Death Has Its Price
Chapter 23 – There's One in Every Crowd"My name is . . . . .Bart?"
His brother Bret nodded. "Yes."
"And I'm not a . . . . . . gunslinger?"
Bret let out a laugh. "Son, I'm the second slowest gun in the west . . . . and I can outdraw you."
"So I haven't killed anybody?"
"I didn't say that. But you've never killed anybody in a gunfight."
The newly discovered 'Bart' turned to Doc. "And do I know you well, Mr. Holliday?"
"Doc, please. I should think so. You're my best friend. Well, one of my best friends." He made a point of looking at Bret as he said it.
Bart removed the money from the wallet that he now knew didn't belong to him. "I guess you want this back. Sorry for having it so long." He handed Doc's empty wallet back and picked up his own again, slipping both the money and the photo inside. "I have to be honest with you – I don't remember either one of you." He turned back to Amy. "You I remember."
She squealed with delight and practically fell into his arms. "I should hope so," she remarked as he bent to kiss her.
"Well, gentlemen, where do we go from here?"
Bret looked at Doc and Doc shrugged as if to say "Fine with me." "Back to Apache Junction? Your belongings are still there waiting for you."
"With a stop at Stanhope Ranch," Amy suggested.
"Sure," Bart replied, and Bret laughed while Bart gave him a quizzical look.
"I've always said you needed to learn another word to replace 'sure.' It's your second favorite word, after - "
"Coffee!" Bart, Doc, and Amy exclaimed in unison.
"Can we wait until morning to leave?" Bart asked, the prospect of one more night in bed rather than on the ground just too tempting to pass up.
"Absolutely," his newly found brother answered.
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They went to dinner together, the four of them, and Bret couldn't stop smiling. It didn't matter that Bart couldn't remember anything prior to being found that day by Amy. His brother was alive, and relatively well, for him at least, and they were going back to the place where it all started. There was no doubt in Bret's mind that his brother would remember everything . . . . . eventually.
Supper was odd. Certain things seemed the same about Bart – his idea that a steak had to be cooked until it was dead, for example, and his rather anemic appetite. Others were different – like drinking wine with his meal. He seemed quieter and more subdued, but that might be attributed to the fact that Bret and Doc spent most of the time telling him stories of their escapades over the years, including their latest, the fiasco in Mexico. Bret delayed telling him the sad news about Beau's wife Georgia, until he could remember her and their time in Montana.
Amy was exhausted from all the excitement and Bart offered to walk her back to the Tucson Arms. Bret and Doc decided to wait for Bart in Jake's, wanting to give the were-they-or-weren't-they lovers some time alone. It was much appreciated by Amy, she hadn't had five minutes with Bart since discovering his true identity.
"There's no reason for you to stay away from me, Bart. You're not Doc Holliday, there aren't going to be gunmen after you." They were walking down the street, hand-in-hand.
"That's true," Bart answered. "But I'm still a gambler."
"An honest one, according to your brother."
"Nice to know it was me winning all those poker games, and not Doc Holliday."
Amy was quiet for a few minutes until they turned the corner and saw the hotel. "Bart, that last day at the ranch . . . . "
"I'm sorry, Amy, I couldn't take advantage of you, and then leave. It wouldn't be fair to you."
She laughed a little, then. "Always the gentleman, aren't you? And I appreciate that, but that was then, and this is now. Wherever you are, I'm gonna be with you. We don't have to wait. I love you, no matter what your name is. I like the way it sounds, anyway. Bartley Jamison Maverick. Very elegant name."
He pulled her close and kissed her. "Then would you mind waiting until my memory returns? I want Bart Maverick, with all his thoughts and ideas and beliefs, to make love to you for the first time. For him to be the only man in your life, ever. Will you wait for me?"
She laughed and pressed close to him. "I will, Mr. Maverick. I will."
He smiled, a happy man at last. "Then let's get you upstairs to bed. You know what your father says – morning comes early." They laughed together, a conspiratorial laugh, and Bart guided her inside and up the stairs to her room. She unlocked the door and stepped inside, playfully keeping him out of her room. "If you'd like me to kiss you goodnight, Miss Stanhope, you're going to have to let me come in. I am not accustomed to kissing young ladies in the hallway."
Amy laughed and opened the door. Bart stepped inside and once again swept her into his arms and kissed her that same tender, sweet kiss that he'd given her the very first time his lips touched hers. She returned the kiss with passion and desire, and when they finally broke apart, both were gasping for air.
