Title: Three of a Kind, part 2 of 2
Author: Tipper
Disclaimer: see part one.
Three of a Kind
Part two
The mood in the saloon the next day was sullen, to say the least. Bart and Ezra sat at a corner table quietly drinking coffee. Vin and Josiah sat nearby, keeping an eye out for danger. As JD wandered in, Bart jumped to his feet.
"Any word?"
JD shook his head, his face looking sympathetic. "I'm sorry, Bart, but your brother hasn't written back yet."
Bart frowned, his eyes betraying the worry that he was feeling. Ezra placed a hand on his good arm.
"I'm sure he's fine, Mr. Maverick. Probably just hasn't had a chance…"
"No, Ezra. Bret checks his messages every day, usually more than once. Something is wrong. Either he's being prevented somehow from checking in, or he's not in Grand Junction at all." Bart collapsed back into his seat. Neither gambler had seen the newcomer as he walked in, though Vin and Josiah had both raised their guns. The new man was tall and handsome, with thick black hair and sparkling eyes. If he noticed the guns trained on him, he gave no sign. Bart, meanwhile, had placed his heads in his hands.
"Damn it, Bret, what the hell have you gotten me mixed up in this time?"
"That's my brother Bart folks, always a kind word for his elders and betters," the man said, grinning broadly as he approached the table. Bart looked up, his face open in surprise. Then he was up and throwing his good arm around Bret's shoulder, grinning just as widely as his now slightly puzzled brother.
"Bart, what happened to you arm?" Bret asked, looking at the sling.
"Never mind that now, where the hell have you been?" Bart demanded, loosening his grip and turning Bret to face him, his good hand grasping the other's lapel. "How did you get here from Grand Junction so fast? Why didn't you write me?"
Bret backed a way a little, brushing the other man's hand from his jacket. "Well, uh, first of all, brother Bart, as far as I know, I'm late in meeting you here, and, second of all, what are you talking about? Didn't you get my message in Stanton?"
"Stanton? No, though I did check in at the telegraph office several times before leaving. Why? What's going on?"
"Oh, well, about a week ago I got into a little trouble in Grand Junction, so I lit out of town. I wrote to tell you to stop here, where I'd meet you. I meant to be here about three days ago, but I was delayed. Actually, that's an interesting story…." He paused when he realized that Bart was no longer looking at him, but at a green eyed man with a white bandage around his head at a nearby table. The man, as well as three other odd looking gentlemen in the bar, were all watching him strangely. Bret smiled and stepped forward to meet the green eyed man.
"Sir, Bret Maverick, I don't believe I've had the pleasure."
Ezra raised his hand and shook the proffered limb. "Ezra Standish, and actually, I think we have. Perhaps you might better remember my mother, Maude?"
"Maude? Maude and Ezra…?" Bret paused and frowned slightly, then his face lit up. "Yes, of course! You and your mother were the owners of the riverboat Mississippi Glory, right? I'm sorry to hear about its unfortunate demise; she was a beautiful steamer."
"Wait, I thought you owned the Bella Donna?" Bart interrupted, momentarily distracted by the new topic.
"Oh, that sir, was a mere borrowing," Ezra bowed his head. "The Bella Donna was never ours, except in spirit. No, it was the Glory that was our pride and joy – made enough cash out of her to buy several Bella Donnas, in fact. That was, of course, until we had to sink her for, um, shall we say, insurance reasons? But, then you know how money is. It seems to slip through the fingers faster than free candy in front of a hungry child." Ezra tilted his head, and Vin looked somewhat wonderingly at Josiah. This did not sound like the tinhorn gambler playing for pennies that they knew. Bart also seemed to have reassessed his opinion of Ezra, understanding a little better now why he had been losing so handily to this man. He looked over at his brother, but Bret was still smiling at the young man in front of him.
"Well, Mister…. Standish is it? I like the new name; it appears to suit you. And how is your mother?"
"Very well, thank you. She is in Saint Louis at the moment, buying up the town I should think."
"She is a resourceful woman, as were you, good sir. I must say, I did not expect to find a man of your qualifications in a place like this." He looked around the small saloon, his eyes drifting over the others.
