Denver Draw (12 page)

When Butler got back to his hotel, there was a telegram waiting for him from Bat Masterson. It said:
AM ON THE FIRST TRAIN
.

So there was nothing he could do until Bat arrived. As a Colorado lawman armed with a warrant he might be able to keep Doc from being extradited back to Arizona. If not, then there might be something they could do together to keep it from happening.

Butler wondered where the Earps were. Last he heard they had gone to Gunnison, but whether or not they were still there he didn’t know. Still, if he sent another telegram and they were there, he knew they’d head for Denver right away. He decided there could be no harm in sending it.

“Ty!”

He turned and saw Jennifer Conway coming across the lobby toward him, looking as lovely as ever, if somewhat less dressed up.

“I’m so glad I caught you,” she said. “I was about to go for a walk. Would you like to join me?”

“I would like nothing better, Jennifer,” he said, “but I can’t. I…have to send a telegram.”

“Oh.” She was obviously disappointed, and he knew it sounded like a lame excuse.

“No, really, something came up. Uh, last night a friend of mine was arrested.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. Oh, wait. I think I read something in the newspaper. Was that…Doc Holliday?”

“Yes, it was,” he said. He hadn’t seen the newspaper yet. “It’s already in the paper?”

“Oh, yes, it made quite a splash. Are you hoping to help him…escape?” she asked.

“Nothing so dramatic,” he said. “I am hoping to keep him from being sent back to Arizona, though.”

“And you can do that by sending telegrams?”

“Possibly.”

“Well…don’t you have to walk to the telegraph office?”

“As a matter of fact, I do.”

“Can I walk with you?” she asked. “And maybe when you’ve finished sending your telegrams, we can take a stroll.”

“That sounds like an excellent idea,” he said. “As long as you don’t mind waiting at the telegraph office.”

“Not at all,” she said, sliding her arm through his. “Actually, it’s quite exciting. It’ll make me feel like I’m helping, too. Shall we go?”

They walked to the telegraph office arm in arm. Jennifer offered to wait for him outside but he wouldn’t hear of it. He told her to come inside with him, where he could keep an eye on her.

He wrote out his telegram while she looked over his shoulder.

“Oh my God,” she murmured, “Wyatt Earp?”

“He’s Doc Holliday’s good friend,” Butler explained.

“I know,” she said. “I mean, I read about the O.K. Corral and all.”

“Well, he’d want to know that Doc is in trouble.”

“And he would drop everything and come?”

“In a minute.”

“And who else?”

“I’ve already sent one to Bat Masterson,” Butler said. “The last time I saw him he was a marshal in Trinidad, Colorado. I’m hoping he still is.”

“And he’ll come? He’s friends with Doc Holliday?”

“It’s kind of complicated,” Butler said, finishing up his telegram. “Bat is friends with Wyatt, Doc is friends with Wyatt, they get along for the sake of Wyatt.”

“Wyatt Earp must be a special man to command such loyalty from these kind of men.”

Butler took the handwritten telegram to the key operator, who then sent it on to Gunnison.

“Will you wait for an answer, or shall I send it to the hotel again?” the man asked.

“The hotel, thanks,” Butler said.

He stepped outside with Jennifer and took a deep breath.

“Well, there’s not much else I can do for now,” he said.

“How long will it take Bat Masterson to get here?”

“He’s taking the train, but it will still be a few days.”

“What if they decide to send Mr. Holliday back between now and then?” she asked.

“I’m gambling that it will take longer than that,” Butler said. “They have to get a judge to hear his case, or at least review it, before they decide to send him back.”

“So, then, I have you for the afternoon?”

He took her arm and wrapped it around him.

“Miss Conway, you have me for the entire day, if you so wish.”

In his cell Doc Holliday thought over his fate. Back in Tombstone he was as good as dead, but how could he avoid being sent back there? They hadn’t even brought him a lawyer yet, and even if they did, would the man bother looking for Bat Masterson or the Earps for him? Even the gambler, Butler, would help if he knew—but Doc didn’t know where he was, either.

He didn’t know for sure where any of his “friends” were.

Butler and Jennifer spent a pleasant afternoon together, strolling around Denver, taking in the sights, learning a little more about each other, and sharing a very good lunch. Every so often Butler would think about Doc sitting in a cell, maybe coughing his lungs out, and feel bad, but there was really nothing he could do…unless…

“Do you mind if I take you back to the hotel now, Jennifer?” he asked after lunch.

“Why?” she asked. “I thought we were having a good time.”

“We are,” he said, “but…”

“Are you thinking about your friend, Doc?”

“Yes,” he said. “I was wondering if he had a lawyer. Then I thought, if I get him a lawyer maybe I can get in to see him that way.”

“That makes sense,” she said. “Let’s go find your friend a lawyer.”

