Bucking the Tiger (13 page)

The front door to the Beehive swung open, allowing a tall man with wide shoulders to step through. He wore a pleasant expression on his face, along with a waxed mustache that looked like it had been clipped directly from an advertisement. He surveyed the room with mild interest as he made his way to the bar.

“What can I get for you?” Owen Donnelly asked as he approached the new customer.

“I'd like to have a game at Dr. Holliday's table,” the man replied. “I hear he runs one hell of a game.”

“Doc's not in town anymore. Left just a few days ago. If you want a game, there's plenty of seats at Lottie's table.”

“Lottie Deno? She's working here?”

Donnelly nodded. “Took over Doc's spot and I haven't had one complaint yet.”

Glancing toward the table that Donnelly had pointed out, the well-dressed man immediately picked out the redhead dealing cards. “I don't see anything to complain about. By the way, did you happen to hear where Doc went?”

After scratching his chin, Donnelly shrugged. “Not certain.”

“Thanks anyway. I believe I'll have a game along with some gin.”

Donnelly turned around and took a dusty bottle from the shelf behind the bar. After pouring a splash of clear liquor into a glass, he slid the drink toward the man who'd ordered it “Enjoy.”

The man nodded once and paid for his drink before sliding through the few people milling about the saloon at that time of day. There were only two seats taken at Lottie's table, but she smiled and laughed as if she were entertaining a full room.

She acknowledged the well-dressed man with a wink and said, “Hello there, stranger. Looking to buck the tiger?”

“Actually,” the man said, “I wanted to have a word with you on that very subject.”

“You want to know how to play the game?”

“No, I'd like to talk about the Tiger.”

Lottie paused for a heartbeat, which felt a hell of a lot longer. She recovered gracefully, however, by dealing her next hand while making a show of explaining the rules of faro to the newest player. After that hand, she gathered up her cards and politely shut down her table. There were a few groans from the other players, but they were appeased by a quick kiss on the cheek from Lottie and a promise that she'd be back real soon.

As the well-dressed man went to a table closer to the stage at the back of the saloon, Lottie went to the bar.

“You know that fella?” Donnelly asked.

Lottie smiled, but couldn't keep from looking uncomfortable about it. “He's an associate of someone else I knew.”

“One of those, huh?”

“Yes,” she said, not really knowing exactly what Donnelly meant. “One of those. Can I have something to drink?”

“Some wine?”

“Whiskey.”

Donnelly raised his eyebrows at that, but poured it just the same. “Little stronger than usual, Lottie. You sure everything's all right?”

“It should be fine, but I would appreciate it if you kept an eye on us.”

“Will do,” Donnelly said with a nod. “You need anything, just give me a holler.”

Sensing the intent glare coming from the well-dressed man at the back of the room, Lottie patted Donnelly's hand and turned away from the bar. She walked straight over to the table, where the man was waiting with his drink in hand and a steely confidence in his eyes.

“I made my payments already,” Lottie said. “Just ask any of the other thugs that have come around looking for a handout.”

“This isn't about the tax,” the man said.

“Really? The only time anyone comes around mentioning the Tiger is when they're after their filthy money.”

The man's eyes narrowed as a chilling smile crept onto his face. “That Tiger business is nothing but dramatics. My name's Stakely.”

Lottie shook the hand that Stakely offered, which caused a shiver to roll beneath her skin. The man's grip had strength, but he was careful not to squeeze her hand too tightly. Instead, his fingers wrapped around her the way a noose wrapped around a man's neck—resting easily in place with no intention of letting go.

“All right, Mr. Stakely,” Lottie said. “If this isn't about money, then what is it about?”

“Taylor was right about you. He said you were every bit as sweet as you looked. He also mentioned that you were smart and one hell of a cardplayer.”

“That's nice.”

“Even if all that's true, any reputation can be soiled by the company you keep.” Stakely paused so he could watch Lottie's face. His eyes brushed up and down over her like an unsolicited touch. “You know who I'm talking about.”

“The only problems I've had was when I was in a game with Mr. Taylor.”

“I'm talking about that lunger Doc Holliday and the half-Injun he works with. Those pieces of shit came in here like they owned Fort Griffin and didn't pay me a dime.”

“They paid their dues,” Lottie insisted. “They ran their games here with Donnelly's blessing.”