Ezra paused there for a minute, mulling over his next words. "Yes, well…I've somewhat reassessed the priorities in my life, Mr. Maverick. This is my home at the moment." The words slipped out of Ezra's mouth easily, though the word 'home' was still not one he was used to saying. He glanced at Josiah and Vin, who both smiled lightly. Without acknowledging their expressions, he proceeded to introduce his companions to Bret.
"It is good to meet you gentlemen. Your reputation as lawmen precedes you. It's one of the reasons I wanted to come and visit. Now Bart, what happened to your arm?"
"A misunderstanding with a couple of local gunslingers. For some reason, I've been placed on someone's black list."
"A couple of someone's back lists," Vin amended dryly. Bart shot him an acerbic look.
"Um, excuse me, Brother Bret, but exactly whom did you swindle in Grand Junction?" Josiah asked, coming forward.
Bret frowned, wondering whether they believed him to represent trouble. A reassuring hand on his arm from Bart calmed him slightly. Pursing his lips, he blew out a held breath. "Oh, well, um, I didn't swindle anyone exactly. Actually, I just helped a rather nice family get back the title to their land, for a minor fee of course."
"How?"
"Cards, of course. Unfortunately, the gentleman I played with was something of a sore loser. The Sheriff of Grand Junction promised me he'd protect the family I'd helped, but said he couldn't do the same for me. I wasn't a resident after all." He grinned sheepishly. "I guess, maybe I angered Mr. Carter a little more than I thought."
"Carter? Oh, Bret, please tell me you don't mean Skull Carter," Bart reproached, shaking his head. He went to sit next to Ezra again, while Bret stayed standing.
"The man's a cretin, Bart. He needed to be taken down a peg," Bret replied, his voice betraying the crack in his normally easy-going manner. He looked questioningly at the preacher. "Why do you ask, Mr. Sanchez?"
"Well, just wondering if those two gunmen who first came knew which Maverick they were shooting at is all," he drawled quietly. "If you were supposed to be here three days ago…." He left the thought unfinished, and stood. "Excuse me a moment, won't you?" The large man tugged his hat over his eyes and left the saloon.
Bret sent a still puzzled look at Bart, who shook his head.
"Come on, brother Bret," the younger Maverick said, "let's go find you a room and some food." Taking the other man by the arm, Bart led his brother back outside, Vin moving catlike in front of them, guarding them. JD followed them out, his mind whirring happily at the admission that their "reputation preceded them." From his seat by the gaming table, Ezra watched them leave quietly, a deck of cards already in his hands, appearing as if from nowhere. The purr of his shuffling drifted out of the almost empty room.
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Josiah looked at the two men in the jail cell with a mixture of disgust and annoyance. Neither man was responding to his questions, and he was on the verge of going in and smashing the truth out of them when JD walked in the door.
"You get anything out of them, Josiah?" the boy asked, wandering over to his desk. Josiah grunted a negative, and looked back at JD.
"I think perhaps you should leave now, JD," he stated quietly. JD glanced up from the book he'd just lifted off the desk, his expression open. He took in Josiah's stony countenance, then looked over at the men in the cells. The angry one still faced the wall, while the other one seemed happy enough just staring at the floor from where he sat on his bunk. Neither man seemed aware of what was about to be unleashed on them.
Over in her cell, Clara watched the game intently, oddly excited by the whole thing.
JD sighed and stood, tucking the book into his breast pocket. "Don't do too much damage, Josiah. I'll be just outside." The preacher smirked evilly, and moved to lift the keys off the post.
At that same moment, Nathan burst into the office, panting as if he'd just run a mile. "There's something going down at the hotel! You guys better come quick!"
Dropping the keys back on their rung, Josiah followed the other two out of the jail, his mission forgotten. They left the gunmen and Clara unguarded. The blond woman stood, brushed some dust from her pants, and walked to the bars to see if everyone had left. She backed away again as a new figure slipped into the jail, clothed in a dark three-piece suit and black duster. He carried a sloshing bucket, and the cloying smell of kerosene filled the small room.
"Who…?" she stammered. He shook his head, and lifted a finger to his lips. He walked over to the keys and lifted them off the rung. With a grin, he tossed them into her hands.
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Bret winced slightly, the gun pressed firmly against his skull. He hoped it wasn't too filthy, it could leave a mark.
"So nice of you to finally arrive, Bret. We were starting to get worried. Mr. Carter really does hate delays."
