Denver Draw (13 page)

Oliver James, attorney-at-law, listened intently as Butler told his story. He sipped his coffee, never interrupted, and Butler had the feeling that the man would never forget one word. At one point when his coffee cup was empty, Jennifer got up wordlessly and got him another.

Now he sat back as Butler finished and rubbed his jaw.

“If your friend Masterson does have an outstanding warrant then there wouldn’t seem to be a problem.”

“I was hoping that would be the case,” Butler said.

“And if he’s still wearing a marshal’s badge, that would also be helpful,” James pointed out.

“I guess we’ll have to wait to see if that’s the case,” Butler said. “At least he was while still in Trinidad. I don’t think he’d be there if he wasn’t marshal anymore.”

“However,” James said, “failing to extradite him, the local authorities may decided to try him here.”

“For what?”

“That’s a good question. Didn’t your friend Masterson come up with a warrant at virtually a moment’s notice?”

“I see what you mean.”

“Well,” James said, “the first thing I have to do is go to the jail and see my client.”

“So you’re taking the case?” Jennifer asked.

“Yes, young lady,” James said, “I’m taking the case—for my usual fee, mind you.”

“Which is?” Butler asked.

James told him.

“That shouldn’t be a problem.”

“Excellent!”

“But there is one more thing,” Butler said.

“And what’s that?”

“I have to go with you to see Doc.”

“Why?”

“He’s unpredictable,” Butler explained. “I don’t know that he’ll see you without me. Also, I want to tell him that the wheels are in motion to get him out. I don’t know what he’ll do inside if he doesn’t know that.”

“Yes, yes, all right,” James said. “All good points. All right, then.” The fat man got to his feet. “Meet me in front of the jail in the morning.”

“Tomorrow morning? Don’t you have to make some arrangements first?” Butler asked.

“All I have to do is appear at the jail and tell them that I am his lawyer,” James said, “and that you work for me. They’ll let us in to see your friend, and then we can truly get the wheels turning.”

Butler had to be impressed with Oliver James’s demeanor at the police station the next morning. He did as he said he was going to do. He presented himself as Doc Holliday’s lawyer, Butler as a man who worked for him, and now they were on their way to Doc’s cell to talk to him.

When they reached the cell Doc was sitting on a cot, staring off into space. In his right hand was a well-used, bloodstained kerchief. He looked up when the uniformed policeman put his key into the lock.

“And who might you—Butler?” Doc asked. “Is that you?”

“Hey, Doc,” Butler said, entering the cell. This is your lawyer, Oliver James.”

“Mr. Holliday,” James said. “The pleasure is mine, I’m afraid.”

“I can’t shake hands with either of you,” Doc said, and showed them the dried blood on his hands.

“Butler has filled me in on your ailment, sir,” James said. He turned and said to the policeman, “I want a basin of warm water and some clean rags in here now. This man needs to clean up. He also needs to see a doctor.”

“I don’t need—” Doc started, but James cut him off with a wave.

“I’ll have to lock you in,” the policeman said.

“Then do it!” James commanded.

In moments they were locked in and the man went to get the items the lawyer demanded.

“I don’t need a doctor,” Doc said.

“That’s okay,” James said. “The more we give them to do the better. As I understand it, we need to keep you here until Bat Masterson arrives with his warrant.”

Doc looked at Butler.

“You sent for Bat?”

“He’s on his way.”

“What are you doin’ here?” Doc asked.

“When I left Trinidad, Denver seemed like a good idea,” Butler said. “I didn’t know you’d still be here.”

“I got hot when I arrived here,” Doc said. “I never run out on a lucky streak.”

“Well, your lucky streak continues,” Oliver James said.

Doc laughed, a rough, raw sound, and said, “In here?”

“You have me as your lawyer now,” James said.

“Where did you find this fella?” Doc asked Butler.

“As he said,” Butler answered, “we just got lucky.”

“Mr. Holliday, we need to discuss a few things,” James said. “I’m going to help you get cleaned up, get you some clean clothes, and try my best to get you out of here even before Mr. Masterson arrives.”

“Good luck.”

“Failing that,” James said, “we’ll keep the legal wheels here from turning too quickly, so that when your friend Masterson does arrive, it won’t be too late.”

“Well,” Doc said, “I guess I’d be much obliged for anythin’ you can do, lawyer.”

“Let’s talk while we wait for the water and the
doctor….”

The easy part was getting Doc some water so he could wash the blood and phlegm off his hands that he had spit up the day before. They also got rid of the kerchief, which was unable to accommodate any more, and got him a new one. New clothes would have to come later, and a doctor probably after that.

“They told me they’re tryin’ to get one to come here,” the policeman told James.

“That’s fine.”

“Also,” the man said, “the chief wants to see you when you’re finished here.” He looked at Butler and added, “Both of you.”

