The Last Ride of German Freddie by Walter Jon Williams Read Free Book Online Page B

shoot.
    Freddie followed Ike out into the street, and glared at him when it looked as if he would step into a saloon for some liquid courage. Ike saw the glare, then began to walk faster down the street. Freddie pursued, boots thumping on the wooden walk. At the end of the long walk, when Fly's boarding house came into sight, Ike was almost running.
    Freddie paused then, and began a leisurely stroll to the hotel. Gunfire erupted behind him, but he didn't break stride. He knew Ike Clanton, and he knew John Holliday, and he knew which of the two now lay dead.

    *

    “The legal case will collapse without a plaintiff,” Freddie said that evening. “The district attorney may file a criminal case, but why would he? He knows the defense would call me as a witness.” He laughed. “And now, after this second killing, Holliday will have to leave town. That is another problem solved.”
    Josie stretched luxuriously in Behan's bed. She was wearing a little transparent silken thing that Behan had bought her from out of a French catalogue, and Freddie, lying next to her, let his eyes feast gratefully on the ripeness of her body. She seemed well pleased with his eyes' amorous intentions, and rolled a little in the bed, to and fro, to show herself from different angles.
    “You seem very pleased with yourself,” she said.
    “I have nothing against Holliday. I like the man. I'm glad he will be out of it.”
    “You're the only man alive who likes him. Now that Johnny's killed Wyatt.” A silence hung for a moment in the air, and then Josie rolled over and put her chin on her crossed arms. Her dark eyes regarded him solemnly.
    “Yes?” Freddie said, knowing the question that would come.
    “There are people who say it was you who shot Wyatt,” she said.
    Freddie looked at her. “One of your lovers shot him,” he said. “Does it matter which?”
    “Did you kill for me, Freddie?” There was a strange thrill in her voice. “Did you kill Wyatt?”
    “If I killed Wyatt,” Freddie said coldly, “it was not for you. I did not do it to make you the heroine of a melodrama.”
    She made as if to say something, but she turned her head away, laying her cheek on her hand. Freddie reached out to caress her rich dark hair. “Troy burns for you, my Helen,” he said. “Is it not your triumph?”
    “I don't understand you,” she said.
    “I am in love with Fate,” Freddie said. “I regret nothing, and neither should you. Everything you do, let it be as if you would—as if you  must —do it again ten thousand times.”
    She was silent. He reached beneath her masses of hair, took her chin in his fingers, raised her face to his. “Come, my queen,” he said. “Give me ten thousand kisses. And let us not regret a one of them.”

    *

    Ten thousand kisses! Freddie wrote in his journal. She does not yet understand her power—that she can change the universe, and all the universes yet to be born.
    How many times have I killed Earp, in worlds long dead? And how many times must I kill him again? The thought is joy to me. I crave nothing more. Ten thousand bullets, ten thousand kisses. Forever
    Amor fati.  Love is all.

    *

    “Sir.” Holliday bowed. Not yet healed, he stood stiffly, and supported his wounded hip with a cane. “The district attorney is of the opinion that Arizona and I must part. I thought I would take my adieu.”
    Freddie rose from his wing-backed chair and offered his hand. “I'm sure we'll meet again,” he said.
    “Maybe so” He shook the hand, then stood, a frown on his gaunt face. “Freddie—“ he began.
    “Yes?”
    “Get out of this,” Holliday said. “Take Josie away. Go to California, Nevada, anywhere.”
    Freddie laughed. “There's still silver in Tombstone, John.”
    “Yes.” He seemed saddened. He hesitated again. “I wanted to thank you, for your words at the trial.”
    Freddie made a dismissive gesture. “Ike Clanton wasn't worth the bullets it took to kill him,” he said.
    Holliday looked