"I guess I just like to be fashionably late, McCoy," Bret replied, earning him a knock on the skull.
He, his brother and Vin were all being held in one of the rooms in the hotel. Three men surrounded them, thugs that Bret immediately recognized as working for Skull Carter. McCoy was Skull's right hand man, and a colder man than his boss. Apparently, they had been waiting for Bret in Bart's room, knowing that both men would arrive here eventually. Vin had been a surprise, but having disarmed him almost immediately upon entering by placing a gun to the head, they now paid him very little mind. Thus it was that he was able to signal for help from the window without Carter's men noticing. He stood with his back to the window now, hands behind his back, three fingers extended on one hand.
"What do you want?" the tracker asked, trying to take some of the heat off the other two. McCoy ignored him, and instead directed another question to the older Maverick.
"Who is your new buckskin clad friend, Bret? Someone we should know about?" He made the query casually and Bret arched a brow. Vin's mouth opened slightly. Didn't they know who he was?
"I hired him for protection," Bart quickly answered for his brother. "If you've been around for a few days, you'll know that there is someone aiming for me as well."
McCoy looked over at Bart, and nodded. "Yeah we know about her. Small world, really. Well, I'm sure she'll be happy to pay for your body after we get out of here." He leered at the younger man, who just sighed in response. Inwardly, Bart smiled. If they didn't know who Vin was, then they clearly hadn't done their homework too well. The younger Maverick caught Bret's eye, and his brother lowered his eyes in understanding.
"Well," Bret asked, sounding as if he were supremely bored, "what are you waiting on, McCoy? If you're going to shoot, why not just take us out back to where you plan to do the deed and get it over with?"
Carter's man looked a little puzzled by the question. "How do you know I won't shoot you here?"
"Oh, don't be a fool man!" Bret replied, as if speaking to a child. "You know full well that if you start firing off that pistol in here, you'll get the seven gunslingers hired to protect this town over here so fast that you'd never get out alive. Now, I know you're smarter than that."
"Did you say seven gunslingers?" one of Carter's other men asked, a slight hitch in his tone.
"Why sure! I'm sure you heard of them. Making a real name for themselves, aren't they brother Bart?"
"As always, you've hit on it, brother Bret. I think I've even heard 'em called the Magnificent Seven in some dime store novel or other. I understand the Sheriff is a boy who is rumored to be some sort of virtuoso with a gun, and there's a black clad gunslinger who is so fast with his Colt that it is smoking before you even hear the shot."
"Yes," Bret continued, "and I heard that there's an ex-preacher who can break a man's neck with one hand while calling down the wrath of God with the other, and a black man who can clip the wings off a hawk in flight with a single knife throw. Then, of course, there's the sharpshooter who can still a man's beating heart from two hundred paces away, and never even stutter."
Vin had to repress a smile as he watched the two men with McCoy glance nervously at each other, then over at the windows as if they thought a knife or a bullet might come flying through at any moment. But, of course, neither Maverick was finished.
"Now, don't forget, Brother Bret, about the ladies man. I heard tell that he's a master both with a rifle and with the women – never missing with either one. And then, of course, there's the gambler whose wits are so sharp that he's probably not only figured out that we are in trouble, but how to get us out of it." He smirked at McCoy, whose face had hardened with each description.
"So it would seem to be in your best interest to hurry up this little endeavor, McCoy," Bret finished, standing up from the plush green chair in which McCoy had had him pinned. Maverick started to brush dust off his sleeves and straighten the cuffs -- a move Vin had seen Ezra do a thousand times. It amazed him that both Mavericks were so calm, as if such an occurrence as being held at gunpoint was a common event for both. Again, their mannerisms were so similar to Ezra's it was almost eerie.
Over where he was sitting, Bart made to stand as well, brushing a hand through his black hair. Confused, Carter's men reacted by stepping back, though they kept the rifles trained. Vin, who was already standing, allowed himself a small smile.
McCoy shook his head and barked at the Mavericks to sit back down. Bret looked over at Bart with a raised eyebrow, and his younger brother shrugged in return. With deliberate ease, they both sat back down. Bart crossed one leg over the other and started inspecting his nails. Bret simply favored McCoy with a curious air.
"You ain't going nowhere, Maverick. Mr. Carter's going be coming here any second now, soon as he provides a distraction for your lawmen." McCoy grinned wickedly.
