Mag7 fic: An Exercise in Deception

[quietcontrary]

Title: An Exercise in Deception
Author: quietcontrary (quietcontrary @gmail.com)
Rating: PG
Universe: Old West
Characters: Chris, Ezra
Summary: The reasons behind actions may not always be evident.
Notes: Written for tygermama, who requested a fic in which "Chris has to act Ezra-ish, dressy clothes, immpeccable manners the whole smear".

The stairs leading up to the little room which doubled as both Nathan's clinic and his quarters were steep and dimly lit. Chris climbed them with some reluctance, and then felt his conscience prickle at his own unwillingness. It wasn't just that the clinic was a place of less than pleasant memories (although Chris had had many occasions on which he was grateful for its presence), but he always felt vaguely awkward when visiting anyone who was infirm (he couldn't imagine how his presence would lead to a cheerier disposition, let alone a speedier recovery) and of all his companions, he felt least comfortable when it was Ezra Standish who he was visiting.

The gambler was unfailingly vocal about his discomforts when they were minor and stubbornly tight-lipped when they were serious, and so Chris always found himself at either extreme of irritated relief at the litany of complaints or anxious dread at the distressed silence. Given a choice, Chris would have preferred to avoid the sickroom altogether.

He did not have a choice, however - at least none which his conscience or his friendship would allow - and so he knocked briefly on the door and stepped inside.

Chris was surprised to see that Ezra was sitting up and half dressed, wearing an impeccably pressed white shirt and trying his best to fasten a pair of polished mother-of-pearl cufflinks.

"Good morning, Mr Larabee," Ezra said, looking up as Chris walked into the room. "Could I trouble you to pass my cravat?" He indicated vaguely at a pile of clothing heaped on a chair.

"You feelin' better?" Chris asked as he frowned at the piece of blue velvet he held in one hand and the red silk he held in the other. The man had more trimmings and fripperies than a woman.

"Immeasurably so," declared Ezra, and Chris, who had grown used to Ezra's trick of twisting words to hide his true meaning, raised an inquiring eyebrow.

"Nathan's lettin' you out of bed, then?" Chris said suspiciously.

"Nathan's doing nothing of the sort," Nathan put in irritably, coming into the room behind Chris. "Ezra, for the hundredth time! Leave those clothes be and lie down before you fall down."

"Gentlemen, gentlemen." Ezra waved a placating hand at them both. "I have an appointment which is, I'm afraid, immutable."

"Fine," said Nathan, crossing his arms and looking sternly down at Ezra as if the gambler were a fretful child. "You get dressed and you get down them stairs all on your own and you can do whatever you please."

"I appreciate your understanding," said Ezra beatifically, but his hands were unsteady as they tried tie his cravat, and his face was damp with sweat by the time he had his waistcoat on. He slowly swung his legs over the side of the bed and stood, but his legs would not support him and he slid ungracefully to the floor before Chris or Nathan could reach him.

"Bloody idiot," Chris grunted as they hauled the unresisting gambler back to the bed.

"Yep," was Nathan's heartfelt reply.

Ezra lifted a trembling hand to his head. "Good lord," he gasped. "Will you gentlemen please cease spinning?"

"Ain't me that's doin' it," Chris said with a grin. "Reckon it'd be safest if you keep still for a few days yet. What's the hurry anyhow?"

Ezra's hands plucked restlessly at the blanket. "A rendezvous with a - a business associate. It is - was - going to offer the reward of a tidy profit."

The gambler looked genuinely unhappy at the prospect of being forced to miss this apparently lucrative meeting.

Chris frowned. Ezra's business dealings did not trouble Chris unless they bordered on the blatantly illegal, and even then, Ezra handled them discreetly enough that there was rarely ever trouble.

"Send someone in your place," suggested Chris, and Ezra's expression brightened for a moment. Then he shook his head.

"It is a delicate matter. One which requires some level of..." he trailed off.

"Don't you trust us?" Nathan demanded.

"As much as you trust me," Ezra replied blandly. Chris did not miss the wicked little barb. "But all matters of trust aside, my business associate is suspicious by nature. Unfortunately, he would not agree to meet with a proxy."

