Notes: Okay, so there I was in the video shop the other day and I saw a copy of 'Maverick'. I thought 'wow! I love that film. I should buy it' - so I did. Watching it I couldn't help but think - oh my god, this guy should so meet Ezra. So, here it is.
I hope no-one gets uptight about this. I don't usually like x-overs, but this one was just crying out to be done. Also, I hope no Maverick fans are upset by the fact that I've used the film characters rather than the ones from the tv show - the main reason for this being I've never seen the tv show (being a young british girl, I've never had the chance).
Neither Mag7 nor Maverick belong to me. Although if anyone is offering I would quite gladly take them off your hands.
Oh, and Beth is a totally made up character who is completely mine.
CHANCE WOULD BE A FINE THING
PART ONE
Beth sighed wearily as she finally had to admit defeat on two fronts. Firstly, she couldn't free herself however hard she tried, and secondly, she had been wrong. Coming here hadn't been a good idea at all. In fact, it had been the very worst of all the bad ideas ever devised. It was the bad idea god.
And what had lead her to this conclusion?
Well, being tied up, her hands secured to the bedpost in this poor excuse for saloon accomodation had certainly tipped the balance in favour of 'bad'.
Beth firmly believed however that getting into this unfortunate predicament wasn't entirely her fault. She laid the the blame squarely on the shoulders of her brother. And, when she got out - if he wasn't already dead - she'd kill him.
The unscheduled detour into the little town of Jericho had occured because of its reputation and her need for entertainment. When she had arrived in nearby Vista City by stagecoach, she had been annoyed - but hardly surprised - to find a telegram waiting for her from her brother. He was going to be late arriving to their proposed meeting. Detained by an 'unforseen business oportunity' apparently. Loosely translated that meant he'd found a big card game he didn't want to miss.
Appologising profusely, he had told her that he would meet her in their designated rendevous - a small frontier town known as Four Corners - a week later than planned. From there they intended to catch the stage to Ridge City, hop on a train and head back East for a few months. Their Pa had recently purchased a house in Philadelphia, on the whim of having a proper family home for once, and had decided he wanted his children home for Christmas.
Beth had decided that she had only two options. She could either a) stay in Vista City for a few days or b) travel to Four Corners and stay there. And the choice wasn't exactly a hard one. Vista City was a dusty town of diminutive size with limited entertainment. Or, as her Pa would say, it was lamer than a three legged mule. So, Four Corners it was.
Two hours after she had arrived, she had packed up her bags and mounted her horse, Talos. He was a beautiful creature to behold - a proud, strong black Arabian stallion who she had won off of a lecherous Mexican gentleman at a Roulette wheel. He had been pawing around her all night, irritating her intensely. When, towards the end of the evening, he had commented that he would have love to have played a game with her, but that he was out of funds, she had suggested they wager for something more material - say, the beautiful horse he had boasted to her about earlier.
Needless to say he had walked home that night.
Now Talos was hers. And he came with her everywhere.
Their most recent ride - on the trail to Four Corners - had lead them into what appeared to be a welcome detour. Passing through a town named Jericho, Beth had spotted a promising looking saloon in a seedy looking town with an unsavory reputation and had decided it was worth stopping for the night.
Beth was a rariety in the world. A gambler with the element of a conscious. She repected people who worked hard and made honest, decent lives for themselves. Good on them. They deserved what they had in life and she certainly wasn't going to be the one to take it away from them. When playing honest men, she played honestly, never taking them to the point of ruining. Fortunately for her however, for every honest man that left the table, there was a dishonest one willing to take his place. Now these men she put through the ringer. These men she truely enjoyed rubbing into the ground. There was no challenge in defeating a man who played by the rules, but cheating a cheat was pure artistry. You had to outwit your opponent with such cunning and style that he was never sure whether you tricked them or not.
Of course, being a woman helped. Her brother and father could get into the most god alwful messes when they played. Violence and the such. But men never threatened her. Never said they'd take her outside and string her up. They were disarmed not only by her gender but by her appearance. Kitten soft features beguiled the panther that lay underneath. In truth, she had probably gotten away with more dastedly things than her male relatives ever had.
Although she hadn't gotten away with it this time.
And the irony of it all was that she hadn't been cheating. She was playing fair and square, partaking purely for the enjoyment of the game rather than the monetry gain. Certainly she had beat the four scoundrels into a weeping heap, but she had done it fairly.
Apparently her mistake had been using her own name. The men had explained their reasons as they bound her wrists and tied them to the bedpost after snatching her from the street under the cover of darkness. Apparently there was an acquintance of theirs who'd pay a high price to get his hands on her brother. They didn't know what they'd get for her, but she had to be worth something. After all, the Mavericks were one of the most famous gambling families in the New World. They had to have pissed a few people off along the way.
Which was true. Meaning her neccesity to escape was paramount.
God, was she going to tan Bret's hide when she caught up with him.
PART TWO
"Okay," the young Easterner said, chuckling to himself at the thought of the joke, "I've got another one for you."
A collective groan enimated from the other six men assembled around the table. This was the fifth one in the row. They'd heard them all before, and they weren't getting better with age.
"Mr Dunne," Ezra drawled, fiddling with the pack of cards that were in his hands so often they may as well be another apendage, "Would you please show us some righteous benevolence and desist in your appalling attemps at jocularity? Believe me when I say that your persistance could be most deterimental to your well-being."
