May 27th, 1881

By this time in any New Mexican city one would be hard pressed to find anyone that did not know the face of Billy the Kid. He was on every poster on every wall in every city, and had been for quite some time even though it was now common knowledge that Sheriff Patrick Floyd Garret had chased him over the border into Old Mexico.

But to his friends, Billy had promised he had a plan.

"Now we're gonna smear all this red shit all over my face." he began, and upon approach tossed two pallets of a chalky substance at the feet of the three other men leaning sitting against the stable wall. That "red shit" was two dollars worth of quality stage make-up, but by itself it looked utterly useless. Three questioning looks, and Billy snorted in exasperation. He chicked Chavez's boot with the side of his foot, sending a mini cloud of orange dust into the air of the dimming evening. 

Chavez frowned, but other than frowning he did nothing to suggest he cared to listen to Billy, and the Indian flicked his dark eyes back to the sand. The bond of trust between himself and the boy devil had been tested and broken, and that was why Doc was no longer with them.

"What's this?" Dave asked with mild interest, though he sounded more annoyed and bothered by the May heat than interested in anything Billy wanted to do, other than head for Canada. He tipped his hat back and nudged the pallet with his toe, watching it get half-way swallowed by the sand before looking over to the man seated next to him: Chavez. "This summa your, eh…" Dave scratched his head and squinted, trying to search for words that would not offend Chavez and finding himself quite unsuccessful.

Chavez arched a brow, and he drawled with a bit of good humor, trying to fight off a slow, wry smile twitching at his pursed lips,  "Red-ass Navajo war paint?"

Dave cleared his throat and shifted uncomfortably, his brown eyes sliding to give the old bandage around Chavez' forearm a quick glance. The injury had almost fully healed – though Chavez never complained of it even when Dave had first yanked the knife out of his flesh. He snorted. "I was just gonna say war paint, but sure."

"No. It's not."

Billy was giving both of them of a boyish scowl; being increasingly aware of how angry Chavez still was with him did not shed a good light on the Mexican-Indian's paying more attention to a rival than him. He folded his arms and stood back to observe, waiting for someone to ask him what it was. Surprisingly, it was Chavez who spoke up.

"What is it, Chivato, and what are you planning to do with it?"

"Hendry and I are goin to the show tonight," Billy announced, bending down and scooping up the pallets with one of his hands. "I have to find a way to hide my face, so I thought bandages would work. You and Dave are gonna stay out here and wait for us with the horses, Chavez."

"Billy, hell, they let anyone in saloons nowadays, even Negroes." Dave offered with a shrug, and Chavez snorted, turning away. Dave ignored him. "Even if they don't, Chavez don't need my company out here."

"Tell me somethin', Dave, why in hell would I wanna go in a saloon?" Billy prompted down at him, and Dave frowned wordlessly. The younger man took a step back and held up both hands, as if agreeing to tell if his friends would not attack him. "I've got a plan to get Doc this time. We're gonna go see the show tonight, whatever the hell is playing at the Phoenix Carver…and when it's done we're gonna take the actress. We're gonna keep her for a little while."

"Chivato, if we kidnap someone like Joanna Charleston Garrett will be the first one to know and we'll be finished, it will be the end," Chavez came to stand, staring Billy down, and for once exerting a proper amount of authority that came with his height advantage.

There was only one way to keep Billy's reckless plans at bay, and that was to bully him. Unfortunately the Kid would not be bullied. He had a tendency to either weasel his way out of things, or just to shoot the bully. "We're lucky to be alive, Chivato. We need to get Doc and we need to leave."

Billy stood his ground, his jaw clenched and brows furrowed in a hard scowl.  His voice fell to a dangerously soft note, and he took a step closer to Chavez. "How far do ya think we'll get? How far'll they let us get? If we even manage to get Doc out the door of that hospital -" Billy broke off in a vicious curse, averting his glare from Chavez' for a moment to catch himself again.

The tension in the air sparked with need to burst, and Billy's ragged breathing seemed magnified ten fold to those awaiting the outcome of the argument. Finally, after a inhaling deeply through his nose he straightened, and slowly turned back. He hardened his tone.

