Alpha Males, part three
"Never Turn Your Back" or "Smoking on the Job"
____________________________________
When Vin and JD arrived the next morning to check on the outlaws, it was to find Chris smoking a cheroot outside the jail. Both tipped their hat at the gunslinger and pushed their way inside. Nathan was sleeping with his head on the desk, and all the outlaws appeared to be sleeping on the floor of their cell.
The A-Team's cell was empty.
"Nathan?" JD shook the healer's shoulder while Vin hastily searched for the keys. Nathan came awake slowly, then frowned as he saw the kid watching him.
"Nathan, where is the colonel and his men?"
"What?" came the still sleepy reply.
"Chris!" Vin pushed open the jail's two doors with a slam, startling the gunslinger. Chris dropped the cheroot to the ground and followed the tracker inside. Vin pointed to the empty cell.
"Damn it! Find me Ezra!" the gunslinger shouted, grabbing the keys that Nathan had been holding in his hands. He'd been sleeping on them, the big iron ring leaving an indentation on his face. JD took off out the door, while Nathan pulled his gun and, without being ordered, went to check on BA at the clinic. Vin woke up the outlaws in their cell, but they looked as bleary eyed and confused as Nathan had.
By the time the healer returned to report that Yosemite had been alone in the clinic, Ezra was pulling on a jacket and receiving a tongue lashing from Chris. It was obvious that the gunslinger thought Ezra had helped them to get away. The gambler's expression was completely nonplussed.
"Chris, I didn't...it wasn't me! Listen, these men are famous for their escapes. Besides, you were here all night, not me. How did you not see them go?"
"I've been outside since the sun came up an hour ago, and Nathan was asleep. You had plenty of time in that hour to see me out here and find a way to get them out."
Ezra shook his head, "I've been asleep. Fast asleep. JD, tell him that you found me asleep." JD nodded and opened his mouth to agree, but Chris held up a hand to forestall him.
"You are staying here to guard these other men. The rest of us are going after them."
"Why? Why can't you just let them go?" Ezra demanded petulantly.
Chris just growled at him, causing Ezra to back up slightly.
"No one escapes from my jail," the gunslinger said quietly, shoving Ezra aside so he could head outside. JD shrugged when Ezra turned to him with a questioning look, and handed him the keys. Vin was already outside, checking the ground for tracks.
In moments, the gambler was alone, leaning against the desk and weighing the keys in his hands. He looked up when horses galloping past indicated the others were headed out of town. Slowly, he stood and wandered to the front door to look across at the saloon.
He gave a brief nod as Face peeked out of the window of Ezra's room. Face smiled back and saluted him.
___________________________________
A couple of hours later, the same four peacekeepers returned, disgruntled and hot. Chris shot Ezra a dark look as he moved past, which the gambler did not react to except to look away. They had followed tracks, but they disappeared when they reached the river. Splitting up and riding up and down looking for where the tracks came out of the river yielded nothing, and finally, they had had to give up.
None even questioned that the tracks might have been false, placed there by Ezra the night before with BA's help. The gambler had helped BA out of the clinic and taken him someplace "safe" to wait for the others, and BA had helped him how to lay the false trail. Apparently, it had worked.
Except that, though he had no proof, Chris knew.
After putting his horse away, Chris sent the others to the saloon while he went to talk to Ezra. The gambler had retreated inside the jail and was leaning against the desk, playing with his deck of cards. He sprayed them into one hand and put them away when Chris entered.
"Why did you do it?" the gunslinger asked.
"I did not do anything, Mr. Larabee."
Chris sighed, walked over to the gambler and moved to lean against the desk next to him.
"I'm not going to shoot you over this," the gunslinger said quietly, "I just want to know why."
"I honestly have no idea..."
"Damn it!" Before Ezra knew it, Chris had pushed him back and pinned the top of the desk, a hand gripping the gambler's throat, "Stop lying to me! You may have been able to fool me once, a long time ago, but I know you too well now. You think I am a fool?"
"You're...you're choking me!" Ezra rasped, bringing his hands up to try and pull Chris's hand from his throat.
"Tell me!" Chris ordered, pressing harder. Ezra shut his eyes, feeling the blood pumping in his head, losing oxygen. His fingers tightened around Chris's arm, desperately trying to get air. In the background, the outlaws in the cells started to cheer, egging Chris on.
"Tell me!" the gunslinger shouted again, his own head beginning to throb. He could see the blue tinge rising on Ezra's face, feel the straining heartbeat beneath his fingers and the tightening muscles. Ezra just opened his eyes slightly, then let go with his hands, his chin trembling as he stared up at the man holding him.
