Doctor and the Kid, The (A Weird West Tale) (Weird West Tales) (22 page)

H

“Hello, Doc!” he said breathlessly.

“Go away,” growled Holliday. “I'm busy.”

“You're going out to Josh Brady's, right?”

Holliday looked surprised. “How did you know?”

“I was in the lobby when someone told the clerk that Mrs. Branson wouldn't be using her room anymore, that the Kid had killed her.”

“He's going to find out what it means to break his word to Doc Holliday.”

“What are you talking about?”

“We made a deal,” said Holliday. “His end of it was not to kill Charlotte.”

“And now you're going off to face him?” said Buntline.

“That's right.”

“If you want to live through it, you'd better come with me.”

Holliday stared at him curiously.

“I'm not kidding, Doc. Come with me to Tom's room.”

“I've got business elsewhere.”

“What can it cost you—ten minutes?” said Buntline. “Twelve? He'll still be there.”

“Leave me alone,” said Holliday.

“Damn it, Doc—it's important!” yelled Buntline.

Holliday stopped walking. “It damned well better be.”

“Come with me,” said Buntline, turning and heading off toward the Grand.

They reached the lobby in less than a minute, and were at Edison's door in another forty seconds.

“Come in, Doc,” said Edison as Holliday opened the door without knocking. “You too, Ned. I may need your help.” He reached out a hand and laid it on Holliday's shoulder. “I'm sorry about Charlotte, Doc.”

“Someone else is going to be even sorrier,” said Holliday grimly as he entered the most cluttered room he had ever seen: part bedroom, part laboratory, part storage room. And, like his offices in Tombstone and Leadville, there were books and notebooks piled everywhere.

“That's why you're here.”

“I don't need any brass armor,” said Holliday.
“He
doesn't wear it;
I'm
not wearing it.” He withdrew his gun from its holster and held it up. “This is all I need.”

“You're wrong, Doc,” said Edison.

Holliday turned to him. “What do you know that I don't know?” he said sharply.

“When Ned and I got back from breakfast—we ate at Ben Tanner's two streets over—we found our rooms had been plundered. When we went downstairs to report it, a couple of residents said they'd seen the Kid and Josh Brady walking out the back way, and the Kid had a bag slung over his shoulder.” He paused and grimaced. “So we did an inventory, and what he stole was a pair of brand new prototypes of an electric gun.”

Holliday frowned. “You mean it's powered by electricity? It won't do him any good. I can pull a trigger faster than he can flip a switch.”

Edison shook his head. “It's not that simple. These guns aren't only powered by electricity, but electricity is what they fire instead of bullets.”

“Explain,” said Holliday.

“You know that electricity can be extremely powerful,” said Edison. “It can light a whole city. You also know that you have to be very careful around it to avoid getting a shock.”

“I've seen you get shocks in your labs back in Tombstone and Colorado,” said Holliday. “You cuss like a cowboy for a minute, rub wherever you got the shock, and go right back to work.”

“That's because I know better than to work with incredibly strong electrical currents, and I'm always grounded,” answered Edison. “But the Kid's guns will shoot out a bolt of electrical energy—kind of like a controlled, aimed lightning bolt. If he figures out how to use the latest thing I've added to them, he'll be able to set up a field that will repulse any bullet that you shoot at him.”

“So you're saying he can burn me to cinders with one shot, and I can't hit him even if I shoot from five feet away?”

“As things stand now. But if you'll give me half an hour, I believe I can even the odds.”

“He's got Hook Nose, I've got Geronimo, he's got an electric gun and an invisible shield, I've got whatever you're about to give me. This world would be a whole lot easier to understand if all you guys would just let the two of us shoot it out on our own.”

“I'm just trying to make it an even fight,” said Edison.

“Why did you even create those damned guns the Kid's got?” asked Holliday.

“I did it before I conceived of the ultrasonic device,” answered Edison. “At the time, I thought possibly a severe electrical shock would neutralize whoever was protecting the station and the tracks.”

“All right,” said Holliday. “What have you got for me?”

“Let me outfit you with your defense first,” said Edison, pulling out a dresser drawer and withdrawing what looked like a pair of leather wristlets. “Take off your coat and put these on, Doc.”

