Mary Russell - Doc

“Ladies over nines,” he announced, and another bill was paid.

A while later, those three sweet nines showed up again—two dealt, one drawn. The hooker was pacing now, smoking one cigarette after another, glaring at Holliday, who was down by $1,500 and looked awful.

An hour or so later, Johnson or Johansen or Jensen, or whatever the hell his name was, slapped his final hand onto the table and stood.

“That’s it for me,” he declared. “Gentlemen, it’s been a pleasure.”

“The pleasure is all Captain Grier’s,” Holliday remarked affably, though Bob Wright had also taken a fair percentage of the cattleman’s losses.

The Texan snorted, tossing back a drink before bidding good-bye to his opponents and three grand. Doc Holliday gathered the cards and began to shuffle, surveying the chips in front of the remaining players.

“Ovid tells us that Fortune and Venus befriend the bold,” he said, “but they are fickle gods, Captain Grier. You might consider quittin’ while you’re ahead, sir.”

“Goddammit, Doc!” Kate cried. “What are you—?”

“Roll me a cigarette, will you, darlin’?” Doc said mildly. “ ’Pears you have lost your bet with the captain. Perhaps you should retire an’ prepare for the consequences.”

Eli grinned, expecting Hungarian fireworks, but Kate had stopped pacing. For a few moments she watched the dentist’s hands as he shuffled the cards. Divvy, tumble, riffle … Riffle, arch, release … A corner of her upper lip lifted slightly—contempt? Without another word, she pulled a small silk pouch from the carpetbag she always carried and measured tobacco from it onto a thin, fine square of paper.

“Looks like you’ve got more’n enough now to buy into that store we’ve been discussing,” Bob Wright observed, staring at Eli. “About time you thought about marrying, wouldn’t you say? Wonderful institution, marriage. A wife, children … Why, they make life worth living.”

Kate choked and gave a startled laugh, shaking her head. Doc laid the deck down, slumped back in his chair, and struck a match.

“Wha’s so funny, darlin’?” he asked, his words now more slurred than blurred.

Mumuring something in French, she leaned over the table to accept the light, twisting her neck to smile with luxurious satisfaction as her breasts came within inches of Eli’s face. Before she straightened, she looked the other way and kissed Bob Wright on the mouth. Then she moved behind Doc Holliday and bent to kiss his neck, before reaching around to place the lit cigarette between his lips.

“Why, thank you, darlin’,” Doc said, blind as Homer to her wantonness.

He picked up the deck again, but for the third time that night, drawing in the first smoke set off a coughing fit so violent, he was nearly shaken from his chair. Bent almost double, he turned from the table, unable to go on. It was appalling, and the rest of them just sat there, not knowing what to do.

“Jesus, Doc,” Kate whispered, pouring him a drink. Still coughing, he shook his head, watering eyes aimed at the floor. Then, to everyone’s horror, he hawked bloody phlegm into the brass spittoon at his feet.

Revolted, and having lost better than $4,700 to Eli and Bob, the second cattleman took that opportunity to gather his remaining chips and stand. “I’m afraid I’ve had enough,” he said.

“Not me,” Doc gasped, still game. Wiping his mouth, he turned back to the table, white-faced and blue-lipped. “Evenin’s hardly begun …”

Kate poured him another drink. Doc drained the glass she offered. Somewhat recovered, the dentist dealt. Two down, two up.

“Another three for Mr. Wright. Not much to look at, but sometimes a pair of threes is all you need. Well, now!” he cried breathlessly when a second ace appeared in front of Eli. “Fortune continues to smile on Captain Grier! You are a lucky man, sir. And … a queen,” he said, staring. “No help for the dealer’s nine.”

Another round of bets. The last down cards distributed. Eli peeled up a corner of his and sat back in his chair. “Your grand. Fifteen hundred more,” he told Bob Wright.

Doc folded, his face neutral when he remarked, “Too rich for me.” Almost half of what he’d brought in was gone, with a little over two grand left.

“All in,” Bob Wright said, pushing his chips to the center of the table. “Let’s see what you have, Eli.”

What Eli had should’ve been enough.

All night long he’d won and won and won. For crissakes, Bob was only showing a pair of threes. My God, who wouldn’t have gone all in with aces full of kings?

“Four of a kind,” Bob said, laying out a second pair of threes with a jack.

“Peach of a hand,” Doc murmured, while Kate laughed and laughed and laughed.

Bob Wright rose and looked down at Elijah Garrett Grier. “That’s eighty-two hundred and change you owe me, Grier. Call it eight even,” he said, his voice hard, his eyes harder. “I want the cash by noon, you contemptible sonofabitch.”

“And what was our little side bet?” Kate asked Grier airily. “Oh! I remember now! I spend a night with the winner, and you?” Taking Bob’s arm, Kate purred, “ You owe me two grand.”

“Kate, darlin’, you go on along with Bob and celebrate, now,” Doc urged, his voice thready. “I have a little business to do with the captain.”

Drunk, sick, and nearly as stunned as Eli Grier, John Henry Holliday watched the couple leave. After a time, he cleared his throat and remarked, “Well, now. That was unexpected.” Eyes unfocused, it took him a while to work it out. “Only three of us,” he said to no one in particular.

Maybe Bob didn’t know before, Eli was thinking, but he sure as hell knows now. Jesus, I’m in trouble … He looked at Holliday. “I—I’m sorry. Did you say something?”

“Three players. Pattern changed.” Holliday poured himself another shot and tossed it back. “Ten grand,” he said then, staring at Eli with something like sympathy. “Lotta money. Haven’t got it, have you.”

It was not a question. Eli didn’t bother to reply.

“If you will be so kind as to help me to my feet,” Doc said softly, “perhaps we can both salvage some of our night’s work, sir. You have a horse that I would like … to buy.”

The days were noticeably shorter now. This one would be agreeably warm and windless. Half past six, and the pale early-autumn sun began its rise toward a clear, high sky that few in Dodge City were in a position to appreciate; the drovers had passed out a couple of hours ago and the citizens were still home, getting dressed and eating breakfast.

Their long shadows snaking westward along Front Street, two men walked toward the resurrected Elephant Barn, its unweathered lumber still the color of fresh-cut corn bread in the morning light. They had said little since leaving the Lone Star.

Eli named a price.

Holliday countered.

“She’s in foal,” Eli objected.

“You’re in trouble,” Doc replied. “Twenty-one sixty, firm.”

It was a strange number. Probably all the dentist had left, and no more than Roxana was worth. Given the sudden shift in his circumstances, Eli was already thinking about other things. How to phrase a vague telegram to his sister, for example, and how much she might be willing to wire him for an “emergency,” and where he could get the rest. He had no intention of paying off the hooker, but even minus that two grand …

No matter how he figured it, he’d never scrape the money up by noon.

Balancing an angry cuckold’s wrath against the U.S. Army’s dim view of desertion, Eli began to consider Mexico. Word was, Porfirio Díaz was staffing an army … Yes, it was probably time to take Bob Wright’s advice and resign his commission, in a manner of speaking. Past time, really. Alice was becoming tiresome and, frankly, Bob was welcome to her. She wanted so much! Attention, acknowledgment, affection. The constant demands and expectations were—