“And that helps Donnelly pay what he owes. You know damn well that each fucking cardplayer who wants to stay healthy pays his own taxes or it'll catch up to him in a rush. Holliday and his accomplice are headed for one hell of a catch-up and they won't like it one bit. That is, unless you can tell me where to find them,” Stakely added in a softer tone that wouldn't have fooled anybody. “Maybe if I got a chance to sit down with them, we could straighten this whole thing out.”

“If you want to find Doc, you can track him down yourself. I'm not his keeper.”

Stakely let out a measured breath and leaned back in his chair. He glanced toward the bar and held up his empty glass. Almost immediately, Donnelly walked over to give him another portion of gin. The bartender tossed Lottie a friendly nod and then made his way back to the bar.

Once Donnelly was gone, Stakely parted his lips and licked them with the tip of his tongue before speaking. “I could have that barkeep choking on his own blood before you thought twice about asking him for help.”

Since Lottie couldn't keep herself from pulling in a quick breath, she filled her lungs until she was able to gather the strength to sit up straight and look Stakely in the eye. “I told you, I don't know where to find Doc and Caleb.”

“Is that the Injun's name?”

“And you've got a hell of a lot of nerve coming here and threatening me. If Taylor would have stuck to our plan, things wouldn't have gone so badly.”

“The plan was to take Holliday down a notch without having to put a gun to his head. You ask me, Taylor was overly sentimental since that lunger obviously isn't long for this world.”

“It's not my fault Taylor was outmatched,” Lottie said.

“Outmatched or outmaneuvered?”

“Is there a difference?”

Stakely remained still as a slab of rock, allowing his mouth to move only when it was necessary to form his words. “One involves skill and the other involves getting stabbed in the back by a lying cunt who was supposed to be on your side.”

Lottie's hand flashed up and smacked Stakely in the face before she even knew she was going to do it. The slap was more a reflex than anything else, and though she looked surprised that it happened, she wouldn't have taken it back for the world.

For a moment, Stakely didn't move. Eventually, he lifted one hand to rub his face and then nodded slowly. “I had that coming,” he said. “But you've got some things coming as well and you know exactly what I'm talking about.”

“I told Taylor at the start that I wouldn't have a part in cheating Doc or Caleb. I wouldn't have cheated Mike, either, for that matter. I was to keep the game under control and get Taylor in. That's it. You may have your own code, but the rest of us do, too.”

“Honor among thieves? Don't try to get that shit past me.”

Staring at Stakely with undisguised contempt, Lottie said, “I did what I could during that game. To be perfectly honest with you, if I hadn't been there, your man Taylor would have been fleeced in half the time.”

“All right, so tell me where to find them.”

“Doc didn't say where…” Lottie's voice trailed off when she felt the cold touch of iron against her thigh. She froze and felt her breath catch in her throat as she shifted her legs to feel what was pressed against her.

There was no mistaking the shape of the gun barrel that had somehow been eased under a few layers of her skirts.

Stakely grinned and rubbed the gun up and down along her leg. “You like word games, Lottie? I sure don't. I've dealt with enough gamblers to know when you're trying to play your little games, so don't even try them on me. Since you didn't say anything to Doc, then you must have said something to the Injun.

“Didn't he get under these skirts as well?” Stakely whispered as he moved his pistol even higher against Lottie's thigh. “Didn't he get right up in there? He must have been real good if you're so ready to get shot right now just to protect him.”

Watching her carefully, Stakely asked, “You're thinking of him right now, aren't you? Try to imagine what lengths he'd go to in order to protect you. I wonder if that Injun's got a code like you do?”

Sitting up straight, Lottie reached down and wrapped her fingers around the barrel of the gun that was being forced between her legs. She moved it up and away until it knocked against the bottom of the table. “I'm not protecting anyone,” she snarled. “I'd just rather pull my own hair out before doing anything to help a piece of shit like you.”

When Stakely tried to take his gun back, he had to pull three times before it would come loose from Lottie's grip. Without pausing for a moment, he brought the gun up and slammed it onto the table. It was a weathered Colt that carried more than a few scars to show it was no stranger to its owner's hand. The barrel and handle were engraved with the same design that had adorned Taylor's knife. This Tiger, however, was etched in gold and had two small diamonds for eyes.

There were also a few large streaks of rust discoloring the end of the barrel.

“You surprised me,” he said. “I didn't think you'd have this much fire in you. Of course, I would have thought that you'd be smarter than your friend Mike Lynch.”