JD looked ever so slightly confused. Listening to and understanding Ezra always took some degree of concentration, and he had been too busy laughing at his own joke to pay enough attention.
"Or," Buck said, helping him out, "Quit tellin' those bad jokes before one o' us shoots ya."
JD shook his head, undetered, "No this one's a gem, I promise." He chose to ignore the dry looks that passed between the rest of them and plundered on regardless. "Right, there this schoolmarm who was visiting a church one Sunday. The sermon seemed to go on forever, and many in the congregation fell asleep. After the service, to be social, she walked up to a very sleepy looking cowboy, extended her hand in greeting, and said, 'Hello, I'm Gladys Dunn.' And the cowboy replied, 'You're not the only one ma'am, I'm glad it's done too!!!'"
JD fell into fits of laughter while the other simply looked pained.
Buck was even a mite offended. Hell, he spoke like that! There weren't nothing funny about it!
It took JD a full thirty seconds to realise that he was the only one revelling in his humour. "Oh come on!" he prompted, "That was the greatest. 'I'm glad it's done too' - what a classic!"
"Son," Josiah said, shaking his head, "I've known dyin' men who were funnier than you."
"I bet their delivery wouldn't be like floggin' a dead horse neither," Vin added with a chuckle.
"Hey!" JD defended, "My delivery was fine."
"No, Mr Dunne," Ezra said shaking his head, "It indeed lacked the finesse that Mr Tanner pointed out. But, with such atrocious material then I'm afraid that improvement is highly improbable."
"Aw, hell, at least we know what to get JD for Christmas now," Nathan said with a smile.
"I dint know ya could buy a sense of humor," Vin said with a laugh.
Nathan laughed along with the others, "I meant a proper joke book."
Chris enjoyed watching the easy banter between his friends and fellow lawmen. It was almost brotherly. A warming feeling for a heart that sometimes felt very cold.
He was about to join in with their raucous teasing of the youngest member of their band, when his eyes locked on a gentleman walking purposeful into the saloon. One word immediately sprang to mind when he saw him. Trouble.
Chris didn't know what it was, but he seemed to have a sixth sense when it came to some men. This one, he knew, was going to be a pain in the ass.
He noticed that Ezra had also spotted him, and the gleam in the gambler's eyes lit up. He knew a potential opponent when he saw one, and this man just screamed 'card sharp', with his fine clothes and neat appearance.
The rest of the group continued to chat away, unaware of the scrutiny two of their number were giving to the man that had headed to the bar. He spoke briefly to Inez, saying something to the Mexican woman to make her smile plesantly. She shook her head briefly as she spoke back. Then she pointed at the seven and said something else. The man nodded, tipped his hat to her and wandered over to them.
"Can I help you?" Chris asked as the gentleman approached.
Bret felt suddenly a little uncomfortable as the seven men at the table turned to look at him, all obviously a little suspicious. His wide smile and welcoming attitude hid his nervousness easily however. He was a gambling man after all - hiding your emotions was a must.
"I certainly hope so," he said, holding out his hand.
Chris shook it firmly.
"Bret Maverick," the newcomer said, tipping his hat at them as a greeting.
Ezra smiled, his gold tooth winking in the lamp light, "Then, sir," he said standing and holding out his own hand, "It is certainly an honor to meet you."
"You've heard of me?" Bret said with a smile, shaking his hand.
"In my profession, sir, your infamy preceeds you." He turned to his companions to offer an explanation, "Mr Maverick here is some what of luminary in the world of the poker table."
"Better than you, Ezra?" JD asked with a challenging grin.
Ezra nodded contemplatively, "Perhaps."
Bret smiled. He instantly liked this guy. He considered himself an excellent judge of character and he thought the Southerner was the kind of of guy he could play a few hands with. Although not the kind of guy he'd trust with his wallet.
"Guess we'll just have to find the time to work that one out, huh" he said, his reasons for coming over momentarily forgotten, "I didn't catch your name."
"Ezra. Ezra Standish."
Bret barked out a laugh, his blue eyes twinkling, "Oh god, you wouldn't be related to a Maude Standish would you?"
Ezra smiled easily, "Indeed, sir. She is my mother. I take it you've had the dubious pleasure of making her acquintance."
"Yes, I have," Bret said, chuckling, "Interesting woman. Cleared me out of three thousand dollars in a game of seven card stud. Asked me if I wanted to 'partake in her current investment opportunity'."
Buck laughed, "Oh, I sure hope you didn't."
"No," Bret said, "I'm not really a 'throw myself to the lions' kind of guy."
That set of various chuckles from around the table, and Ezra nodding at the wisdom of the man. He knew first hand how good his mother was. How persuasive she could be. Only a sharp man wasn't fooled by her.
"You said you needed our help," Chris said quietly, turning their attention back to the business at hand. It wasn't that he didn't like the guy. He seemed a decent enough fella. But when people came up to them, asking for their help, it invariably meant trouble and he didn't like hanging around for it to show up. And seeing the kind of trouble Ezra got himself into sometimes, he felt entirely justified in his nervousness about this gambler.
"Oh, yeah, sure," Bret said, shaking his head briefly, frowning at himself for forgetting his purpose, "I was meant to meet someone here. The barmaid said you fellas would know who has turned up here in the last few days."
