Denver Draw (9 page)

“That’s him,” Pennington said. “That’s Holliday.”

“Are you sure?” Seth asked.

“I seen him before,” Pennington said, “around town with the Earps.”

Seth looked around quickly.

“Are you sure the Earps left town?”

“Yeah,” Pennington said. “I saw them.”

“S-should we take him now?”

“He’s right in the middle of town, Seth,” Pennington said. “Walkin’ down the street. How’s that gonna look.”

“But you said you wanted to dry gulch him.”

“Yeah, but not in broad daylight when everybody can see us do it, idiot,” Pennington said. “I wanna kill him, but I don’t wanna go to jail for it. Understand?”

“Sure, Frank, sure,” Seth said, secretly glad they weren’t going to try to take Doc without Deke and Waldo. “I understand. So whatta we do?”

“You stay with him,” Pennington said. “Follow him, but don’t try anything until I say so. Got it?”

“I got it.”

“I’m gonna find the others,” Pennington said. “Just stay with him.”

By the time Bat finished his rounds, went to his office, did some business at his desk, had some coffee, thought about what he was doing with the warrant and the judge, and then left his office again and walked to the Bonanza, Butler was there playing solitaire.

“Beer, Roscoe,” he said to the bartender, “and one for my friend.”

The head bartender put two beers on the counter and Bat took them and walked to Butler’s table.

“You have a problem,” he told the gambler.

“What’s that, Bat?”

“You’re the only person in this town I can stand to drink with.”

Flattered, but not wanting to show it, Butler said, “Well, since you seem to have an extra beer with you, have a seat.”

Bat sat down, put both beers on the table and slid one over to Butler’s side.

“Thanks,” Butler said.

They both drank down about half their beers.

“So if you don’t like anybody in town, Bat, why stay?” Butler asked.

“I didn’t say I don’t like anyone in town,” the lawman answered. “I said I can’t stand to drink with ’em. And the reason I’m still in town is that I told these folks I’d be their marshal for a year. I still got more than half that time left. I always try to keep my word.”

“Admirable.”

“That’s why I’m stuck lookin’ after Doc,” Bat added. “Where is Doc, by the way?”

“Hey,” Butler said, “I’m not the one who said I’d keep an eye on him. Last I saw he was still walking around
town. ‘Taking the air,’ as he said.” He put a black eight on a red nine.

Bat sat back in his chair, regarding his half-full mug of beer.

“You know, there are men in this town who would back shoot him—or me—just to say they did it.”

“I think Doc knows that, Bat.”

“Yeah, I guess,” Bat said. “I’m gonna go and check with the judge. The quicker I get that warrant the quicker Doc can be on his way.”

“What about your beer?”

“Half’s fine,” Bat said, getting to his feet.

“Well, Doc will be here tonight to play poker.” Turned over an ace, placed it on the table above the other cards.

“Good,” Bat said, “at least then I’ll know where he is.”

“He wants to play poker, so I won’t be able to man your faro table,” Butler warned Bat.

“That’s okay,” Bat said. “I can leave it closed for another night.”

“Okay.” Butler placed a red queen atop a black king. “I’ll see you later, then.”

Bat left the saloon as others filed in. It was starting to get late and things were beginning to pick up. In another half hour there’d be girls on the floor, hawking drinks and flirting. By then somebody would be ready for a poker game.

Two hours later Butler was playing poker with three other men when Doc Holliday came through the batwing doors. Butler found himself heaving a sigh of relief. He had not seen Bat since he left to find the judge,
and he was starting to worry about both of them only because of what Bat had said about back shooting, and what had happened at the Bucket of Blood. With men like Bat and Doc in town, men like Vance and his boys would always be there. Just because they’d killed six of them didn’t mean there weren’t any left.

Doc got a whiskey from the bartender, walked over and said, “Mind if I sit in?”

Butler had warned the players that he was keeping a seat open for Doc, and none of them seemed to mind.