"That's enough, Miss Stanhope. Or I'll rescind what I said and my newfound family will wonder what happened to me."
"Yes, sir. Goodnight, Bart."
He gave her an odd look. "Bart. Hmmm. I have to get used to that. Goodnight, Amy."
He closed the door behind him before he could change his mind and he heard her lock it. He was humming as he made his way down the stairs and out into the street. He was still humming as he turned the corner and almost ran headlong into the cowboy that had started to accuse him of cheating at the poker table.
"Well, just the man I've been lookin' for. How goes it, Doc?" Once again the cowboy looked, smelled and sounded drunk. Bart didn't say anything, just stood there waiting for the man to be done with his abuse. "Whatsa matter, Doc, nobody here to try and scare me? Wanna try yourself?" The cowboy was itching for a fight, and Bart knew it. He still wasn't wearing a gun belt.
"Look, friend, I'm not armed. Can't we just go about our own business and forget this ever happened?"
"Sure ya are. I seen that little pea-shooter in that fancy shoulder holster the other day when we was playin'. You can draw that." He paused for just a moment before adding "You're a yellow bellied card cheat."
"I'm not gonna fight you," Bart insisted.
The cowboy started backing up into the street. "Then you're gonna die," he added, as he went for his gun.
Against his better judgment Bart reached for the derringer and actually got it out but couldn't get a shot off before the cowboy's gun fired. The shot was erratic and too high, but caught Bart in the left temple and knocked him down and out.
Bret and Doc heard the gunshot and ran. Doc reached the street before Bret and saw the cowboy standing over Bart, who was lying on the sidewalk. He watched the cowboy cock his gun and aim it right at Bart, and he pulled his own Colt and fired before the cowboy could pull the trigger. The gunman went down in a heap, but Bart just lay on the sidewalk without moving; Bret broke in front of Doc and ran to his brother, yelling, "No, no, no, no, no," the whole way.
Bart was unconscious and Bret lifted his head gently off the ground. He didn't see the wound at first. "Don't you die, don't you dare die, not after I spent a year looking for you," he chastised his brother. Doc came running up behind and saw the blood on Bart's head, which he pointed out to Bret. A man with a medical bag came hurrying up the sidewalk, kneeling down at Bart's side and looking at the head wound.
In just a few seconds, he glanced up at Bret. "You know him?"
"He's my brother, Doctor."
"It's a flesh wound," the doctor informed Bret. "He'll be fine." He looked over at the cowboy. "You?" he asked as he pointed to the body.
"Me," Doc volunteered.
"Aha. Dead?"
"I would certainly hope so. He shot first."
The doctor nodded his head sagely. "Yep, sure looks that way."
The Tucson marshal finally arrived and took one look at the scene before turning to Doc. "Holliday?"
"Yep."
"Self-defense?"
"Nope," Doc answered. "Murder, pure and simple. He shot Bart, I shot him."
"Aha." There seemed to be a lot of that going around. "Witnesses?"
"Me," Bret spoke up at last. Several hands went up in the late-night crowd that had gathered.
"That account accurate?" The marshal was used to things like this happening, all too often.
Just about that time Bart moaned and Bret's attention was drawn back to his brother. "Can't leave you alone for five minutes, can I?"
"Am I dead yet?" the man on the ground asked.
Bret laughed. "Yeah, you're gonna be fine." He looked over at Doc, now leaning against a beam that supported the roof overhang. "Thanks, Doc."
"No problem," answered their friend. "Glad to be of assistance. Didn't spend all this time lookin' for him just to watch you bury him."
"My thoughts exactly," came the reply. "Marshal, any more questions?"
"Nope. Stayin' in town a while?"
Bret shook his head. "We were leavin' in the mornin.' Might be another day, now. We're at the Tucson Arms. Bart's at the Silver Dollar. You need anything – "
"Yeah, not likely, but thanks. Alright, folks, let's break it up. You've seen plenty of shootins'. This is just one more."
Doc looked down at his two friends. "Can we get him up?"
"I think so," came the reply from the oldest brother.
"Ow," was Bart's sole contribution. Doc got on one side of him, Bret on the other, and they pulled Bart to his feet. "That one was yours, Doc," Bart tried to explain.
"Bart, after a while they're all mine," Doc answered.
"Bed or poker?" Bret inquired.
Bart reached up to touch his head and thought better of it. "Bed."
"You heard the man, Doc. Let's accommodate him before he gets into any more trouble."
"Long as he doesn't go back to thinkin' he's me, we should all be just fine."