Stakely uttered those last two words with an unmistakable finality.

When she looked down at the barrel of the gun, Lottie saw that those dark red streaks might not be rust after all.

“What happened to Mike?” she asked.

Easing back from the table, Stakely got up and slipped his gun back into its holster. He ignored the fact that Donnelly was coming around the bar with his shotgun in hand.

“You'd better be more concerned with the ones that are still alive,” Stakely said. With that, he turned and stepped around Donnelly as if the barkeep wasn't even there.

A year ago, Caleb would have begged for a chance to get out of his little office in the back of his saloon and try his hand at gambling for a living. Now, after spending the last few weeks in Jacksboro nursing a gunshot wound while Doc nursed a winning streak, Caleb thought back fondly to those days when his biggest worries were fixing a leaky roof or dealing with another liquor salesman.

The doctor had stitched up Caleb's shoulder and sent him on his way with a full bottle of tablets that he'd ground up himself. After that, Caleb got real comfortable in his rented room and slept in for the next few days. When he woke up, Doc was still playing cards at the same table. Only the different color of Doc's suit told Caleb that the former dentist had gotten up from that spot since the last time he'd checked.

It was late afternoon when Caleb decided to pay another visit to the Jackrabbit Saloon, and the summer sun was blazing down on his shoulders with a vengeance. Sweat pushed out from his scalp and trickled down his face. There was plenty of shade to be had inside the saloon, so Caleb stomped through the doors and let out a discontented growl.

“How about some raw meat for my friend?” Doc shouted from his normal table along the edge of the room.

Nobody but a drunk or two even responded to that, but Doc laughed enough to make up for the mild reaction. He sat at a table that had clearly once been a larger dining table but had been sawed in half. A shredded tablecloth was spread over the weathered surface and was stained with more colors than the side of a desert rock.

“Say hello to my friend, Admiral.”

The man sitting adjacent to Doc looked over at him with slack-jawed aggression. “Admirals run ships,” he said while slapping his hand against the insignias pinned to his rumpled blue shirt. “Do I look like a goddamn sailor?”

Doc leaned over and squinted at the man's uniform until he finally shook his head. “My apologies, sir. I haven't seen a military uniform up close since my youth.”

“Probably one of those sorry-ass Rebel suits by the sound of you.”

“Indeed. Look here, Caleb,” Doc said. “Now this is how a man brings respect to his ship.”

Although Doc's joking wasn't particularly harsh, Caleb saw right away why the jokes kept coming. The man in uniform wore his colors as if they'd been dragged behind a horse and then beaten against a rock, but he bristled every time Doc mentioned anything to do with them.

“I don't serve on no ship,” the man growled.

As he walked past the table, Caleb extended a hand. “I'm Caleb Wayfinder. What's your proper title?”

The man in uniform gaped at Caleb and took a few noisy breaths. “You're an Injun?”

“Partly.”

“I'm Corporal Jesse Butler, Sixth Cavalry Regiment, United States Army.”

Caleb held up his hands and said, “No need to circle your wagons. I'm just here for a drink.”

There were a few more laughs, but most of the others inside the saloon were more interested in their own business. The Jackrabbit had only two solid walls and part of a roof overhead. The rest was tacked together using spare planks and some large sheets of canvas. Even the front door was there mostly as a formality, since folks could come and go through any number of slits cut in the flimsier sections of the saloon's walls.

“I got plenty of friends that got killed by Injuns,” Corporal Butler said. “You think that's funny?”

Caleb shook his head and kept walking until he reached the bar. Only when he leaned against it did he realize the bar was actually a couple of stacks of old crates with a tarp thrown on top of them.

“My friend meant nothing by it, Admiral,” Doc chimed in. “Shall we continue our game?”

Butler managed to peel his eyes off Caleb before saying, “I got some money in my bedroll. Save my seat while I get it.”

Since Butler didn't bother checking to see if anyone would actually follow his command, he didn't notice when one of the other players at the table reached out to swipe a few of his chips. Doc saw the theft, but ignored it as he got up from his chair. That simple action was accompanied by a labored wince and a few long, wheezing breaths.

“You feeling any better, Doc?” Caleb asked.

“I was just about to ask you the same.”

Caleb knew better than to press it if Doc didn't feel like talking about his health. Besides, the Georgian was sounding better by the time he walked over to the bar.

