Locket or Bust

Poker chips clacked together. The deck passed to the player on the left. Doc grimaced as the big blind landed on him, but he hadn’t joined a high stakes game to turn chicken. The dealer handed out the cards, cigarette smoke swirling to the ceiling from a cigar dangling in his lips.

Doc accepted his hand and glanced down without moving his head. A ten and a king. Not a bad start.

“Let’s go.” The dealer placed the river cards face down on the table. He gave a nod to the man on his left.

After inspecting his hand, the gambler threw in a few additional chips. “I raise a dollar,” he said.

Doc was already in for six, and his hand was quite promising. He added his own dollar to the pot.

The man on Doc’s right elbowed him in the ribs. “Name’s Henry Kahn,” he said. “What’s that you got there?” He pointed to the silver chain poking out of Doc’s shirt collar.

Doc kept his hand folded on the table in case Kahn’s curiosity was a ploy to cheat. “Why, that is a darling locket from my mother,” he replied in his Southern drawl, fishing the pendant from his shirt.

“Beautiful,” Kahn said. He palmed up a few chips. “I call.”

The player between Kahn and the dealer threw in his chips and said, “I call.”

With one look at his own cards, the dealer shook his head and tossed them face down on the table. “Fold,” he said. Then he turned over three of the river cards to reveal a two, a four, and a king.

Betting started again, with the player to Doc’s left raising by two dollars. Doc called, as did Kahn. The fourth player folded. With a nod, the dealer revealed the next river card: a six. Hands tapped around the table as all the players, including Doc, checked the round. The dealer revealed the final river card. Another six. Checks went around the table again.

“Alright, gentlemen, time to throw down,” the dealer said.

Doc placed his ten and king down to reveal his pair of kings. On one side of him, Kahn played a pair of fives. On the other side, the man revealed a full house, complete with three twos and a pair of sixes. He whistled, and scooped the chips into his pile once again.

“My apologies, gentlemen, but that does it for me.” Doc pushed back from the table, tipping the brim of his hat to the dealer.

“That’s a shame,” Kahn said. “You play a good game. How about one more round?”

Doc stood, clutching his cane in one hand. “I am afraid that I do not have the funds to buy in.”

“What about that trinket there? The silver locket?” Kahn pressed. “That oughta be worth a pretty penny.”

“I can assure you that it is worth more to me than a round of gambling.” Doc politely dipped his head again and retreated from the table.

He made it halfway to the saloon door when a hand grabbed his shoulder, stopping him in his tracks.

“What’s the matter? Don’cha think you can clean us out?” The voice belonged to Kahn. “I’ve heard of you, so I know you can do better.”

“Sir, I implore you to leave me to my peace.” Doc ducked out from the harsh grip and strode into the dust filled street.

Everything about Breckenridge, Texas, was painted a hazy brown. The quality was an improvement on the smoke filled interior of the saloon, but Doc still found himself gulping shallow breaths. He’d decided to come out west to aid in his breathing, but with the state of mining towns, filth whirled through every inhale.

Quick footsteps thudded on wooden planks on the other side of the saloon door. Kahn crashed into Doc from behind, spinning his body around with the force. Doc caught himself on his cane. A cough wracked his chest.

“Hand over the locket now, sissy boy,” Kahn demanded.

Doc stumbled backwards, covering another cough. “As I have already informed you, kind sir, I will not be wagering my locket.”

Kahn lunged forward, snapping his fist around Doc’s lapels. “This ain’t about no card game anymore,” he growled. “Now give me the goddamn locket.” Kahn snatched at Doc’s neck, fingers tangling in the silver chain.

The chain’s frail links threatened to snap as Kahn yanked on it. Doc slammed a fist into Kahn’s gut, but the blow only caused the chain to strain further. With a jerk, the chain broke free and the locket slipped to the ground. Kahn shoved Doc away and bent to retrieve the silver heart.

Kahn had struck him first, so Doc felt little remorse defending himself and his prized possession. He lifted his cane and cracked it over Kahn’s back. Unbalanced, the other man sprawled on the ground. He cursed and lashed out with his legs, slamming one into Doc’s knee. Doc crumpled to his shins but did not let up. He swung the cane again and again, wincing each time it struck Kahn.

The gambler sneered, limbs flailing as he fought back. Dust lifted in billows from the road, hovering around the men like a thick fog. Hoofbeats thundered down the street as they tussled.

“Break it up!” a man above them announced, sunlight parting the dusty haze to reveal his deputy badge.

Doc stuck with his cane once more. Kahn thrashed nearby, but the pain from the assault must’ve been too great to continue flailing. As the dust cleared, sunlight glinted off the silver heart-shaped locket resting on the grime between them. Doc lashed out, quick as a rattlesnake, to grab it up.

“Gentlemen, you’re under arrest for disturbing the peace,” the man above them announced.

