Bucking the Tiger by Marcus Galloway Page A

extend you such a courtesy if you try my patience.”
    Doc kept right on eating his breakfast and sipping his coffee.
    â€œDo you want to make a name for yourself on the circuit?” Boyer asked.
    â€œThat’s the idea.”
    â€œThen you’ll have to abide by the rules. You pay us five percent of your profits, which will be collected on a monthly basis.”
    â€œAnd I just hand over the money to yourself or someone else who claims to be collecting a gambler’s tax?”
    â€œYou’ll know us because we’ll claim to represent the Tiger.”
    â€œHow colorful.”
    Boyer nodded without a hint of humor. “When you hear that, you’ll pay what you owe or you won’t be allowed to run a game or play in one that’s anything more than gin rummy dealt in a sewing circle.”
    By this time, Doc had continued eating while also managing to get himself situated so the table was between him and Boyer. Within the confines of that cramped room, it made him feel a whole lot better.
    â€œI suppose everyone pays this outrageous fee?” Doc asked.
    â€œIn time, the tributes can be lowered. That is, if you prove to be worthy of such a consideration. If you have a particularly fruitful month, we’ll accept less than our percentage.”
    â€œJust so long as you get more than normal on those months,” Doc pointed out.
    â€œWe’re not being unreasonable, Dr. Holliday. Merely requesting a fee for a valuable service. Within our good graces, you’ll find it a whole lot easier to get into games or even open your own in practically every saloon on the circuit.
    â€œFall out of our graces,” Boyer added, “and we’ll see to it that your name is uttered in the same breath as words such as amateur, untrustworthy, poor cheater, and high risk. Things like that won’t bode well for a sporting man’s career.”
    â€œIronic, but true.”
    â€œSo, do we have a deal?”
    Doc sipped his coffee and let the whiskey-soaked brew roll around in his mouth as he furrowed his brow thoughtfully. After setting the cup down, he picked up his plate and moved some of the food around. He set that down as well, but not on the table.
    â€œA man doesn’t get a good reputation by having vermin like yourself speaking on his behalf,” Doc said.
    â€œAnd I suppose lying about your own exploits is any better?”
    â€œAt least I’m making my own way.”
    â€œA very short way if you make the wrong decision right now.”
    Nodding as a bit of fire glinted in his eyes, Doc said, “Let’s find out, shall we?”
    With that, Doc bent at the knees and slapped his left hand against the bottom of the table. As the table upended and landed noisily on its side, he dropped down behind it while making a quick grab for the pistol holstered under his arm.
    Boyer was caught off his guard by the sudden move, but was quick to react in response to it. While dropping to one knee, Boyer drew his own pistol and fired a quick shot at Doc. The gunfire exploded within the little room and punched a hole through the table directly in front of him.
    Doc could feel the lead whip past his knee after it had cut through the table like warm butter. He’d cleared leather by now and fired a shot of his own, which chipped off a healthy chunk of wood as it tore through the edge of the tabletop. Rather than pick his next shot with the same patience Boyer was displaying, Doc focused his gaze on his target and pointed his gun as if he were pointing his own finger.
    Three more shots blasted through the room.
    One of them came from Boyer as he straightened up to shoot over the table.
    The next two came from Doc, both of which drew blood.
    For a moment, Boyer stood his ground and blinked a few times in quick succession. He kept hold of his gun, but wasn’t quite able to raise his arm enough to point it at the slender man who now walked calmly around the table.
    As