“You want to do that?”

“It’s better than sitting back at the hotel all alone.”

“I thought you had some writing to do?”

“Well,” she said, “I also have some living to do, though.”

“That’s true.”

“So,” she asked, holding his arm tightly, “how do we find a lawyer?”

Butler was about to say he had no idea, when something suddenly occurred to him.

“Come on,” he said, “we have to go back to the hotel.”

“But,” she protested as he dragged her along, “I thought we were going to look for a lawyer…”

It was late afternoon. Butler was hoping that the local businessmen stopped by the hotel bar then as well as after work. He was also hoping that Jeremy was working behind the bar.

By the time they reached the hotel he had explained his idea to Jennifer.

“You think that some of the men who drink in the hotel bar are lawyers?” she asked.

“I think there’s bound to be a lawyer in the batch,” he said. “And if not, maybe somebody will know one, like the bartender.”

They entered the bar, found a smattering of men sitting at tables by twos and threes.

“See?” he said. “These men have jobs they want to get away from.”

“I have to admit,” she said, “some of these men look like they could be lawyers. Well, except him.”

There was one man sitting alone. He was short, fat, and sweaty in a rumpled suit, and was hanging over a mug of beer as if all the cares of the world were heaped on his shoulders.

When they went to the bar, Jeremy met them there with a smile.

“Who’s the pretty lady, Mr. Butler?”

“Another hotel guest, Jeremy,” Butler said. “Meet Jennifer.”

“Ma’am,” Jeremy said. “What can I get for you?”

“How about a glass of brandy?”

“Comin’ up,” Jeremy said. “Beer, Butler?”

“Thanks.”

When Jeremy returned with their drinks, Butler said, “I’ve got a problem, Jeremy.”

“What’s that?”

“I need a lawyer.”

“Did you get into trouble already?”

“It’s not for me,” Butler said.

“Oh, you mean for Doc Holliday?”

“That’s right,” Butler said. “Do you know if any of these fellas in here is a lawyer?”

“There’s a few of them in here,” Jeremy said, “but there’s only one you really want.”

“Why is that?” Jennifer asked.

“He’s the only one who takes criminal cases,” Jeremy said. “Most of the offices around here are for bank or real estate lawyers.”

“So there’s one criminal lawyer in here?” Butler asked.

“Yes.”

“Is he any good?”

“He used to be very good,” Jeremy said, “but I have admit he’s slipped some over the years. Now he spends a lot of his time in here.”

Butler turned and looked around, saw the two men who had been discussing Doc’s arrest the night before.

“One of those two?”

“Them? No, they’re not lawyers of any kind. They employ lawyers. No, I’m talkin’ about him.”

They both looked over to where he was pointing. All they saw was the fat man in the rumpled suit, his nose now almost in his beer.

“You can’t mean him,” Jennifer said.

“I mean him,” Jeremy said. “A few years ago he was one of the best lawyers in Denver.”

“And then what happened?” Butler asked.

“Same old story,” the bartender said. “I’ve heard it a hundred times.”

“Women,” Butler said.

“Was it gambling?” Jennifer asked.

“Or drinking?”

“Nope,” Jeremy said, “he lost a case.”

“A case?” Jennifer asked.

“One case?” Butler asked.

“That’s a lot,” Jeremy said, “when you’ve never lost one.”

“Wait a minute,” Jennifer said, getting interested. “You mean to say he never lost a case, and when he did he became…that?”

“Not exactly,” Jeremy said, leaning on the bar. “He lost one, then he lost another, and then a third. His confidence was shaken. He just lost his edge. Now he just comes here a few times a week.”

“And the other days he’s in court?” Jennifer asked.

“No,” Jeremy said, “the other days he goes and sits someplace else.”

“So he goes to different bars and saloons around the city and just gets drunk?” Butler asked. “And you’re recommending him?”

“Oh, no,” Jeremy said. “He’s not drunk. He’ll sit drooped over that beer all day, and then go home.”

“He doesn’t drink?”

“I’m not sayin’ he don’t drink at all,” the bartender said. “I’m just sayin’ he doesn’t get drunk.”

“So if we walk over there right now and talk to him,” Jennifer asked, “he’s cold sober?”

“As a judge,” Jeremy said, then added, “well, not all judges.” He pointed to a well-dressed man standing at the end of the bar who was obviously very drunk, almost to the point of falling over.

“He’s a judge?” Jennifer asked.

“Yup.”

“Okay,” Butler said, “we’re getting off the subject here. “What makes you think this fella over here—”

“Oliver James.”

“—this Oliver James, could handle this case.”

“I think he needs a case like this to get him back,” Jeremy said. “A big-name client like Doc Holliday? Do him a world of good.”

