Doctor and the Kid, The (A Weird West Tale) (Weird West Tales) (8 page)

H

He turned a corner and saw Edison's and Buntline's houses. From the outside, they appeared to be normal residences. Only the brass-enclosed connecting passage between the two gave any indication that they weren't what they seemed to be, but Holliday knew from previous demonstrations that these were the best-protected buildings in Cochise County.

He approached Edison's house. Before he could knock on the door, the security system had identified him and the brass portal swung inward.

“Hello, Doc,” said Edison's voice. “I'm in the lab.”

Holliday made his way through the foyer and the book-lined corridor to the laboratory, which was almost devoid of chemicals and test tubes but abounded in electrical and brass devices. “Making any progress?” he asked.

“I wish I knew,” said Edison.

“You're Thomas Alva Edison,” replied Holliday. “How can you
not
know?”

“It's not that simple, Doc,” said Edison, looking up from his notepad, where he had been furiously scribbling. “I may be close to the solution, I may be on the wrong track. It's impossible to know for sure until I test it out. For example, we know the Brass Mole can bore through three thousand feet of rock…but I don't know if it can move an eighth of an inch into the station.” He held up a strange-looking device that was shaped like a cylinder with a button at one end and a tiny hole at the other. “I can melt anything short of Ned's super-hardened brass with this, and I suppose if I kept it trained on the brass I might even make a dent in it before the battery wore down. But I don't know if it can make that same dent in the station, or the track, or even the people who are waiting for the train, if you and Geronimo are right that they're all protected.”

“Maybe there's a way to kill two birds with one stone, to borrow an expression I heard up in Denver,” said Holliday.

“I'm open to suggestions.”

“I'm sure I can get the Kid to come over here to meet the great Edison. Once he's here, let's see if you've got anything that can kill him.”

“And if the first attempt fails, you think he'll just sit still for the next?”

“Absolutely,” said Holliday.

Edison stared at him. “That doesn't make any sense, Doc.”

“He knows he can't be hurt. Once you prove that even
you
can't hurt him, what has he got to fear from staying?”

“First, he'll probably kill us,” said Edison. “Well,
me
, anyway. I forgot: he can't kill you. And more importantly, even if I can hurt him, even kill him, that won't prove a thing.”

“The hell it won't,” said Holliday. “If you can kill him, you can destroy the station.”

“Why?”

“They're both protected by Hook Nose. If you can break through his magic on the Kid, you can break through it on the train station.”

“But
are
they both protected by Hook Nose?” asked Edison. “You told me Geronimo didn't know who was protecting the train station. It might be Hook Nose, it might not. If it's a different medicine man, it's probably a different magical spell.”

Holliday frowned as he considered what the inventor had said. “I hadn't thought it through,” he admitted. “But if we can kill the Kid, then I don't
have
to destroy the station. I can take the reward and go back to Colorado.”

“Geronimo didn't have any trouble finding you there before,” noted Edison. “I don't think he'd have any trouble this time—and if we can kill the Kid and we leave the station alone, I think he'll make certain that you don't die fast, or peacefully, or in a sanitarium.”

“Shit!” spat Holliday. “I thought I had something there.”

“A man who can hold the United States at bay on the other side of the Mississippi River doesn't ask for easy favors,” replied Edison.

“When you put it that way, I realize the full magnitude of what he's asking,” said Holliday.
“Can
it be done?”

“All problems are capable of solution,” said Edison. “Some just take longer.”

“All
problems?” repeated Holliday dubiously.

“
All
problems,” said Edison emphatically. “I know it's hard to believe, but someday we're going to reach the Moon, and the planets, and even the stars. We're going to replace old, diseased, used-up organs like the heart and the lungs with new ones.” He peered wistfully into the future. “We'll eradicate every disease. We'll even create machines that think.” He blinked his eyes rapidly and brought himself back to the present. “So of course we'll figure out how to counteract the spell and destroy the station, and we'll do it without trying—probably unsuccessfully—to kill the Kid.”

Holliday shrugged. “You're the genius. I'm just a card-playing dentist.”