“That’s your chair,” one of them said. “Butler’s been savin’ it for you. Guess you fellas had a previous engagement. Hope the rest of us ain’t in the way.”

“You might be,” Doc said, sitting down and placing his drink carefully on the table, “but not for very long.”

Bat Masterson came in after Doc had been playing poker for about an hour. He exchanged a nod with Butler. Doc didn’t look up but Butler was sure he’d seen Bat enter. One of the girls, a very cute blonde with blue eyes and almost translucent skin, was in the act of placing another whiskey by Doc’s elbow.

“Thank you, my dear,” he said.

“Sure thing, Doc.”

She walked away and Doc did not even look up to watch her, as the other men did. Even Butler had to sneak a look. It was this kind of concentration that made him such a good poker player.

Butler had not counted Doc’s drink. He found out the day before that it didn’t matter. Doc Holliday was going to be Doc Holliday no matter what anybody said. The drinking did seem to affect his ability to walk, but not his ability to play cards.

Bat went to the bar, got himself a beer, then turned, leaned against the bar, and watched the game. Other games were going on around them, but it was the table with Ty Butler and Doc Holliday—and those other
three guys—that was attracting most of the attention.

Even from outside.

Seth Cates was watching the game through the front window. He’d followed Doc around all day, when all the man seemed to want to do was walk. Finally, he’d gone back to his hotel where he had spent hours. Seth had waited across the street, desperate for Pennington and the others to join him. If Doc Holliday saw him he’d be a dead man.

Finally, Doc had come out of his hotel and walked over to the saloon. Now, as Seth peered in the window, it was dark, so at least he had that cover going for him.

But where the hell were the others?

Pennington was drinking in the Bucket of Blood with Deke and Waldo. He was on his third beer since it had gotten dark.

“Frank?” Deke said.

“Huh?”

“Shouldn’t we go and find Seth now?” he asked. “Find out where Holliday is?”

“Yeah,” Pennington said, “yeah, we should. But you know what?”

“What?”

“I been thinkin’.”

“About what?” Waldo asked.

“Maybe we shouldn’t bushwack Holliday.”

“We shouldn’t?” Waldo asked.

“No.”

“Why not?” Deke asked.

“Because we get ourselves a bigger and better rep by killin’ him face-to-face.”

“Face-to-face?” Deke asked.

“With Doc Holliday?” Waldo asked. “Are you crazy.”

“No,” Pennington said, “listen to me. He plays poker all night, and drinks while he does it. We get him when he’s drunk, when he’s about to leave the saloon.”

“Outside?” Waldo asked. “In the dark?”

“No,” Pennington said, “inside, so we can see.”

“What about Masterson?” Deke asked. “And the gambler?”

“It’ll be a fair fight,” Pennington said. “They’ll stay out of it.”

“Fair fight?” Deke asked. “Four against one?”

“See?” Pennington said, “There’s four of us, and we’re all pretty good with a gun, right?”

“Well…” Deke said.

“Four against one,” Pennington said. “We ain’t gonna get better odds than that.”

Deke and Waldo looked at each other, wondering if it was Pennington who was drunk.

“I’m serious,” Pennington said, “and I’m sober.” He pushed the remainder of his third beer away and held out his hand. “See? Steady as a rock.”

Pennington could see he was still going to have to convince the two of them, so he went to the bar and got them each a beer.

“Now listen,” he said, when they each had a beer in their hands…

One by one the other players fell by the wayside again, as they had the night before, leaving Butler and Doc the last two players in the game.

“Well,” Doc said, “head-to-head again.”

“Looks that way.”

“Want to go ahead and play this time?”

Men all around them leaned in to hear the answer. If these two were going to play head-to-head poker, it was going to be something to watch.

“Don’t know when we’ll get this chance again,” Doc said. “I may be leavin’ town tomorrow.”

“Headin’ for Denver?”

“Who knows,” Doc asked. “I may be headin’ for boot hill.”