"Who ya looking for?" Chris asked, relaxing a little. He wished they could help everyone so easily.
"My sister, Bethany," he explained. He held his hand out at about the level of his neck, "About so high. Dark hair. Pretty. Rides a black horse."
Buck shook his head, "Ain't no one like that come through here."
Bret frowned, "You sure?"
"Believe 'im," Vin said, "He'd know."
"Goddamnit," Bret muttered angrily, hands on hips. He knew she'd be mad. Didn't know she'd mad enough not to meet him. She was probably hanging around somewhere else for a few days, making sure that he had to wait for her for once. That was so childish, even for his kid sister.
"Okay," he said sighing, after a small pause, "Thanks for your help fellas." He started to walk off, shaking his head. Suddenly he turned back, "Is there a telegram office around here?"
It was Ezra who replied, "Certainly. I'll show you." He stood, nodding at the rest of them. "Gentlemen. I trust I shall find you here this coming evening?"
"Probably," Nathan said, with a bored sigh. The town had been quiet for weeks.
"Unless the appocolypse comes, eh Josiah?" JD said with a small smile.
"Ain't no jokin' matter, son," the preacher replied in all seriousness, causing the young gun slinger to frown slightly.
Chris shook his head as he watched Ezra and Bret leave, "Why do I have a bad feeling about this?"
"'Cos it just wouldn't be right any other way, Chris," Buck smiled, taking a sip of his beer.
Chris nodded in acceptance. Yes, he did have a reputation for pessimism. He couldn't help it - especially since he was invariably right.
PART THREE
"Ya think he's gonna beat 'im?"
"Never seen ol' Ez come a cropper before - not counting the guy wit that false leg course." Buck chuckled slightly at the memory.
"Still. That Maverick fella - he's mighty good."
"Seems to be holdin' his own."
Buck shook his head as he and Vin continued to watch Ezra and Bret play poker. From their perch at the bar, they could watch the action quite comfortably and from their view it seemed as if their resident card sharp had met his match. Or at least his equal. It was a sight Buck never thought to see in a hundred life times.
Ezra wasn't just a gambler. As far as Buck was concerned, he was the gambler. The man seemed to possess an innate ability when it came to cards. It was simply in his blood. To see the Southerner battling so hard against an opponent was a freshing - if some what bewildering - sight.
They'd been at it for well over three hours now, maybe just touching four. Reasonably large sums of money had changed hands but it appeared that neither man was much better nor much worse off than when they had started.
Ezra watched as the man sitting across from him grinned. He had quickly gotten used to the fact that this was not a sign of pleasure, simply the jovial Easterner's perpetual expression. He was a friendly, open man, with a wide sense of humour and an almost hedonistic attitude to life. Ezra respected that.
Almost as much as he respected the man's wardrobe. The grey pinstripe trousers, sliver grey waistcoat and frilled shirt looked to be of remarkable quality. He rarely got to play against a gentleman of his own class - both in breeding and ability - which was why he had spent the afternoon sweet talking the man in joining him at saloon that evening. It had been such an excruiatingly dull last couple of weeks that he was relieved to finally have something approaching a challenge.
And this was turning out to be just that. As Maverick lay out his hand, Ezra was relieved to see that he had a flush, a hand that was beaten by his full house. The slight beads of perspiration that had began to trickle slowly down his neck seemed to immediate receed and his cool, detached demeanour asserted itself again. He had lost the last three hands in a row and was beginning to get a little concerned. He had a reputation to defend after all.
"It seems that Lady Luck's whim has once again graced me with it's presence," he drawlled languidly, laying out the winning hand on the table.
There was a small smattering of applause from the people that where taking an active interest in the game, curious to see how two professionals played. They were not being disappointed by the skill on show.
Maverick didn't react, his smile never waivering. "Nice play," he said, simply, nodding as Ezra pulled the pot towards himself.
"Another hand Mr Maverick?" Ezra asked, retrieving the cards and shuffling them with highly practised fingers.
Bret mentally gave the man a smart appraisal. Just like his mother he was a gambler through and through. Good at it to. The southern woman had been far more talented than he had expected and it seemed as if that talent had passed itself down to her son as well.
He shook his head in response to Ezra's question, "I don't think so. Hell of a long ride I had today. Just gonna get a drink and turn in."
"Please, allow me," Ezra said, turning to call over to Inez, asking her for two shots of her finest whiskey. The Mexican barmaid nodded and brought them over moments later.
"Consider this appropriate remuneration for the most intriguing game I have had the pleasure of partaking in for many months," Ezra said, holding his glass up in a toast, "It certainly assisted in keeping my numerous proficiencies at their most acute."
Bret smiled and joined in the toast. He liked the way this guy talked. As if he'd swallowed the dictionary. There was something agreeable about it. And, for a gambler, it was pretty shrewd as well. He knew it to be a great way of putting off your opponents. If you sounded superior, then people eventually got to thinking that you were. And that did all kinds of funny things to their state of minds and their game play. Hell, Bret had used it himself a couple of times. Although nowhere near as proficiently as this guy did.
"To the game," he said, holding the glass in the air briefly before throwing the drink back. It was good he realised as the pleasent warmth settled in his stomach. Nice stuff.
