Hours passed and the music inside the Beehive finally started to fade. Even after the dancers got tired and found other things to keep them occupied, there was always some sort of commotion in the back half of the saloon. As the first rays of the sun broke across the sky, nobody at Caleb’s table noticed. They were too busy managing their cards and guarding their chips.
The chair between Taylor and Caleb was once again empty, but it hadn’t been that way the entire night. After Anders had made his exit, a few other brave souls sat down there, only to be snapped like a dry twig in a hurricane. The gamblers had played together for too long and were too intent on their purposes to be affected by a new face. As morning turned into afternoon, the saloon was quieter than it had been all night. By that time, the gamblers and drunks were the only ones there, and music didn’t do much to soothe their souls.
Lottie and Mike were doing fairly well for themselves and had a decent amount of chips to prove it.
Caleb wasn’t so lucky and had fought tooth and nail to stay in the game during some of the bloodier skirmishes. The main reason he was still in the game at all was the increasing skill shown in Doc’s dealing. Even as Doc unleashed a series of brutal coughs, he still managed to get his hands on the right cards and send them Caleb’s way when they were needed.
But Doc wasn’t completely unselfish in that regard. Knowing what to look for, Caleb spotted some of Doc’s fancy mechanics used to fix the deal. But that didn’t explain how he won so many hands that he didn’t deal. Doc’s skill at the game shone through all the whiskey he drank and all the blood he coughed into his handkerchief.
And yet, somehow, Taylor’s winnings rivaled Doc’s. At times, they even eclipsed his.
Caleb looked down at his cards and had to blink away the fog that came from lack of sleep. They’d been playing for the better part of a day, and those hours were wreaking havoc on Caleb inside and out, top to bottom. At first, Caleb thought he had a straight, but then he blinked and saw another batch of the same crap that Taylor had been dealing him all night.
“I’ll bet twenty,” Caleb said without flinching.
“Sure you can afford that much?” Lottie asked.
Caleb actually looked down at his chips before he realized she’d been kidding. “I can afford it,” he said. “Especially when I take this hand.”
She tossed her chips in and gave him a consoling rub on the shoulder.
Without looking at his cards, Doc said, “Make it three hundred more.”
Caleb didn’t have to do one bit of acting when he glared across at the other man’s sunken face and growled, “That’s all I got left.”
“I believe you’re thirty-five dollars short, but I’ll let you float if you want to call. That is, if nobody objects.”
“Don’t matter what I say,” Mike said as he pitched his cards lazily in Doc’s direction rather than to the dealer. Although he got a stern glare from Taylor, Mike appeared to be too close to keeling over from exhaustion to notice.
“No offense, Caleb,” Taylor said, “but considering your luck these last few hands, I’d call whatever bet you made and would take any marker you offered.”
Lottie covered her mouth and shook her head when Doc looked her way.
While mulling over his decision, Caleb went through the motions that had become second nature after so many hours of playing in that particular spot. He drummed his fingers, fidgeted with his cards, and worked out the kinks in his muscles, all of which were signals to Doc as to the exact cards he was holding. “Ah, to hell with all of you,” Caleb said as he tossed his cards onto the pile of deadwood near Doc’s left hand. “I’m out.”
“Out of turn, but accepted,” Taylor said as he pushed in enough chips to match Doc’s raise. “What about you, Lottie?”
After taking a moment for consideration, Lottie shook her head and said, “I do have a debilitating sense of optimism, so I’ll stay in to see how my hand can improve.”
Once the money was in the middle of the table, Taylor took the deck and looked at Lottie.
As she pondered her decision, she ran the tip of her tongue along her bottom lip. She could feel eyes being drawn to her from every section of the room. Taylor wasn’t as lecherous as some of the drunks scattered nearby, but he found it just as difficult to look away from her.
“I’ll take three,” she said softly.
“Two for me,” Doc added. When he didn’t get his cards right away, Doc tapped the table with his discards. “Excuse me. If you’d prefer to be alone with the lady, by all means fold and do your business.”
Taylor shook his head as if to snap himself from a dream and flipped two cards at Doc. Once Lottie had looked away from him, Taylor said, “Dealer takes one.” After filling in his own hand, Taylor reached out and gathered up the deadwood.
“I’ll bet fifty,” Lottie said.
Clearing his throat, Doc asked, “You make that pair, Miss Deno?”
“You’ll have to pay to see them, just like everyone else, Dr. Holliday. Well,” she added while winking at Taylor, “maybe not quite everyone.”
“For your sake, I hope it’s one hell of a pair,” Doc said. “I’ll raise it to five thousand.”
Although it was already quiet in the place, those words somehow made it get quieter. The only sound that could be heard was a subtle wheeze in the back of Doc’s throat. As he sipped his whiskey, the wheeze dwindled away.
“Did you say five thousand?” Taylor asked.
“Yes,” Doc replied while shoving in several stacks of chips. “Is that a problem?”
“Why settle for that, Doc?” Taylor asked with a nervous chuckle. “Why not just push it all in?”
“Table etiquette denies me that honor since I’ve already made my bet,” Doc said in a whiskey-soaked Southern accent that was thick as peach cobbler.
“Then let me do the honors.” As he pushed in his own chips, Taylor lost every bit of discomfort or even friendliness in his voice. “Ten thousand more…Actually…make it ten thousand fifty-five. I believe that would put you all in.”
Letting out a slow whistle, Lottie set her cards down and slid them away from her as if they were rigged to explode. “You boys can fight this out among yourselves. Count me out.”
