The Immortal Doc Holliday: Coup D'état: (The Immortal Doc Holliday Series Book 2) Read online

  Copyright © M.M. Crumley 2021

  Excerpt from THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT Copyright © M.M. Boulder 2020

  Excerpt from DARK AWAKENING Copyright © M.M. Crumley 2019

  All rights reserved. Published by Lone Ghost Publishing LLC,

  associated logos are trademarks and/or registered trademarks of

  Lone Ghost Publishing LLC.

  The moral right of the author has been asserted (vigorously).

  No part or parts of this publication may be reproduced in whole or in part, stored in a retrieval systems, or transmitted in any form or by means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise (including via carrier pigeon),

  without written permission of the author and publisher.

  Author: Crumley, M.M.

  Title: THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY, COUP D'ÉTAT.

  ISBN: 9798747823013

  Target Audience: Adult

  Also available in this series

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY: HIDDEN (Book 1)

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY: RUTHLESS (Book 3)

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY: INSTINCT (Book 4)

  Subjects:

  Urban Fantasy/ Horror Comedy

  This is a work of fiction, which means it’s made up. Names, characters, peoples, locales, and incidents (stuff that happens in the story) are either gifts of the ether, products of the author’s resplendent imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead or dying, businesses or companies in operation or defunct, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  Also by M.M. Crumley

  Urban Fantasy

  THE IMMORTAL DOC HOLLIDAY SERIES

  BOOK 1: HIDDEN

  BOOK 2: COUP D'ÉTAT

  BOOK 3: RUTHLESS

  BOOK 4: INSTINCT

  THE LEGEND OF ANDREW RUFUS SERIES

  BOOK 1: DARK AWAKENING

  BOOK 2: BONE DEEP

  BOOK 3: BLOOD STAINED

  BOOK 4: BURIAL GROUND

  BOOK 5: DEATH SONG

  BOOK 6: FUNERAL MARCH

  BOOK 7: WARPATH

  Writing as M.M. Boulder

  Psychological Thrillers

  THE LAST DOOR

  MY BETTER HALF

  THE HOUSE THAT JACK BUILT

  MY ONE AND ONLY

  WE ALL FALL DOWN

  FB

  https://www.loneghostpublishing.com/

  Book 2:

  COUP D'ÉTAT

  M.M. Crumley

  Because some stories need to be told...

  Chapter 1

  Doc Holliday tipped his whiskey bottle upright and watched as the last of the amber liquid slid down towards his lips, wondering vaguely if he stared hard enough if it would somehow reveal the answer he needed.

  "Getting drunk isn't going to help, you know."

  "If only," Doc sighed as he tossed the empty bottle towards Jury's trashcan. The can moved at the last second, catching the bottle before it hit the floor. "Nothing but net," Doc chuckled.

  "My point. Your aim was way off," Jury snorted.

  "Get me another bottle."

  "No."

  "Come on."

  "No. You've already drank seven bottles, and it's getting us nowhere. It's time to get off your ass and get back to it."

  "Get back to what?" Doc muttered. "Sofia's gone. Bosch is gone. Sure, given enough time I could probably find them, but to what end?" He shrugged. "I failed, Jury. Failed. Do you have any idea what that feels like?" Doc shook his head in disgust. "What am I saying? Of course you do."

  "I'll pretend that's the whiskey talking," Jury said irritably. "Furthermore, it's only been one goddamn week! You searched the Black Forest for that wood sprite for three months!"

  "She was gorgeous... and so flexible."

  "I know. I saw her," Jury replied, staring off into space for a moment with a lopsided grin. He suddenly shook his head and said, "That's not the point; the point is we'll find Sofia, just like you found the wood sprite. But only if we actually leave the building."

  "You don't know," Doc muttered. "She could be hiding in the closet. Did you check?"

  "Yes, I checked."

  "You didn't!"

  "I really did."