Ned Buntline wandered over through the enclosed passageway between the two houses, crossed through an unused bedroom that stored more books and equipment, and entered the lab.

“Hi, Doc,” he said. “I thought I saw you come in.” He turned to Edison, “I've been playing around with that compound I mentioned. It may have some promise. At least, it'll make a hell of a big bang.”

“Keep at it if you want,” said Edison, “but I just don't think a stronger explosive is the answer. Don't forget: cannonballs didn't make a dent in the place.” He shook his head. “I'm convinced the way to break through that spell is with something Hook Nose, or whoever cast it, has never encountered before.”

“No one's ever seen an explosion like this one,” said Buntline. “In theory, anyway.”

“The order of magnitude may differ, but he's seen explosions, and if the place is protected against small ones, it'll be protected against big ones—or at least it figures to be.”

“What do you have in mind?” asked Buntline.

“I'm not quite sure,” answered Edison. “But I'll bet he's never encountered an electric charge before.”

“Where do you apply it?” asked Holliday. “If the body of the spell is half a mile in each direction, where's the heart?”

“I don't know,” said Edison. “Yet.” He grimaced. “First I have to come up with a weapon, something that's not only beyond Hook Nose's experience, but also totally beyond his ability to imagine and prepare for.
Then
we'll worry about where to apply it.” He paused thoughtfully.
“Weapon
is the wrong word. What I need, what
we
need, is a
device
.”

“Comes to the same thing in the end,” said Holliday.

“Not so,” insisted Edison. “If I do it right, the device won't harm anyone. All we want to do is counteract the spell that's made the station impregnable.”

Suddenly Holliday grinned.

“What is it?” asked Buntline.

“A new word for the Kid,” replied Holliday. “Just about the time he learns ‘invulnerable' I'll hit him with ‘impregnable.'”

“That's a rather infantile joy,” commented Buntline.

“I can't hurt him, he can't hurt me,” said Holliday. “I'll take my triumphs where I can.”

“What's he like?” asked Buntline.

Holliday shrugged. “He's a nice enough kid, I suppose.”

“For a crazed killer,” added Edison.

“I've rubbed shoulders with crazed killers,” replied Holliday. “He's not like them.”

“He's got more of a reputation than any of them, and he's barely old enough to shave,” said Buntline.

“He's good at his trade,” said Holliday. “I don't know what got him started. I suppose I'll ask him one of these days. Doesn't make any difference, though. I'm here to kill him, so I'll be just as happy if I don't find myself liking him too much.”

“It didn't stop you from killing Johnny Ringo,” noted Buntline.

“Ringo was out to kill me. The Kid isn't.”

“I seem to remember you saying that it was inevitable that you and Ringo would face off, that you both sought the highest level of competition,” said Edison. “Doesn't the Kid qualify as the highest level too?”

“Circumstances have changed,” said Holliday. “With Ringo it was the competition. He was the Clantons' enforcer, I was the Earps'. But the only reason I want to kill the Kid is so I can die in comfort in a Colorado sanitarium.” He paused and smiled wryly. “It's actually not a bad situation to be in. If I win, I get the best medical care available for what remains of my life, and if I lose, I'll be dead two seconds later and at least I won't have to cough myself to death in total poverty.”

“And you find that a cheerful situation?” asked Edison, frowning.

“I wouldn't call it cheerful, but there are worse.”

“Remember what I told you a few minutes ago?” said Edison. “Eventually they'll cure every disease, including consumption.”

“I don't doubt you,” said Holliday. “But no one's going to cure it in time to save me.”

Edison stared at him for a long moment. “No, almost certainly not,” he agreed.

“You know,” continued Holliday, “this conversation has given me an idea.”

“Oh?”

“Whatever the hell device you create, you're going to need someone to carry it to the station before activating it. And if it works, you can be sure Hook Nose is going to be mightily pissed off. He'll almost certainly take his anger out on the guy with the device. You and Ned are too important to lose, and there's every chance Geronimo will protect me, not out of any love for me but just to get even with Hook Nose for screwing up the Apache burial ground. So,” he concluded, “I'm the one who should take the device to the station.”