"This business associate... he know what you look like?" Chris wanted to know.

"He has a vague description," answered Ezra. "But he has not seen me in person, no."

"Let one of us go," urged Nathan, no doubt thrilled at seeing his patient's spirit being roused after days of unresponsiveness.

An odd look came into Ezra's eyes - surprised and joyful, humbled and calculating. "I am touched by your concern," he said quietly. "But this, ah, associate... he knows enough about me that more than a passing likeness would be needed."

They pondered the matter for a few moments. Nathan was out of the question. Josiah was too old. JD was too young, and incapable of lying to save his own skin besides.

"Vin?" suggested Nathan.

Chris and Ezra did not look at each other. Chris knew that Vin had never learnt to read and write, and he suspected that Ezra knew too, although the gambler had never let on that he did.

"I doubt Mr Tanner would consent to acting the gentleman," Ezra said instead, and Chris chuckled at the thought of Vin dressed up in Ezra's fancy clothes, using Ezra's fancy words.

"Buck, then?" offered Nathan.

"If he could be persuaded to do away with that moustache..." Ezra said doubtfully, and Chris felt the beginnings of unease. Buck might well part with his prized moustache for a good reason, but he doubted that a turn at impersonating Ezra would be counted by Buck as a good reason.

Two pairs of eyes looked at him expectantly. Chris began to understand how a cornered jack-rabbit might feel.

"Me?" he exclaimed, but the sinking feeling in his stomach confirmed that the unthinkable had become the inevitable. How had this happened? All he'd done was stop by for a quick visit to see how Ezra was doing. He'd meant to stay five minutes, maybe ten, and then be on his way again. He had most emphatically not planned to be any part of any ruse in which he pretended to be Ezra, of all people!

But there was that damned sense of conscience stirring again. It was Chris that Ezra had been covering when the bullets had hit, and Chris who's own ass had been hauled out in one piece after Ezra's bullets had found their mark. And he had told Ezra - and he had meant it at the time - that he owed Ezra one.

"Fine," growled Chris. "But we're square after this, you got me?"

"Perfectly," said Ezra, very humbly.

"And what's this meeting about, anyway?"

Ezra licked his lips. "An exchange of consideration," he answered at last. "I am selling my interest in a business venture in Iowa in exchange for railway bonds." He sounded vaguely regretful about the deal. "All you will be required to do is sign two copies of the transfer of business, and then collect the bonds from my associate."

"Doesn't sound too hard," Chris conceded.

Ezra looked at him with a critical eye. "I have a white cambric shirt which will fit you," he said thoughtfully. "And a green jacket."

"I can wear my own clothes!" Chris protested.

"Not if you're aimin' to pass as Ezra, you can't," Nathan said, grinning. Chris scowled at him. "Don't worry, Ez, I'll make sure he looks the part. I heard him say that he owes you one, after all."

Chris muttered something rude under his breath. Nathan just laughed.

An hour later, Chris was trussed up like a pig being taken to market - or like Ezra Standish, depending on how you looked at it. With Nathan's help and Ezra's increasingly fainter instructions, he had shaved, combed his hair and put on an outfit taken from Ezra's wardrobe. There were ridiculous ruffles at his wrists and more even ruffles around his collar. Chris glared. What kind of idiot wanted ruffles getting in the way of his hands when he went to draw his gun? Not to mention how completely absurd it looked. The stock felt like it was choking him and the deep green coat was tailored too tightly for his liking. Ezra had loaned him a gaudy-looking emerald ring, with stern instructions not to lose it, or sell it, or forget to return it. And he had handed over, with only a slight hesitation, the complicated derringer rig that he wore. It felt odd and cumbersome on Chris's arm and he flexed his hand, feeling the little gun jump into his palm.

"You are the picture of elegance, Mr Larabee," Ezra said. The gambler's face was dangerously pale and his eyes were closed.

"You can't even see me, or you'd realise how ridiculous I look," Chris grumbled. He was going to to have to sneak out of town before Vin - or worse, Buck - caught sight of him.

"Nonsense," said Nathan, who looked as if he was thoroughly enjoying himself. "You look real fine, Chris. Just like a real Southern gentleman." Chris glared at him. Nathan chuckled.

