by Matt Braun
“Tell you what.” Morg’s eyes suddenly became guarded. “Why don’t you ask Brocius? If he’s got other reasons, then he’s keepin’ them to himself. All I know is what I told you.”
Starbuck decided to let it drop. The exchange had failed to provoke anything of value, and Morg was clearly growing suspicious. He spread his hands in an empty gesture.
“Hell, maybe he’s just plain crazy after all. There’s an old saying that some men will commit suicide in order to commit murder. Way it looks, he fits the ticket all the way round.”
The band segued into another waltz and he held out his hand to Alice. She stepped into his arms and they joined the crowd on the dance floor. Waving to the Earps, he grinned broadly and left them once more in their vacuum. Several minutes later he saw them turn and walk out through the lobby. He had gained nothing from the discussion, but he was in no way discouraged. The night, and Alice, still held great promise.
At midnight Tombstone’s gentry lost some of their highfalutin ways. The band struck up “Auld Lang Syne,” and sedate revelers were instantly transformed into riotous merrymakers. A lusty roar shook the rafters, and the prohibition not to covet thy neighbor’s wife was momentarily suspended. The crowd swirled together in a mass kissing bee.
Starbuck took Alice’s face in his hands and brushed her lips with a soft kiss. She regarded him a moment with an odd steadfast look. Then her arms circled his neck and she pulled his mouth to hers in a sensuous invitation. He responded, enfolding her tightly within his arms. When they parted, he gave her a suggestive smile.
“Too bad we never get any privacy.”
Her voice was husky. “There’s really no way … to be alone.”
“I know a place.”
“You do?”
“Upstairs.” Starbuck rolled his eyes upward. “There’s lots of privacy in my room.”
“I—” She stopped, unable to meet his gaze. “I’m afraid, Jack. The desk clerk would see us and then … everyone would know.”
“Not through the lobby.” Starbuck nuzzled her ear, lowering his voice. “The backstairs, behind the hotel. Nobody would see us there, especially now.”
“Oh?” she said in an indrawn breath. “Are you sure?”
“Positive,” Starbuck assured her. “Take a look around. They’re all too busy making fools of themselves.”
She darted a glance at the boisterous crowd. Then she moved closer, like a seductive butterfly. A ghost of a smile touched her lips, and she gave him a bright nod.
“I do want to be alone with you, Jack.”
Their departure went unnoticed. Starbuck took her hand and they walked out through the lobby. Behind them, the revelers were still shouting and kissing and tooting paper horns. The desk clerk, stifling a bored yawn, scarcely looked at them.
Outside the hotel, Starbuck checked both ways along the street. Several drunks were gathered near a corner saloon, but the boardwalks were otherwise deserted. Walking to the side of the building, he wheeled sharply left and they vanished into the alley. Several seconds later he led her up the backstairs and through a second-floor doorway. The hall was empty and he quickly fished the room key out of his pocket. Ushering her inside, he locked the door and tossed his hat in the direction of the bureau. Then he turned and gathered her into his arms.
Whatever he expected, he was not prepared for the urgency of her embrace. Her lips were soft and moist, and her mouth parted in a hunger born of loneliness and need. She kissed him long and passionately, her body pressed fiercely against his own. He felt her breasts pushing into him and her hips moving against his loins. She moaned as he caressed her back and fondled the rounded curves of her bottom. A convulsion gripped her and her nails pierced his coat like talons.
He lifted her in his arms and carried her toward the bed.
A long while later she lay with her head nestled deep in the hollow of his shoulder. Her hair, unbound and falling loose, fanned darkly across the pillow. She slept like a naked child clutching something warm and familiar in the dark.
Starbuck was awake and thoughtful. He believed he possessed a special sixth sense. A kind of visceral instinct that cut through the tangled skein of emotion and reasoned logic. He had learned to accept it and trust it, something far more reliable than mere hunch. When it came over him, there was no blurred uncertainty, no troubling doubt. Too many times that instinct alone had saved his life. He survived because he’d always obeyed his gut, not his head.