  Doc leaned his head against the couch and closed his eyes. Jury was right, and he knew it, but he was tired, and he wasn't sure Sofia was worth it. Señora Teodora, Tozi, was worth it. But Sofia? He'd already saved her once, and if she hadn't been such a pantywaist, he might have been able to keep her safe. But she was worthless.

  Worthless was perhaps a bit harsh; but it irritated the hell out of him that she'd been born with her power and she didn't even know how to use it or, at the very least, understand it. It had only taken him a couple years to figure out his limitations.

  That wasn't all of it though. She was whiney. And self-centered. She dressed oddly. She didn't like Jury. She didn't have any acceptance of other creatures. And she was just all-around annoying.

  Not to mention that she probably didn't even want Doc to rescue her because she didn't like the way he did things. She thought he was unnecessarily violent. He laughed harshly. That was half the reason Tozi had picked him.

  He could accept his failure in the general scheme of things and move on. He could even accept the loss of Sofia. He'd technically fulfilled his promise, and if Tozi visited him again, that's just what he'd tell her. His problem was Bosch's plan. If Bosch actually had a way to turn himself into some sort of super creature that would put the Hidden and everyone in it at risk.

  So it would seem that his path was obvious. Stop Bosch. But, and this is why he was trying so hard to get drunk, no matter how he figured it, if he started a war with Bosch the people in the Hidden were going to get hurt. If only he knew which way they'd get hurt less. He was beginning to think he was going to have to flip a damn coin and let luck decide.

  "Heads up," Jury suddenly hissed. "Someone's coming."

  "You going to let them in?"

  "May as well. It'd be easier than trying to explain a bloody foyer to the manager."

  "You're ridiculous."

  "Am not!"

  "Are too. Don't you own the damn building?"

  "Yes, but the manager doesn't know that, does she? And she's a stickler for the rules."

  "They're your rules!" Doc exclaimed.

  "She doesn't know that! Now shut up! They're at the door."

  "I need another bottle," Doc whispered.

  "You do not!"

  "It'll help me fight."

  "You're a goddamn drunk."

  "I haven't been drunk in over a hundred years! Give or take."

  "So you're an alcoholic."

  "Now that I can't argue with," Doc chuckled.

  Someone was fiddling with the door now, and if Doc could hear them, they weren't very good. Or they were very, very good.

  "How many?" he asked.

  "Thirty."

  "How do you communicate with the gargoyles anyway?"

  "It's hard to explain," Jury said.

  "And they can count?"

  "No. They just showed me how many there are. Is this really the time for a gargoyle lesson?"

  "I don't know when else we'll have it. What's taking them so damn long with the door anyway?"

  "I didn't want it to be too easy for them."

  "Oh." Doc glanced around Jury's perfectly clean and arranged loft space and started laughing.

  "What the hell're you laughing for?"

  "Say goodbye to your apartment."

 
"I hate you."

  "You always say that, yet here we are. What is this, like our five hundredth date?"

  "I hope you get shot."

  "I hope they don't have some kind of plastic Gatling guns."

  "Why do you say shit like that?"

  "It just popped into my head."

  "Well pop it the hell out!"

  The door finally cracked open, and Doc and Jury ducked behind the couch. "You should've gotten the red couch," Doc mouthed.

  "I should've moved to Alaska," Jury mouthed back.

  After a moment, the door clicked closed, and Doc winked at Jury before leaping upright and tossing a knife towards one of the intruders. These men didn't have witches to guard them, so when Doc's knife slammed into the leader's forehead, it tore right through it, leaving a gaping bloody hole.

  Doc didn't pause to enjoy the energy pulsing through his tattoo because the room was suddenly filled with the sounds of gunfire. A bullet tore through his arm, but Doc didn't move, just released four more knives before pulling the couch over the top of them as he dropped back down onto the floor.

  "Next time," he snapped, "get an apartment with rooms."

  "I like open spaces," Jury replied, wiping a smear of blood from his smoking gun.

  Doc took a deep breath. "Ready?"

  "Ready," Jury replied.