He was about to commend Ezra's choice of drink when something else caught his eye, distracting his attention.
There was silence for a few uncomfortable moments. Ezra looked at him, his expression never waivering, but clearly curious as to the man's sudden retinence.
"Fine liquor," Bret eventually mentioned, feeling suddenly a little uneasy.
Ezra smiled one of his broad, Cheshire Cat grins, "I am a gentleman, sir, and as such only partake in the finest of beverages. Although in this dusty burg it is not always feasible to uphold such standards."
There was another small pause.
"Just how quiet is this dusty little burg though?" Bret asked quietly, playing with his hat on the table.
Ezra frowned, not entirely sure why that question had been asked. Or indeed where it had come from.
Bret saw the hesitation in the other man and decided to explain further. "Well, not every man at a poker table carries a piece up his sleeve out of habit," he reasoned, nodding at Ezra's right arm.
The Southerner smiled slightly, fingering lightly at the deringer secured on his arm. Truth be told, he wasn't entirely sure why he did still carry it. It was there for his protection while at the gambling tables and he was hardly likely to come across such trouble in a town like this. Still, he reasoned, considering his current employment as lawman here and some of the predicaments that had gotten him into, a hidden weapon was a prudent thing to carry.
He smiled and shook his head, "Merely a remnant of past.....difficulties. Not a reflection on a pugnacious nature in this town, I assure you."
Bret grinned, his amiable disposition returning in full. "Hell, yeah I just hate towns when they're pugnacious, don't you?" he said with a laugh.
Ezra thought that perhaps the man was mocking him slightly, but he let it go without a word.
"So?" Bret asked, in an offhand manner, "You quick?"
Ezra's Cheshire Cat grin made yet another appearance. "Extremely," he said with no hint of a boast.
Bret nodded, "I'll remember that." He picked his hat off the table and stood up, "Well, thanks for the game, Mr Standish."
Ezra nodded a 'goodnight' and Bret started to walk off heading to his hotel. He turned back after a few paces.
"When my sister finally graces us with her presence we can have another game. Word to the wise though - don't go easy on her. She eats suckers alive."
Ezra smiled, heeding the warning and mentally filing it away as Bret waved goodnight and left. He knew first hand the wiles of female card players. His mother had taught him how to spot them and how not to be sucked in by them. 'Not only do they have crafty minds', she had warned him, 'They profit from stupid men thinking they're all sweetness and light. And you wouldn't want to be one of the stupid ones, would you son?'
"No, indeed mother," he whispered to himself, "I certainly would not."
PART FOUR
It was well into the next day before Bret Maverick was seen again. Apparently considering noon a reasonable hour of the day to get out of bed was a thing all gamblers agreed on.
Chris spotted him as he was walking through town on the midday patrol. The gambler was obviously on his way to the saloon. And why not? In this small town there was precious little other entertainment for visitors.
He watched with slight interest as a man came out of the telegram office to intercept Bret. He handed him a piece of paper, nodded slightly and moved off. Bret scanned the piece of paper in front of him quickly. As he did so, his face darkened from it's usual jovial expression to a frown. He pocketed the paper and continued walking, this time though heading directly to the jail.
Chris paused momentarily before going after him. The look on his face hadn't been a good one. Something was obviously far from right.
__
JD was a little startled when Bret Maverick suddenly appeared seemingly out of nowhere. One moment the space in front of him was empty, then he bent down to retrieve the pen which had rolled off the desk and onto the floor, and when he looked up Maverick was standing there.
JD tried desparately hard not to jump, but obviously didn't quite manage it.
"Easy, son," Bret said with a small smile, "I promise that I ain't gonna shoot you."
JD nodded, trying to regain some of his lost composure, "Can I help you, Mr Maverick?"
"Yeah," gazing briefly around the place, "I was looking for the sherif."
"Well, you've found him," he said, with a slightly self important air, not hiding the pride in his voice.
Maverick barked out a laugh. He couldn't help himself.
"Come on, kid," he said, his blue eyes twinkling in amusement, "I need to see the sherif, okay? This is kinda important."
"I am the sherif," JD said more forcefully showing the badge the was pinned to the shirt under his jacket.
Bret tried to remove the laughter lines from his face, not quite succeeding. What kind of town would make a kid like this sherif? They must have been hard up.
"Er...right", he said, trying to keep a straighter face as he pulled a telegram from his pocket and scanning the contents briefly, "Remember I said that I was meant to be meeting my sister here?"
JD nodded.
"Well, I just got word that she left Vista City about six days ago."
"But that's only two days ride away!" JD said in obvious surprise.
That silenced him for a moment. God, was it really? Where the hell was she then?
"Yeah, well you can see why I'm a little concerned," Bret said, the kid's shock making the reality of the situation suddenly hit him. His sister was missing.
"Is there anywhere between here and there that she might be holed up?" he asked. There was always the possibility that she was simply doing this to piss him off. And if that was the case he would ring her neck when he found her for making him worry.
JD shook his head, "Only Jericho. And no lady would want to be staying there."
"Why not?"
"Well, it's not exactly the most respectable place in these parts. A lot of shady characters hang out there."
"Do they gamble?"
"Yeah."
"Then she probably went there," Bret said smartly, shaking his head. "Godamnit. Can't this family go anywhere without getting into trouble?" he asked the air in exasperation. He turned on his heels sharply, heading out.