Butler knew he had Bat Masterson coming to town to try to get Doc out of jail. All he really needed from a lawyer was to get him in to see Doc, and to delay things long enough for Bat to get there. He didn’t need a big-name, high-price lawyer for that.

“What are you thinking?” Jennifer asked.

He explained his thought process to her while Jeremy stood there and listened.

Jennifer looked at the bartender.

“Does that sound like something he could handle?”

“In the old days, he wouldn’t even touch a case like that,” Jeremy said. “Right now, it’s probably perfect.”

Jennifer and Butler exchanged a look.

“Hey,” Jeremy said, with a shrug, “how much time you got to keep shopping around?”

“He’s right,” Butler said to Jennifer. “I don’t have time to waste.”

They both looked over at the man, who certainly had all the characteristics of a classic drunk.

“Okay,” Butler said, “let’s do it.”

Butler and Jennifer approached the man’s table. It was only then that he noticed the man’s eyes were open, even though his head was hanging down.

“Mr. James?”

The man’s head came up and he looked directly at Butler. His eyes were clear and bright, if a bit sad.

“My name is Butler, and this is Jennifer Conway,” Butler said. “We’d like to talk to you about something.”

“Talk to me?” James asked. “Why?”

“Well, the bartender over there—Jeremy—tells me that you’re a lawyer. I happen to be looking for a lawyer.”

“Really? Well, you can’t swing a dead cat around here without hitting a lawyer. Take your pick.”

“It’s a criminal matter, and Jeremy says that’s your specialty. May we sit down and talk?”

“You can sit down,” James said, “and you can talk. I can’t guarantee anything will come of it.”

“Fair enough.”

Butler held a chair for Jennifer, then seated himself.

“A friend of mine is in jail,” Butler said.

“And you need to get him out?”

“Well, I think I have that covered, but I do need to slow down the legal process until another friend of mine gets here.”

“A friend in jail and a friend coming,” Oliver James said. “I think I’m going to need some names before we go any further, Mr. Butler.”

When his head was hanging down it was easy to misread Oliver James’s age, because his hair was thinning on top. This close, however, he seemed to be nearer to forty than fifty.

“Well, the man who’s in jail is Doc Holliday,” Butler said, “and the man whose arrival I’m awaiting is Bat Masterson.”

James stared at Butler, then looked at Jennifer.

“He’s joking, right?”

“I’m afraid not, Mr. James,” she said.

The lawyer looked back at Butler.

“Doc Holliday, Bat Masterson?” he repeated. “Why not bring Wyatt Earp into the mix?”

“I’ve already sent a telegram in an attempt to do that very thing,” Butler assured him.

“And your name again?”

“Butler, Tyrone Butler.”

“You’re the only one I’ve never heard of.”

“That’s not a surprise.”

James sat back in his chair. Pale to this point, there suddenly seemed to be red spots on his cheeks. His eyes, sad till now, seemed interested.

“And these other fellas, they’re all friends of yours?”

“That’s right.”

“And you can count on them?”

“As long as my telegrams reach them, yes,” Butler said. “Masterson is already on his way, should be here in a couple of days.”

“And you need to throw some legal road blocks up until then.”

“That’s right.”

Oliver James did some thinking, then said, “You want to do me a favor and get us some coffee? We’ve got to talk some more.”

“I’ll get it,” Jennifer said, and headed for the bar.

“She’d make a good secretary,” James said. “Pretty, too.”

“I think she’s got other plans for a career,” Butler said, “but I can’t argue with the second part.”

“I saw something in the papers about Doc Holliday’s arrest, but didn’t read it,” the lawyer said. “You’re going to have to fill me in on why he’s in jail, and why you think you can get him out…legally? We are talking legally, aren’t we? I mean, it’s not like you and Bat Masterson and Wyatt Earp are going to break him out, right?” “There’s no question of breaking him out,” Butler said. “Not when there are legal avenues.”

“You sound like an educated man, sir,” James said.

“I was educated in the East, have been traveling west for some time,” Butler explained.

“And how is it you made the acquaintance of such august company?” James asked.

“I play poker.”

“Ah,” James said, “a sporting man. That explains it, then. The reputations of your friends precede them.”

Jennifer returned, expertly juggling three mugs of hot coffee. Butler suspected there might have been some waitressing in her past.

“Thank you, young lady,” James said.

“You’re welcome, Mr. James.”

“I think you both better start calling me Oliver,” the man said.

“You may call me Jennifer.”

“Butler will do.”

“All right, friend Butler,” James said, “suppose you start filling in some blanks for me.”

“You’ll take the case?” Butler asked.

“I didn’t say that,” James said, “but you fill in the blanks for me and I’ll let you know.”

“Fair enough,” Butler said. “The way I hear it Doc was playing cards last night when…”