"Distraction? What kind of distraction?" Bret asked innocently.
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"What kind of distraction?" Buck asked Ezra, as the gambler lifted the bandage up from off his head to reveal the rather nasty but healing cut underneath.
"What ever you wish, Mr. Wilmington. Just make sure it's loud. A hail of gunshots, sounding the fire siren, ringing all the bells in Josiah's church all at the same time, something like that. I'll leave it up to you." Ezra pulled on the white waiter's jacket and mussed his hair, pushing it forward so that quite a lot of it covered his face, including the cut.
"I don't like this, Ezra," Chris interrupted. "Pretending to be room service is one of the oldest tricks in the book."
"Perhaps so, Mr. Larabee, but the oldest tricks are still usually the best," Ezra replied. "As Mr. Tanner has so politely provided us with the number of bandits holding him and the Mavericks hostage, it seems clear that all we need to do is tip the odds slightly in our favor." He pulled the sleeves of the uniform down and brushed off a little bit of dust, then looked over at JD. "Are you ready Mr. Dunne?"
"As ever!" the boy replied, practically jumping up and down. Ezra was going to be the waiter, while JD, being the smallest, was going to hide under the cart. A simple plan, and an easy one. Too easy for Chris. He didn't understand why the bandits hadn't either shot Vin and the Mavericks yet, or marched them somewhere else to be shot. They were obviously waiting for something. Still, lacking a better plan, he'd gone along with Ezra's.
"We'll be watching for you, boys. Be careful, and try to avoid putting too many holes in the walls, okay?" Chris said solemnly, earning him nods from both men. It was amazing, but with all his hair in his face and the uniform, Ezra really did look different. Hopefully, it would be enough. Ezra and JD ducked into the back of the hotel, through the kitchens, and were gone.
__________________________________
Carter's men jumped slightly at the polite knock on the door. Neither Bret, Bart nor Vin looked up, seemingly more interested in the room and whatever else they were looking at. McCoy growled at them all to be quiet as he approached the door.
"Who is it?" the outlaw demanded gruffly. Carter wouldn't knock; he'd just come in. So, who the hell was this?
"Room service, sir," came a rather whiny voice from the other side. "I have the food you ordered when you came in." The voice was flat, without an accent, and sounded fairly young.
"We don't want it!" McCoy replied.
"You don't…? But sir, I had to go to a lot of trouble to get the cook to make this the way you wanted, sir. Please! If I have to bring it back, he'll…."
"I don't care boy. I said we don't want it. Now git out of here before I get real angry!"
"Are you sure sir? I mean, filet mignon is not an easy dish to get out here, and the lamb is so succulent that it'll practically melt in your mouth. And don't even get me started on the side dishes. Please sir, even if you don't want it, couldn't you at least see your way clear to…"
"I said, git!" McCoy yelled, about to wrench the door and knock the boy down if he didn't leave. A hand on his arm stopped him. One of his men was looking at him with pleading eyes.
"We ain't eaten all day, boss, stuck in this room waiting for these two chumps. What say we just let him in, get the food, then toss him out? He don't need to know what's going on."
McCoy was about to deny his request when he saw his other man nodding fervently in the corner where he stood holding a gun on Vin. Carter's right hand man frowned, knowing full well that he too was very hungry. He looked back at the door.
"You still out there boy?"
"Yes sir!" came the quick reply.
"Alright, just hold on there, then."
"Yes, sir! Thank you sir!"
McCoy looked around the room, then indicated for Bart and Vin to be locked into the bedroom with one of his men to guard them. The man by the window did as he was bid, leaving only Bret, McCoy and the other bandit to welcome the waiter.
McCoy looked at Bret as he and the other man holstered their guns. "No funny moves now, Maverick. You bring him in, pay him, and then usher him out. You try and tip him off, and he might become the first casualty of our little game." He tapped the gun at his side for emphasis.
Bret didn't even flinch. Instead, he stood up, brushed his coat off, then languidly made his way to the door to open it. With one last glance at McCoy, he opened it wide enough to let in the "waiter."
Keeping his head down, Ezra pushed the food inside. The cart was covered in a long white sheet that hid the undersides, and four silver-domed plates sat on top. The steak and lamb were presumably underneath the domes, being kept warm.