"If we manage to get Doc to even stand for a few seconds it'll only be cause they felt like playin' with us. Doc'll die, and then so'll we." Something flashed in the ice of William H. Bonney's blue eyes, a flash of hurt that slipped past the polishes of reasonable hate. He knew his words were true, and even more did he only wish they were a falsehood, and that they could just go in and get Doc, then ride out of Santa Fe in a wild frenzy of shouting and firing -

"It's true, Chavez," Hendry said from the ground, tipping his hat back and betraying concerned brown eyes to the sun. "Doc was shot bad. Even if we do manage to leave the hospital and mount up, Doc'll die before we get outta Santa Fe." Dave snorted at his side, a little smile coming to his lips as he stroked his lightly stubbled chin.

"Come on," Billy whispered softly, reaching out to seize a fistful of Chavez' sleeve roughly, but not in anger. Chavez made a point of not looking at him, knowing that one glance would seal his fate and he would end up kidnapping the whole working cast and crew of the Phoenix Carver Theater for the Kid. "Chavez, Doc's only chance is us."

"They can't hang him." Hendry put in helpfully, and Billy gave him a grateful nod.

"That's right, Hendry, they can't hang 'im," he shot Chavez another persuasive wide-eyed glance. "As long as he's in that hospital bed there aint a gallows in the world that can touch 'im. So we wait until he's moved into a proper jailhouse and we bust 'im out."

"And we can't leave town," Chavez continued for him through gritted teeth, his words dripping with the dread of knowing there was no way around Billy's reasoning. He angled his head to meet Billy's eyes, a sense of irony as well as annoyance wrought in his dark features. "…Because we have to make certain they don't kill Doc in his sleep. So the only way to successfully save Doc is to hide out like the fugitives we are, in Santa Fe."

"Exactly."

"And what does kidnapping an actress have to do-" Chavez caught the bemused half-smile on Billy's lips, and all at once his good senses practically jolted to take over again. "No."

"Jesus, Chavez – "

"You stay out of this, gringo," Chavez snapped to Dave before he could finish, and the other man rolled his eyes but respectfully (and wisely) kept his mouth shut. Chavez held a finger inches away from Billy's nose, and the Kid stared down it good-naturedly. Anger jerked somewhere inside him, but not because he didn't agree with Billy's plan – it was because he knew Billy was right. "We're going to keep her hostage in her own home…? We're going to give them an entire year to find out we never made it to Mexico?!"

Dave kept his narrowed eyes on the pair, and reached into his coat for a whisky bottle.

"Look, Chavez," Billy lowered his voice and reached up to shove the finger away from his face. "Joanna Charleston is famous, well respected, filthy rich, and she lives all alone. She can keep us fed and clothed for as long as it takes for Doc to mend up, and aint no-one gonna notice!"

"Except for when people come to her house wondering why she hasn't been performing lately."

"Dammit, Chavez, you're just like Doc!" Billy snapped, throwing his hands up with an exasperated sigh.  "All ya ever do is nag!" 

"That's because all of your plans are tricky, we can't trust them, Chivato." Chavez leveled Billy with a dark look. "Now I'll follow you this time, I'll go along with your plan, but – "

"But?" Billy raised both brows high on his forehead, expectantly, leaning back and folding his arms smugly to await Chavez's finish. Silence, only broken by the attempt to control anger. Billy winked. "Come on Chavez, we wanna hear it. But what?" A devastatingly rakish smile.

Chavez kept his mouth a thin line, tight, and his jaw was set. He waited a moment, and finally growled, much to Billy's satisfaction. "There are no buts, Chivato, you know that you…"For a moment Chavez looked like he was deciding whether or not to spit out the nastiest insult possible, but when the corners of his mouth stopped twitching he only muttered, "…you smarmy bastard."

Dave spewed drink into the dust, not bothering to stifle any of his hysterical laughter and shaking with it. "Smarmy bastard!"

"Will you shut up, Dave?!" Billy snapped, making a face at the other young man and kicking him hard in the knee with the side of his boot. Dave scooted away from Billy's attack with a good grace, still chuckling. Billy's face had completely changed, transforming from mischievous to serious like day to night. He looped his thumbs in his belt and looked up at Chavez through scattered silver bangs. "You're right, Chavez. No buts. Not unless we want Doc six feet under in an unmarked grave."