Chris's arm shook, and, as abruptly as he had grabbed Ezra's neck, he let go.
The gambler gasped, his chest heaving as it drew in oxygen through the bruised airway. Groans and disappointed complaints echoed from the cells. Chris whipped around, pulled his gun and shot into the air over their heads to shut them up. They did.
Ezra was still breathing heavily, holding his throat with a shaking hand as he got himself upright again off the desk. Chris glared at him a second longer then, angry with himself, began to walk out of the jail.
"Wait," the gambler gasped.
Chris stopped, but he didn't turn.
"I did it...because they saved my life."
Chris paused, "Your life?" he turned slowly to look sideways at the gambler. Ezra seemed to be focused on the wall opposite the desk. Chris frowned, "Why didn't they recognize you?"
"I wasn't alone when they did it; they saved a lot of men that day." He looked at Chris, the sun streaming in the doors lighting his pale face. "I was...I was up in the Black Hills, hanging around some miners, trying to get a piece of a gold mine." He took another breath; they were coming more evenly now. "This was before the Hills were subdued by Makenzie, before Custer's death. Truth be told, the miners were where they weren't supposed to be, something I learned to my chagrin a little too late. We got trapped, penned in by a band of Sioux and Cheyenne, and, more than likely, we would have died if Colonel Smith and his men hadn't come in after us." Ezra had started to twist his gold ring around his finger, the light glinting off the surface catching Chris's eyes. "This was before the A-Team were black-listed by the army and accused of that ridiculous crime." He sighed, "I owed them."
Chris stood stock still, watching Ezra quietly. The gambler frowned slightly, his pale green eyes turned again to focus once more on the wall. Finally, Chris grimaced.
"I trusted you, Ezra."
"I know."
"You should have told me about them immediately."
Ezra didn't respond. Chris pursed his lips.
"Well, you succeeded. You got them out. What that means for your future here, I don't know."
Ezra nodded slowly, expecting this. Chris was massaging his hand, which had cramped up. The gunslinger walked slowly to the door and leaned against the frame, letting the sun warm him. A sudden snapping sound had him looking back at the gambler.
Ezra had released his derringer, and was just looking at it. After a second, he pushed it back into his sleeve and looked languidly up at Chris. There was no challenge in that gaze, just plain fact. He could have shot Chris at any time when the gunslinger was choking him, had he really wanted to.
Chris looked away again to the street outside.
"That is how you can trust me, Chris," Ezra informed him quietly, calmly smoothing down the sleeve, "I'll be there to guard your back, to follow you wherever you go, to be there when you need me. I won't run out on you, and you know it. I...I'll even let you kill me, if that is what it takes." He shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair. When Chris still didn't speak, Ezra licked his dry lips, "But this was not one of those times. This time you were wrong."
Chris sneered and pulled another cheroot from his pocket.
Ezra sighed, "I would have told you, but, when they first arrived, I didn't think I had the right to proclaim their identity without their permission, and, then, after you locked them up, I...I hesitated, embarrassed I suppose, seeing as it was not one of the more stellar parts of my past. But I did try. You turned your back before I could finish. You didn't want to listen to me. You made that clear."
Chris blew the air out of his cheeks and shook his head, "Was it so hard to find me and make me listen to you?"
"I shouldn't have had to. I asked you to trust me about them, but you wouldn't." He shrugged, "I was foolish to think you would, I suppose."
At this, Chris frowned, "How am I supposed to trust you when you hide things?"
"I did not realize I had a monopoly on that skill, Mr. Larabee, but I do seem to have a monopoly on your enmity. I am fairly certain that, had it been one of the others who asked, things would have been vastly different."
Chris nodded, conceding the truth of the statement, "Maybe, but, Christ, Ezra, you bring it on yourself."
"On the contrary, I would say that you bring it out of me."
Chris didn't answer, he just continued to frown. Ezra stared at the wall, his poker face firmly in place.
The whole jail was silent for almost five minutes. Not even one of the outlaws spoke. They were simply watching, waiting. Outside, the world bustled by. Chris could see JD and Nathan sitting in the window of the saloon, also watching him, while Vin leaned casually against the outside wall, blowing tunelessly on his harmonica.
"Out of curiosity, what crime are the A-Team accused of?" the gunslinger asked. The sudden noise startled Ezra slightly, who shrugged.