“What the hell do I need them for?” asked Holliday with a frown. “They're just for stopping my shirtsleeves from flapping in the wind.”

“They were once. Put them on.”

Holliday did as he was told, slipping his hands through the wristlets, and noticed a series of small, almost hidden, wires on the backs of them.

“What the hell are these?” he asked.

“You'll see. Now turn around while Ned and I wire you up.” Edison and Buntline attached a set of metal wires to his shoulders, hips, and arms, all leading down to the wristlets. “The battery, Ned?”

Buntline handed a battery to Edison, who strapped it to the small of Holliday's back.

“Move your arms,” ordered Edison.

Holliday reached up, then forward, then whirled them in a circle.

“Looks good,” said Buntline from behind them. “Everything's still attached.”

“Okay,” said Edison. “Now bring that switch around to his belt buckle.”

Buntline walked around Holliday, tucking a thin wire from the battery under his belt until he reached the buckle, then hooking a small switch onto it.

“All right,” said Edison. “Turn the switch on.” Holliday did so. “Any pain, anything at all?”

“No.”

“Good, Now you can turn it off.”

“Since I'm the one who has to use it, suppose you tell me what it is and what it does,” said Holliday.

“Turning on the switch activates a defensive electronic field,” said Edison. “It won't stop a bullet or a knife, but we have to assume that's not what he'll be using. This will negate the electric charges he'll be firing at you.” He looked around the room, walked to a corner, and picked up what Holliday had thought was a small, thick walking stick from where it leaned against the wall.

“What the hell is
that?”
asked Holliday, arching an eyebrow. “A gun or a rifle, or maybe a cannon?”

“It's a gun,” answered Edison, holding up the thirty-inch-long weapon.

“They sure as hell don't make a holster for it,” observed Holliday. “And even if they did, no one could draw it in less than ten seconds.”

“You won't have to draw it,” said Edison, as Buntline began tacking a strip of material to Holliday's pants leg with needle and thread. “There are very small magnets on that strip of cloth, and they'll hold the gun in place.”

“Then how the hell do I use it?” demanded Holliday irritably. “Point my leg?”

Edison laughed. “It's an interesting thought, but no, you won't have to do that.” He pointed to a small button just above the trigger mechanism. “You see this? When you want the gun, just press it, and it'll change the polarity of the magnetic field.”

“What the hell does that mean?”

“It means that instead of the gun being attracted to those magnets, it will now be repelled by them. When you want to bond it back to your leg, just press the button again.” He looked at Holliday's leg. “Ned, that strip's too long. Cut it off higher or he'll never be able to bend his knee once the gun's attached.”

As Buntline was shortening the strip, Holliday took the gun from Edison and examined it.

“What does
it
shoot?” he asked. “Electricity?”

“Bullets,” said Edison. “Well, sort of.”

“It sort of shoots them?” asked Holliday, frowning.

Edison smiled. “Oh, it shoots them, all right. I meant that they're sort of bullets.”

“What else are they?” asked Holliday, who was getting frustrated with Edison's explanations.

“Negatively charged pellets made of a silver alloy,” said the inventor. “The negative charge will allow them to get past the Kid's defensive field.”

“You're sure?”

“It works that way on paper,” answered Edison. “I haven't field-tested your weapons and defenses—
or
his—yet.”

“All right,” said Holliday. He pressed the button and bonded the gun to his left leg.

“I thought you were right-handed,” said Buntline.

“I am,” replied Holliday. “And I'm keeping
this,”
he patted his own gun, “right where I can reach it. I know
it
works.” He took a few steps to get used to the feel of the long gun against his leg. “Okay, let me go over it once more. I hit this switch to activate the defensive field, and this button to release the gun?”

“Right.”

“I assume the trigger works like any other trigger?”

“Better,” said Edison. “There are a hundred pellets in the chamber. It fires ten a second for as long as you hold the trigger down.”

“All right,” said Holliday, walking to the door. “I'm ready to
go.”

“One more thing, Doc,” said Edison. He slipped a metal vest around Holliday's neck and shoulders. “Just in case.”

“I thought this stuff worked.”

“It does,” said Edison, “but that defense field takes so much energy that the battery is only good for about three minutes, four at the outside. So don't activate it until you have to.”