“We're ahead of you, Doc,” said Edison.

“We are?” asked Buntline, surprised.

Edison nodded. “We've got the perfect conduit for the device. And if Hook Nose goes on a rampage, no one gets hurt.”

“Oh?”

“She even knows she's expendable, and it won't bother her a bit.” He pressed another button, and a moment later a large-breasted narrow-waisted gleaming brass woman entered the room.

“Bessie!” said Buntline and Holliday together.

“Sirs?” asked Bessie.

“It has to be more useful than bedding cowboys or making our dinner, wouldn't you agree?” said Edison.

“It occurs to me,” said Holliday, “that there's a lot more to being a genius than I thought.”

H

Halfway through the night he'd made up his mind to return to Lincoln, that, with no money to gamble at the Oriental, he was just wasting his time here. By the time another hour had passed he had decided to stay in Tombstone. After all, he couldn't gamble in Lincoln either. He didn't know anyone there, and this way he could at least check on Edison's and Buntline's progress every day. Also, he actually had another friend here in Henry Wiggins, and he'd be able to spend some time with the Kid and probe for weaknesses.

Of course, all of that presupposed that he would have the strength to climb out of bed, which was by no means a certainty or even a probability until he did it. Finally it was a need to pass what remained of the whiskey he'd drunk the previous night that got him out of bed and onto his feet. The American had two large privies on each floor, one for men, one for women, and by the time he returned to his room he was ready to face the day.

He ran his hand over his cheek, decided he needed a shave, realized he was hungry, and put the trip to the barber off until he'd stopped by the restaurant and had some breakfast.

He picked up his cane—he'd done without it since arriving in Tombstone, but he knew he'd need it today—and made his way down the stairs and through the lobby to the restaurant. He sat down at a table, read the menu, realized that the thought of food, which was so vital to him not two minutes ago, made him sick, and ordered a bottle of whiskey instead. When it arrived he took one look at it, felt queasy, and moved it as far away as he could reach.

“For me?” said a voice. “How thoughtful.”

He looked up and saw the Kid approaching his table.

“I saw you through the window as I was walking by,” said the Kid, sitting down across from him. “You look like hell warmed over.”

“I wish I felt that good,” muttered Holliday.

“It's a little early in the day for me,” said the Kid, opening the bottle and pouring an inch into the glass, “but what the hell.”

A waiter noticed him and brought a second glass to the table.

“Are you sure I can't bring you anything to eat, Doctor Holliday?”

“Doc,” said Holliday irritably.

The waiter turned to the new arrival. “And you, sir?”

“Cook up half a dozen eggs,” said the Kid. “I'll eat what he doesn't.”

“How do you want them?”

“Fast and without questions.”

The waiter looked at him, nodded, and rapidly retreated to the kitchen.

“So what have you been doing with yourself?” asked the Kid.

“Drinking, coughing, sleeping, not much else,” replied Holliday. “How about you?”

“Mostly I've been admiring all the things your pals have done to the town. Electric lights at night, stagecoaches with no horses, and all that brass!”

“Yeah, they've pretty much remade it,” agreed Holliday.

“And the metal whores are the best part of it!” enthused the Kid. “You know,” he said confidentially, “I know a whore's probably heard and tried everything, but there are things I was always too shy to suggest to one. But not to a machine! I've been having the time of my life at the Wildcat!”

“I'm very happy for you,” said Holliday, wishing the room would stop spinning.

“They tell me you used to actually live there,” continued the Kid. “Is that so?”

“Yes.”

“Did you ever make it with three of the metal whores at once?”

“I never even made it with one.”

The Kid looked his disbelief. “Why not?”

“Did anyone tell you
why
I lived there?”

“Something to do with the madam.”

Holliday nodded delicately. “Kate Elder.”

“Big-Nose Kate. I've heard of her. They say she broke you out of jail.”

“Once, a few years ago,” said Holliday. “She felt that put me under an obligation of fidelity to her.”

The Kid made a face. “Big words again.”