"Hey!" JD called after him, hurriedly getting up from his desk to intercept the man, "Hey, where you going?"
Bret turned back to him with an almost sarcastic look. "I'm going to find my sister," he said simply, as if to say 'where the hell do you think I'm going!'
JD shook his head, "Oh, I don't think that would be a good idea, Mr Maverick. Jericho's not the kinda of place you want to go around asking questions."
Bret smiled at him and laid a hand on his shoulder, "Thanks for the advice kid." He went to walk round him, heading for the door.
JD immediately stepped in his way. Bret frowned in annoyance and side stepped right. JD mirrored him. Bret darted left and again JD worked his way immediately in front of him. Bret tried to feign going one way before suddenly dodging the other, but the kid was quick on his feet and blocked his path again.
"Will you get out of my goddamn way?!" Bret bellowed finally, frustrated.
"Problem here?" Chris asked, entering the door behind them.
JD sighed slightly, a little relieved. Chris would know what to do.
"Mr Maverick's sister left Vista six days ago. She might be in Jericho and he wants to go and look for her," JD explained, "I don't think that's such a good idea."
Chris nodded, pleased by the kid's wisdom. He was definitely learning. "He's right, friend. Why don't you come with me? We'll see if we can sort something out."
Bret looked the man up and down for a moment. He didn't know what it was about this dark clad gunslinger, but Bret had a feeling he could trust him. Something about him seemed dependable.
"Okay," Bret nodded in agreement, straightening his waistcoat, "What d'you think we should do?"
PART FIVE
Ezra sat on the porch outside the saloon, stretching his legs out across the boardwalk and resting them on the small fence in front. It was a warm afternoon, the sun just starting to disappear behind the houses on the opposite side of the street. It was the perfect day to simply relax and let the world pass him by.
Although, it seemed that everything bar Buck was content to pass him by. The cowboy could be heard yelling at him from down the street, disturbing his peace. Ezra though, refusing to be hollered at like an animal, declined to acknowledge him.
Buck saw that the southerner had no intention of responding and preceeded to stride up to him purposefully, knocking his feet off of the fence as he arrived.
"Hey, you deaf or sumthin'?" he asked,a little annoyed, "Didn't ya here me yellin'at ya?"
Ezra looked up at him languidly, "My dear Mr Willington, the sanctified dead long in their graves heard your cries. I, however, refuse to answer to such undignified bellowing."
Buck merely shook his head, well used to Ezra's posturing by now. "Just get ya lazy rear in motion would ya. We're ridin' out."
"Who, pray tell, is riding out to where?" Ezra asked, in a most disinterested manner.
"You and me are goin' out to Jericho."
Ezra inwardly raised an eyebrow at that. "Do you really expect a gentleman of my breeding to go to that hell hole of debauchery?" he enquired, indignantly.
"Look," Buck said, "We're gonna go have a nosy round for Maverick's sister. She ain't turned up here and she left Vista six days ago. Chris said the two of us should go over to Jericho and see if she's poked her head up there."
Ezra nodding, as usual not giving anything anyway. Of course he was going to go. In matters of a lady's saftey, his sense of chivalry always won through. Still he wasn't about to make it that easy on Buck.
"And why have I been designated for this endevour?" he asked, not moving from his position.
"Because we might need your mouth," Buck said shortly, "Meet me at the livery in five."
He walked off, hearing Ezra muttering something about how five minutes was nowhere near enough time to prepare himself. Buck simply smiled and shook his head.
PART SIX
The burly moustached man had a few words with his companion before leaving. Going to get hopelessly drunk, no doubt.
Beth almost sighed in relief as the youngest man of the trio who were holding her, settled down for a night of guard duty. He was the greenest of the three. The most likely to screw up and give her a chance of escaping. And also he smelt a damn sight better than the other two - especially the moustached guy. By the smell of him, he'd never figured out what the true purpose of a bath actually was.
Glancing out of the window briefly, she saw that the sun had almost set on yet another day, trapped in this room, handcuffed to the bed post. So far they hadn't treated her too terribly. They'd fed her, allowed her to drink, taken her to the bathroom when she requested it. The Kid could even be pursuaded to let her sore wrists out of the cuffs for a while. Apparently they hadn't managed to make contact with their acquiantance who had a price on Bret's head, but they didn't expect it to be long now. A couple of days at most. Which meant she had just a couple more days to get out of here. Time to get some semblance of a plan in motion. And with the Kid present, now would be the perfect opportunity.
--
The four men on horseback were pointedly ignored when they rode into town. They looked like trouble. Hell, everything that came through here looked like trouble. Difference with these four however was that they looked like the types who would and could carry a threat through to a deadly conclusion. Deadly for the other guy, that was.
Chris glanced at the inhabitants of Jericho as he rode past them and wondered if any of them remembered him. None of them seemed to - or were at least not willing to admit it. Last time he had been here, he'd ended up in prison. Not exactly an experience that made him eager to come back. In fact, he wouldn't even have considered joining this mission at all if Maverick hadn't insisted on being part of the team. He could understand the man's concerns. His sister might be in some trouble after all, and any decent man would want to do all he could to help. Chris had tried to disuade him however, saying how it might get dangerous and that Maverick was better off leaving it to Buck and Ezra who had some experience in this sort of thing.