“Got it,” said Holliday, walking out the door.

Much as he hated riding atop a horse, he knew it would get him to the ranch faster than a buckboard or a surrey, so he rented a horse at the stable and headed toward Brady's ranch.

He was within a quarter mile of it when a familiar voice spoke out.

“You have no idea what awaits you at this Place of Death,” it said.

H

“Who or what the hell are you?” demanded Holliday.

“You know who I am.”

“Geronimo?” There was no answer, which he took for an affirmative. “Well, that explains why my horse didn't shy. He knows you're not a wolf. Besides,” he added, “there probably hasn't been a wolf in these parts in twenty years.”

“McCarty who is called the Kid will not have the usual weapons,” said the wolf. “Are you prepared?”

“I'm ready.” Holliday looked down at the wolf, frowning. “Why are you here? I thought you neutralized Hook Nose.”

“Woo-Ka-Nay has grown in power. I cannot hold him at bay from a distance. I must be here with you.”

“You can do whatever you want to him, but the Kid is mine.”

“I have no interest in McCarty who is called the Kid.”

“Fine,” said Holliday. “I have no interest in Hook Nose.”

“Then you are a fool,” said the wolf.

“I've been called worse,” said Holliday, urging his horse forward.

“Are you prepared to defend yourself from the weapons he stole from the man Edison?”

“I'm prepared.”

“Then go forward. I cannot see Woo-Ka-Nay, but I sense his presence. I will seek him out and make certain that he does not interfere.”

“Thanks.” Holliday rode to the top of a ridge that looked down at the ranch.

“I do not do it for you, Holliday,” said the wolf. “I do it only because we made a trade and I always keep my word.”

“I'll give you this,” said Holliday. “You're honorable men who honor your deals—some of you, anyway. I told you about Que-Su-La.”

“He who lifted
my
curse on the man Masterson.”

“I forgot that for a minute. Yeah, he's the one.”

“He acted in good faith, and you avenged his son. I bear him no malice.”

“I can't say that I think favorably of Hook Nose,” said Holliday. “Still, like I said, some of you are honorable men, just as some of us are. And I'm not here to kill an Indian, just a white man.”

“Possibly two,” said the wolf, and vanished. Holliday looked toward the small, dilapidated ranch house, where a burly, balding man had just emerged. Holliday let his horse walk slowly down from the ridge toward the flat, barren spot where he had so recently killed two men.

“What's your business here?” demanded the man.

“Are you Brady?” asked Holliday.

“I am, and you're on my property.”

“I have nothing against you,” said Holliday. “You tell that son of a bitch you work with that I'm here to blow him straight to hell.”

“No one talks like that on my ranch but me!” snarled Brady.

“If you want to live to bellow another day, you'll go find the Kid and keep clear of this.”

“Climb down off that horse and say that!”

Holliday dismounted, and suddenly the wolf appeared at his side again.

Brady pulled his pistol and fired three quick shots into the wolf's body, to no effect. The horses in the corral began prancing and nickering nervously.

“He's my pet,” said Holliday, amused at Brady's reaction when the wolf didn't even flinch. “Now get Mr. McCarty Antrim Bonney, and keep your ugly nose out of this.”

Brady uttered an obscenity and aimed his gun at Holliday.

“Big mistake,” said Holliday as he drew and fired before Brady could squeeze the trigger. He flew backward, and Holliday put another bullet into his chest before he hit the ground.

“I was right to bring my own gun along,” said Holliday, nodding his head in satisfaction. “And no one's going to miss one more cattle thief. I wonder if there was paper on him?”

“He was just an ant,” said the wolf. “You want the spider.”

“He'll be along,” replied Holliday. “He won't like anyone messing with his web.”

And as the words left his mouth, the Kid opened the door of the ranch house and stepped out onto the flat, dry ground. Holliday studied him and saw that he was armed with the weapons he'd stolen from Edison: two wicked-looking pistols, each connected to electrical wires that led to the large battery that stretched across his back and actually stuck out a few inches on each side. Suddenly Holliday remembered to switch on his own protective field.

“You killed my partner,” said the Kid, brushing a few flies away from his face with a hand.

“I'll kill anyone who gets between us,” replied Holliday.

“Why?”

“We had an agreement. You broke it.”

