Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry were at their usual spot at the mahogany topped bar with a bottle of whisky in front of them. They stood at the side-end so they had a clear view of the swinging doors. Sam, the friendly bartender, put down two clean glasses and allowed Heyes and the Kid to take a couple of hard-boiled eggs. He then promptly moved the egg basket to the opposite end.
Heyes laughed. "Looks like Sam knows you by now."
"Yeah," Kid said. "Or he remembers your stand the egg on its' head trick."
If Curry's tone was slightly proddy, that was because he'd only swiped two eggs. He decided that since they were flush, after their drinks they were going to get a nice full meal—whether Heyes knew it or not.
"Looks like they've got a poker game goin' on in the corner," Heyes said, interested.
"It'll still be there after we get dinner."
"Dinner?" Heyes replied. "We might as well have stayed at the Howard's, if all we're doin' in town is eating."
The partners had been in the town of Silverton for a few weeks and the Howards were paying them good money for doing basic repairs around the elderly couple's home and helping them build a barn on their property outside the town limits. They didn't have to pay for lodging, Mrs. Howard was a decent cook, they liked the town, and everyone had been real friendly. In fact, both Heyes and the Kid were slightly uneasy because everything had been going so well. They hadn't even had an accident with a hammer.
"You can play poker after I get a steak. Mrs. Howard can definitely cook but did ya ever notice she mainly cooks soft stuff? If I have another stew or soup or pudding I might turn into one," Kid admitted.
"I did. No doubt because her husband—"
"Can't keep track of his teeth!" Heyes and the Kid said together, repeating a refrain they'd said many times. They laughed.
Finding Mr. Howard's teeth had become an unofficial side job they'd both had far too many times to count. The man had the worst habit of taking his false teeth out when he was working on a project or thinking deeply. The problem wasn't just his, as the partner's had narrowly avoided sitting down on them or stepping on them and had found them all kinds of places including on a dining room chair, a side table, the inside of a drinking glass, and once, in the outhouse. Thankfully they'd been laid down on top of the clean paper out there.
"Well, besides tonight, what d'you figure, Heyes? We stickin' around for the rest of the month?" Kid asked quietly, peeling his eggs.
"We should, this is a good situation. Sure the work ain't all easy but the beds are soft, the people are friendly and the money's good."
"Meanin' there's a part of you that ain't satisfied," Kid said knowingly.
"I'm plenty satisfied now. The problem is what comes after the good streak," Heyes replied.
"Always do worry most when you've got nothin' to worry about," Kid said with a smile, although he shared Heyes' sentiments to some extent.
"Hey Doc!" A man's shrill voice blared as its owner stomped down the steps from the rented rooms upstairs. "Doc! Hey you! I'm calling you out!"
The voice was obnoxious and loud. Kid and Heyes exchanged a look. The blonde haired man started to turn around as the newcomer was approaching from the one direction they couldn't view, but Heyes gave a small shake of his head. Not our business.
It is if they shoot at us, Kid's look responded.
Heyes sighed and the two turned in unison to see a small man with a large pistol gesturing toward them.
"You, Doc Holliday!" the man screeched, waving the gun in their direction.
Both Kid and Heyes looked perplexed at this development and looked around as if to see if Doc Holliday had materialized next to them. Nope.
"Uh? Beg your pardon…?" Heyes asked, putting his whisky glass down on the counter.
Kid finished the last bite of egg. No sense wasting it.
"I know it's you. You're Doc Holliday and you killed my brother in Jacksboro! The yellow dogs there wouldn't do nothin' but I aim to make things right!"
"Excuse me," Kid said peaceably, wiping his hands on his jeans. "Which of us do you think is Doc Holliday? Either way, you've got the wrong guy, mister."
The man shook his head. His oily hair flapped as he moved and the black coat he wore was so filthy and full of holes that even Kyle Murtry wouldn't be seen in it. "It's him! He killed my brother!"
He pointed his gun at Heyes.
"What? I am definitely not Doc Holliday. I'm far more handsome and play better poker," Heyes said with a grin. "My name's Joshua Smith, how about you have a whisky with us and introduce yourself? Hey Sam, can we get another glass?"
It was a rare occasion when they could deny the accusation of being an infamous scoundrel and actually be telling the truth. Kid might have found the situation funny except for the gun pointed at his partner.
"Look, sir," the warmth faded from Kid's voice as he stepped in front of Heyes. "You're mistaken. My friend here ain't Doc Holliday and I sure ain't Wyatt Earp. Does he look consumptive to you? He ain't even southern."
"He's skinny," the man said stubbornly. "I'm tellin' you, it's him." The gun came back up.