Somewhat to his credit however, Maverick had held his ground and Chris had had to relent. What could he do? Tie the man down? Well, okay, maybe the thought had crossed his mind.....
His decision to ride along with them had been purely based on his concern about the new gambler in town. His trust of the man wasn't in question, but if his men were to be going somewhere dangerous with him, they had to know they could rely him in a tight situation. And they didn't know that. At least if Chris went along he could do everything in his power to make sure they all returned in one piece.
"Where would you like us to begin, Mr Larabee?" Ezra asked, as they sauntered gently along, "I trust you have a plan of action."
Chris nodded. Yeah, he'd already thought about it. "You and Buck have a sweep around town. Get a look at the place. I want to know if it looks like anything's going on here."
"Hell, Chris, this is Jericho," Buck said with a snort, "Somethin's always goin' on here."
"Just humour me, okay," Chris instructed, "See what you can run into."
"Where you goin'?" Buck asked.
"I think we should check the livery," Bret chiped in before Chris had a chance to speak, "She has this horse that she takes with her everywhere. If he's here, she's here."
Chris nodded, defering to the man's idea. He was going to go for a similiar tactic anyway - check the hotels e.t.c, she if she'd been booked in anywhere.
The four men made arrangements to meet back at the town entrance in a hour, and headed off in their separate directions.
Chris and Bret arrived at the livery and quickly dismounted. Bret strode straight for the door but Chris grabbed his shoulder to stop him.
"I'll go first," he said, with his usual forceful quietness.
Bret frowned, "I think I can handle it. I'm gonna ask the guy some questions, not challenge him to a gunslinging contest."
Chris smiled slightly, "Yeah, but you dunno how he's gonna react to those questions."
Bret's face paled slightly. "Good point. You go first. Please, be my guest."
He pointed cerimoniously for Chris to lead the way. The gunslinger's smile widened just a little as he walked past and into the livery.
As soon as they stepped foot through the doors, they were ambushed by the proprietor. He was a man of middle age who had a demeanour about him that seemed to suggest that he had been at this job since time began.
"Good evenin', Sirs," he said said in an appropriately business-like manner, "If it would be a stable you're after I'm afraid you're outta luck. We're full right now. Come back in half an hour though and I should've made a bit o' room."
"Actually, my good man," Bret said jovially as he took the lead from Chris, obviously having decided that this man was no threat, "We're not after your stalls - although, may I say that this are as finer establishment as I have ever been fortunate enough to set foot in. Tell me, where do you get your hay?"
Chris frowned at thie pointless side chatter and interupted before the man could reply. "We're looking for a horse," he stated bluntly.
The livery man frowned, "Someone told you I sell as well, did they? Now, you know that would be highly illegal, mister."
"Precisely," Bret said, his bright manner neither waivering, "And I can see you're a fine fellow who wouldn't dream of doing something so henious."
The man frowned, "'Heinous'?"
"Bad," Chris translated, dryly.
"So," Bret continued, "Being such an auspicious man-"
"'Auspicious'?" the man interupted again, this time looking directly to Chris for an answer.
"Good," he explained.
Bret rolled his eyes and soldiered on, "Yes, being such a good, honest, helpful guy, you won't mind doing us a favour."
The man eyed Bret suspiciously, "What?"
"We wanna know if you've had a specific horse in here and if you can tell us anything about the owner," Chris said with some degree of impatience, "Bret, tell him what it looks like."
Bret shook his head, appearing a little affronted, but complied, "It's a jet black, Arab male. No markings. Called Tal."
The livery man smiled. "You boys are in luck," he said - apparently the fact that they weren't customers anymore demoting them from the status of 'gentlemen'. "I was just about to take it out to be sold. Fine animal that too. Would have got a pretty price for it."
"Why were you going to sell it?" Chris asked.
"Well, it's been sitting in my stable for four days without another bill being paid," he explained, shaking his head.
Bret and Chris exchanged a concerned look.
"Can we take a look?" Bret asked.
The livery man nodded, "Sure thing."
He lead them swiftly back without bothering to check that they were following. He stopped at the thrid stall on the left.
Chris took a moment to admire the animal. It was strong and handsome. Fast too by the looks of it. He could understand why Bret's sister thought so much of it.
"That him?" he asked the gambler, just to be certain.
Bret nodded, "Sure is." He reached out to stroke the horse's nose, "How you doing, Tal, old boy?" he said comfortingly, "Wondering where your girl's got to, hmm? So am I."
The animal moved closer in response, recognising this man who always smelt slightly like his mistress.
"Where's the owner?" Chris asked, making sure his question didn't lead the livery man into any particular response. He wanted to hear what he thought of events.
"She left town," he said simply, "Heard that she was playing poker with a group of cowhands and cheated them out of a helluva lot of money. Not surprisingly she high-tailed it out o' here pretty sharpish." A grin split his face, "Shame really. Fine lookin' woman. Spent a happy hour watching her rear end as she fussed over that horse. She patted me like that, I could die a happy man right now."
Bret's jaw clenched tightly, "You don't close it fast you're just gonna have to die right now unhappily. That's my sister you're talking about."
The man's face paled slightly and he held up his hands in appology, "Sorry, friend, I honestly didn't know."
"It s'okay," Bret said, brushing it aside. There was no point in causing trouble over it.
