner or later. That is, unless you wanted to save yourself the trouble and just hand over controlling interest of your saloon.”

“The Flush is my place. I may have had second thoughts about retiring there, but I’d rather burn it down myself than have Weeks own it.”

“That’s the spirit! Once we nail down which lawman we need to worry about, we can set a little fire of our own beneath Mr. Weeks.”

“No problem there,” Caleb said. “Just wait two weeks, and there’ll be enough fire around here to turn my saloon into a pile of ash.”

Doc waved that off like so much smoke. “Weeks wants to take your saloon, not destroy it. Although the threat of another fire does serve one big purpose: to put a fright into men like you.”

“I guess that makes sense,” Caleb said.

“Of course it does. If I was in his position, I would do that very same thing.”

“You make me nervous sometimes, Doc.”

“Really? Then try this,” Doc said as he opened his flask and poured a splash of whiskey into the coffee that Caleb had barely sipped. “You’ll find this does wonders for making the world easier to bear.”

Although Caleb was about to give Doc hell for spoiling a perfectly good cup of coffee, Caleb took a sip and found that it went down just fine.

“With all that said,” Doc added excitedly. “I wouldn’t bet against Weeks turning his firebug loose on some other target. But that’s neither here nor there, since we’ll do our best to win this thing before any of that happens.”

“It can’t be that easy, Doc. Otherwise, someone else would have taken Weeks out of the picture.”

“We have the advantage of thinking unlike other men,” Doc said without a trace of doubt in his voice. “All we need to do is give Weeks enough to make him relax a bit and think he’s got the upper hand while we gather some bits and pieces of vital information. After that, we can make any number of moves to knock him onto his sorry ass.”

Even as Caleb chewed on his perfectly cooked steak, he could feel his appetite shrinking in a hurry. “I don’t know. That sounds awfully risky.”

“You want to live without risk, you’ve got a safe little saloon to run. It looks like Charlie and the others are making a decent living. Why not remove all the risk and just let Weeks have what he wants? All the saloons in Dallas might just run better with one man holding the reins.”

When he thought about that, Caleb felt a cold knot tie in his stomach. Oddly enough, when he thought about keeping the Flush and growing old in Dallas, that knot was cinched up even tighter.

“I’ve always been a hard worker, Doc. I had my wild times, but a man’s got to sink roots somewhere.”

Focusing on his own plate, Doc nodded. A lantern flickered on the wall beside him, making his hair look especially light and his skin even more washed out than normal. His blue eyes darted down to the diamond stickpin fastened to his lapel. “Look at us. We’re both young men, but you’re talking about sinking roots, and I’m trying to make a living sticking my fingers in people’s mouths.

“I don’t know about you, but winning my daily bread sure beats the hell out of scrounging for it. That’s what makes me feel alive, and I think you know exactly what I’m talking about. You’ve already dragged yourself out of that miserable office you always complain so much about. Why stop there? If anyone needs to be taken down a few notches, it’s Weeks. I owe him for nearly burning down Dr. Seegar’s practice back in October, and you need to fight for what you built.”

Caleb met Doc’s eager stare and replied in an unwavering tone, “It would also help you build up the stake you need to take your gambling onto the professionals’ circuit.”

“Yes,” Doc replied immediately. “It most certainly would.”

“Well it sure seems like you’ve been giving this some thought.”

“You’re damn right I have.”

The knot in Caleb’s stomach hadn’t only loosened. It was completely gone. Cutting off another chunk of steak, he used it to push some mashed potatoes into a pile. “All right then,” he said through a full mouth. “How do you propose we find out which branch of the law has got it in for us the most?”

Steve had a bet placed covering the ten and jack, coppered a bet for the deuce to lose, and of course he didn’t forget to place a healthy wager on the eight to win. Although the three came up as the losing card, the jack of diamonds appeared in the top of the box.

“All right,” Steve said as his hands flew into motion once more to spread his bets across the felt display. “That’s just fine, because there’s still three more turns to go.”

Jennifer Wright sat behind her husband. Over the last few of Steve’s visits to Dallas, she found it helpful for her to keep an eye on him rather than leave the man to his own devices. While her husband’s smile never faltered, the circles under Jen’s eyes were growing darker every time she showed her face in the Busted Flush. “That’s a lot of money, sweetheart.”

“I know, but I’ve got a system,” Steve replied.

“You’ve said that plenty of times already, but we’re still behind.”

“That’s all right, I’m going to win it back. Remember that big chunk of cash I walked out of here with that last time?”

“That was weeks ago,” Jen reminded him. “And since then, you’ve been behind.”

No matter how much he wanted to argue with her, Steve couldn’t dispute the facts. “Right, but that can all change.”

“Maybe you shouldn’t place such high bets, Steve. That’s all.”

“It’s all right. I know what I’m doing.”

Doc sat in his spot and looked over to the couple after wrapping up a conversation with one of the other players. “All right now, this is going to be the last game for a while, so be sure to make these bets count.”

“You hear that?” Steve asked. “This is the last game. Just a few more rounds, and then we can go.”

Jen nodded and took in a breath. As much as she fought to pull back on Steve’s reins, it was hard not to get caught up in the atmosphere surrounding any of the gambling tables. The money was right out there for all to see. Unlike the rest of the world, fate’s face was in plain sight. It was painted onto the cards, roulette wheels, or spotted over the sides of rolling dice.

Steve placed his bets with the skill of a marksman, having learned all the subtleties of betting at faro. Every spot at Doc’s table was full, and when Doc called for the end of betting and moved for the dealer’s box, all the players felt the same breathless anticipation as if Doc was reaching for the gun under his arm.

After milking the moment for all it was worth, Doc flipped the cards and showed the loser and winner. “Good news, friends,” Doc announced. “That is, only if you coppered a nine and bet on lucky number eight.”

“Yes!” Steve said as he pumped a fist in the air.

More than half of the other players were just as happy. There were slaps on the back along with a few grumbled curses as a seat was vacated, in no time at all, another hopeful soul sat down to try his luck.

“You see, sweetie?” Steve asked. “This game’s got a science to it. All you need to do is figure it out.”

Doc smirked at that. “Two more rounds, gents,” he said. When his eyes fell onto Jen, he winked and added, “Better make that lady and gents.”

Jen returned Doc’s cordial smile. Before she could do much else, Steve had laid down his next series of bets, and the cards were being shown.

Although none of Steve’s winning numbers came up, he’d coppered a bet on the king, which had turned out to be the losing card.

Nodding and studying the felt tabletop. Steve collected his paltry winnings and quickly counted up his remaining funds. Before he got a total figured out, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

“Mind if I have a word with you?” Caleb asked.

“Can it wait?” Steve asked. “This game is almost over.”

“Actually, no. It’s about that matter we were talking about before,” Caleb said as he shot a quick nod toward Jennifer.

Suddenly, Steve understood and got up. “I’ll be right back, sweetie,” he said to his wife. “Save my seat, and don’t let Doc deal until I get back.”