“I'm all stitched up and ready to go,” Caleb said. “There's a stage to Denver leaving tomorrow at two.”

“Then, by all means, you should be on it.”

“Just me, Doc? I thought you were itching to get to Denver. That place has got a whole lot more possibilities than this hole of a town.”

“Perhaps, but my military friend has plenty of money left and he's dying to hand it over. He's mentioned a few others from Fort Richardson that will be joining him and I can only figure they're in his same league.”

“You also figure they can pay off more than a big game in Denver?”

Doc shrugged and said, “They're easy pickings and they'll be here in another day or two. After wringing them dry, I'll have more than enough for a stake in Denver. I may even have enough to loan out to get you started.”

“We'll see if I need it,” Caleb said.

“If you want to recuperate for a while longer, you can—”

Caleb cut him off with a swiftly raised hand. “I'm more than ready to get the hell out of Texas for a while. All that talk of fresh mountain air has got me itching to get a move on and take a taste for myself.”

“Just try to leave some for me.”

Nodding, Caleb shook Doc's hand and said, “The plan's still the same. I haven't forgotten about that. Soon as I get situated, I'll see if I can find if there are any tigers prowling in those mountains.”

“Actually, I have no doubt that such local wildlife will not only be easy to spot, but will seek you out.”

“God help 'em.”

Still shaking Caleb's hand, Doc slapped the man's shoulder and took a step back. “I'll be there before too long. I'm sure my business here in town won't keep me here for very long.”

“Just try not to get on the army's bad side, Doc. There's only so much one accomplice can do.”

“I'll try to keep that in mind.”

Just then, Butler stomped into the saloon and made his way to the table as if he intended on pounding holes in the floor with every step. He slapped a bundle onto the dirty tablecloth and sat down roughly. “Let's play some cards,” he grunted.

Doc smirked and headed back to his chair. “My sentiments exactly, Admiral.”

Caleb had to turn his back on the table and leave before he busted out laughing at how easily Doc got under Butler's skin. As soon as he was outside, he took a look around and pulled in a lungful of Jacksboro atmosphere. The place smelled like a healthy mix of horseflesh and sweaty armpits. Soldiers from the nearby fort walked in small packs up and down the streets, ogling whores who looked as if they were sitting down merely because they'd been worked too hard to stand on their own.

It was a perfect place to lay low and heal up, since there was no reason on earth why anyone would bother trying to cut in on the gambling action there. If anyone claiming to represent the Tiger even knew about Jacksboro, it was as a stopover on the way back onto the gambler's circuit.

Caleb wasn't feeling great, but he was feeling a whole lot better. By the time he crossed the street and made his way to a tent that had been pitched on a nearby corner, he barely even felt the stitches in his back.

The tent Caleb approached might have been large enough to fit a few people rather comfortably under its canvas cover. Because it was stretched to more than double its intended height, the tent only had two and a half sides to go along with its tattered top. A sign stuck in the dirt in front of it read:
HORSES FOR SALE
.

“Are these the only ones you've got?” Caleb asked the short man sitting on the ground with a shotgun across his lap.

The man inside the tent had deep pockmarks in his face and teeth that were nearly the same color as the Texas soil. He reflexively tightened his grip on his shotgun as he sized up Caleb with a quick glance. “These are all fine for whatever you need.”

“How about a ride to Denver?”

“Whatever you need.”

“Mind if I take a look?”

The man shrugged and nodded toward the selection, which consisted of two somewhat likely prospects and three more nags that barely looked healthy enough to cross the street without falling over.

Settling on a gray mare, Caleb knew better than to ask if the horse would make it. The man with the pockmarked face didn't exactly strike him as the sort who would be honest when it came to selling his animals. Fortunately, Caleb had enough experience under his own belt to make a decision.

“I'll pay fifty for this one,” Caleb said to the seller.

“A hundred and not a dime less.”

“Seventy-five.”

“Ninety-five.”

Glaring down at the seller, Caleb shifted on his feet so his hand just so happened to come to rest on the barrel of his holstered pistol. “Eighty-five and that better include the saddle. If this horse makes it all the way to Denver, I'll come back and pay you the rest.”

“All right, all right. Hand it over.”

After paying for the horse and buckling a beat-up saddle over its back, Caleb rode out of Jacksboro and headed toward Colorado. He was sick of hiding.

It was time to do some seeking.