"You see," the man continued, "I just assumed she was the fun lovin' kind, you know what I mean? So many of those lady gamblers are."
Bret's expression hovered somewhere between outraged and amazed.
"Were you born stupid?" Chris asked, with a curious raised eyebrow, "Or did it take years of careful practice?"
"How much is the bill?" Bret asked, deciding they should probably leave now.
"Well," the man said, "There's the accomodation, the feed, grooming, cleaning..."
"Here, what's this?" Bret asked, pulling a couple of notes out of his bill fold, "One hundred? Hell, let's make it two. Thanks for your time. Saddle him up and bring him outside would ya?"Bret slapped the man aimably on the shoulders as he left.
The livery man didn't react. He just starred open mouthed at the two hundred dollars in his hands.
Outside, Bret nodded decisively at Chris.
"Well, at least we know something."
"Oh yeah?"
"She's still here. She'd never go anywhere without that horse," Bret shook his head in disgust, clearly irritated, "Knowing that girl, she's hiding out somewhere waiting until I get worried out of my skull before she decides to turn up."
Bret seemed reasonably confident of this, but Chris' mind was already creating more horrible reasons for her disappearance. None of which he would he would give voice to of course. This was the man's sister they were talking about. Besides, he had to try and stop being so unduly pessimistic about everything.
"And what was that bullshit back there?" Chris asked as they remounted their horses, "That place was a dump and that guy was crookeder than a one legged man."
"I was sweet-talking him," Bret explained, "Trying to get him on our side. I thought it was a slightly better approach than your "We're looking for a horse". What was that supposed to do?"
"Make him talk," Chris suggested.
Bret snorted a laugh, "Oh come on! There was about as much chance of hims responding to that as there is of....of finding a whore house in a nunnery!"
Chris smiled slightly, "Well, I've seen some mighty unorthodox nunneries in my time."
"Seriously," Bret said, shaking his head, "You could've blown that back there, pal. He might not have talked to us at all."
Chris looked at him questioningly for a moment. 'Pal'? Well, at least he didn't call him 'cowboy'.
"I think I could've persuaded him," Chris said, resting his hand on the gun in his belt, "I can be pretty damn persuasive when I want to be."
Bret studied him momentarily before nodding, "Okay. Maybe your way would've worked too. Mine had more finesse though."
PART SEVEN
"So I take it I have the dubious pleasure of your company until well into tomorrow," Beth said to her youngest captor with a bored sigh.
The man, who she knew to be called 'Bobby', looked at her with a curious expression on his face. She could tell he wasn't quite sure whether or not he should be offended at that.
"Hank'll be back tomorrow morning," he said, a triffle uncomfortably, "Don't you worry your pretty head about it."
Beth let out a small laugh, "That brigand? Oh please! You'll be lucky if he makes it here at all before midday!"
Bobby scowled slightly, but knew she was right and said nothing.
"And if he does," she continued "He'll still be drunk as a stunk or too hungover to stand up."
Again Bobby had no answer to that and remained quiet.
Inwardly Beth smiled, but her outward expression stayed placid.
"I suppose it's rather handy for them though," she said, after allowing him to stew in his own thoughts for a moment, the seed of uncertainity alreayd planted in his mind, "Having someone like you around."
"What d'you mean, someone like me?" he asked, unable to quell his curiousity.
"Well," she said in an offhand manner, "If they are going to be out revelling and acquainting themselves with some of the more....accomodating women this town has to offer, someone has to be watching over me. Someone who does not enjoy alcohol and certain pleasures of the flesh."
"Hey, listen lady, I enjoy them just as much as the next man!" he said, definitely insulted this time.
Beth smiled, "Well, unable to enjoy them then."
"Unable?" he said with great indignity, "I'm plenty able enough, thank you!"
She laughed, high and lilting, a mocking sound, "My dear boy – I could drink you under the table."
"I don't think so!" he exclaimed, getting more rankled over that than she could have hoped for.
A devilish look flooded her eyes.
"Prove it," she challenged simply.
"Eh?"
"A small drinking contest. See if you can best me."
He laughed at the audacity of that statement, "And since when the hell can ladies hold their drink?"
Beth gazed at him cooly, "And since when did I make pretentions of being a lady..."
His face screwed up uncertainly, "I don't know....If Hank found out..."
She sighed melodramtically, "Well there's precious little other entertainment around here. You've already proved your ineptitude at cards. Perhaps drinking is where your talent lies. Or perhaps not."
She noticed his uncertainity begin to waver.
"And I am terribly bored," she said, her voice dropping to soft feminine whisper, "I might even consider testing my theory concerning your skills in....more carnal vocations."
Bobby's eyes widened at the suggestion of it, his mind immediately made up. She was a beautiful woman after all.
"Guess it can't hurt," he said with a shrug, trying to convince himself of the fact.
"No, it can't," she pressed, "Now go to cabinet. Your friend Hank has stashed a bottle of whiskey and a number of shot glasses in there."
Bobby did as he was told without question, bringing back the bottle and eight glasses.
"Now," she commanded, "Untie me."
His eye widened and he shook his head vigarously, "I can't do that! If Hank found out-"
"Firstly," she interupted, "Hank is in no fit state to find out. Secondly, I assume you have no intention of letting me escape, so it shouldn't be a problem. And thirdly," she said, her voice purring, "I can think of better uses for my hands than having them held up here."