Ezra opened weary eyes and produced a wad of notes from under the blankets, of all places. Chris gave him an odd look. Did the man sleep with his money?

Ezra waved the cash in Chris's direction. "In case of unexpected contingencies," he murmured.

Bemused, Chris took the money and pocketed it. "Alright, Ezra," he said. "I'll be back sometime tonight. Get some rest."

"Thank you, Chris," Ezra said quietly. "I appreciate it."

Chris snorted. "Just remember - if any word of this gets out, the both of you are dead men," he threatened, and stalked from the room as best he could in unaccustomed finery and unfamiliar boots.

Cinder Creek was a thriving town about three hours' brisk ride from Four Corners. Its main street was lined with saloons and hotels but Chris soon located the one where Ezra had said the meeting had been scheduled to take place.

A pretty young clerk smiled up at him. "Can I help you, sir?"

"A business associate is awaitin' mah presence," Chris said genially. "If you could direct me to your refreshment area, Ah would be most appreciative."

"Certainly, sir," the girl said. "This way, sir. May I have your name, so I can let your partner know when he arrives?"

"Ezra Standish," said Chris. "Ah'm much obliged."

In fact, he was more relieved than obliged when she led him to an empty table in the hotel's refreshment area. Ezra's confounded Southern drawl did not come naturally or easily to his lips. Damned if he knew how Ezra managed to turn one syllable into two.

He ordered a whiskey, but before it arrived, a stranger approached his table. Chris looked up. The man was portly but dapperly dressed, with a thin little moustache and beady, calculating eyes. He fit the description that Ezra had given. Chris disliked him on the spot.

"Mistah Arland Brewster?" Chris said, rising to his feet and extending a hand. "Ezra P. Standish, at your service. It's mah pleasure, Ah assure you."

"Hm," was all Brewster said, eyeing Chris up and down.

"Ah appreciate your time is valuable, Mistah Brewster," Chris said ingratiatingly, while grimly fighting the urge to punch the supercilious man in front of him. "Let me affix mah signature to those pages so you can be on your way."

"I conduct much of my business in Cinder Creek, Mr Standish, and none of it is ever rushed," replied Brewster haughtily. "Sit. We may discuss this over lunch."

Chris swore inside. How would Ezra weasel his way out of this?

"It is mah sincerest everlasting regret that Ah am unable to accompany your (two syllables) fine self in partaking of the fine cuisine served by this esteemed establishment as Ah have the misfortune of being occupied by a prior engagement," Chris said with as much dignity as he could muster. He was sweating beneath the fine cambric shirt.

Brewster looked at him coldly. His little moustache bristled. "Sit down, Mr Standish. Need I remind you that I am here only at my sufferance? We shall discuss the matter during refreshments."

Every fibre in Chris's body urged him towards violence. It was a fault he had, acknowledged, and rather liked. But Ezra had directed him to be charming, urbane and above all, non-threatening. And he did owe Ezra his life...

Chris sat.

"And how is your mother?" Brewster inquired, dabbling his fingers in a bowl of water that had appeared on the table. "I hear her laundering venture is quite lucrative these days."

Chris very deliberately did not shrug. He hadn't known that Maude was in the clothing business, if that was what Brewster had meant. Last he'd heard of her, she was offering Ezra investment opportunities with a buy-in of two thousand dollars. "Mah darling mother has always displayed a interest in the finer points of fashion and market demand," said Chris, somewhat desperately.

"She has been in Maine these last two years?" pressed Brewster. There was a cunning gleam in his eyes.

"St Louis, in fact," Chris corrected him smoothly. "Ah thought you knew. Now, regarding our business today..."

"The last I heard," said Brewster, raising his voice to speak shrilly over the top of Chris, "she was looking for a new partner to buy in after Gerald pulled out. Am I right?"

Chris tried to figure out how Ezra would say, "No idea," in a way that didn't seem too ignorant or abrupt.

"Ah am sorry to say that mah dearest mothah does not impart with me as much of the intricacies of her dealings as Ah would prefer," he said carefully. The bastard was testing him, Chris realised, probing on aspects of Ezra's life to make sure that this really was Ezra Standish he was dealing with. It was, as Ezra had delicately explained, somewhat of a sensitve venture.

