Six-Guns Blazing

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Six-Guns Blazing - book excerpt

Chapter 1

A Night at the Oriental

It was a Saturday night like any other at the Oriental. The saloon was packed, overflowing with drifters, gunmen, gamblers, and the dregs of society. Red played a ditty on the old piano, barely audible over the din of drunken patrons. The smells of cigar smoke, sex, and body odor filled the place, giving it the same generic odor found in any saloon on a busy night.

Deputy Marshal Wyatt Earp was, as was usual on such a night, holding court over the faro table. His older brother, Virgil, the town marshal, was sitting to his right, downing his fair share of free whiskey and smoking Wyatt’s cigars. To Wyatt’s left sat notorious sporting man and cold-blooded killer Doc Holliday—Wyatt’s only friend—smoking a cigar, downing glass after glass of high-end scotch, and making lewd remarks to anyone who might indulge him with a listen.

“It’s a hell of a night tonight, Wyatt,” said Doc.

“I don’t like it.”

Doc grinned. “You don’t like anything.”

“I got a bad feeling.” Wyatt, being a lifelong lawman, was prone to such gut feelings, and they were seldom wrong. He almost always knew when trouble was about to jump off, seeming to somehow smell the tomfoolery in the air. And now his gut was telling him things could get ugly any minute.

He scanned the room, looking for potential problems. Doc was used to Wyatt’s keen ability to sense such things, so he paid him no mind. Inebriated, he just kept on blabbing about the superiority of a Georgia gentleman over just about any other man created by God.

Watching a group of cowboys over Doc’s shoulder, Wyatt engaged his friend. “If you love Georgia so much, why don’t you go back there?”

Doc chuckled. “You know I can’t go back there, Wyatt. I love the beautiful state of Georgia, but it turns out she does not share the same love for me.”

“Problems seem to follow you everywhere you go,” said Virgil.

Doc raised his glass. “That does seem to be the unfortunate truth.”

Wyatt continued his inspection of the room, but saw nothing out of the ordinary.

This time—once in a million—he didn’t spot the trouble because it was directly behind him. But Doc saw it clearly. A little whiny troglodyte of a brute named Ike Clanton was putting his arms around Doc’s traveling mate and companion, Kate Elder, and she wasn’t enjoying it one bit. Ike’s hand slid up to grab a handful of Kate’s sizeable bosom. She slapped him away, but still Ike persisted.

Doc stood, staring at Ike. He poured himself another drink, downed it, and said, “If you’ll excuse me, fellas, I have pressing business to attend to.” And Doc started walking towards Ike.

Virgil now saw what Doc had seen. “Aw, hell,” he said.

Wyatt spun around in his chair to get a look, now seeing Ike putting his hands on Kate.

Doc approached Ike, but the damned fool didn’t see him coming as he was too busy fondling Kate. When Ike saw Kate looking at Doc, he turned around and found himself face to face with Doc’s nickel-plated .41 caliber Colt Thunderer.

Ike’s eyes got big.

“I don’t believe we’ve had the pleasure of introduction,” said Doc. “My name is John Holliday.”

Ike said nothing.

“And this woman you’ve been putting your grubby little paws all over is named Kate.”

“I didn’t mean nothin’,” Ike said. “I was just foolin’ around, having a good time.”

Doc looked at Kate. “Then why doesn’t she appear to be having a good time?”

“I didn’t do nothin’ wrong.”

“Where I’m from, a man doesn’t grab a lady’s breast without her consent,” said Doc.

“But she ain’t no lady. She’s a whore.”

Doc cocked the pistol. “That may well be the case, but she’s my whore.”

Now members of Ike Clanton’s gang were moving in to surround them. One of the men, a smart-assed cattle rustler named Curly Bill Brocius, drew his Colt .45 and put it to Doc’s head. Only seconds later, Wyatt held his own Schofield Smith and Wesson to Curly Bill’s head.

Doc grinned his big trademark shit-eating grin. “Well, I do believe we have us a party now. Woo-wee!”

Curly Bill growled, “Shut up.”

Doc looked over at Wyatt. “How nice of you to join us, Wyatt.”

Now Virgil jumped into the fray, waving his revolver around, telling everyone to put away their weapons. “Stop all this now!” he demanded, but no one moved so much as an inch.

“If you don’t put down your pistol, sir, I will be obliged to shoot a big hole through your little friend,” said Doc, his condescending tone an invitation to test him.

“And if you shoot him, then I shoot you,” said Curly Bill.

“I guess this is the part where I’m supposed to say then I’ll shoot you,” said Wyatt.

“Goddammit, Wyatt!” said Virgil, losing his patience.

Curly Bill smiled, looking at Doc. “I believe it’s your turn now.”

“Aren’t you a clever devil?” said Doc.

Tired of the bullshit, Wyatt smashed Curly Bill over the head with his revolver, knocking him to the floor unconscious.

Ike’s eyes got big again. “You can’t do that!”

“I believe he already did,” said Doc.

Wyatt holstered his pistol. “Why don’t you and your boys clear on out of here before there’s real trouble…the kind you won’t walk away from.”

“What kind of talk is that for a lawman?” asked Ike. “That ain’t right!”

“Let the man go,” said Virgil.

As usual, no one listened to Virgil. Doc kept his gun pressed against Ike’s temple.

“Come on,” said Wyatt. “Put away the gun.”

Doc holstered his weapon. “If you aren’t the very voice of reason, Wyatt Earp.”

“You boys ain’t gonna get away with this,” said Ike. “We’ll be back.”