"Don't you know?" he asked. "Desertion. Hannibal Smith refused to be Custer's lieutenant-colonel. You know what Custer did to the Southern Cheyenne and Black Kettle? Massacring the entire tribe, including the woman and children, without provocation? Well, he was sent North to do the same to the Sioux, Cheyenne and whatever other Indians he could find. Colonel Smith and his men were already there, having been fighting with the rampaging Sioux for a while, but they never killed women or children. When he heard what Custer had done down south, Smith refused to work with him; and when he was told he had no choice, he left. His three most loyal officers followed him."
Chris raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Then the dime novel got it wrong?"
"Dime novel?"
"Yes, it said they were accused of a crime they didn't commit."
"Oh that. No, that is true. Custer was too embarrassed by the desertion of four of the most decorated veterans of the civil war to let them get off. The same week that the A-Team deserted, the First National Bank in Cheyenne, Wyoming was robbed. An eyewitness said that it was the A-Team. The eyewitness was one of Custer's captains."
Chris pursed his lips, his mind taking in this information slowly. Stories about the Sioux and Cheyenne had drifted down, but fiction and reality were never clear, especially when it came to the Indians. But he did know that a lot of blood had run along those northern trails. If these men had been on the front lines, then maybe they did deserve some extra consideration. It was a horrible thing to take part in a war where neither side was blameless and had no possible winners.
Ezra stood up from of the desk, "Mr. Larabee...I am sorry for lying to you. I am not sorry for helping them escape."
"I know."
"So...what are you going to do now?"
"Get a drink, then get some sleep." He pushed himself away from the doorframe and threw the butt of his cheroot to the dirt outside. Then he looked across at Ezra, who was now watching him again, a slightly worried expression on his face. Chris chuckled and shook his head.
"Want some breakfast?"
Ezra narrowed his eyes slightly, but he nodded.
"I'll bring you some," Chris smiled, "the best Inez can create, on me."
Ezra smiled back, looking to his feet, "Thanks."
"And next time...I'll try to do better."
Ezra snorted, "Does that mean, um, that you'll get me my breakfast before trying to choke me?" he ribbed.
Chris chuckled and nodded, tipping his hat as he walked out the door and over to the saloon.
Inside, the outlaws started complaining about not getting satisfaction. They'd wanted a fight, damn it!
____________________________
Continued in part four
"Never Turn Your Back" or "Smoking on the Job"
____________________________________
When Vin and JD arrived the next morning to check on the outlaws, it was to find Chris smoking a cheroot outside the jail. Both tipped their hat at the gunslinger and pushed their way inside. Nathan was sleeping with his head on the desk, and all the outlaws appeared to be sleeping on the floor of their cell.
The A-Team's cell was empty.
"Nathan?" JD shook the healer's shoulder while Vin hastily searched for the keys. Nathan came awake slowly, then frowned as he saw the kid watching him.
"Nathan, where is the colonel and his men?"
"What?" came the still sleepy reply.
"Chris!" Vin pushed open the jail's two doors with a slam, startling the gunslinger. Chris dropped the cheroot to the ground and followed the tracker inside. Vin pointed to the empty cell.
"Damn it! Find me Ezra!" the gunslinger shouted, grabbing the keys that Nathan had been holding in his hands. He'd been sleeping on them, the big iron ring leaving an indentation on his face. JD took off out the door, while Nathan pulled his gun and, without being ordered, went to check on BA at the clinic. Vin woke up the outlaws in their cell, but they looked as bleary eyed and confused as Nathan had.
By the time the healer returned to report that Yosemite had been alone in the clinic, Ezra was pulling on a jacket and receiving a tongue lashing from Chris. It was obvious that the gunslinger thought Ezra had helped them to get away. The gambler's expression was completely nonplussed.
"Chris, I didn't...it wasn't me! Listen, these men are famous for their escapes. Besides, you were here all night, not me. How did you not see them go?"
"I've been outside since the sun came up an hour ago, and Nathan was asleep. You had plenty of time in that hour to see me out here and find a way to get them out."
Ezra shook his head, "I've been asleep. Fast asleep. JD, tell him that you found me asleep." JD nodded and opened his mouth to agree, but Chris held up a hand to forestall him.
"You are staying here to guard these other men. The rest of us are going after them."
"Why? Why can't you just let them go?" Ezra demanded petulantly.
Chris just growled at him, causing Ezra to back up slightly.
"No one escapes from my jail," the gunslinger said quietly, shoving Ezra aside so he could head outside. JD shrugged when Ezra turned to him with a questioning look, and handed him the keys. Vin was already outside, checking the ground for tracks.
