Walking in Memphis

Chapter 1 – Not My Brother

I was in Covington, Tennessee when I got the telegram from Ginny Malone. 'Bret shot. Come quick. Malone.'

I'd been there about a week, just kind of dawdling, on my way to meet Bret in Memphis. Oh yeah, I'm Bart Maverick, professional poker player, and Bret is my older brother. Also a professional poker player. I make the distinction between the term I use to describe us and the word 'gambler,' primarily because of the unsavory images that 'gambler' brings to mind. We are not card cheats, we are honest card players. I know what people think of us; that's their problem. Bret and I are less than two years apart in age, and spend quite a bit of our time traveling together. He practically raised me, but that's another story.

Ginny Malone is a Pinkerton detective, and one of the most spectacular looking creatures God ever put on earth. My brother also happens to be in love with her, and she with him, although neither of them is inclined to admit it. Ginny is also 'Captain Malone' in the Western Regional division of the detective agency, and I was surprised that she was once again working this far southeast. Then again, when you're as good an agent as Ginny, you go where your boss sends you. And Arthur Stansbury was liable to send her anywhere they needed her.

We've both worked with Ginny before, on a temporary basis, and been well paid for our efforts. Not that either of us is inclined to 'work.' It's just that when Ginny is involved Bret tends to say yes more than he says no, and I feel the need to go along to keep the both of them out of trouble. This time I had no idea what I was walking into – Bret hadn't said a word about doing a job with Malone. Then again, maybe this was pleasure and not work. Although getting shot sure doesn't sound like pleasure.

No matter what it was, I wasn't wasting any more time in Covington. I caught the first stage out of town and spent the next two days and nights bouncing around until every part of me was bruised and tender. On the third morning we arrived in Memphis, and I was once again pleased to be in the city. I'd always had good luck here, even the time I'd snuck off a riverboat on its way to New Orleans and then snuck back on it. As I got off the stage I found Malone waiting for me, and I was surprised by her appearance. She was dressed very plainly in riding clothes, her beautiful red hair pulled tightly and woven into a long braid down her back. And she looked like she hadn't slept in days. The only thing that carried even a hint of the woman I knew were those magnificent blue eyes, but even those were abnormally subdued looking.

Her greeting was minimal, and basically silent. She gave me a quick hug and a peck on the cheek, and the only word out of her mouth was a very soft "Bart." I knew immediately that whatever had happened was a lot more serious than her telegram let on.

"How is he?" I had a lot more questions than that, but the rest of them would wait until Ginny answered that one.

Something that sounded like a sob escaped from her before she could suppress it. When she answered me her voice was strangled sounding, and I swear there were tears in her eyes. "Doctor . . . doctor says he's dying."

XXXXXXXX

Neither of us said anything until we got to the hotel room. Ginny unlocked the door and I followed her in quickly, refusing to believe the words I'd heard her say just a few short minutes ago. Until I saw him.

Bret was as pale as the sheets he was lying on, and just about as thin as I'd ever seen him. I was the one that didn't carry much weight around, but Bret was built tall and solid. His eyes were closed, and I couldn't tell if he was unconscious or asleep, and his breathing was rapid and shallow. He was still and silent.

I gasped; I'd never seen him look this bad. Ginny reached out a hand and grabbed my arm, whether to steady me or just give me some kind of an anchor, I don't know. There was an empty chair right next to the bed – in a few seconds I'd collapsed into it. "How long has he been this way?" The voice was thin and unsteady . . . and it took some time for me to realize it was my voice.

"Almost a week," came the whispered reply. "Ever since . . . " Ginny stopped, and I waited for her to continue. She didn't.

"Since what?" I managed to get out.

"Ever since Ben Newton shot him."

I couldn't help myself, I had to blame somebody. "One of your assignments?" I sounded angry. I was angry. Why had Bret gotten involved with another of Ginny's cases?

But I was wrong. Her head was shaking, and the tears finally spilled over and ran down her face. "No. Ben Newton owns the 'Memphis Lady,' one of the newer riverboats. It was over an Ace of Spades."

"Bret was shot playin' cards?" I choked out.

"Bret was shot cheating," came the last thing I ever thought I'd hear anybody say about my brother.

"Bret was . . . Bret was . . . my brother was . . . no, not Bret." I stared at her then, the anguish and exhaustion showing on her face. "He couldn't . . . he doesn't . . . he wouldn't cheat, Ginny. Not Bret. Not my brother."

She gripped my shoulder tightly, as much for her benefit as my own. "That's what Newton claimed." She perched on the edge of the bed, looking like she was going to topple over any second. "And Bret hasn't been able to deny it."

"Tell me exactly what happened, Ginny. Don't leave anything out. I need to hear the whole story."

She staggered to her feet and grabbed my hand, trying to pull me away from the bed. "Come over to the table. Doc says he might be able to hear us . . . and I don't want him upset."

"He might . . . alright, but give me a minute, would ya? I have to talk to him." She nodded and walked over to the table and chairs at the far side of the room. I reached under the blankets and found my brother's hand, and grasped it in both of mine. My words were whispered for his ears only. "I'm here, Bret. I'll not leave ya now. You just relax, and rest, and let me get to the bottom of this. I'll find out why Newton claimed . . . I'll find out why he lied. And I'll make it right. You . . . you take it easy and get well. And don't you worry none about Ginny. Whatever she needs . . . I'll take care of her. You gotta promise me, though – you gotta promise me you won't do nothin' foolish. Like runnin' off and leavin' us alone. I don't care what the doctor says, he don't know you like I do. You just . . . you just keep restin', till you're good and strong again. Then you come on back to us. You hear me?" I squeezed his hand, and I could swear that he squeezed back, just a little bit.

After a minute or so I withdrew my hands and smoothed the blanket down. "I'll be right over here, by the window, with Ginny. She's gonna explain everything to me. I'll be back when she's done." I had to pause for a minute; there was one more thing I needed to say. "I love you, Brother Bret. Don't you be goin' nowhere without me."