“Well,” Butler said, “if that’s the case”—he paused to check his watch, then tucked it back into his vest—“it’s early yet. Let’s go head-to-head.”

In time, as the hands went by, a circle formed around the table. Even Bat Masterson had to move in closer to watch what was going on.

Outside the saloon Seth Cates began to get concerned when he couldn’t see anything. He was trying to decide what to do—making decisions was not his strong suit—when Pennington and the others showed up.

“It’s about time,” he complained.

“Shut up,” Pennington said, looking in the window. “What’s goin’ on in there?”

“Doc Holliday and that gambler, Butler, are playin’ five-card stud head-to-head.”

“We can’t see nothin’ from out here,” Deke complained.

“That’s why we’re gonna go inside and join the party, Deke,” Pennington said, slapping him on the back.

“We’re goin’ in?” Seth asked, puzzled.

“Waldo,” Pennington said, “explain the plan to Seth, and then the two of you come in and join us.”

As Pennington went into the saloon with Deke close at his heels, Seth turned to Waldo and asked, “What plan?”

Butler looked down at his cards. His hole card was a king. One of his up cards was a king. Across from him Doc Holliday was showing two aces. If he had a third in the hole—or even another pair—Butler was dead.

But they each only had four cards. There was a fifth to come.

Doc had bet three hundred, and was waiting for Butler to call or fold. Or raise.

“Make it six hundred,” Butler said.

“You’re bettin’ like you already have a third king,” Doc said.

“Aren’t you betting like you already have a third ace?”

Doc was the dealer. He held the deck in his left hand, pushed his money out with his right.

“Call.”

He dealt them each their fifth card.

King for Butler.

Ace for Doc.

The crowd gasped. Bat Masterson shook his head.

“Looks like this is the make or break hand, Doc,” Butler said.

“Looks like it,” Doc said, setting the now useless deck down.

Bat did not imagine how either one of them could get away from this hand. You just couldn’t lay a hand like this down in five-card stud, and he didn’t even know what their hole cards were. At that moment, though, he most certainly would rather have been in Doc’s chair than in Butler’s.

Butler knew there was no getting away from this hand. There was also going to be no bluffing. This was just a
matter of who had the best cards, with all the money going into the middle of the table because, at that moment, they were about even.

Doc also knew there was no folding now. This is the hand poker players wait for, only they both had it. The question was, who had the better dream hand?

Butler had three kings on the table with a deuce of spades keeping them company.

Doc had three aces on the table with a seven of clubs alongside them to tag along.

Everyone watching was leaning forward, waiting for the next play to be made.

“Three aces are high on the table,” Doc said. “It’s my bet.”

“Yeah, it is,” Butler said, sitting back in his chair. Despite some distractions in the room, he’d been able to concentrate for the most part. He hoped the same was true of Doc.

Everyone waited for the bet.

Pennington was waiting also. Despite himself he had managed to get caught up in the game. Deke was standing next to him, also watching the two men intently.

Behind them, outside the circle of onlookers, Waldo was still trying to convince Seth that the plan was sound—this despite the fact that he still was not convinced himself.

Still, it was his responsibility to make sure Seth knew his part.

“That’s a pretty good-looking hand you got there, Doc,” Butler said.

“Yours ain’t bad, either, old son.”

“No, it ain’t,” Butler agreed. “I’d go to the mat every time with a hand like this.”

“Exactly how I feel about mine.”

“So what do we do?” Butler asked.

Finally, Doc Holliday pushed all his money into the center of the table and said, “I guess we go for it all.”

Jesus, Bat thought, is Butler gonna do it—go for it all against three aces on the table? Sure, he had three kings, but that was second best against Doc’s aces.

Unless Butler had another one in the hole—or a deuce.

Bat had been involved in hands like this himself, but he’d found those less nerve-wracking than this one.

If either man lost, would it break them? Financially and in spirit?

Would Doc Holliday go over the edge?

How would Butler react?