In moments, the gambler was alone, leaning against the desk and weighing the keys in his hands. He looked up when horses galloping past indicated the others were headed out of town. Slowly, he stood and wandered to the front door to look across at the saloon.
He gave a brief nod as Face peeked out of the window of Ezra's room. Face smiled back and saluted him.
___________________________________
A couple of hours later, the same four peacekeepers returned, disgruntled and hot. Chris shot Ezra a dark look as he moved past, which the gambler did not react to except to look away. They had followed tracks, but they disappeared when they reached the river. Splitting up and riding up and down looking for where the tracks came out of the river yielded nothing, and finally, they had had to give up.
None even questioned that the tracks might have been false, placed there by Ezra the night before with BA's help. The gambler had helped BA out of the clinic and taken him someplace "safe" to wait for the others, and BA had helped him how to lay the false trail. Apparently, it had worked.
Except that, though he had no proof, Chris knew.
After putting his horse away, Chris sent the others to the saloon while he went to talk to Ezra. The gambler had retreated inside the jail and was leaning against the desk, playing with his deck of cards. He sprayed them into one hand and put them away when Chris entered.
"Why did you do it?" the gunslinger asked.
"I did not do anything, Mr. Larabee."
Chris sighed, walked over to the gambler and moved to lean against the desk next to him.
"I'm not going to shoot you over this," the gunslinger said quietly, "I just want to know why."
"I honestly have no idea..."
"Damn it!" Before Ezra knew it, Chris had pushed him back and pinned the top of the desk, a hand gripping the gambler's throat, "Stop lying to me! You may have been able to fool me once, a long time ago, but I know you too well now. You think I am a fool?"
"You're...you're choking me!" Ezra rasped, bringing his hands up to try and pull Chris's hand from his throat.
"Tell me!" Chris ordered, pressing harder. Ezra shut his eyes, feeling the blood pumping in his head, losing oxygen. His fingers tightened around Chris's arm, desperately trying to get air. In the background, the outlaws in the cells started to cheer, egging Chris on.
"Tell me!" the gunslinger shouted again, his own head beginning to throb. He could see the blue tinge rising on Ezra's face, feel the straining heartbeat beneath his fingers and the tightening muscles. Ezra just opened his eyes slightly, then let go with his hands, his chin trembling as he stared up at the man holding him.
Chris's arm shook, and, as abruptly as he had grabbed Ezra's neck, he let go.
The gambler gasped, his chest heaving as it drew in oxygen through the bruised airway. Groans and disappointed complaints echoed from the cells. Chris whipped around, pulled his gun and shot into the air over their heads to shut them up. They did.
Ezra was still breathing heavily, holding his throat with a shaking hand as he got himself upright again off the desk. Chris glared at him a second longer then, angry with himself, began to walk out of the jail.
"Wait," the gambler gasped.
Chris stopped, but he didn't turn.
"I did it...because they saved my life."
Chris paused, "Your life?" he turned slowly to look sideways at the gambler. Ezra seemed to be focused on the wall opposite the desk. Chris frowned, "Why didn't they recognize you?"
"I wasn't alone when they did it; they saved a lot of men that day." He looked at Chris, the sun streaming in the doors lighting his pale face. "I was...I was up in the Black Hills, hanging around some miners, trying to get a piece of a gold mine." He took another breath; they were coming more evenly now. "This was before the Hills were subdued by Makenzie, before Custer's death. Truth be told, the miners were where they weren't supposed to be, something I learned to my chagrin a little too late. We got trapped, penned in by a band of Sioux and Cheyenne, and, more than likely, we would have died if Colonel Smith and his men hadn't come in after us." Ezra had started to twist his gold ring around his finger, the light glinting off the surface catching Chris's eyes. "This was before the A-Team were black-listed by the army and accused of that ridiculous crime." He sighed, "I owed them."
Chris stood stock still, watching Ezra quietly. The gambler frowned slightly, his pale green eyes turned again to focus once more on the wall. Finally, Chris grimaced.
"I trusted you, Ezra."
"I know."
"You should have told me about them immediately."
Ezra didn't respond. Chris pursed his lips.
"Well, you succeeded. You got them out. What that means for your future here, I don't know."
Ezra nodded slowly, expecting this. Chris was massaging his hand, which had cramped up. The gunslinger walked slowly to the door and leaned against the frame, letting the sun warm him. A sudden snapping sound had him looking back at the gambler.