“She felt that if she was willing to bust me out of jail, I shouldn't touch another woman—even a metal one.” He shrugged. “So I didn't.”

“But you're Doc Holliday!” said the Kid.

“And she's Kate Elder. She could probably beat the shit out of both of us at the same time.”

“A woman?” snorted the Kid contemptuously.

“Not a lot of frail flowers bloom in Tombstone,” said Holliday.

“I'm sure glad I didn't choose you for my hero when I was a kid.”

“You're still a kid,” replied Holliday. “Just out of curiosity, who
was
your hero?”

“George Armstrong Custer.”

“Seems to me he ran into some difficulties at the Little Bighorn a few years back.”

“He went out with his guns blazing,” said the Kid.

“You know that for a fact, do you?” asked Holliday.

“Of course he did,” said the Kid heatedly. “The Sioux don't take no prisoners.” He stared across the table at Holliday. “Who was
your
hero?”

“Hippocrates.”

“Is that a person, or an animal that lives in the water?” asked the Kid with a smug, self-satisfied grin.

“Fella from Europe,” replied Holliday. “And before you ask, he wasn't much with a gun.”

“Don't sound like much of a hero to me.”

At least he didn't blunder into Sioux headquarters
, thought Holliday. Aloud he said, “How long are you planning to stay in town?”

“I don't know,” answered the Kid. “I'll probably be heading back to Lincoln County one of these days. I've got friends there.” His face darkened. “And I've got someone who needs killing there, too—Pat Garrett.” He looked at Holliday. “You ever plan on going back, or were you just passing through?”

“It seemed a pleasant enough place,” answered Holliday. “I suppose I'll pay it another visit one of these days.”

“If you do, I'll be pleased to show you around.”

“I'll take you up on that,” said Holliday.

The waiter arrived with a large plate of scrambled eggs. Holliday expected to be sickened by the sight and smell of them. Instead he found himself getting hungry, and he moved about a third of the contents onto his own plate.

“You don't mind if I eat the rest?” asked the Kid.

“Be my guest,” said Holliday. “After all, you're a growing boy.”

“You know, you're the only man who can get away with teasing me like that and not get shot.”

“Wouldn't do you any good anyway,” said Holliday with a smile.

The Kid chuckled. “I forgot. Still, you know what I mean.”

“Yes,” said Holliday. “You mean you kill people for teasing you.”

“A man's got to be treated with respect,” said the Kid. “I mean, hell, you demanded that at the O.K. Corral.”

“It wasn't quite like that,” said Holliday.

“I was right, then,” said the Kid. “I figured you were going easy on them.”

Holliday frowned in puzzlement. “Easy on them?” he repeated.

“Yeah,” said the Kid. “I went over there yesterday, just to see where it happened. Didn't take much to figure it out.”

“I don't think I follow you.”

“You couldn't miss from that distance. Five men, five shots, five seconds tops, and it's all over. I figure you held back until you saw the Earps were getting all shot up.”

“You think you could have taken all five of them out in five seconds?”

“Why not?” said the Kid. “You couldn't miss, not from that distance.”

“There was a lot of smoke from the guns,” said Holliday. “One of the McLaurys was hiding behind his horse, and Ike Clanton was running all the hell over. They weren't just standing there being targets. They were firing at
us
, too. Virg and Morgan went down in the first five or six seconds.”

“If you'd been firing from the get-go, you could have saved them.”

“They were wounded, not killed.”

“I wish I'd been there,” said the Kid.

“Why?”

“It was the most famous shootout ever. I'd like to have been a part of it.”

“Billy Clanton and the McLaury brothers were part of it. I don't think they'd agree with you.”

The Kid threw back his head and laughed. “I like your sense of humor, Doc!”

“I didn't know I was being funny.”

“That makes it all the funnier,” said the Kid, leaving Holliday mystified by what passed for the young man's sense of humor.

They finished their eggs, Holliday had another half-glass of whiskey, checked the bottle, decided there was enough left not to throw it out, and told the waiter to label the bottle so he could have it ready for dinner. He left some coins on the table, and then, picking up his cane, he and the Kid walked out into the hot, sunny Arizona morning.

