Between the Raindrops

A Social Call

Doctor Cornelius Thompson heard the pop and hiss of a match. He turned to find a man leaning in the inky shadow of the Saloon, dressed in black. The upper half of his face obscured under a seedy looking cowboy hat. He brought the match to his lips, casting his rough mouth in stark light for a flickering instant. Gunmetal glinted at his hip. He lit a cigarette, taking a deep breath, and the tiny ember blazed to life.

"Oh, hello there," Cornelius said.

"Evenin', doctor," the man said. Low and gravelly and despite the calm, Doctor Thompson felt his hair stand on end. "You got a minute?"

"Well, you see..." Cornelius said. There was something familiar about the man, but the doctor could not place it. A patient? A fellow gambler? "I really should get back home... my wife, you see..."

The dark stranger drew a breath on the cigarette, the ember flaring bright. "Oh," he exhaled. "Just wanna have a word is all."

"Yes, well," Cornelius stammered. He gave a quick glance and saw that he was quite alone in this ally. He decided to continue onward, suddenly feeling vulnerable. The curse of a growing town, perhaps. All these new faces. "Come by my office tomorrow and we'll..."

The man pushed away from the wall, his full height and size becoming apparent. He stepped into Doctor Thompson's path.

"Why you gougin' folk?"

"Gouging?" Cornelius stammered.

"I gotta say, doc... I'm impressed," the man carried on, his voice rough and acerbic. "Chargin' ten times what medicine is worth when folk are dyin'... Why, you might as well put a gun to their head an' rob 'em proper."

"You... must be mistaken."

The stranger took another pull of the cigarette and slowly shook his head. "Doubt that."

"Well..." Cornelius tried. The man was younger than his voice let on. Straight-backed and burly, in his prime. Why was he familiar? A patient angry over his bill? Grieving perhaps? "I'm sorry if you feel..." he floundered for a word that would not escalate the situation. "That you feel cheated in your time of need, my boy. Sadly, medical supplies do not fall from the sky and I, too, must put food on my table. You... you do understand?"

"Oh, I understand fine."

"That is good," the doctor said with a forced smile. Companionably he added, "These are troubled times."

"Seems to me you took yerself a hypocritical oath."

"Hipp-o-cratic," Thompson corrected indignantly. Stupid, ignorant...

"You disgust me," the young man said, prowling closer still. He looked Thompson up and down and tsked with a sorry shake of his head. "A big high roller like you... all them chips and fine brandy... wringing orphans an' widows to feed yer appetites."

"What I do with my hard-earned money is none of your concern, mister."

"Earned?" He chuckled. "Sure. Let's look at it that way. Only... I hear tell that greed can, uh, be hazardous to one's health."

"Are... are you threatening me?"

The man pulled the cigarette from his mouth. "I am advisin' you," he insisted. He dropped the smoke to the ground and stamped it out, fists clenched. "Fer example, I am advisin' you to ease up on what yer chargin' that young lady doctor. Gamblin' is near impossible if yer brains are scrambled."

Cornelius took a step back. Lady doctor? That silly girl. She certainly did not fool him with her little angel of mercy act... but this thick-headed thug? His sort would fall for a sob story from a pretty skirt in a heart-beat.

Doctor Thompson decided to screw his courage to the sticking place and try to cow this blustering boy.

"Did Miss Griswold put you up to this, son?"

"I ain't yer son," the younger man corrected, taking one last menacing step. Fast as a gunslinger he snagged Cornelius' throat in one large hand, locking him in place. His other fist drawn back and ready. Cornelius could not help but flinch. "An' I promise she don't know 'bout this little... consultation."

"But... but..." Cornelius gripped and clawed at the hand and the brute shook him like dog with a rat until his bones rattled.

"If she were to find out...well," the young man carried on, tightening his grip so that breathing began to hurt. He reeked of gun oil and horses. "I'll see she ends up bein' the only game in town."

Cornelius swallowed. "I...I have friends."

The stranger chuffed a laugh. "So?" He looked over his meaty shoulder and then off in the distance beyond before bringing his cold eyes back to Cornelius' face. "Seems none of 'em are here, Doc. But I am. And yer startin' to annoy me."

Cornelius nodded dumbly.

"We have an understanding?" the bully pressed.

"Yes..." the doctor stammered. "You've made your point!"

The man let go and Cornelius dropped into a heap. The cool dirt under his palms a strange comfort as he struggled to control his breath.

"So yer gonna ease up on them prices," the thug reiterated, forcefully dragging Cornelius back to his feet, punctuating his demands with reminders of his brutal strength. "At least where Doctor Emelia's concerned."

"Well, I..."

"Please," he growled, smoothing out the doctor's lapels, a belying gesture. "You do not want to annoy me."

"No! No... Doctor Griswold will get her supplies at cost."

"That's good." The young man smiled. "Real good." He laid a large hand on the older man's shoulder and gave a squeeze that was anything but a comfort, his grip like iron. "You have yerself a nice evenin', Doc."

Thompson watched the man saunter away before turning on his heel. He staggered back the way he came. Back into the light and buzz of the Saloon and ordered a shot of bourbon.