The Last Ride of German Freddie Read Online Free PDF Page B

“Why did you save his life?”
    Holliday struck a match and puffed his cigar into life, then drew the smoke into his ravaged lungs. He coughed once, sharply, then said, “It seemed a life worth saving.”
    Freddie gave a snort of derision.
    “What I don't understand,” said Holliday, “is why you dislike him. He's an extraordinary man. And your two greatest friends admire him.”
    “You and who else?”
    “Your Sadie,” John Holliday said. “She is with Wyatt Earp this moment, across the street in the Cosmopolitan Hotel.”
    Freddie stared at him, and then his gaze jerked involuntarily to the window again, to the bare façade of the Cosmopolitan, built swiftly and of naked lumber, devoid of paint. “But—“ he said, “but—Earp is married—“ He was aware of how ridiculous he sounded even as he stammered out the words.
    “Oh,” Holliday said casually, “I don't believe Wyatt and Mattie ever officially tied the knot—not that it signifies.” He looked at Freddie and rolled the cigar in his fingers. “I thought you should hear it from me,” he said, “rather than through the grapevine telegraph.”
    Freddie stared across the street and felt flaming madness beating at his brain. He considered storming across the street, kicking down the door, firing his Zarathustra, his pistol again and again until it clicked on an empty chamber, until the walls were spattered with crimson and the room was filled with the stinging, purifying incense of powder smoke.
    But no. He was not an animal, to act in blind fury. He would take revenge—if revenge were to be taken—as a human being. Coldly. With foresight. And with due regard for the consequences.
    And for Freddie to fight for a woman. Was that not the most stupid piece of melodrama in the world? Would not any decent dramatist in the world reject this plot as hackneyed?
    He looked at Holliday, let a grin break across his face. “For a moment I was almost jealous!” he laughed.
    “You're not?”
    “Jealousy—pfah!” Freddie laughed again. “Sadie—Josie—she is free.”
    Holliday nodded. “That's one word for it.”
    “She is trying to get your Mr. Earp murdered. Or myself. Or the whole world.”
    “Gonna kill him!” said a voice. Freddie turned to see Ike Clanton, red-eyed and swaying with drink, dragging his spurs across the parlor carpet. Ike was in town on business and staying at the hotel. “Come join me, Freddie!” he said. “We'll kill him together!”
    “Kill who, Ike?” Freddie asked.
    “I'm gonna kill Doc Holliday!” Ike said.
    “Here is Doc Holliday, right here,” said Freddie.
    Ike turned, swayed back on his boot-heels, and saw Holliday sitting in the wing chair and unconcernedly smoking his cigar. Ike grinned, touched the brim of his sombrero. “Hiya, Doc!” he said cheerfully.
    Holliday nodded politely. “Hello, Ike.”
    Ike grinned for a moment more, then remembered his errand and turned to Freddie. “So will you help me kill Doc Holliday, Freddie?”
    “Doc's my friend, Ike,” Freddie said.
    Ike took a moment to process this declaration. “I forgot,” he said, and then he reached out to clumsily pat Freddie's shoulder. “That's all right, then,” he said with evident concern. “I regret I must kill your friend. Adiós.” He turned and swayed from the room.
    Holliday watched Ike's exit without concern. “Why is Ike trying to kick a fight with me?” he said.
    “God alone knows.”
    Holliday dismissed Ike Clanton with a contemptuous downward curl of his lip. He turned to Freddie. “Shall we find a game of cards?”
    Freddie rose. “Why not? Let me get my hat”
    Holliday took him to Earp country, to the Oriental Saloon. Freddie could not concentrate on the game—Wyatt Earp's faro table was in plain sight, Earp's empty chair all too visible; and visions of Josie and Earp kept burning in his mind, a writhing of white limbs in a hotel bed, scenes from his own private inferno—and Holliday calmly and professionally