The Best Rootin' Tootin' Shootin' Gunslinger in the Whole Damned Galaxy (29 page)

      
“That's the way I want it,” said the Dancer. “Just once, I got to face someone good."

      
“Even if he kills you?"

      
The Dancer nodded. “Even so. Ain't nobody I know of ever avoided dying, Thaddeus. The best a man can do is choose when and how . . . and I can't think of no better way than facing Doc Holliday on the streets of Tombstone."

      
Flint ground his cigarette out on the floor and immediately lit another.

      
“Look,” he said, starting to pace again. “We can call the fight off—postpone it for a month. I can get Fuzzy-Wuzzy to testify that you've sprained your gun hand or something like that. Then, during the interim, I'll have Borilliot make the robot exactly the same speed as you. Hell,” he added, “we might even make enough extra money with another four weeks of betting to pay for the one you destroyed. What do you say to that?"

      
“I say no."

      
“But, damn it, Dancer. I thought you wanted a fair contest!” yelled Flint. “This one is rigged for the robot!"

      
“He don't care if he wins or loses,” said the Dancer gently. “I do. That evens up the odds."

      
“By the same token, he also won't care if we rig him to draw two hundredths of a second slower."

      
“Probably not,” agreed the Dancer. “But I will. This is the fight you set up; this is the fight that's gonna take place."

      
“Damn it, Dancer!” said Flint, unable to decide whether he was sad or furious. “All of the talking in the world isn't going to make him any slower, and it's not going to make you any faster."

      
“Then I guess we're all through talking,” said the Dancer with a shrug.

      
“No!” Flint slammed the flat of his hand into a bulkhead. “I'm not sending you out to get killed, and that's that!"

      
“You ain't sending me nowhere,” said the Dancer serenely. “I'm going because I want to."

      
“But you just don't understand . . ."

      
“You're worried about me, and I appreciate it, Thaddeus. I truly do. But I've been waiting for something like this since I was seventeen, and I can't let you take it away from me. I know you don't believe it, but I'd rather be shot down by someone faster than me than spend the rest of my life never knowing if I was the best or not."

      
“A fat lot of good it'll do you,” muttered Flint.

      
“Dying ain't the worst thing that can happen to a man, Thaddeus,” said the Dancer. “Sometimes living's worse, if he don't know what he's living for. And besides,” he added with a smile, “I don't aim to lose."

      
“He's faster,” replied Flint wearily.

      
“Sometimes being faster ain't enough. Maybe I'll crouch down when I draw, like the Sundance Kid used to do."

      
Flint shook his head sadly. “He'll adjust. He can think faster than you can."

      
“And maybe I'll just beat him because I want it more than he does."

      
“I can't let you face him, Dancer,” said Flint.

      
“You ought to be just about the last guy in the world to stop someone from doing what he wants, Thaddeus,” replied the Dancer.

      
“What makes you think so?"

      
“'Cause nobody ever stopped
you
,” answered the Dancer with a gentle smile. “Remember when you kidnapped Mr. Ahasuerus and all the other aliens? We all told you not to, but you did it anyway."

      
“We were starving,” said Flint. “And besides, it all worked out in the end."

      
“It worked out when
you
wanted it to,” the Dancer reminded him. “You kept 'em like animals. Everyone bitched about it, but you did what you thought you had to do—and when you thought you had to turn 'em loose, you did that, too.” Flint stared at him, but said nothing. “And even before that, no one could ever tell you what to do. If you wanted to go north and we all wanted to play Florida, we went north. If you wanted the girls to work strong and they didn't want to, they worked strong. When Jupiter wanted more animals and you didn't see any need for 'em, he didn't get 'em."

      
“There were decisions to be made,” said Flint. “Someone had to make them."

      
The Dancer shook his head. “Not
someone
, Thaddeus—
you
. That's the way you are. Like when you decided Monk and Batman had fought long enough, you saw to it that they never went into the ring again."

      
“I had nothing to do with that,” said Flint defensively.

      
“Come on, Thaddeus—I was
there
. Those two guys didn't have no problem that wasn't of their own making until the night you got sick and tired of what they were doing.” He paused and smiled again. “I ain't saying that what you done is good or bad, Thaddeus. I'm saying that it was what you wanted to do— and now I'm asking you to let me do what I want to do."

      
“I never wanted to kill myself."

      
“Neither do I. But I seen you take on a hell of a lot of rubes and cops and unhappy husbands who were bigger and stronger than you, and you never let nobody tell you not to. So why are you telling me what
I
got to do?"

      
“It's not the same thing,” said Flint uneasily. “You're . . . well . . ."

      
“A little bit crazy?” asked the Dancer. He chuckled. “Don't look so upset. I heard you say it often enough. Well, maybe I am.” The smile vanished. “But maybe I looked at things only I could see, and now, tomorrow, everyone's gonna get a chance to see 'em—so maybe I ain't so crazy after all. Maybe Jiminy was like kind of a sign, the way he turned into Doc Holliday that first day he was on the ship. If you want something as bad as I want this gunfight, if you wish for it as hard and as long as I been wishing for this, then maybe it's just got to come true.” He paused. “It's gonna take place in seven or eight more hours, Thaddeus. Don't make it not come true."