His feeling was that the hand was worse for everyone watching than for the two men involved. To them this was just one more hand, no more or less important than any that had come before, or would come later.

Anyway, that’s how Bat would have approached. Many was the time he’d been beaten in a hand like this and left for broke. He always managed to come back. He always managed to find himself in a hand like this again, and come out on top next time.

Until the next time…

Butler looked at all the money in the middle of the table. Losing this hand would not break him, but he wondered if it would break Doc? It didn’t really matter. He was going to play the hand to win, no matter what. He was just wondering…

“Jesus Christ!” Bat Masterson yelled. “What’s it gonna be?”

Other men began yelling, and they didn’t stop until Butler put his hands in his chips.

Then it got dead quiet.

Doc Holliday watched without emotion. He believed that he had spit up all the emotion he had left inside of him. There was nothing left really. Now his life was just like this poker game, just waiting to see what the next move was going to be.

“Okay,” Butler said, shoving the remainder of his chips into the center of the table with Doc’s, “I call.”

Now the onlookers leaned in to see the hole cards of the two players.

“What do you have, Doc?” Butler asked.

“You’re lookin’ at them,” Doc Holliday said. “Three aces. If you got a fourth king in the hole, you got me.”

“No king,” Butler said, turning over his hole card, “but would another deuce do?”

“Full house!” somebody exclaimed in a hushed tone.

Doc Holliday stared across the table at Butler and said, “Nice hand, old son. How about a drink?”

“Okay, game’s over,” Bat shouted. “Give the gents some room.”

Men started to move away, back to their own tables, or to the bar, or even out the front doors. Butler raked
his money in and two girls came over to take the chips away and cash them in.

“Let’s have that drink at the bar,” Doc suggested. “Bat, would you care to join us?”

“Sure,” Bat said.

The three men went to the bar. Bat and Butler ordered beer, while Doc stuck with whiskey.

“To the victor,” he said, raising his shot glass.

“That was some hand,” Bat said.

“Yes, it was,” Doc said. “I’ve seen our friend bluff before, but he wasn’t bluffing this time.”

“No, he wasn’t,” Bat said.

Butler didn’t comment. To him there was no way to bluff that hand. Most of what they had was on the table.

Doc finished his drink and signaled the bartender for another. Bat and Butler nursed their beers.

“Whew,” someone said from down the bar, “that Doc Holliday sure got skunked in that game!”

Butler cringed, Bat craned his neck to see who was speaking. Doc ignored the comment.

“I mean, it was pretty clear who had the winning hand that time,” the voice said. “Didn’t take a blind man to see that.”

Doc accepted his fresh drink from the bartender. Butler watched him as he downed it with a steady hand.

“Doc Holliday sure must be losin’ it,” the man’s voice said. “But then what do you expect from a lunger. He probably coughed up most of the brains he ever had.”

“Okay, that’s enough,” Bat shouted. He turned to face that end of the bar. “Who’s got the big mouth?”

The men between him and the speaker backed away from the bar. Frank Pennington stood at the end with his three partners right behind him.

“I’m just havin’ my opinion, Marshal,” Pennington said.

“Christ, Pennington, is that you? Man, you ain’t got the brains God gave a donkey.”

Pennington stiffened, and his face reddened.

“I ain’t havin’ words with you, Marshal,” he said. “I was talkin’ about Holliday.”

“I know,” Bat said. “That’s why I know you ain’t got no brains. Why would you wanna go and poke at a man who just lost a bunch of money on a tough hand—”

Bat stopped short when he felt a hand on his arm.

“It’s okay, Masterson,” Holliday said. “I can handle this.”

“Doc, I’m the law—”

“Don’t worry,” Doc said, “I’m not gonna press charges. I’m just gonna have a talk with these waddies.”

“I ain’t no waddie!” Pennington snapped, straightening up, his hand hanging down by his gun. The three men behind him all straightened and spread their legs, but Bat, Butler, and Doc could see the fear on their faces. The question was, who did they fear more, Pennington or Doc Holliday?