  Doc stood again, this time tossing the couch with full force towards the bulk of the men. Plaster rained from the ceiling as stray bullets streaked all over the room. The momentum of the couch carried the intruders across the room and into the wall, and Doc and Jury used the distraction to eliminate the seven men who had circled around to the sides.

  Ever since the witch incident, Doc had been a little wary of his self-replicating knife. But it turned out that it really did make killing people even easier because as soon as one knife left his fingers, another knife was ready to pull.

  "Don't forget to keep one alive!" Doc ordered as he jumped onto the couch and started slashing the throats of the men pinned between the couch and the wall.

  "You don't forget to keep one alive!" Jury yelled back.

  "I'm the one who said it!"

  Doc grabbed one man by his throat and slammed him into the wall, squeezing so hard that his fingers punctured the man's flesh. A bullet tore across Doc's cheek, and another ripped through his chest, and he turned with a growl.

  "This is my favorite vest," he snarled, ripping the gun from the shooter's hand and bludgeoning him to death with it.

  There were a few men caught between the couch and the floor, so Doc threw the couch off of them, tossing knives as he did. One of the men kicked at Doc's leg and hurled a knife at his face, but Doc caught it easily, tossed it over his shoulder, then leaned down and pulled the man's head up by his hair.

  "STOP!" Jury yelled just as Doc moved to bash the man's head into the floor.

  Doc froze. "What?!"

  "He's the last one!"

  "Really?" Doc glanced around the room. The walls were splattered with blood, anything that could be broken was, and there were dead bodies everywhere. "That was quick," Doc muttered. "Did you count yet?"

  "You're so immature; I'm not counting."

  "So you lost?"

  "Let's just get on with this!" Jury snapped.

  Something sliced at Doc's throat, and he popped the man's head lightly onto the floor, knocking him out. "You're going to regret that," Doc muttered as he wiped the blood from his neck; he could already feel the wound closing beneath his fingertips. He loved being him.

  He broke the plastic knife the man had used in two, just because he could and because he was getting really sick of plastic, then he hauled the man to his feet and shoved him into one of Jury's dining room chairs.

  He removed a belt from one of the corpses and used it to cinch the unconscious man in place. Then he slapped him, but he didn't wake up.

  "Shouldn't have hit him so hard," Jury commented.

  "I didn't. He's just a weakling," Doc said, slapping the man again.

  The man's eyelids crinkled as he struggled to wake, but just as he was opening his mouth to say something, someone knocked on Jury's door. Doc slapped his hand over the man's mouth and sat on his legs to keep him from moving.

  "You're covered in blood," he mouthed to Jury.

  "Just a minute," Jury called out. He tore off his shirt and used it to wipe his face clean, but he'd been shot at least three times, and blood was slowly oozing down his arm and chest.

  "That didn't help," Doc hissed.

  "I'll just use a glamour," Jury said. Suddenly he was wearing clothes again, clean clothes, and there wasn't a speck of blood on him. At least that's how it appeared.

  Jury cracked the door open. "Sami," he said easily. "What's up?"

  "Mr. Jury, it sounds like a warzone up here," a feminine voice replied pointedly. "Is everything okay?"

  "It's fine."

  "Are you sure? Because I definitely heard something. You know you can't have parties without prior approval from the owner."

  "I'm aware of that regulation."

  "Well?"

  "I'm sorry, Sami. I didn't hear anything. You must have the wrong floor."

  Doc heard Sami, who he assumed was Jury's bulldog manager, hiss in irritation. "I already checked the other floors, Mr. Jury."

  "Then it must be outside."

  "Can I take a quick peek inside?" she asked determinedly.

  "Um..." Jury glanced back towards Doc.

  Doc tightened his grip on his struggling prisoner and shook his head vehemently.

  "Mr. Jury, please; just to put my mind at ease."

  "Knock him out again," Jury mouthed.

  "Seriously?" Doc mouthed back.

  "Yes!"

  Doc shifted his hands, applying a full choke to the man's neck. He held it just until he felt the man go slack, then let go and stood.