“Tell the chief I’ll be happy to see him again.”

“I’ll tell ’im,” the man said, and locked them in again.

Doc was drying his hands on a rag they’d brought him, and said, “That’s a lot better. Thanks.”

“You know the chief personally?” Butler asked.

“Oh, yes,” James said. “We’ve had many occasions to see each other, both professionally and socially. You?”

“I only saw him that one time I told you about.”

“Well, it seems we’re both about to see him again.”

James concluded his conversation with Doc Holliday by assuring him that they’d be able to get him out. “One way or another.”

“If there’s one thing I’ve learned about the law over the years,” Doc said, “it’s that they can trump up whatever charges they want to keep you in jail. But I appreciate your effort, Mr. James.”

“When they bring a doctor—and they will,” James told Doc, “let him examine you.”

“Fine.”

James looked at Butler.

“Anything else?”

“No,” Butler said. He looked at Doc. “I just wanted you to know you’re not alone in this.”

“’Preciate it, Butler.”

“I’ve also sent some telegrams to try and locate Wyatt.”

“That’d be good,” Doc said, “although it does seem like you fellas have things well in hand.”

“We’ll be back to see you, Doc,” James said. “Right now I want to go and see what’s on the chief’s evil little mind.”

Butler and Oliver James were shown to the office of the chief of police. Chief Coolidge did not stand as they were shown into his office. Instead, he just glowered at them.

“Come now, Chief, I know you’re glad to see me,” Oliver James said.

“Sit down and shut up, James,” Coolidge said. “And that goes for your friend, too.”

“My name is Tyrone Butler, Chief,” Butler said as he sat next to Oliver James.

“Was it your idea to hire this man to represent Doc Holliday?” Coolidge asked.

Butler didn’t want to admit it was a bartender’s idea, so he said, “Yes, it was.”

“And what’s your interest?”

“I thought I told you the first time we met,” Butler said. “Oh, no, wait, that’s right, you wouldn’t let me talk. Well, anyway, Doc’s a friend of mine, and I don’t like seeing him get railroaded.”

“Railroaded,” the chief said. “There’s a legitimate warrant out for Holliday in Arizona for murder.”

“There were no murders in Arizona,” Butler said.

“Then you live in a fantasy world, my friend,” Coolidge said, “where men like Doc Holliday and Wyatt Earp are heroes. Is that it?”

Butler thought a moment, then said, “That’s pretty much it, yeah.”

“And you,” Coolidge said, switching his attention to the lawyer, “what the hell do you think you’re doing?”

“The man’s entitled to a lawyer, Chief.”

“What do you hope to achieve?” Coolidge asked. “Isn’t your career already in the gutter?”

“Technically,” James said, raising one pudgy finger in his defense, “I’ve never been in the gutter. I spend most of my time in bars, but I haven’t made it to the gutter, yet.”

The chief looked back and forth between both of them.

“All I’m trying to do is my job,” Coolidge said.

“What about this Officer Mallon, who claims he was in Tombstone?” James asked. “Have you checked him out?”

“And why should I check him out?”

“How about to see if he’s telling the truth?” Butler asked. “Doc Holliday says he wasn’t there.”

“What does it matter whether he was or wasn’t there?” Coolidge asked. “Doc Holliday was there. That’s the point.”

“Look, Chief—”

“I’m going to tell the two of you once,” Coolidge said. “Don’t get in my way.”

“Don’t you mean, don’t get in the way of the law?” James asked. “Or do you still think that you and the law are one and the same?”

Coolidge got to his feet, his face turning red.

“You haven’t changed one bit, have you, James?” he demanded.

“Any reason why I should?”

Coolidge lifted one arm, his own pudgy forefinger extended.

“Get out of my office!”

James stood up and headed for the door.

“Me, too?” Butler asked.

“Go!”

Butler followed Oliver James out of the office, down the hall, and out of the building.

“What does he have against you?” Butler asked when they were on the front steps.

“We’ve had a few run-ins over the years,” James said. “He doesn’t exactly hold his men to the letter of the law. He usually just bends it to make things come out the way he wants.”

“So what do we do next?”

“I think we should go and find a doctor,” James said, “just in case the chief decides Doc doesn’t need one.”

“Do you know one?”

“I know many,” James said, “it’s just a question of which one I want to send over. Come on.”

“Where to?”

“My office.”

“I thought we were going to find a doctor.”

“We are.”

When they reached the building where Oliver James had his office they stopped in the lobby in front of a directory. Butler then saw why they had come there. There were easily six doctors listed for the building.

“Ah,” James said, “there’s the one.” He pointed to the name Dr. Gerald Healy.

“Is he any good?” Butler asked.