But Chris's seeming reluctance to furnish details seemed to satisfy Brewster, who apparently hadn't expected concrete details to be shared.

"A game of poker, Mr Standish?" he offered, bringing out a deck of cards. They were, Chris saw, the brand that Ezra favoured. "I hear you've some skill in the game."

"Ah prefer not to mix business and pleasure, Mistah Brewster," Chris declined. He could hold his own in a game of poker, but he was nowhere near Ezra's level.

And on it went. Brewster's conversation was filled with meaningless pieces of gossip and speculation which set Chris's jaw on edge, and he continued to rebuff any suggestions on Chris's part that they deal with the business that they'd met to do. On Chris's part, amusement quickly turned into impatience, which turned into aggravation.

"Mistah Brewster," Chris said finally. He was having trouble managing Ezra's Southern drawl through tightly clenched teeth. "Ah must insist we complete our designated business."

Brewster sniffed. "You have some nerve," he said petulantly. "You should be pleased that I have accepted this deal from you in the first place. Pray don't forget that, Mr Standish." Brewster drained his whiskey glass, pulled on a pair of white gloves and stood. "I'd appreciate it if you would accompany me for a stroll in the gardens."

"Ah'd be delighted," Chris growled. He couldn't even clench his fists to relieve his anger - the derringer rig would have been set off by the gesture. Calm! he reminded himself. He had, after all, promised Ezra...

The evening air felt good on his face after spending hours cooped up inside.

"I'd like you to meet some of my colleagues," Brewster announced.

And I'd like you to meet Vin on the wrong side of a bad day, Chris thought grimly.

"There may be further opportunities for our mutual acquaintance to benefit us," continued Brewster.

The two of them paused by a row of rose bushes so that Brewster could examine them.

"Mistah Brewster, Ah'm afraid Ah really must insist..."

"Really, Mr Standish!" shrilled Brewster. "You have been insufferably rude all afternoon. The deal is off. I can no longer in good conscience countenance it!"

Instinct kicked in faster than thought. Chris had a hand around the little man's throat and had slammed him against the wall behind the roses. Brewster squeaked in indignation.

"Don't try me, Brewster," said Chris in a low, dangerous voice. "We're going to sign the paperwork, you're going to hand over the railway bonds, and we'll both walk away with a minimum of bloodshed. Understand?"

"You can't tell me what to do!" Brewster cried, and the idiot tried to bite Chris's hand. Chris responded by headbutting him in the face. Brewster's nose broke with a satisfying crack, and Chris released his hold just as blood began gushing down the man's front.

"You broke by dose!" wailed Brewster, hands cupped around his bleeding nose.

"Yep," said Chris, grinning evilly. "And you've got about two minutes to sign the papers and hand over the railway bonds before I break something else of yours. Got me?"

This time, Brewster nodded frantically.

It was, Chris thought with satisfaction, a remarkably uncomplicated process. He scrawled "VOID" on the two copies of the contract, signed it in his best approximation of Ezra's flowing signature, and watched Brewster countersign the documents. Each kept one copy. Then Brewster handed over a foolscap envelope containing five hundred dollars in railway bonds, which Chris carefully checked and pocketed, and then Chris was striding towards the stables.

The man who brought him his horse looked slyly at Chris. "I know you ain't Mr Standish," he said confidentially. "Cinder Creek's got a 'greement with Mr Standish. He don't show his cheatin' face 'round here, 'n we won't beat it in."

"Is that right," Chris said flatly. He thought about the wad of cash that Ezra had given him, "for emergencies". A bribe would probably keep the man quiet, but...

"How's this for an agreement?" growled Chris. "You keep your big mouth shut, and you might just live to see tomorrow." He laid a hand menacingly on the butt of his gun as emphasis.

The man took a few rapid steps back and tipped his hat hurriedly at Chris. "Sounds more 'n fair," he agreed quickly, and vanished back into the stable.

Diplomacy was all well and good, Chris thought, but brute force was usually more effective - not to mention a hell of a lot more fun.

.......

It was the next morning before Chris went to see Ezra. To his surprise, the gambler was sitting on the boardwalk outside the clinic, enjoying Nathan's company.