“What are your plans for the day?” asked the Kid.

“I have no idea,” said Holliday, pulling the brim of his hat down to shield his eyes from the sunshine. “It's been a long time since I was awake before noon. I don't remember what people do in the morning.”

“I've got a suggestion,” said the Kid.

“It's too damned early for the Wildcat,” said Holliday. “You go alone and give them my regards.”

The Kid shook his head, “No, I didn't mean that.”

“That's
a relief.”

“I thought we'd mosey over to the corral and you could show me exactly how it happened.”

“It was all over in half a minute, even if you think we were loafing,” said Holliday. “There's just not much to show.”

“You know how many dime novels have been written about it?” asked the Kid.

“All by Easterners who haven't been within five hundred miles of it,” replied Holliday.

“Next you're gonna be telling me that there wasn't any gunfight at all, that some newspaper made it all up.”

“There was one,” said Holliday. “I just don't know why everyone's still talking about it.”

“Why don't you show me and let me make up my own mind?” said the Kid.

“What the hell,” said Holliday. “It's only a few blocks away. We might as well go and get this over with.”

“Thanks, Doc.”

They walked a couple of blocks and came to Fremont Street.

“This is where I met them,” said Holliday, pointing up the street with his cane.

“Them?”

“The Earps. All three of them were dressed in black. Virgil was carrying a shotgun, and he traded it to me for my cane. Not that he thought I needed it, but he didn't want to antagonize the Clantons and McLaurys by holding the damned thing.” A sudden smile. “I never understood why he thought they'd feel safer if
I
was carrying it. Anyway, I fell into step with them, and we walked the rest of the way to Fly's Photo Studio.”

“You mean the O.K. Corral.”

“Six of one, half a dozen of the other,” said Holliday with a shrug. “Truth to tell, they weren't in either place. They were between the photo studio and an assay office in an alley that backed up to the corral.” Suddenly he smiled. “I can see where calling it Gunfight in the Alley Near the Photo Studio lacks a little something.”

There was a small crowd at the site of the gunfight, while a guide explained where each of the participants had stood, and his partner was selling souvenirs at the entrance to the alley.

“Well, I'll be damned if it ain't one of the survivors,” said the guide. “Here he is, folks—the legendary Doc Holliday!”

There was polite applause, and a few expressions of awe, and Holliday tipped his hat.

“I was just about to give the details of the Gunfight,” said the barker. “But perhaps you'd like to do it?”

“You go ahead,” said Holliday. “You probably know the details better than I do. I was a bit preoccupied at the time.”

“I'll be happy to,” said the barker. “Now, according to the eyewitness accounts, Wyatt Earp stood here, Virgil here, Morgan here, and Doc was over there, toting a shotgun.”

He walked over to show where the Clantons, McLaurys, and Billy Claiborne had positioned themselves, and as he did so the Kid walked over to where Doc had stood at the onset of the shootout. He pointed his finger at the guide and fired five quick, imaginary shots, then walked back to Holliday's side.

“Five seconds, tops,” he said softly.

Let's find out how good you really are
, thought Holliday. He stepped forward and got the guide's attention.

“My young friend is a rodeo sharpshooter,” he said. “I think if we encouraged him with some applause, he might be happy to give you a demonstration of marksmanship.”

“Certainly,” said the barker enthusiastically. “How would you like to do it?”

“Give me five targets,” said Holliday, “one to represent each of the Clanton gang.”

The guide's partner supplied five souvenirs, carved statues of Wyatt Earp, and Holliday positioned them around the alley, two high, two on the ground, one on a small barrel.

“All right,” said Holliday, stepping back. “The remarkable Henry Antrim will now take the place of myself and the Earp brothers.”

Now let's see if you're good enough to hit even three of the targets.

The Kid looked so relaxed Holliday thought he might have misunderstood, might be waiting for someone to yell “Draw!” or fire a pistol, but then, so quickly that the eye could barely follow him, he drew his pistol and fired five shots in rapid succession, twirled it once when he had finished, and slid it back into its holster.