Kid's hands were relaxed on his belt. "An' I'm tellin' you it ain't. Why don't you just go on about your business and try some other city?"
"Or what?" The man clicked back the hammer on his Peacemaker and would have pulled the trigger but the gun went flying through the air after Kid drew and shot it across the bar all before the other man could twitch his finger. The bartender went after the gun and picked it up from the floor.
"Those two ain't Earp and Holliday, you crazy old coot!" Sam yelled, glancing at Heyes and Curry. "You fellas alright?"
"Fine, Sam." Kid twirled his gun back into his holster just as Sheriff Orville Seward walked in. The cousins tried not to visibly tense—so far they'd avoided the man but lawmen had a way of making their teeth grit on their own accord.
"Heard gunfire," the tin star said. "What's happened now?"
Heyes gave Kid a side glance that may or may not have had a small measure of blame. Kid shrugged a little like, You're welcome for saving your life.
Sam pointed at the angry, greasy little man who stood trembling. "That fella there was botherin' my customers and causin' trouble and wingin' his gun around. He called out Joshua, this fella here, as Doc Holliday. Guess he figured his partner Thaddeus was Wyatt Earp. Thaddeus took an amazing shot, though, disarmin' the man. You shoulda seen it."
The sheriff glanced at Kid who smiled innocently.
"Yes, Thaddeus always had good aim for close range. A little further away, though, and he wouldn't have been able to hit him if he tried," Heyes said brightly. "Probably needs spectacles as at a distance he can't hit the broad side of a barn!"
Seward wasted no time in cuffing the would-be shootist, having apparently decided to dismiss 'Thaddeus and Joshua'.
"I'm pretty sure I have a poster with your description, sir," the lawman was saying. "But if not, you can cool your heels in jail anyway. That man isn't Doc Holliday—I've had the dubious pleasure of meeting him and neither of those two is him." He glanced at Curry. "Thanks for keeping a cool head. Most people woulda just shot this man."
"No problem Sheriff," Kid said with a triumphant smirk at Heyes.
"I thought they was Holliday and Earp," the small man said with a whine as the lawman pushed him to the door.
The bartender laughed. "Ha! Don't look a thing like them. No, if you two were anybody you'd be…. Hmm. Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid? King Fisher and Ben Thompson? No… I know! Hannibal Heyes and Kid Curry!"
The partners looked at each other and then at the sheriff, who had paid Sam no mind and was still headed out the door with his prisoner. They finally smiled.
"That so?" Kid asked. "I guess I wouldn't mind being mistaken for Kid Curry, him being such an impressive guy an' all. Much better than that other fella."
"Hannibal Heyes," Sam said.
Heyes gave his partner a look. "Really? Because I'd prefer to be Hannibal Heyes, the genius and man with a plan, as opposed to what's-his-name."
"Kid Curry," the bartender corrected. "Sheesh. Don't you two ever read the dime novels?"
Heyes and Curry both laughed at that.
"No, Sam, no, we usually don't," Heyes said.
"It's because we live them," Kid said under his breath.
Heyes laughed.
Sam had left to fetch a broom and clean up the eggshells, but he glanced at the partners as he passed. "Your next drinks are on me!"
"Thanks," they said and poured another.
They watched until Sam went off to the other side of the bar. Heyes finished his drink. "Thanks, by the way. "
"Yep," Kid replied.
"I think I probably could have taken him, though," Heyes said, mischief in his brown eyes.
"Oh yeah?" Kid asked, downing his shot. "How do ya figure?"
The gun had already been out and though Heyes was a fine shot and accurate, he didn't possess Kid's speed. Still, most people underestimated his skill with a weapon.
"Well, if he was blind enough to think that I'm Doc Holliday and you're Wyatt Earp, he would've been blind enough to miss me," Heyes said with a smirk. He glanced at the money on the bar to make certain they had enough to cover the first drink.
Kid just shook his head. "So 'man with a plan,' what's the current one?"
"First we go get dinner, and then I win more money at poker. Tomorrow we find out if the lunatic is staying in jail and then we decide whether or not we're finishing the month at the Howard's house based on that," Heyes said, slinging an arm around his partner and leading him outside.
"Sounds good but I got a plan, too, Heyes," Kid said.
"What's that?"
"To have you lookin' after Mr. Howard's teeth the rest of the time. It's only fittin', seein' as you're Doc Holliday an' a dentist and all."
"Hah," Heyes said and the two walked in to the eatery across the street. "Y'know, Kid, you make me think you might need to get your wisdom teeth pulled."
"Why?"
"Because you're such a smart mouth."