Wyatt said, “Can’t you see I’m trying to let you leave here alive? Are you really so stupid you can’t see when it’s the proper time to shut your damn fool mouth?”

Ike backed away, threatening, “You ain’t heard the last of us, lawman.”

But Doc just waved him away nonchalantly. “You may leave now, sir. I believe our business here has reached its conclusion.”

Ike elbowed one of his men, motioning for him to leave with him.

Virgil pointed at Curly Bill. “And take this no-good son of a bitch with you.”

Virgil was pissed. Wyatt was a natural-born lawman, and Virgil was, to his chagrin, somewhat lacking as a peacemaker. Virgil didn’t get the respect he felt he deserved, and what little respect he did receive came from his being the brother of the famed Wyatt Earp, legendary lawman out of Kansas. Both Virgil and Wyatt knew the score. They both knew Virgil wasn’t cut out to be the marshal, but neither of them had ever said a word about this before.

“How the hell am I supposed to maintain order here with you and Doc gallivanting around here as you please, acting like a couple of damned outlaws?” asked Virgil.

Doc said, “Hold your tongue, Virgil. I am still a proud card-carrying member of the outlaw club, and I have absolutely no desire to be a lawman of any kind.”

“Well,” said Virgil, “you’ve got an excuse. But you, Wyatt, you should know better.”

“And what?” asked Wyatt. “Let them get the drop on Doc? Let them run wild and shoot up the place? Let them rape Kate?”

“I appreciate the sentiment, Wyatt, but I could have taken them both,” said Doc.

“Not when you’re drunk you couldn’t have,” said Wyatt.

Doc smiled. “My being drunk is the only reason I claimed possibility to shooting only the two of them and not their whole damned inbred band of misfits and miscreants.”

Wyatt and Virgil ignored this, and Virgil went on saying his piece. “We’re the law here, Wyatt. We—”

“There ain’t no law here!” said Wyatt. “This isn’t Wichita, where you can just play happy lawman and finesse your way out. This is Tombstone. It’s a whole different game here. You have to stand up to them. You have to think on their level. You have to act on their level. If you don’t, then they’ve already won the damn battle. So, if you want to act like you’re their friend, then you go ahead and do it and I’ll just keep coming along behind you and cleaning up the mess.”

Virgil was visibly hurt. “That’s not fair.”

“Fair?” asked Wyatt. “Fair’s got nothing to do with it. If you’re looking for a fair fight, you need to go somewhere else, Virg.”

Virgil started to stutter, but Wyatt cut him off.

“When Curly Bill and Clanton threw down, you just stood there like a stump,” said Wyatt. “You don’t have the instinct, and they can sense that. Do you think they can’t? Hell, a blind man could see it a mile away.”

Doc was the first to sit down. “Let’s all have a drink or two and relax a little bit before feelings get injured and whatnot.”

Wyatt and Virgil weren’t ready to end their conversation, but Doc, who suffered from tuberculosis, started hacking up blood. Both of them saw this and decided to table the conversation for the time being. They looked at each other, exchanging a glance which said there would be a momentary truce. They sat down on both sides of Doc.

Kate approached the table. “You ready for bed yet?”

“Ooh,” purred Doc. “I do think I might get lucky tonight.”

“Maybe,” she said. “But only if you don’t stay here too long.”

“Honey, you read my mind,” said Doc. “I do think I’ll stay and have a couple more drinks with the boys here. Then I’ll be home shortly thereafter.”

Kate rolled her eyes but accepted it. “I’ll keep the bed warm for you.”

“That’s not the only thing I want you to keep warm for me, Kate, my dear lady,” said Doc.

Kate left and Doc returned his attention to the Earp brothers.

“I propose a toast,” said Doc, raising his glass.

Virgil looked at him like he was crazy. “To what?”

“To new friends,” said Doc. “Let us toast our new pals, Ike and Curly Bill.”

Wyatt looked at Virgil, half-smiling. “Haven’t you learned yet? Doc doesn’t need a reason to drink. Living’s excuse enough for him.”

“Regrettably, this is a fact,” admitted Doc. “I do fear that I am becoming somewhat of an alcoholic. I do hope it doesn’t affect my girlish figure.”

Virgil and Wyatt both laughed.

“If you were any skinnier, you’d be invisible,” said Virgil.

“You think I’m skinny?” asked Doc, grinning. “At least that’s one good thing I can say for this damnable consumption I have—I don’t get fat.”

Now Virgil got serious, looking his brother straight in the eyes. “I’ve got to ask you something, Wyatt.”

Wyatt said, “Anything, Virg.”

“You’ve been spending a lot of time with that Jewish girl. The dancer.”

“Josie.”

“Right. Are you two an item?”

Wyatt’s cheeks went red with embarrassment. “What do you mean?”

Doc spoke up. “What he wants to know is whether or not you’re having sexual intercourse with that pretty young lady.”

“I’m a married man,” said Wyatt. “I don’t engage in that kind of activity. Not anymore.”

“If you say so,” said Virgil.

Doc spoke up. “If Wyatt says he’s not having relations with that girl, then that’s it. That’s the way it is. He’s a damned fool if he’s not, but then nobody ever said he was the smartest fella around.”

A smile touched Wyatt’s lips. “You’re right, nobody ever said that.”

“Then let us drink,” said Doc. “To willful ignorance.”

Virgil said, “There he goes with another toast.”

Doc was about to say something smart, but old Henry Neville came running up to the table, shaken and out of breath.

“What the hell’s the matter, Henry?” asked Virgil.