"So," Dave snorted his last chuckle, and Billy slowly turned to look down on him with a very unpleased expression. Dave gestured with his bottle. "So me an' Chavez are gonna wait outside the theater while you two watch the show?"

"Ya both gotta be saddled up and ready to run like hells on your heels."

"Well piss on that," Dave laughed, tilting his head back to take a long swig of his whisky, uncaring for all the eyes of his mates being on him. He swallowed hard and shook a finger at Billy, setting the bottle down to rest on his thigh, his legs parted Indian style. "I aint waitin around for three hours while you two watch a show."

"Dave, I don't give a damn what ya do when you're waitin', you just better be at the pick up," Billy warned him; hardly sounding interested enough to argue with Dave. Rudabaugh had nowhere else to go, which was probably his main reason for not leaving when Doc and Chavez surfaced again, and he was shoved into last in line on Billy's attention span. Billy kicked him again with the toe of his boot, urging him to stand. "C'mon, up. Go with Chavez and be outside the theater, across the street…I donno, casual like."

Dave whined as he pulled himself up and reluctantly corked his bottle, balancing it between his ribs and his elbow while doing so. He pulled his black hat further down so that his bangs became a jagged mismatch on his forehead. When he had moved over to his horse, closer to Chavez, he gave the taller man a quick nudge with his elbow. "What if they see us?"

"We'll make sure they don't," Chavez slid Dave a wry smile and hoisted himself up into the saddle of his ride, reaching behind his head to fasten the handkerchief from around his neck to up at his jaw, covering all save his eyes. With the slightest inclination of his dark head, he halfway turned to Dave. "You coming, gringo?"

"Yeah, I'm comin'."

"Well move faster."

"Yeah, yeah," Dave fit a boot into the stirrup and thrust himself up into the saddle, scowling at the new feeling of a different model and shifting around to try and adjust. "Goddamn…I hate trading horses…takes forever to get used to it again."

"Get a move on, Dave!" Billy cried, giving the new horse a hard slap on the haunches and sending it into a trot. He looked up at Chavez with squinting eyes and a half-smile in the still very bright sun. "Guy whines more than a cat in heat."

"I heard that."

Billy shook his head, waving them off. He turned to the other man, now standing by his horse and awaiting Billy's next command. "Come on, Hendry," he took the pallets from Hendry and pocketed them with a quick glance around. "You and me are the only respectable lookin' ones of our outfit."

"'Cept Doc." Hendry said with a bit of a dim-witted smile and a slow, uncertain voice. "What're you planning, now?"

"We gotta mix this with water." Billy told him, waving the pallet around before putting it back into the pocket of his pants, still streaked with drying mud. "Then smear it on my face, make it look like I've got a reason for bein' bandaged, you know what I mean. Then we have to clean ourselves up, Hendry. Gotta look respectful."

"Yeah," Hendry agreed happily, a long smile coming to his dirty face. He shook a hand in the air, as if deciding what words to use. "Yeah, some new clothes'd be real nice. I'd like that."

"I'll bet you would. You got any money, Hendry?"

Hendry William French frowned thoughtfully, as if asking himself the same question, and he gingerly opened his coat to search his pockets. He rummaged around a bit, talking slowly as he searched, "I had about ten even dollars when we left Ft. Sumner," he gave a little shrug, his head angled down. He made a delighted noise and withdrew a wad of faded bills. Hendry grinned widely. "Haven't spent any, Billy."

"Been savin', Hendry, that's good. You've got money when you need it." Billy was counting his own savings, finding just about eight dollars and a few dimes. He nodded, and without looking up held a hand out. Hendry wordlessly set the ten dollars in Billy's palm, watching him flatten the bills together. "Good. Together we got around eighteen, that should get us a few nice coats and hats."

Billy smiled to himself and pocketed the money, running a finger down his tanned cheek. The trail he left on his face was slightly paler in contrast to the thick grime on his skin, and he gave a snort of laughter at his own expense. "And a bath. I haven't needed a bath this bad in a long time. How's a bath sound, Hendry?"

"I'd like that."

"Good." Billy pulled himself into the saddle, and waited for Hendry to follow his example. The day was slowly beginning to fade into a lavender evening, and time was short for preparation. He chucked the reins, keeping his watch to the sky. "We can't lift anything in Santa Fe, Hendry. They'll know the first thing that we did it."

"I hear ya."

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