A second lawman dismounted his horse a few feet off. He aimed a pistol at Doc’s chest.

Doc released his cane and lifted his arms into the air. “I will come quietly,” he said.

Kahn only grunted while the first lawman hauled him to his feet. The second waved the pistol at Doc. He rose to his feet and followed after his captors.

The lawmen shuffled Doc and Kahn into separate cells for the night. “Looks like you’ll be celebrating the rest of your Independence like a bird,” one spat as he secured the lock to Doc’s cell. The other jeered before the two men left.

Doc perched on the pallet in his cell, fist clutched around the delicate locket. He slowly spread his fingers open to stare at the trinket under the light of the rising moon which filtered through a window set high in the wall. A few scratches betrayed the locket’s age, but Doc always kept it free from tarnish. He brushed the pad of his thumb across its cover before clicking it open. Inside, a tattered sepia toned photograph depicted the face of his beloved childhood horse. The photograph had been snipped from a larger film of the original Holliday family: young Doc, his father, and his mother. The horse had snuck its way into the background, which had thrilled young Doc at the time. His mother had purchased him the locket and helped him trim the horse image to fit inside.

He suppressed a cough, shutting the locket once more before slipping it into his vest pocket. The cell was cold and gray around him despite the weak moonlight. Across the hall, Kahn snored softly. Doc could do nothing further but try to sleep until morning.

Shortly after dawn broke, the lawmen returned. “I got orders that y’all must pay a fine, but then you’re free to go,” he said.

Doc sat up. He hadn’t gotten much sleep in the dreadful place. A glance over at the other cell showed that Kahn had already been released. Likely, it had been for the best. Due to Kahn’s persistence, Doc couldn’t be sure that the gambler was finished with him. “Sure,” he told the lawman.

The lawman worked to unlock the cell while Doc pulled a billfold from his jacket. He stood and crossed to the doorway as the lawman managed to open the lock.

“This ought to cover it, sir.” Doc pushed a few bills into the man’s hand. Then, he stepped around the lawman and sauntered into the street.

Humid summer air assaulted Doc the moment he was outside, much more oppressive than the coolness of the stone jailhouse. Dust churned in the street from a horse cart passing by. He waded into the brown mist behind it, narrowing his eyes at its sting, and began to amble towards his hotel lodgings.

People shouted in desperation as he passed since many homeless beggars having drifted into town looking for work. Each day presented a new struggle for those who existed on America’s western frontier. Doc wished he could help these people in some way, but instead he was their comrade in arms, forced into gambling for his own survival. The most he could offer the people he passed was a kind nod and a smile.

Around the next corner, a horse trotted by, forcing Doc into an alleyway between two shanty buildings.

“Gotcha,” a familiar voice hissed into his ear.

Doc whirled to find himself face to face with Henry Kahn. “I do not want any more trouble, sir.”

A vicious smirk tugged Kahn’s lips upwards. He slowly drew a pistol from his waistband. Doc himself was unarmed, having checked his own gun with the hotel reception, as was proper. Even his cane had been abandoned in the street the previous day, and he had yet to come by a new one. He lifted his hands in surrender, backing towards the street. “Mister Kahn, surely we can settle this as gentlemen?”

The pistol barked.

The slug slammed into Doc’s left hip, sending white-hot pain through his leg. He collapsed in the middle of the street, the hot sun beating down on him. When he lifted his head to the alleyway, he saw Kahn retreating into the shadows.

Doc hobbled back to his hotel room using a borrowed signpost for support. The hotel’s bellhop lifted one bushy eyebrow at him as he passed. He unlocked his suite with shaking hands and dropped onto the bed with a hiss.

Over the next few weeks, Doc remained in his room tending to his wound. Only once he could walk without feeling much pain, and with the occasional assistance from his new cane, did Doc return to the streets. His funds were running low so he needed to find a table to join. Doc stepped out of his hotel with a wince at the thought of meeting Kahn again. He almost grabbed his pistol as a precaution, but optimism won out. Breckenridge was a large town, so he had multiple saloons to pick from.

Doc turned up the street in the hopes of finding a new place to play. Likely, if Kahn was a local, he frequented the same tables, so Doc would be safe elsewhere. More dust clogged the air as he turned a corner and a pair of mounted lawmen galloped past. Doc hung to the side under the shade of an awning and stifled a cough. As the thundering of hoofbeats faded, Doc limped back into the street with his head down.

A moment later, he crashed into a man. The impact nearly knocked Doc over, but he managed to catch himself with his new cane. “My apologies, dear sir.”

“John?” the man gasped. “John Henry, is that you?”

Doc blinked water from his eyes as he stared at the stranger who spoke in a familiar voice. The visage cleared to a friendly face. “My, George, what brings you all the way out here?”

“The papers reported on your death!” George exclaimed. “I came to collect your body!”