Tonight that sense of conviction had never been stronger. But with it came something new and unsettling. He felt a stab of conscience.
The girl beside him was no virgin, but neither was she a whore. Somewhere in the midst of their lovemaking that inner certainty had washed over him. She was unlike the other Earp women, an innocent among rogues. There was nothing to substantiate the feeling, no word or act, no deductive explanation. He simply knew she was not, either in mind or spirit, a part of the Earp family. She was an outsider, alien to all with the possible exception of her sister. His instinct told him it was true.
The realization made him uncomfortable with himself. He had deceived her, strung her along, and purposedly kindled her affection. Now, under false pretenses, he had brought her to his bed and stoked that affection even higher. His conscience, which he normally kept whipped into submission, had suddenly rebelled. He wasn’t at all sure that the end still justified the means.
Seldom introspective, he was a man with few illusions left intact. He saw life and people as they were, through a prism of cold reality. The dead men littering his backtrail had taught him that a cynic was rarely disappointed. Yet the girl lying peacefully in his arms deserved a better shake. Thus far he’d used her, and if his investigation was to succeed, he must continue to use her. While she might be an outsider to the Earps, she was his only inside source of information. To level with her could very well jeopardize that source. Expediency dictated that he play on her affections, and guile her into revealing whatever she knew. The idea was no longer abstract, some impersonal, though essential, part of the job. He would do it, but the thought left him troubled inside. He saw a part of himself he didn’t much like.
“Penny for your thoughts.”
Her voice broke into his reverie. He glanced down and found her watching him with a warm smile. Quickly, all regret shunted aside, he got on with the task. He grinned, gently stroking her hair.
“Why spoil the evening?”
“Good Lord!” She squirmed around, lifting herself on one elbow. “Now you have to tell me.”
“Well—” Starbuck paused for effect, then shrugged. “I was just thinking you’re not too wild about your brother-in-law.”
“Wyatt?”
“Yeah, him most especially. But I get the idea you don’t care much for any of that crowd.”
She stared at him in silence, her dark eyes filled with some buried emotion. “What makes you say that?”
“Tricks of the trade. A gambler gets to be a pretty good judge of people.”
“I suppose it’s no secret,” she said, not without bitterness. “For Mattie’s sake, Wyatt and I tolerate each other.”
Starbuck could see anger and a trace of fear in her eyes. “Why is it I get the feeling you’re afraid of him?”
Her words were almost inaudible, so quiet he had to strain to hear. “Because I am.”
“Afraid?”
“Scared to death.”
“Why?” Starbuck inquired evenly. “Wyatt seems like a pleasant enough sort.”
“You don’t know him.”
“I know he’s got a reputation with a gun. But the way I hear it, he had cause.”
“Did he?”
“Wait a minute.” Starbuck looked confused. “Are we talking about the same thing? I understood him and Doc were cleared of that shooting scrape.”
“They were,” she murmured uneasily. “Only there was more to it than that.”
The admission startled Starbuck. He sensed she was hinting at the d
eath of Marsh Williams, the Wells, Fargo agent. He warned himself to proceed with caution.
“You mean there was something that didn’t come out in court?”
“Not something.” She tossed her head. “Everything!”
“Damnation!” Starbuck chuckled lightly. “Don’t tell me he gunned down somebody else!”
“Jack—” She hesitated, exploring his face. “I’m acting silly, and talking very foolish. Please forget I said anything, will you? Promise me, Jack … please?”
“Count it done,” Starbuck nodded. “But don’t wait ’til things get out of hand. If you ever need help, all you have to do is yell.”
“Oh, Jack.” She kissed him tenderly. “You don’t know how much that means to me.”
Starbuck thought he knew very well. She was quite obviously terrified of Wyatt Earp. Yet, on the other hand, her hatred for him was barely contained. At the right time, under the proper circumstances, both her terror and her hatred could be exploited to the fullest. Until then, he could afford to be patient. And sympathetic.
