“Because . . . that’s just the way things go!”
But Doc was still staring at Caleb, spinning the pistol as though the weapon was just something to keep his finger busy. “You know who you sound like?”
“No, but I’ll bet you’re gonna tell me.”
“You sound like me, right before I got fed up and started doing what made me happy rather than what I set myself up for when I didn’t know any better.”
“Running my saloon makes me plenty happy. I’d just like to keep it open instead of having it taken away by some dumb-shit miner.”
Doc shook his head. “That’s not it. If you were just worried about that saloon, that’s where you’d be right now. I may not be a businessman, but I know that you have to have angry drunks spitting threats at you on a daily basis. It just comes along with the territory.”
“Yeah, it does. But that’s not—”
Doc cut in after quickly raising his hand. “”It seems to me that you’re more upset at the very notion that these loudmouths have the power to step in and make such a mess out of the quaint little garden you planted for yourself.”
“Jesus, you’ve been drinking again. That explains all this chatter.”
Spinning the pistol once more, Doc dropped it into his holster and turned to stand toe-to-toe with Caleb. “Sure I have, but I’ve also been thinking about things. Some of us may look the part more than others, but we’re all dying. Either one of us could get trampled by a runaway bull, get struck by lightning, or perish from any one of a long list of things that folks can die from. Does that mean we need to sit in a cramped little office and just wait for it to happen?”
Hearing those last few words practically slapped Caleb across the face. “What did you say?”
“You heard me. I sat in a smelly office yanking rotten teeth from people’s heads. Hell, I went to school for it! How absurd is that? But I feel more alive when I’m out there doing what makes me happy than when I’m keeping my mouth shut and doing what I’m told. We may not have crossed paths too many times just yet, but I can see that same thing buzzing around inside of you. Am I wrong?”
Caleb knew the quickest way out of that conversation was to tell Doc that he was wrong. Dead wrong. Unfortunately, he couldn’t shake the thoughts of sitting in his own dirty little office, longing for the escape of working behind a bar. Compared to that paper-filled, dusty office stuck within those thick walls, Ben Mays’s jail cell hadn’t seemed too bad.
“I’m not wrong,” Doc said to fill the silence. “I can see that.”
“So what? This ain’t nothing new. Practically every man that comes into my saloon gripes about what he does for a living. Either that, or he gripes about not being able to make a living. All men gripe. So what?”
“But how many men do something about it?”
Caleb shook his head quickly and backed away. “Don’t do anything to put my place at risk, Doc. That’s what I came to say.”
“All right then. How about we work to make sure that the Busted Flush not only stays in business but also gets out of any financial woes you may have?”
“And how would you suggest we do that?”
“Well, the first step would be to put your place on the circuit.”
Caleb’s eyes lit up. Being on the gambler’s circuit meant being in the loop for every big game when the real professionals came to town. Big-league players meant bigger house takes, and even when those gamblers had bad streaks of luck, others would come to fill their shoes or get in line to take one of those players down. In the end, it was the saloons that came out ahead, and only saloons on the circuit even made it into those games.
“I’ve tried to get on the circuit for years,” Caleb said.
Nodding, Doc said, “I’ve been doing some gambling myself and have come to appreciate the fineries of that profession. I believe all you need is to expand your gaming repertoire and allow someone with similar interests to take an active role.”
Caleb couldn’t help but laugh. “You’ve got a hell of a way of saying a little thing like you want to work at my saloon.”
“Seeing as how I’d rather pull my own teeth out rather than grow old in my current profession, I think a steady job dealing faro might be a welcome change.”
“I never did see the sense in faro.”
“That’s because playing it is a step above tossing your money into the street. Not everyone thinks along those lines, which is why
“And how will that get me on the gambling circuit?”
“It’s a first step in bringing your saloon up to snuff. What do you say? Are you willing to take on a new dealer?”
Caleb pondered that for a few moments before nodding. What put it all together for him was the notion that it would be so much easier to keep an eye on Doc in the Flush than having to track him down whenever something went wrong. “All right. But if the law comes snooping around, just keep your mouth shut. Sound good?”
“That sounds marvelous,” Doc replied, extending his hand.
Caleb shook Doc’s hand, finding himself once again surprised at the strength in the dentist’s bony grasp.
“You keep in mind everything else we talked about,” Doc said. “I’m not one to wax philosophic with just anyone, you know.”
“In order for the Flush to last the week, I’ll need to find a way to get those goddamn Deagles away from me for good.”
“I am so glad you mentioned that. I’ve been entertaining some intriguing notions regarding that very topic.”
“I hope you don’t intend on shooting up my place,” Caleb said with a nod toward the fence. There were only a few more bottles lined up, and when Caleb shifted his eyes back to Doc, he found the Navy model Colt being handed over to him.
“Actually, things may get a little rough before they get better,” Doc said. “Are you up for it?”
Caleb took the gun from Doc’s hand and let his finger settle over the trigger. From there, he extended his arm, took aim, and fired enough times to empty the cylinder. When the smoke cleared, all but one of the six remaining bottles had been shattered.
“I think I can handle myself just fine,” Caleb said while handing the gun back to its owner.
[15]
It was just past nine that night when Doc came back into the Busted Flush. The suit he wore was freshly pressed and so black that it made his diamond stickpin stand out like a single star in an otherwise barren night sky. A large, flat case was tucked under one arm, and the smile on his face was wide enough to light up the room. Tipping his hat to everyone he met, Doc made his way to the bar where Hank was waiting.
“I’d like to have a word with Caleb, if you please,” Doc said in his cordial southern drawl.
Hank nodded and took in the sight before him. “I hear you’re to be dealing faro.”
“That is correct, sir.”
“That’s an awful big change from dentistry, ain’t it?”
“Every man is allowed his distractions, and with the annoying trend in which people have been maintaining their oral hygiene, I find that the added income is all too welcome.”
Although it had been Hank’s intention to put Doc through the same paces that he put every gambler, he soon found himself sharing the same high spirits that had gotten into the young dentist. “Caleb’s set to come out here and work behind the bar. I’ll have him check in on you before I leave, since it’s bound to get busy in here tonight.”
“Ah yes, the big poker tournament.”
“Well, we hope it’ll be big. I just hope it’ll be bigger than the last few.”
“Perhaps I can sit in for a few hands.”
“Why don’t you worry about dealing faro for now,” Hank said. “Your table’s right over there.”