  Jury closed his eyes, struggle making his face tight for a moment, and then the entire apartment looked normal again. So long as no one moved and tripped over one of the invisible bodies on the floor.

  Jury swung the door wide open and gestured inside. "See? Right as rain."

  Sami stepped into the doorway and glanced around the room, cheeks turning bright red when her eyes landed on Doc. "Mr. Holliday, I didn't know you were here."

  Doc frowned. He had an excellent memory for names and faces, and he was sure he'd never met her before. He would have definitely remembered meeting those hips.

  "I'm sorry," he said slowly. "Have we met?"

  "Oh... No, I mean, I'm sorry; I just know who you are." Her hands fluttered nervously. "I... I... I better go. Thank you, Mr. Jury." She turned on her heels and rushed across the small foyer to the elevator.

  Jury closed the door with a sigh of relief, letting the glamour fade. "I need a drink. And a sandwich."

  Doc studied him with a frown. He could tell the glamour had drained Jury, and worry filled Doc for a moment; he'd never noticed Jury tire so easily before. There'd been this one time in China when they'd used glamour for three days straight. He pushed that thought away; he had other things to deal with right now.

  Doc slapped the unconscious man again, grinning when the man's eyes popped open immediately. "Let's get this done with, shall we?" Doc pulled his knife from its sheath and ran it slowly down the man's cheek, drawing a thin line of blood. "You're going to die. How you die, is up to you. Tell me about Bosch."

  "I'm not gonna tell you a thing, you corrupted piece of shit flesh," the man snarled.

  "That was a splendid, if slightly confusing, insult," Doc chuckled. "Felt a bit forced though, not something someone would normally say. Why corrupted?"

  The man spit at Doc just barely missing his cheek, and Doc's eyes narrowed. "Why corrupted?" he repeated, slicing his knife gently across the tops of the man's fingers.

  He flinched, but didn't speak.

  "I know all about the human body, you know," Doc drawled. "I can drag this on for hours. I'm going to start with yo
ur manhood though, just to see if we can hurry things up."

  The man's eyes widened with horror.

  "You'll be dead," Doc said carelessly. "So it's not like you'll be needing it."

  "All cryptids are corrupted," the man spat. "Mutated forms of humanity. Abominations."

  "That's not the way I've heard it," Doc said conversationally. "My favorite version of the story is that the mother birthed all the races. Cryptids and humans alike."

  "What mother?" the man sputtered. "God created man. Man! Everything else is demon spawn!"

  "That old song and dance?" Doc sighed. "I thought we'd moved past that."

  The man's eyes grew bright with passion. "Bosch will remove all the filth from our streets, all the abominations, all the half-breeds. When he's done, we will be clean once more."

  "Huh. That's definitely not the way I heard it," Doc murmured, remembering the look on Bosch's face when he'd talked about becoming super human.

  Doc drove his knife through the man's wrist, severing the joint. The man howled in pain, and Doc clamped his hand over his mouth to muffle the sound.

  "There's more where that came from," Doc said when the man settled down to a whimper. "Tell me more about Bosch."

  "You'll burn in hell," he sniveled.

  "Perhaps," Doc agreed. "Tell me." He moved his knife deliberately towards the man's crotch.

  "You'll be punished," he wavered, face tightening in fear.

  "It's funny, isn't it?" Doc chuckled. "You broke into my house—"

  "Excuse me?!" Jury snapped.

  "Sorry, Jury's house, you endeavor to kill us, quite vigorously, thirty to two no less, and I'll pay? I'm the injured party here." He moved the knife closer. He really wasn't keen to start chopping into the man's giblets, but he didn't have all day either, and he was proving to be stubborn.

  "Your existence alone demands punishment!" the man insisted.

  "So in your mind, I should be punished just because I'm alive?"

  "You and the witch will both burn. You deserve to burn!"

  Doc had had enough. He flicked the knife down, slicing through the man's pants and whatever else happened to be there, allowing the man to scream and howl in pain.

  "Tell me about Bosch," Doc growled.