“It doesn’t much matter,” James said, “but he’s about at the same point I am in my career. He can use the business. Let’s go to my office first.”

Butler followed James to the second floor, to a door bearing his name. The man used a key to open the door, and they entered an outer office Butler noticed had a layer of dust on it.

“I had to let my girl go,” James said as they walked through to his own office, which was just slightly better.

“Don’t mind the dust,” James said. “I haven’t been here in a while.”

The man went around behind his desk, opened a drawer, and took out a folder.

“I’ve got to start a file on Holliday,” he said. “Care for a drink? I think I’ve still got a bottle in my bottom drawer.”

“No, I’m fine,” Butler said. “What about the doctor?”

“He’s down the hall,” James said. “Give me a minute and we’ll go and see him.”

Butler walked to the window behind Oliver James and looked down at the street. Coaches, buggies, and cabs went by, and there was plenty of street traffic. He’d noticed during their cab ride that they were on West Colfax Street.

“Pretty busy out there,” he said.

“Huh? Oh, I don’t notice much anymore.”

Butler turned and watched as the man wrote furiously, creating a file for Doc Holliday.

“Okay,” James said, “I’ve got my thoughts down.” He stood up. “Let’s go talk to Doc Healy.”

“What kind of doctor is he?”

“General,” James said. “But we want him saying that Doc Holliday is too ill to travel. He’s certainly qualified to do that.”

“Will he do it just because you ask him to?” Butler asked, following along behind James.

“He’ll do it for two reasons,” James said, leading the way down the hall. “One, because it’ll give him a chance to examine Doc Holliday and two…did you see your friend? I believe he actually is too ill to travel.”

Now that the lawyer mentioned it, Butler realized he was right. Covered with his own blood and phlegm, Doc Holliday looked like he was one giant step from death.

Gerald Healy was in his office standing at the window behind his desk, hands clasped behind him. His desk was spotless. That is to say, dust but no papers of any kind. Butler assumed the same would be true of his examining room. From behind he was tall and slender, dark hair streaked with gray that curled over his collar. Butler was thinking he was in his early to middle forties.

“Gerry,” Oliver James said, “either get away from the window or jump already.”

“Ollie,” Healy said, “this early and you’re not in a bar. Must be somethin’ big.”

“It is,” James said. “I want you to make a house call.”

“Where?” Dr. Healy turned and stared at the lawyer. “On whom, and most importantly, why?”

“Well,
where
is at the jail,” James said, “and the
who
also answers the why.”

“Okay,” Healy said, actually turning to face Oliver James, “who?” When he turned, the wrinkles on the face and the potbelly added about ten years to his age.

“Doc Holliday.”

Healy stared at them for a few moments, then asked, “The real Doc Holliday?”

“This is Tyrone Butler, he’s a friend of Holliday’s,” James said. “Did you read about him in the paper? About him being arrested?”

“I haven’t been reading the newspaper,” Healy said. He looked at Butler. “You’re a friend of Doc Holliday’s?”

“That’s right.”

“He’s got consumption, right?”

“I don’t know exactly what he’s got,” Butler said, “but it’s killing him.”

“What do you want me to do?”

Oliver James explained that they had a plan to keep Doc from being extradited, but they needed time.

“If you could examine him and say that he’s not fit to travel,” the lawyer finished, “that would be good.”

“It might even be better,” Butler said, “if you recommended that he go to a hospital.”

Healy looked at Butler.

“You’re not thinking of breaking him out, are you?” he asked. “That’s not why you want him in a hospital?”

“First of all,” Butler said, “I think he probably does need to be in a hospital. And second, no, I’m not looking to break him out. We’ve got legal means to keep him from being sent back to Arizona.”

“We’re waiting now for Bat Masterson to show up,” James said. “He may or may not still be wearing a badge, which will be helpful.”

Healy stared at both of them.

“The real Bat Masterson?”

“Yes, Gerald,” James said, “all of these men are real. Do you think you can do this or not?”

“The alternative,” the doctor said, “is to remain here,
staring out my window. I haven’t had a real patient in months. When do you want me to do this?”

“As soon as possible,” James said. “Grab your bag and I’ll take you down there now.”

“Let me get it from my surgery,” Doctor Healy said. “Hopefully, everything in it still works.”

As the doctor went into the other room, Oliver James asked Butler, “Will you be coming with us?”

“I think I’ll go back to my hotel and see if there are any telegrams from Bat or Wyatt.”

“Why don’t we have dinner together tonight and we can talk more?” James suggested.

“Fine.”

“Uh, by dinner I mean that you, uh, would—”

“Yes, Oliver,” Butler said, “I’ll buy dinner. Why don’t we meet in the hotel bar at around seven.”

“And will you invite the lovely Miss Conway?”

“You know,” Butler said, “I think I will.”