"How much, sonny?" Bret asked as Ezra placed the cart in the center of the parlor.
"Ten dollars, Mr. Maverick," the waiter replied.
Bret's hand flinched, nearly dropping his wallet, and he regarded the waiter with a shocked air. "I'm sorry, but did you say ten dollars?"
"Yes, sir, on account that it was such a special order. You must know we don't normally carry…"
"Why, that is highway robbery, boy! I am not paying that much for a simple dinner. What do you think this is, the Ritz?" As he spoke Bret advanced menacingly on the "waiter," and Ezra took a step back towards where the second bandit was standing. McCoy flanked Bret's right side.
"Sir, I'm sorry, but that's what I was told…"
"Horseshit! You're trying to scam me boy, and you know it!"
"Just pay him, Maverick," McCoy hissed urgently.
"Make me!" Bret shouted, turning to face McCoy, barely inches form his face. Just then the fire alarm sounded, the piercing wail cutting through the air in the room like a knife. In that same instant, Ezra engaged his derringer and pointed it at the second gunman's head, while Bret took the same opportunity to slam his fist into McCoy's face. JD rolled out of the underneath of the cart and stepped to the side of the bedroom door. As the third man looked out to see what had happened, JD trained his rifle right against his temple.
"Uh, uh, uh," JD chastised. "Drop it mister, or I'll drop you."
Moments later, all three bandits were tied up and gagged in the back room, with JD watching them.
"I can't believe that worked," Bart said, shaking his head in amazement as he looked at the room service cart. "That has to be the oldest trick in the…"
"Worked, didn't it?" Ezra shot back, cutting him off. He was currently pulling off the offending waiter's uniform to reveal the finely cut silk shirt underneath.
"You're lucky the siren went off," Bret admonished. "Speaking of which…."
"Oh that? That was merely Mr. Wilmington. He provided the distraction, though I must say I'm a little surprised not to see him and the others up here already," Ezra replied, his southern drawl back in full force. He spared a hesitant glance at the window.
"I don't think it was Buck, Ezra," Vin answered. "In fact, that siren is a sure sign that Mr. Skull Carter himself with Miss Clara Styles in tow are about to make their entrance."
Ezra shot him a startled look. "What?"
"McCoy told us that Carter was going to take us somewhere else to be shot. He was going to set the jail on fire to distract the law, so he could get us out of town without anyone seeing. He's bringing Miss Clara along so she can get the dowry money from bringing in Bart," Vin explained.
"Wait, my jail? Did you say he was going to set fire to my jail?" JD called from the bedroom, his voice a little higher than normal.
"Now JD, I'm sure the others have it under control," Vin replied soothingly, smiling a little at the young sheriff's concern.
"We gotta go help them!" JD retorted, sweeping his rifle across all three of the bound men in the bedroom without noticing. They each instinctively ducked slightly.
"Right now, Mr. Dunne, I'm sure the good people of Four Corners are dealing with said calamity perfectly adequately without us, if the jail is indeed on fire. I suppose, however, that the fact that Mr. Wilmington is not here crowing over his cleverness is because he is indeed battling said blaze. Nevertheless, we do have other concerns at this moment, and I think it may be time to end them." Ezra sent a meaningful look across to the Mavericks.
"Well, then, I guess we should make ourselves ready to receive our forthcoming guests," Bret smiled, sitting back down in the plush green chair of the hotel room and pulling out a cigar. Bart took up residence on one side of the hall door, while Ezra moved to sit in another chair and propped his feet up on a handy coffee table. Cards appeared in his hands. Vin gently opened the door to the hallway and glanced out, his Winchester in hand after having retrieved it from the bandit who'd stolen it. Once he was sure it was all clear, he disappeared outside to hide somewhere down the hallway. In the bedroom, JD settled back to keep his eyes on the three outlaws.
Less than three minutes later, the door was quietly opened, and a voice hissed McCoy's name. When no one answered, the door opened a little wider to reveal a rather portly man in a three-piece suit and a long black jacket. Clara Styles stood just behind him.
"Hello, Skull, Clara, so nice of you to join us," Bret smiled as he puffed away on his cigar. Bart reached out from his hiding place, grabbed Carter by his arm, and propelled him into the room, causing the man to stagger to a stop just in front of Bret's chair. Both Bret and Ezra instantly had their guns up and leveled on the man.