Ezra had released his derringer, and was just looking at it. After a second, he pushed it back into his sleeve and looked languidly up at Chris. There was no challenge in that gaze, just plain fact. He could have shot Chris at any time when the gunslinger was choking him, had he really wanted to.
Chris looked away again to the street outside.
"That is how you can trust me, Chris," Ezra informed him quietly, calmly smoothing down the sleeve, "I'll be there to guard your back, to follow you wherever you go, to be there when you need me. I won't run out on you, and you know it. I...I'll even let you kill me, if that is what it takes." He shook his head, and ran a hand through his hair. When Chris still didn't speak, Ezra licked his dry lips, "But this was not one of those times. This time you were wrong."
Chris sneered and pulled another cheroot from his pocket.
Ezra sighed, "I would have told you, but, when they first arrived, I didn't think I had the right to proclaim their identity without their permission, and, then, after you locked them up, I...I hesitated, embarrassed I suppose, seeing as it was not one of the more stellar parts of my past. But I did try. You turned your back before I could finish. You didn't want to listen to me. You made that clear."
Chris blew the air out of his cheeks and shook his head, "Was it so hard to find me and make me listen to you?"
"I shouldn't have had to. I asked you to trust me about them, but you wouldn't." He shrugged, "I was foolish to think you would, I suppose."
At this, Chris frowned, "How am I supposed to trust you when you hide things?"
"I did not realize I had a monopoly on that skill, Mr. Larabee, but I do seem to have a monopoly on your enmity. I am fairly certain that, had it been one of the others who asked, things would have been vastly different."
Chris nodded, conceding the truth of the statement, "Maybe, but, Christ, Ezra, you bring it on yourself."
"On the contrary, I would say that you bring it out of me."
Chris didn't answer, he just continued to frown. Ezra stared at the wall, his poker face firmly in place.
The whole jail was silent for almost five minutes. Not even one of the outlaws spoke. They were simply watching, waiting. Outside, the world bustled by. Chris could see JD and Nathan sitting in the window of the saloon, also watching him, while Vin leaned casually against the outside wall, blowing tunelessly on his harmonica.
"Out of curiosity, what crime are the A-Team accused of?" the gunslinger asked. The sudden noise startled Ezra slightly, who shrugged.
"Don't you know?" he asked. "Desertion. Hannibal Smith refused to be Custer's lieutenant-colonel. You know what Custer did to the Southern Cheyenne and Black Kettle? Massacring the entire tribe, including the woman and children, without provocation? Well, he was sent North to do the same to the Sioux, Cheyenne and whatever other Indians he could find. Colonel Smith and his men were already there, having been fighting with the rampaging Sioux for a while, but they never killed women or children. When he heard what Custer had done down south, Smith refused to work with him; and when he was told he had no choice, he left. His three most loyal officers followed him."
Chris raised his eyebrows, surprised. "Then the dime novel got it wrong?"
"Dime novel?"
"Yes, it said they were accused of a crime they didn't commit."
"Oh that. No, that is true. Custer was too embarrassed by the desertion of four of the most decorated veterans of the civil war to let them get off. The same week that the A-Team deserted, the First National Bank in Cheyenne, Wyoming was robbed. An eyewitness said that it was the A-Team. The eyewitness was one of Custer's captains."
Chris pursed his lips, his mind taking in this information slowly. Stories about the Sioux and Cheyenne had drifted down, but fiction and reality were never clear, especially when it came to the Indians. But he did know that a lot of blood had run along those northern trails. If these men had been on the front lines, then maybe they did deserve some extra consideration. It was a horrible thing to take part in a war where neither side was blameless and had no possible winners.
Ezra stood up from of the desk, "Mr. Larabee...I am sorry for lying to you. I am not sorry for helping them escape."
"I know."
"So...what are you going to do now?"
"Get a drink, then get some sleep." He pushed himself away from the doorframe and threw the butt of his cheroot to the dirt outside. Then he looked across at Ezra, who was now watching him again, a slightly worried expression on his face. Chris chuckled and shook his head.
"Want some breakfast?"
Ezra narrowed his eyes slightly, but he nodded.
"I'll bring you some," Chris smiled, "the best Inez can create, on me."
Ezra smiled back, looking to his feet, "Thanks."
"And next time...I'll try to do better."
Ezra snorted, "Does that mean, um, that you'll get me my breakfast before trying to choke me?" he ribbed.
Chris chuckled and nodded, tipping his hat as he walked out the door and over to the saloon.
Inside, the outlaws started complaining about not getting satisfaction. They'd wanted a fight, damn it!
____________________________
Continued in part four