“Her?” said the Kid with a contemptuous laugh. “She was an ugly old woman. What the hell do you care?”

“You promised not to kill her,” said Holliday coldly. “You lied.”

“Well, damn it, Doc, she came out here to kill me!” snapped the Kid.

The horses in the corral, which were merely nervous when the shots were fired, were near to panicking now, terrified by the vitriol in the two men's voices.

“Could
she have killed you?”

“Not on the best day she ever had.”

“Then why the hell didn't you just put a bullet in her arm, or shoot the gun out of her hand. You're good enough to have done either.”

“She was two feet away.”

“Then you could have slapped it away.”

The Kid considered Holliday's remark, and nodded. “Maybe I could have. So what? She was a fucking bounty hunter.”

“She was my friend and we had a deal—and you lied to me,” said Holliday. “And now you're going to die for it.”

“For killing her or lying to you?” asked the Kid with a smile.

“Take your choice.”

“I see you've got a wolf with you,” noted the Kid. “Nice pet.”

“He won't interfere with this.”

“Mine
will,” said the Kid with a grin. He stepped aside, and Holliday found himself facing a puma with the same glowing eyes that the wolf had. “Looks like the gang's all here,” he said as he threw back his head and laughed.

“I can't wait much longer,” said Holliday, lowering his voice so only the wolf could hear it. “Have you got my back?”

“Woo-Ka-Nay will not hinder you or help him,” answered the wolf.

“You'd better know what you're talking about,” said Holliday.

The two men faced each other, suddenly oblivious to the animals. Holliday pressed the button that released Edison's gun from the magnetic strip on his leg and fired it, just as the Kid pulled the twin pistols from his holster and squeezed the triggers.

And nothing happened. Holliday's pellets were absorbed into the Kid's protective field, and the Kid's lightning bolts dissipated as they reached Holliday's invisible shield.

“Shit!” snapped Holliday.

“It is not Woo-Ka-Nay's doing,” said the wolf.

Holliday fired again. There was still no effect.

“Thanks a lot for not testing it, Tom!” he muttered.

The Kid was still firing electrical charges at him to no effect.

Use your brain, Doc
, thought Holliday.
You're smarter than he is—and you've only got maybe two minutes left before you're helpless.

Then he looked at the Kid.
I wonder how long
his
battery is good for.

Holliday shifted the huge gun to his left hand, drew his own Colt with his right, and aimed just to the right of the Kid's shoulder, burying a pair of bullets into the battery that extended past the trunk of the Kid's body. He put another bullet into the left end of it, just for insurance.

The Kid staggered from the force of the bullets, but quickly regained his balance and fired again—and this time there was no lightning bolt, no discharge of any kind.

Holliday fired a bullet at the Kid's head, but it never got there.
Damn! He's still immune to bullets! Then what did the battery control? Just his guns?

Holliday pointed the long, electrically charged weapon at the Kid, who'd thrown away Edison's guns and was pulling his own out of his belt.

I can't have a minute left. This had better work!

Holliday fired the weapon, and this time the Kid grunted in surprise as the pellets tore into him. Holliday fired again, holding his finger down on the trigger for almost two seconds, and the Kid reacted like a puppet being jerked on a string before he fell to the ground.

Holliday turned and aimed the weapon at the puma.

“Another day,” promised the puma, and faded into nothingness.

As Holliday approached the Kid's body, he felt a sudden weight on his shoulder, and two claws digging in.

“And now we are even,” said the coal-black eagle that had just perched on him. He looked around, and the wolf was gone. Or transmogrified.

Holliday walked uncomfortably the rest of the way, for the eagle was heavy and despite his skills his body was frail. He stared at the Kid, who lay there with his eyes open, his torso perforated—there was no other word for it—and blood started to trickle out of his mouth.

“I didn't have to do this,” said Holliday grimly. “I had enough money. I didn't need the bounty any longer.”

“It was a debt of honor,” said the eagle. “He betrayed you, as Woo-Ka-Nay betrayed me. Now I must do to him what you did to McCarty who was called the Kid, or he shall kill me.”

“For what it's worth, I hope you win,” said Holliday. “As for me, I'll take my money back to Colorado and spend my last year or two there.”

“I do not think so,” said the bird, and vanished.