Taylor acknowledged her fold with a nod. He leaned forward a bit with both arms on the table as if to physically guard what little of his chips remained. “What about it, Doc?”
Despite all the money in the middle of the table, all the time that had been devoted to the game, and all the tension that was in the air, Doc sat in his seat as if he were watching a dog cross the street. Refilling his glass from his own flask, he seemed to be more interested in the way the whiskey swirled at the bottom than whatever else was going on.
Taylor may have been showing a bit more anxiousness in his posture and eyes, but he wasn’t chomping at the bit half as much as Caleb.
After a subtle cough, Doc said, “You must either think I don’t have the fortitude to make this call or you’ve got one daisy of a hand.”
“I wouldn’t cast aspersions on your fortitude, Holliday.”
“And there’s always the third option,” Doc continued as if there were nobody else in the room. “You think I’m bluffing.”
“That is something that’s happened from time to time at a poker game.”
“Indeed.”
“You want a lesson in gambling, Caleb?” Doc asked, completely dropping the previous ruse that he could barely tolerate his partner’s company. “This is what you call a strong-arm tactic. Mr. Taylor here wants me to call so badly, he can no longer contain himself. What a pity. He’s been doing such a good job until now.”
Caleb didn’t say anything in response to that. In fact, he was so tired that he had to strain to think back to when he and Doc had agreed to fight and squabble at the table as a way to make the targets think they weren’t running anything. Doc had been the one to suggest running that act during this game as a way to get some practice. They’d pretty much dropped it once Anders was gone, but Caleb didn’t like having Doc speak so frankly while there was still work to be done.
“Sure, Doc,” Caleb said. “Thanks for the pointer.”
“We can pick this up some other time,” Mike offered. “We could all use some sleep.”
“Nonsense!” Doc said a little too loudly. “It’s just getting good. I’ve had to wait for hours and hours and…” Wobbling in his seat, Doc removed the watch from his vest pocket, flipped it open, looked at it, snapped it shut, slipped it back into his pocket, and said, “…and hours just for this moment.”
Without saying a word, Caleb craned his neck so he could look straight into Doc’s eyes. Once he saw what he needed to see, he said, “You’re drunk, Doc. That’s no way to piss away this much—”
“I don’t need a wet nurse!” Doc snarled as he viciously swatted at Caleb, while almost hitting Lottie in the process.
Rolling his eyes, Caleb leaned back in his chair so he could watch from a safe distance.
“Are you going to move your chips in, Doc?” Taylor asked.
“Yes,” Doc replied. “In fact, I believe I’ll raise.”
Taylor eyed him cautiously. “Raise with what? I’d rather not accept a marker.”
“No marker needed. I believe this will be sufficient.” As he said that, Doc removed the gold and diamond stickpin that was with him almost as much as his rasping cough. He took it from his collar reverently and set it against his chips.
Caleb had to keep from wincing when he saw that, knowing well enough that Doc was wagering with something that was much more to him than just a piece of jewelry.
“That was a gift from my father,” Doc explained. “And if you question its value, you’ll need to defend yourself.”
“I’m not questioning anything,” Taylor said as he studied the stickpin. “I can see from here that it’s a fine piece. I must be honest when I tell you I didn’t think this would go this far.”
“It’s poker,” Doc said with a fond smile. “There is no too far in this game. You can either call the bet or fold.”
“Fine, then,” Taylor said as he pushed in the remainder of his chips. “I call.”
“That’s not enough to cover the diamonds alone,” Doc said. “You’ll need to find something else to bet or fold.”
“All I’ve got is out there. Surely we can come to an arrangement if this hand goes your way.”
“Afraid not. I’d rather not accept a marker. I’m sure you understand.”
Although there was a bit of nervous laughter coming from Mike and Caleb, Taylor wasn’t quite so appreciative of the way Doc threw his own words straight back at him.
“You still feel like you can lead me around by the nose, Holliday?”
When Doc sat up straight, he wavered slightly and then held his chin up high. “Whatever are you trying to insinuate, sir?”
“Cut the shit,” Taylor snapped. “You’re a hell of a card handler, I’ll give you that much. But you’re a little too big for your britches. If you wouldn’t have been so full of yourself, I might have been impressed with what I’ve seen so far.”
“And what have you seen?”
“A couple of wet-behind-the-ear hustlers who bit off more than they could chew.”
Glancing back at Caleb, Doc said, “I prefer to think of us as up-and-comers within these prestigious ranks.”
“You want something more to cover this bet?” Taylor asked. Reaching over his shoulder and behind his neck, he removed a slender blade and slapped it onto the table in a smooth motion that was over in nearly as much time as it took to blink. “That should cover it.”
Doc glanced down at the blade before reaching out to take hold of it by the handle. Since Taylor didn’t make a move to stop him, Doc turned the blade around in his hands so he could examine it from end to end. The handle was smooth wood polished to a black sheen, which closely resembled ebony.
“I’m no judge of knives,” Doc admitted, “but the craftsmanship is impressive. I especially like the blade. Here, Caleb. See what you think.”
Engraved upon the blade, running from handle to tip, was a tiger with its tail stretched out and one forepaw extended. Every claw could be seen within the engraving, along with the feral look in the animal’s eyes.
“Did you think no one would notice when Boyer turned up dead?” Taylor asked.
Just then, four of the remaining customers scattered throughout the saloon turned to face the card table. Their guns were already drawn.