“One thing’s for sure,” Starbuck said absently. “Wyatt must have some powerful business connections.”
“Business connections?”
“Why, sure. Otherwise he would’ve been railroaded out of town long before now.”
She stared gravely into his eyes. “I know nothing about his business. And I don’t want to know.”
Starbuck knew he had touched another nerve. But that too could await the right moment. He cupped her chin in his hand.
“All I meant was, you don’t have to worry about him or his connections. You just whistle and I’ll come running.”
She shifted in his arms, and he pulled her into a tight embrace. His hand covered one of her jutting breasts and the nipple swelled instantly. Then her hand touched his manhood, erect and throbbing, and she grasped it eagerly. She was ready for him, damp and yielding, and she uttered a low moan as he penetrated quickly, slipped deep within her.
He gave her salvation, and hope.
CHAPTER 8
A week later Starbuck’s patience began wearing thin. His nerves were gritty and restless, and he had a sense of marking time. His investigation had gone nowhere.
The evening was crisp and chill. He paused on the hotel veranda, lighting a cheroot. For a moment, he debated calling on Alice. Her company would be far more enjoyable than spending another night watching Earp and Holliday. Still, however tedious, he wasn’t one to shirk responsibility. There was a job to be done, and Alice could contribute little or nothing at this point. He walked toward the Alhambra.
On balance, Starbuck had to admit he was stymied. After the attempt on Virge’s life, he had expected action of some sort. He wasn’t certain what form that action would take; but he’d felt reasonably confident it would lead to a break in the case. The last thing he’d expected was what Wyatt Earp had actually done. Nothing.
To whatever purpose, Earp was playing a waiting game. Shortly after New Year’s, he and Holliday had reverted to their normal routine. Every night found them at the Alhambra, business as usual. They were more cautious now, particularly on the streets after dark. But there was no mention of Curly Bill Brocius, and no hint that retaliation of any nature was in the works. To all appearances, it was as though the assassination attempt had never occurred.
Starbuck was at a loss. He needed something concrete to make a case, some tangible evidence. Yet that was heavily dependent on worming his way into Earp’s confidence. So far, the ploy hadn’t worked. Earp trusted him, but Earp didn’t need him. And there was the crux of the matter. To become a member of the clique, it was necessary that Earp need his services, and his gun. Only then would Earp and the other members of the family speak freely around him. Equally apparent, only then would he have access to evidence linking them to robbery and murder. The fly in the butter was all too obvious. His gun simply wasn’t needed.
On one side, Earp seemed content to sit on his thumb. On the other, Brocius and his gang had attempted no further treachery. The vendetta appeared to have degenerated into a stalemate, with neither side disposed to make the next move. It was a sorry mess, and getting sorrier all the time.
Entering the Alhambra, Starbuck found Holliday nursing a drink at the bar. While the evening was still early, Earp already had several players ganged around the faro layout. Starbuck waved, receiving Earp’s nod in return, and moved toward the end of the counter. Halting beside Holliday, he signaled the barkeep.
“No game tonight, Doc?”
Holliday frowned. “Some of the regulars ought to drift in later.”
“Maybe I’ll sit in.”
“We’ll likely have a full table.”
“Not afraid of the competition, are you, Doc?”
“There’s your game.” Holliday indicated a group of miners, seated at one of the poker tables. “Those boys are just about your speed.”
The barkeep poured Starbuck a drink, and he took a long sip. Then he smacked his lips, grinning. “You know what your trouble is, Doc?”
“I’m fresh out of guesses.”
“You’re worried a smooth article like me might slip one past you.”
“That’ll be the day,” Holliday said glumly. “I could spot you dealin’ seconds with my eyes closed.”
“Yeah, and I can deal’em with my eyes closed, too!”
“Johnson, you’ve got more brass than a barrel of monkeys. I’ll give you that much.”