Bobby's mind was made up instantly at the thought of her putting her hands to better uses. As they were released from the cuffs, Beth spent a moment rubbing at her red raw wrists before inviting Bobby to join her at the rickety old table. He did so as if pulled by a rope.
"Well," she said, all business, "Since we only have eight glasses we'll have to go one at a time. We'll each attempt to drink eight shots. Whoever manages the most will win. If it is a tie we'll go again and so on until somebody emerges victorious. Understand?"
"Uh huh."
"In the interest of fairness we'll toss a coin to decide who goes first, "She reached inside a small hidden pocket on her dress and begant o fumble for a coin, "What would you like – heads or tails?"
Bobby shrugged, "Heads I guess."
Beth nodded, producing a coin, "All right. If it's heads, you go first and vica versa."
"Vica-what?"
She rolled her eyes at his lack of education, "Heads it's you, tails it's me. Clear? Good. Ready?"
Without waiting for the reply that was on his lips, she tossed the coin in the air, allowing it to land delicately in her open palm.
"It seems to be your day," she said, showing him the head facing up.
"Fine," Bobby said, obviously a little nervos, "What do I do?"
"Drink," Beth replied plainly, uncorking the bottle and filling every shot glass to the rim. "And every drop must be gone when you put it down."
He starred at the dark amber coloured liquid for a long moment. Truth be known, Bobby had never drunk whiskey before. He was of a beer man. But still, how bad could this stuff be? And it was in such tiny glasses...
"Whenever you're ready, "Beth prompted impatiently.
Bobby tooka deep breath then began.
Unfortunately it didn't hit him until the sixth glass. That was when the burning began. The terrible feeling that his stomach was being eroded from the inside out. By the time his brain got him to react he had already downed the seventh and was reaching for the eigth.
He jumped back from the table with a start, dropping the final glass so it smashed to the floor. He clutched at his throat, gagging.
"Oh dear," Beth said, seemingly sympathetic, "Are you all right? You've gone alwfully red. Perhaps we shouldn't have started with the strongest liquor this side west of Boston." She crossed to him, taking his shoulders in her hands as he choked and spluttered, "Do you know what's good for a man who can't take his liquor?" she asked innocently.
He shook his head, wide eyed.
"A long lie down," she said bluntly.
She kneed him hard in the groin and he dropped like a sack of potatoes.
Stepping over his writhing, prostrate form, Beth remembered to retrieve her double headed coin still lying on the table and returned it to the pouch with it's double headed companion. She walked casually over to the window and slid it open. She turned back with a small smile.
"And do give my regard to your friend Hank."
With that, she stepped out of the window and onto the flat topped roof below.
PART EIGHT
Ezra was trotting Chaucer casually around the dark, dusty streets of the town. Buck had offered to go snooping around in the saloon, while Ezra would check the alleyways and such. To be perfectly honest he wasn't entirely sure what he was looking for.
Although a young lady climbing out of a second floor window certainly seemed to fit the bill.
He rode quickly over to the building in question just as the lady finished backing herself out of the window.
"Excuse me, ma'am," he said, his distinctive voice darting out of the silence like a bullet.
The lady gasped and jumped slightly, loosing her footing on the roof tiles. Ezra immediately released his grip on Chaucer's reigns, preparing to catch her. Fortunately she steadied herself just before she fell.
"What on earth do you think your doing?!" she whispered sharply. The man gazing up at her with some amusement on his face was certainly handsome, but it did nothing to soften her.
"Well," he replied, composed as always, "I could not help but notice your rather unusual position and surmise you were in some kind of difficulty. You wouldn't be Miss Maverick by any chance."
He saw a look of confusion and suspicion pass over her features and so decided to explain further.
"I am an acquiantance of your brother. My companions and myself are lawmen in a nearly town in which he is currently residing. He informed us of your disappearance and we offered out assistance in locating you."
The look in her face was still skeptical. This made his smile widen. "You don't trust my word."
"Certainly not. But since I could do with some help getting down from here..."
She edged closer to the front of the roof and held out her hands. Ezra helped her to deftly join him on Chaucer's back. The animal shifted slightly under the extra weight but didn't complain.
He gave her form a quick persual with his eyes. A beautiful woman, to be sure. Long dark hair of loose curls and waves, lips which seemed to have a slightly adventurous smile as their natural pose and dark green eyes that were almost frightening in their intensity and yet at the same time somewhat detatched.
"Ezra Standish," he said, tipping hit hat as a greeting.
"Bethany Maverick," she returned.
"He brought her hand to his lips and kissed it in a gentlemanly fashion, "It is a pleasure, ma'am."
"Well, your aide is certainly welcome, Mr Standish."
"Glad I could be of assitance. Now, may I suggest that we head to the town entrance. My companions, your brother and I had planned a rendevous there."
"Please, do lead on," she said brightly, "The quicker we get to my brother, the quicker I can kill him for getting me into this godawful mess."
She absently rubbed at her sore wrists and Ezra frowned at the sight. "I trust the miscreants did not treat you too abominably."
"Well, as kidnappers go they were tollerable enough," she wrinkled her nose, "Although they could have used some pointers in personal hygiene."
TO BE CONTINUED....