Ezra was still pale and there were still dark circles beneath his eyes, but he looked a far cry from the man who had been too weak to stand up just yesterday afternoon.

"You feelin' better, Ezra?" he asked, pulling up a chair to join the two of them.

Ezra inclined his head. "Indeed," he said graciously. "Your assistance yesterday took a load from my mind."

"He improved real quick after that," Nathan said, nodding. "You helpin' him out, it did him a world of good."

The first, faint shadows of suspicion began to stir in Chris's mind.

"Mrs Potts is washin' the shirt and jacket you leant me," he told Ezra. "How'd you happen to have a fancy shirt that'd fit me, anyhow? Ain't like we're the same size."

"Card games can yield the most surprising winnings, sometimes," replied Ezra innocently.

The man might be a ingenious liar, Chris thought darkly, but he did not do innocent well.

He pulled out thee money that Ezra had given him and laid it on the table. "Didn't need it," he told Ezra.

Ezra's eyes lit up at the sight of the cash. "You did not come across any unforeseen difficulties?" he inquired, making the money vanish into his jacket faster than the eye could follow.

"Just one or two. Didn't need money to fix them, though. D'you know that there's apparently an agreement between you and the good citizens of Cinder Creek? Something about you not showing your cheatin' face there, and they won't beat it up?"

Ezra winced. "The result of a minor misunderstanding many years ago, I assure you."

"Lucky you couldn't make it there yesterday, then?"

"Ah... yes, in a manner of speaking," said Ezra carefully.

"Hm," was all Chris said. He was decidedly unimpressed.

Ezra gave him a sunny smile. "Your timely assistance was much appreciated, Mr Larabee."

Chris fixed him with a hard stare. "Don't you ever pull that kind of crap again."

Ezra's smile faltered. "I shall endeavour not to," he said slowly. For a moment Ezra looked as if he were going to say something more, but then thought the better of it.

Chris stood abruptly, pushing back his chair. He thrust the bonds on the table between them. "Here's your papers," he said tersely. "And seein' as how you've mended so quick, you can take the watch at the jailhouse tonight," he told Ezra grimly, and strode away before gambler or healer could protest.

.......

Chris Larabee did not appreciate being made a fool of. The memory of being decked out in ruffles and jewels was enough to make his jaw clench. Ezra was likely still chuckling over the ruse, Chris thought, glowering. The gambler was one of the most aggravating people he'd ever met. He seemed to enjoy conning people for the pure fun of it. Even when the same results could often be achieved without deception, Ezra seemed to get an odd satisfaction in manipulating other people's actions.

Chris felt the stiff rustle of paper in his jacket and realised that he delivered the bonds but not the contract to Ezra. He hadn't troubled to read it properly when he'd signed it on Ezra's behalf, just noted that it was about some investment or other that Ezra had been part of. What was so important about the deal that Ezra had felt the need to go to such elaborate lengths to make sure that it was called off? He pulled the papers out and paused, looking over them.

I, Ezra Standish, hereby invest the sum of one thousand dollars and two years' employ at Chicago, Illinois, commencing at a time to be determined by Mr. Arland Brewster, in exchange for half the profits over five years...

"VOID" had been scrawled across all this in Chris's own hand. His forged version of Ezra's signature completed the deal.

Chris raised an eyebrow. Ezra's character had more twists and turns than a knotted rope. From what Chris could gather, Ezra had entered into what appeared to be a lucrative deal just over a year ago. Along with the capital, Ezra had agreed to supply his skills for two years in Chicago. But now Ezra had wanted to back out of that deal with Brewster. Brewster was apparently accustomed to doing business in Cinder Creek, but Ezra had gathered that he would get a less than enthusiastic welcome there. And so the elaborate deceptions began...

But what had enticed Ezra to pull out from a venture that indicated such lucrative returns? Chris thought that he would have welcomed the opportunity to leave what Ezra had often called an uncivilized backwater town. Surely there was nothing in Four Corners that appealed to a mercenary, educated, city-bred gambler?

Chris shook his head. He had worn Ezra's clothes and even passed as the man for a day, but he doubted he would ever understand the way that Ezra's mind worked.