ABCJ01—When Dixie Calls
by VStarTraveler
Summary: While on a brief vacation, Brisco receives a mysterious cry for help from the ever delectable Miss Dixie Cousins. Under such circumstances, what's a bounty hunter to do but go to her rescue, catch the bad guys, and collect his sweet reward?
Disclaimer: This story is a work of fiction, written entirely for fun and not for profit. This interpretation of the world of The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr., is entirely my own. The Adventures of Brisco County, Jr., and any and all of its various components remain the property of their respective owners.
Author's Note: I've been considering a Brisco story for quite some time, and even played with the start of an outline for it. This story is NOT from that outline. Instead, it was inspired in part by the prompts from a particular challenge that included six wacky prompt words and chapter 7 being prompt-free to allow the story to wrap up. Of course, with Dixie's corset, maybe wrapping up would be going in entirely the wrong direction!
Since I didn't have time to complete the challenge (which will be revealed, along with the prompt words, in the final chapter), I decided to diverge a bit from the prompts and take my time to, hopefully, tell this story the right way. Chapters will be posted after they've been completed and polished but won't be on any fixed schedule. I'm not as far along on this as I'd like; however, since I also didn't want a second year to go by without a posting in this category, here is Chapter 1...
Chapter 1: The Telegram
It was a hot, summer afternoon in the year 1894 and the dusty man sitting at the side table looked quite out of place in San Francisco's exclusive Westerfield Club. It had been a hard, hot trip, but it had been successful.
Festes Crump, one of the Bly Gang's secret financial backers, had been apprehended and turned over to the San Francisco constabulary for justice. As an inside member of the city's financial establishment, Crump had provided Bly with information on potentially profitable heists and then helped hide the funds taken in the robberies. It was the dusty man at the table sipping from a glass that had actually tracked and ultimately captured Mr. Crump.
The other man at the table was quite the opposite of his dusty companion; he looked very much at home in the exclusive surroundings. Socrates Poole, dressed in his immaculate striped suit and looking through his thick, round glasses smiled across the table at his friend. He was quite happy about Mr. Crump taking up his new residence in the city's barred hotel. Socrates, after all, had been the one to discover the connection between Crump and Bly before turning the information over to his bosses.
In need of sleep and enjoying his beverage greatly, the tired and dusty Brisco County, Jr., the San Francisco robber barons' appointed bounty hunter in charge of bringing the Bly Gang to justice, had already put the criminal Crump out of his mind.
"You know, Soc, I think this iced water in the summer time is going to really catch on, but having the guy in the back breaking up the big ice blocks could be a problem. I think they need to change the big ice makers so they make it in little pieces that fit right in the glass. That's it! Cubed ices. If someone was to invest in enough of these mechanized ice making things that made cubed ices, every restaurant and saloon in the West would want one. It could be the next big thing; we could make a mint—"
A loud but somewhat high-pitched voice interrupted Brisco's latest idea to earn wealth and power. "Telegram for a Mr. Brisco County, Jr. Is there a Mr. Brisco County, Jr., here?"
The preteen telegraph messenger boy nodded as Socrates threw up a hand and pointed a crooked finger in Brisco's direction. Almost running across the large room, the young boy came to a sharp stop next to their table.
Eyes wide, he held out the paper in his right hand with his left hand open hoping for a tip. Just to see the increasingly famous Harvard-educated lawyer-turned-bounty hunter in the flesh was a real treat that he'd be able to share with his friends. Mr. County, after all, had already caught and brought to justice most of the members of the Bly Gang that had brutally gunned down his father, the even more famous U.S. Marshal, Brisco County, Sr. A five-cent novel about young Mr. Brisco's exploits was a favorite of the boys his age; still, a tip would be nice, so the boy waggled his hand a couple of times, hoping for more than the look at his hero.
"Here you go, kid," said Brisco, putting a silver 50 cent piece in his hand. The kid gave a quick "Thanks!" as he looked at the bounty hunter one more time. He turned and ran as Brisco looked back over at Socrates. "Probably Lord Bowler. He got a lead on one of Bly's men and was tracking it down to see if it actually went anywhere."
"I still can't believe you're working with Bowler," said Socrates with a grimace.
"Yeah, it was tough at first, but he grows on you," said Brisco.
"So does fungus, but I don't want that either," groused Socrates.
Unfortunately for Socrates, Brisco wasn't listening, having just caught the name of the telegram's actual sender. He breathed out slowly, deliberately.
"Dixie," was all he said.
Soc's eyes widened. "Dixie? Dixie Cousins? What's wrong? What on Earth does she need?"