Starbuck was aware that Holliday hadn’t fully accepted him. There was still a tinge of skepticism in the gambler’s attitude. And perhaps an element of resentment as well. Holliday was jealous of anyone who got close to Earp. His spite took the form of sarcasm and belittling remarks, and the personal rancor was openly apparent. His soliloquy on Bat Masterson was a gem of character assassination.
Pondering on it, Starbuck had concluded that Holliday had only one friend in the entire world. The greater curiosity was that he had fooled himself into believing the loyalty went both ways. In truth, Earp used him and would readily discard him if ever he became a liability. The paradox was that a cynic like Holliday deceived no one but himself. Had he asked, anyone in Tombstone could have told him he was expendable.
Holliday suddenly stiffened. Following the direction of his gaze, Starbuck saw Sheriff John Behan walking toward them. Though he knew the lawman on sight, he’d never had occasion to exchange so much as a greeting. His instinct told him that was about to change.
Behan stopped a couple of paces away. He was a stocky bulldog of a man, with a square tough face and humorless eyes. Starbuck guessed he was the type who wouldn’t smile easily, if at all.
“Holliday, I’d like a word with you.”
“What’s on your mind, Sheriff?”
“The Benson stage.”
Holliday faced him directly. “What about it?”
“A couple of hours ago,” Behan said in a flinty voice, “four men robbed the stage outside Contention.”
“So?”
“So I’m askin’ where you were about sundown.”
“Standin’ right here!” Holliday bristled with indignation. “Not that it’s any of your business.”
“Anytime a stage gets robbed, I make it my business. Can you prove you were here?”
“I don’t have to prove it.”
“Yeah, you do. Unless you’d rather take a walk down to the cooler.”
“Back off!” Holliday said sharply. “You’ve got nothing on me.”
“The driver,” Behan informed him, “says one of the robbers fitted your description. That’ll do for openers.”
Holliday fixed him with a baleful look. “I haven’t set foot out of here, not once.”
“He’s giving it to you straight, Sheriff.”
Earp halted at the lawman’s elbow. Behan moved back as though he’d been stung by a wasp. His mouth set in a hard grimace.
“I don’t recall askin’ you, Earp.”
“I’m tellin’ you,” Earp
said tightly, “whether you ask or not. Doc’s been here all evening.”
“You alibied him the last time I arrested him.”
“And it held up in court. You ought to know by now, Doc don’t have to rob stages for a living.”
“How about you?”
“Careful, Behan.” There was a hard edge to Earp’s tone. “Don’t push your luck.”
“Are you threatening an officer of the law?”
“I’m telling you not to come in here and rawhide honest citizens. If it’s stage robbers you’re after, why don’t you take a crack at Brocius and his gang?”
Behan eyed him keenly. “You’d like that, wouldn’t you?”
“Damn right!” Earp said shortly. “After the way they ambushed Virge, I don’t reckon they’d be above robbin’ a stage.”
“Suppose we stick with you and Holliday.”
“Are you accusin’ me, too?”
“I’m not accusing anybody. I’m askin’ you to explain your whereabouts, and I mean to have an answer.”
“You’ve already had your answer.”
“That’s not good enough,” Behan countered. “You and Holliday would alibi one another till hell freezes over.”
“Try me, then.” Starbuck’s voice was firm. “I’ll vouch for both of them.”
Behan looked him over like a mule he was considering buying, “Johnson, isn’t it?”
“Jack Johnson,” Starbuck acknowledged. “I’ve been here since suppertime, and it’s like Doc says. They haven’t set foot out of the place.”
“You’d swear to that, would you?”
“On a stack of bibles ten feet tall.”
“You might just have to do that, Johnson.”
Behan spun on his heel and stalked out. When the door closed, everyone realized the room had gone still as a church. The crowd suddenly stopped gawking and the hubbub of conversation rose to a deafening pitch. Earp shook his head in disgust, exchanging a veiled glance with Holliday. Then his gaze shifted to Starbuck.
“Wasn’t no need to lie, Jack. I appreciate the gesture, but anybody could tell him you’d just walked in here.”