      
“Even knowing the odds, you want it that bad?” asked Flint.

      
“I do."

      
“I've got to think it over,” said Flint slowly.

      
“No you don't, Thaddeus,” replied the Dancer. “You just got to step aside and let it come to pass.” He stood up. “Besides, we ain't got around to the nittygritty of it yet."

      
“And what's that?"

      
“That if it comes down to cases, you can't stop me."

      
Suddenly Flint was staring down the barrel of the Dancer's six-shooter.

      
“Who the hell do you think you're kidding?” asked Flint, smiling and pushing the pistol gently aside with his hand. “You're not going to shoot me."
 

      
“I know,” said the Dancer, returning his smile. “But I know the words to make Doc come alive, and if I got to, I'll say 'em here and now. It's up to you whether we fight on the street tomorrow, or in this room right now, but you can't stop it from happening one place or the other."

      
Flint stared at the Dancer for a long minute. Finally he sighed.

      
“Okay, Dancer. You've got what you want."

      
“Thank you, Thaddeus—and I'm sorry I cost you all that money over the robot. You can have what I got coming to me if it'll help."

      
Flint shook his head. “I'll think of some way to make it back. Besides, what the hell is there to spend it on up here?"

      
“You're sure?"

      
Flint shrugged. “It's only money."

      
“Now
that's
a line I never thought I'd hear from you."

      
“Sometimes I even surprise myself,” said Flint wryly. He paused. “Despite what I've told you, you know I hope you win, don't you?"

      
“Sure I do, Thaddeus. We're carnies, ain't we? And a carny never pulls against his own.” He stood up, and his face was lost in shadow again. “But just in case I lose, I want you to see that Tojo gets all my pictures. He's a friendly little feller, and he's always seemed kind of interested in them.” He paused thoughtfully. “At least, he asks questions about who they were and what they did, which is a whole lot more than anyone else does."

      
“I'll see to it,” said Flint softly.

      
“And you can keep my money. I figure I owe it to you for busting up the robot."

      
“I told you: don't worry about the money."

      
“I ain't worried about it,” said the Dancer patiently. “But a man ought to put his affairs in order before he goes up against Doc Holliday.” He paused, and Flint thought he heard a small sigh. “I wish there was some way to get word to my mother about what I done, but I guess there ain't."

      
“No, there isn't,” said Flint.

      
“Besides, for all I know, she's dead now. I hope not, though."

      
“Maybe you'd better go upstairs and get some sleep now,” suggested Flint gently. “I'll walk you to your room."

      
“Thanks, Thaddeus,” said the Dancer, walking farther into the darkness. “But I reckon I'd better stay down here with the Doc."

      
“I won't sneak back down here,” Flint assured him.

      
“I know you won't,” said the Dancer his voice somber. “But I just feel more comfortable with him."

      
“Have it your way,” said Flint with a shrug. He walked to the door.

      
“Thaddeus?” the Dancer called after him.

      
Flint turned and peered back into the shadows. “Yeah?"

      
“Will they really write a song about me?” asked the Dancer with disarming boyish charm.

 

 

Chapter 19

 

The Dancer and the Doc,
 

The Dancer and the Doc.

The fastest man and the fastest machine,
 

The most glorious gunfight ever seen.

The Dancer and the Doc.

—from “The Ballad of Billybuck Dancer"

 

      
The late-morning sun beat down on the back of Flint's neck as he made his way from the carnival ship to the streets of Tombstone. When he had covered half the distance he came upon the two headstones again, this time laid out on the ground next to a freshly dug grave that would be filled in later in the day. Flint stopped for a moment to look into the rectangular hole, and idly wondered if they might be burying not one but two gunslingers before the day was out. Finally he shrugged and continued walking toward the makeshift cowtown.

      
Tojo, decked out in his candy-striped jacket and straw boater, was sitting outside the sheriff's office with Jiminy, while a couple of sound technicians were checking his miniaturized microphone, and another was carefully hiding an amplifier behind a watering trough.

      
“Good morning, Mr. Flint,” said Jiminy. “Lovely day for a killing, isn't it?"

      
Flint glared at him silently.

      
“It's all right, Thaddeus,” said Tojo. “He knows.” He smiled apologetically. “He was so worried about the Dancer that I told him. I hope you don't mind."

      
Flint turned to the technicians. “Scram,” he said.

      
“But—” one of them tried to protest.

      
“You heard me,” said Flint ominously.

      
The three technicians walked away, muttering to each other.

      
“What's the matter, Mr. Flint?” asked the Jimorian.

      
“Tojo lied to you,” said Flint.

      
“I don't understand,” said Tojo.

      
Flint turned to the little hunchback. “It wasn't a lie when you said it, but it is now. The Dancer found the ringer and busted it up."

      
“You mean he's going to face the
real
Doc Holliday?"

      
“Jesus!” snapped Flint. “You sound just like him. He's going to face the original robot."

      
“But he can't!” stammered Tojo. “It'll kill him!"

      
“It's a possibility,” said Flint grimly. He paused. “This is the way he wants it. That's why he wrecked the ringer."

      
“But that's because he thinks he can win.
You
know he can't!"