Outside, Clara jumped and turned to run, only to find herself staring down the barrel of Vin's Winchester.
"Didn't anyone ever tell you it's rude to leave a party before it's even begun?" Vin chastised, his gray eyes bright with mirth.
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In fact, Buck had rung the siren at almost the same instant that Skull Carter and Clara had thrown their matches, terrifying the would-be arsonists. They quickly ran out the back door and were forced to hide for a few minutes while men and women ran around the town looking for the fire. The blaze was out before it caught the oil and did any real damage, due to the efficiency of the townspeople.
Swearing, Carter and Clara had run to the hotel, hoping to still prevail in the ensuing confusion as people tried to figure out who started the blaze. That, and the fact that Carter had released the two other prisoners. He paid the two gunmen to make some noise as they escaped, in order to draw the Seven away, and it seemed to work.
Obviously, he was not expecting to find a welcoming party for him already in place.
Now he was on his hands and knees in the jail, up to his elbows in soap and water, being forced to wash away all the oil he'd spilt on the wood floor. Clara was standing next to him, scrubbing away at the walls. His other three thugs were sitting tight in a jail cell, looking very sheepish.
He glared at them with malice in his eyes and continued to scrub, imagining the floor to be their faces. JD grinned as he sat down in his chair, happy that all was now well with the world. Well, except for the fact that Carter's two other men had vanished after he'd released them, but the Sheriff was more than confident in Vin's ability to track them down quickly even if they couldn't get the information from Carter himself. He leant backwards, and spun the chamber of his colt.
Buck, sitting on the edge of the desk, his rifle in hand, chastised JD's action with a scathing look. The young sheriff stuck his tongue out and returned the colt to his gun belt.
"So where are your other men, Carter?" Buck asked nonchalantly as he fingered the hammer. When Carter didn't answer, Buck sighed and got up off the desk. With slow, heavy steps, he walked forward until he was right next to the mobster. Squatting, the ladies man raised his rifle and pointed it directly at the portly man's sweating head.
"I asked you a question, Skully. Where did you send your other men?"
Carter glanced over at Buck, hatred in his eyes. "I don't know what you are talking about," he spat, and returned to his scrubbing.
Buck raised his eyebrows and prodded Carter's side. "The two men you released, Carter. We will find them, you know, but if you were to tell us where you have them stashed away, we might convince the judge not to hang you."
Carter paused, and turned to look Buck squarely in the face. "I have no idea where those men went, sir. They were not my men, nor would I bother to hire such obvious ruffians." He then turned back to the floor. Buck frowned, confused.
"I think I might know," Clara interrupted, dropping her own brush into the soap pail. "I heard them talking when you guys were out doing…whatever it was you were doing."
Buck stood and looked at her, his gun still pointed at Carter. Clara stared back and licked her lips seductively.
"I'll tell you if you can stop me from being sent to jail," she said winsomely, winding a strand of dirt blond hair around one finger.
JD leant forward on his desk. "We can't do that ma'am. But we might be able to get you a lighter sentence. Right now, you're probably going to get life, you know. If you help us, we might be able to swing a deal."
Clara looked over at the young man, then back at Buck. The older man didn't contradict the Sheriff, but simply gave a curt nod. She licked her lips again and self-consciously tucked the loose strand of hair behind her ear, getting soap all over the side of her face.
"Well, all I knows is, that they were sent to kill the gambler and they were real upset 'cause they hit the wrong one. They figured this out after seeing the right one later on. If they got out, they were still planning on killing him, once they got the money back from the preacher at the church."
Buck looked at JD, who shrugged. "We already know that ma'am," the young sheriff stated. "Those men meant to hit Bret Maverick, not his brother. Which is why we need Carter here to tell us where he sent them."
"Besides, Josiah's got that money well hid at the church, and he's out with Vin and Nathan tracking them down. They're not going to get the cash without a fight," Buck added.
"No, no, you don't understand," Clara waved his words off. "They weren't sent to kill Maverick. They were supposed to kill your gambler, the gambler of Four Corners, the one with the green eyes."
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JD quickly locked both Carter and Clara back in their cells, not caring that they were still both covered in soap and that there was water all over the floor. Buck had already charged out of the jail and into the saloon. He found Chris and the Mavericks sitting at a table, sharing a drink.
