Independent Feature Film Packaging & Development

July 1879, Las Vegas, New Mexico. Dr. John Henry Holliday is fighting for a clean slate, running a quiet dental practice on Center Street alongside Mary Katherine Horony (“Big Nose Kate”). That domestic peace is shattered when Wyatt Earp strides through the doorway, stares at Doc’s blood-spattered surgeon’s apron, and lays down the challenge: “Why in the hell are you pulling molars for quarters when you could be pouring whiskeys and dealing faro for fortunes?”

Lured by the high-stakes boomtown, Doc rolls out the green felt, partnering with Wyatt to transform his Center Street property into a bustling gaming and saloon operation. But as the corrupt Dodge City Gang seizes the marshal’s office to disarm, extort, and murder arriving travelers under color of law, Kate refuses to sit idle. Armed with a sharp European education and relentless wit, Kate organizes local merchants and community leaders into the clandestine Las Vegas Vigilance for Peace Committee, determined to protect the town from corrupt badges.

Under Doc’s roof, manners are non-negotiable. When an arrogant former army scout disrespects one of his parlor staff, Holliday steps into the street with silk-smooth Georgia fatalism and a smoking .45 to deliver a permanent lesson: “Good night, Mike.” With Kate’s vigilantes dragging the cowboy desperados from the Variety Hall to the town windmill and blood filling the streets, Doc is pulled all the way into the fire. Before Tombstone had a fight, Las Vegas had a war.

Based on documented events; certain characters and scenes are dramatized.

Friday afternoon, Chicago. Twenty-eight-year-old Marine Fred Smith walks out of General Dynamics with Federal Express in pieces: $28 million burned in eighteen months, 180 packages a night, and a fund chief who cares more about his tee time than Fred’s survival. The pumps are locked over a $24,000 bill. If the Falcon jets don’t launch at 5 A.M. Monday, the board calls the loan and liquidates the company.

In Memphis, his wife Linda is exhausted and three-year-old Wendy needs her daddy back. At the hangar, fourteen Falcon 20s and 389 employees who believed in his vision—pilots who left airline careers, people who put jet fuel on their own credit cards. Failure isn’t an option for a Marine.

Instead of taking the flight home, Fred boards a red-eye to Las Vegas with $100 in his wallet and a $1,000 credit line from a stranger, sealed on a handshake: a wing and a prayer. He has to win $24,000 by Monday. Marine rules: never touch company funds, play every hand by the book, and walk the second he hits the number. He sits down at Binion’s Horseshoe and doubles down on the only weapon he has left.

Arithmetic.