Brisco was silent for a few moments as he read the short message. Then, he read aloud:
My dearest Brisco, At Laney's annual gambling gala. Something wrong. Need help. Please come quick. At Flamingo Hotel in Lon's Valleys. Love, Dixie
Brisco's heart beat more quickly as he thought of the young woman. What was it about her that made him feel so weak in his knees? Every look, every touch, every whisper made him want to take her in his—
Seeing the bounty hunter's eyes close and the touch of a smile cross his face, Socrates shook his head. "BRIS-CO!" he said, much louder than he's intended. When several other club members turned toward him, questioningly, he added, "Uh, sorry!" Lowering his voice to a whisper, he asked, "Who's Laney?"
Brisco, brought out of his reverie, looked at his friend. "Ah, Lon Laney, the tent-making king."
"That guy?" Socrates had a disapproving expression on his face. "He applies for membership in the Westerfield every year, but the tycoons who run this place can't take him seriously. He makes, well, tents, of all things!"
Brisco nodded. "True, but if you make enough tents, especially if you're using fabric, thread, and ropes you've produced in your own mills, you can make a pretty penny. They guy may not be up to Westerfield standards, but he's expanded his little empire each year, and for the past few years, he's hosted an annual invitation-only casino gambling festival. I've never been invited, but I understand that it's a real to-do."
"Hmm. I don't get it. Why would he do that?"
"He gets to rub elbows with some of the best gamblers in the west, including some of those who might not want the law to see them," replied Brisco. "It's a winner-take-all event, but Laney makes his money on the entry fee."
Socrates still looked puzzled. "I can see him making a little money on it, but what's his purpose?"
Briscoe laughed. "Little isn't quite right. The entry fee is supposedly $10,000, and he takes 50 percent. With 200 invitations, that's—"
"A million dollars!" exclaimed Socrates. He cringed again on realizing that his voice had been so loud. "That's real money!" he whispered.
"Yep, but you've got to figure that half of the invitees won't show, and then there's the expenses that have to come out of it."
"Still, Brisco, that's a lot of money."
"Yeah, quite a bit, but that's not all. Laney supposedly styles himself as a real gambling connoisseur and he has a vision of starting a real town where gambling is all they do."
"You mean Lon's Valleys isn't a real town? Where is it?"
Brisco smiled. "That, my friend, is the real question. See, you won't find Lon's Valleys on a map. It doesn't exist. Remember, Lon Laney makes tents. The guy builds a little town each summer especially for the event. It's a tent city surrounding a big, fine hotel for him and his special guests as well as a gambling palace. He ships it in pieces by train and they assemble it on site when it gets there, somewhere up in the mountains, where it's cool and far from the law. It looks like they're calling it 'The Flamingo' this year."
Socrates was frowning. "That's a strange name for a hotel."
"Yeah, but with the gambling angle, it just might be flashy enough to work."
"I guess. Say, why haven't I ever heard of this?" asked the dapper man.
"Soc, it's not exactly high profile, and the town's only there for a week," replied Brisco.
"What do you mean?"
"From what I heard last year, once the event is over and the champion has been named, they set up fireworks all over the place and set it all on fire. The guests were standing around making bets on the fireworks as they were going off overhead."
"Wow! Burning it down, even for entertainment, sounds like a waste," said Socrates.
"It probably is," agreed Brisco, "but it's supposedly too expensive to ship everything back to San Francisco and store it to the next year."
"What about the hotel and casino?"
"Same thing, all burned to cinders. It's said Laney wants to set up a permanent gambling mecca somewhere, but he just doesn't think it would work. It's either too hot or two cold most anywhere he could do it where the law wouldn't be a problem. Maybe he'll pick a hot spot and we can sell him some of our cubed ices."
Socrates nodded. "All that could be a problem, and the name, 'Lon's Valleys,' sounds a bit off to me, too. It would never work." Both men were thinking of the opportunity lost when Socrates asked, "Since you don't know where it is and since it's only there for a few days, how are you going to find it?"
Brisco held up the paper. "Socrates, Dixie's telegram had to be sent from somewhere."
~ABCJ~
Author's Note: Thanks so much for reading. Your responses and feedback will be greatly appreciated.
Brisco was always looking for the next big thing, and the writers had a lot of fun with that. They also seemed to enjoy playing with names. Kudos to anyone who wondered about the name Festes Crump. Sorry, it had nothing to do with 'Gunsmoke's Festus Haggen. Instead, I'd been thinking about Professor Wickwire, played by John Astin, and how I might bring him into the chapter. It didn't work, but John Astin had earlier played Gomez Addams in 'The Addams Family' in the 1960s. His wife's brother was Uncle Fester, known by his full name as Fester Frump.