"Where is Ezra!" Buck shouted, slamming his hands down on the table.
"Up in his room," Chris replied, "getting cleaned up. Why, what's wrong?"
"The two rats we arrested first, the ones Vin's searching for now, they weren't after Bart or Bret. Chris, they were after Ezra!" Buck ran to the stairs and vaulted onto them, taking them two at a time. He was calling Ezra's name even before he reached the top and was pounding hard on the gambler's door as Chris came up beside him. With a frightened look, Buck threw open the door…to an empty room.
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"Get a move on, gambling man!" the first gunman demanded, pointing a pair of six shooters at Ezra. The gambler grimaced as he continued to search Josiah's back room, looking through the rickety wardrobe before making his way over to the pallet. The two outlaws had been waiting for him in his room when he got back from the hotel, quickly marching him down and out the back door of the saloon, a gun to his head. By the time they had gotten to the church, Ezra had already figured out that he had been their initial target, not Maverick.
The second gunman sighed. "Look, we know you and the preacher are close, Standish. We could have looked in these same places as you are looking now, without your help. C'mon, show us where he hid the cash." He said this with his arms crossed, the sawed off shotgun in his hand looking deceptively unthreatening. Ezra had learnt that this one was called Shane. The other one, the hard-assed one with the shotgun, was called Mitch.
"Gentlemen, I am sorry to tell you this, but I am not the one to whom our preacher normally confides such secrets too," Ezra replied tiredly, wiping a bead of sweat from off his forehead as he inspected the large black table in the middle of the room. He had not yet replaced the bandage, and was paying for it by the stinging sensation of dirt in the cut. The fact that Mitch had seen fit to bean the back of his head with the rifle butt earlier for daring to argue with their plan to find the money hadn't done much for his ever present headache either.
"Don't give us that horseshit, gambler. You're just stalling 'cause you think those men out there are going to figure out your in trouble and come help you. Well, they're not going to, 'cause they don't know you're in trouble. They think we were after that other feller in the saloon. Man, how dumb…."
CRASH!
The image of Buck diving through the glass window was incredible, forcing them all to jump backwards. All Ezra saw was glass shattering everywhere, almost in slow motion, and a red and brown figure in the middle of it all. Time sped back up again to reveal a furious looking Buck, who had rolled to a stop, his rifle up and pointed at the shocked Shane. Coming back to life, Ezra dove for cover as Chris followed by JD came through the door from the church.
"DROP IT!" Chris yelled, his guns pointed at Mitch. The outlaw replied by instantly backing up behind the wardrobe for cover and firing bullets in all directions, hoping to hit one of the interlopers. Shane also tried to hide, diving for the same cover as Ezra -- which happened to be Josiah's table in the center of the room -- and firing his guns wildly at Buck's position. The gunman didn't make it -- dead by Buck's rifle before he hit the ground. Buck moved to one side, getting behind a small dresser, vaguely aware that one of the Shane's shots had gotten lucky and hit him in the leg. Meanwhile, Mitch's guns continued to explode from his position by the wardrobe.
Ezra had pulled the table down on its side, and was cowering behind it, his head in his hands. Without weapons, he was pretty useless. Mitch and Shane had stripped him of every gun, even his derringer. He could only pray that the others had him covered.
Chris dove into the room, to the other side of the wardrobe, while JD ducked back behind the doorframe. Ezra tried to protect his ears by covering them, but the guns were much too loud. Suddenly he was aware that two new guns had entered the fray. Risking a glance up, he saw Bret and Bart Maverick standing just outside the smashed window, guns raised and firing at Mitch's position. Both hit their mark expertly.
And it was over, the whole melee taking less than a minute. Standing up on shaky legs, Ezra looked around the ruined room.
"Thanks," he said simply, his face bright with an undisguised smile of relief as he pushed a shaking hand through his hair.
"What the hell have you done to my room!" Josiah's voice boomed from behind JD, the large man shoving the poor young sheriff aside. He looked around the ruined room with a furious expression. Seeing Ezra in the middle of it all, the preacher's face seemed to get even redder.
"EZRA! God help me, boy, if this is your doing…."
With the speed of a lynx, Ezra jumped out the smashed window and past the surprised Maverick brothers before Josiah could take another step, grinning like a Cheshire cat the whole time.
________________________________
Ezra, Bret and Bart were deeply involved in a poker game before the dust had even settled over the whole affair. Unfortunately, with the death of Mitch and Shane, the question still remained as to who had wanted to kill Ezra. The green-eyed gambler had waved it off with a laugh, saying that, in his profession, if he hadn't made a few enemies then he hadn't done his job well. The other six accepted this sad fact with a nod, adding it to the list of problems on their never-ending list, along with the bounty on Vin's head and the disappearance of Ella Gaines.
Now, he and the Maverick brothers were finally able to grant Ezra's wish and play the sort of game that Ezra had been afraid he would never see again, for the sort of stakes he had been sure he'd never see again. The skill level had blown everyone away from the table, and most now kept a discreet distance. The only peacekeeper close by was Vin, who was watching the game with a keen interest Chris didn't know the tracker had. JD was up with Buck in Nathan's clinic, where the healer was stitching the ladies man's leg. The complaints that the tall man had made the whole way up, begging Nathan to stitch him up in the saloon so he could watch the game, had obviously fallen on deaf ears.
Still, something was nagging at Chris as he watched the game from across the room. He turned to face Josiah, who was equally enthralled by the three professionals as they practiced their craft. The big man had quickly gotten over his anger at the damage done to his home, especially as everyone had agreed to help him clean up (except Ezra, of course, menial labor and all that). Besides, his fury had mostly been borne of the fear that Ezra had been in danger when he wasn't around to help. With Ezra none the worse for wear, Josiah had calmed considerably. Sensing Chris's eyes on him, he turned his soulful blue eyes to meet the other man's cold steel ones.
"Josiah, do you still have the thousand dollars at the church? I mean, you didn't give it to Ezra again when I wasn't looking, did you?"
Josiah smiled lightly at the joke. "Not that it would have mattered if I had, Chris. Ezra's not about to run out on the Maverick boys for a mere thousand dollars. Now, ten thousand, maybe…." The smile was replaced by a knowing grin, and Chris just shook his head. His expression became more serious as he looked back at the poker table.
"I don't get it, Josiah. I've never seen him so interested in helping a couple of drifters before, not without some other motive."
"I'm sorry?" Josiah replied, obviously puzzled by the statement.
"Well, why'd he do it? Stick up for Bart and his brother so readily. What makes them so special?"
"Are you serious? You don't know?"
Chris shot Josiah an annoyed look. "Would I be asking if I knew?"
Josiah's mouth formed a small "oh." He looked over at the table, noticing how none of the three men noticed as Inez replaced their drinks with new ones.
"I should say it is pretty obvious, Chris. The Maverick boys are both cut from the same cloth as our Ezra. Haven't you noticed the similarities? The only difference between them and our boy is that Ezra has found a home. They're still looking." He paused and grinned as Ezra laid down a winning hand and raked in the pot. Bret shook his head and laughed, while Bart rubbed a hand across his face. The preacher turned his eyes back to Chris, noting that the man in black was pursing his lips as he thought about what Josiah had said.
"Ezra stuck up for them, Chris, because he could, and because he hopes we will do the same for him when his own past comes back to haunt him," Josiah finished. Chris shook his head again.
"Don't be ridiculous, Josiah. Ezra already knows that we will stick up for him," Chris argued. "Hell, what was today? A dry run?"
"We only got a glimpse of Ezra's past today, Chris, and we still don't know who sent those men or why. However much we may forget who Ezra was before he joined us, I think he has far uglier things in his past than either you or I could ever dream of. It is when those parts of his past catch up with him that has him worried. He knows we will be there when lowlifes like Mitch and Shane come knocking, but…Look, all I know is that, beneath it all, he has become deathly afraid of losing what he has here."
Chris grimaced and took another drink. Stupid gambler.
"You know," Josiah said, putting his own shot glass of whiskey to his lips, "it really doesn't matter who wins the game over there. Ezra will still leave the table the richer man." He punctuated the statement by downing the shot.
Chris glanced at the preacher, waiting for him to explain the enigmatic statement. When no more words were forthcoming, the black clad gunslinger resigned himself to simply having to work it out on his own.
"Truth be told, I think we all are," Josiah whispered. Chris smiled.
Over at the table, Ezra sighed as Bret threw down a full house and took in the next pot. And the game was just beginning.
End