PARKER FILMS • REVIEW COPY ONLY • DO NOT DUPLICATE
© 2026 PARKER FILMS LLC • ALL RIGHTS RESERVED
CONFIDENTIAL Intellectual Property • Industry Review Copy
1.
INT. HOLLIDAY DENTAL SURGERY - CENTER STREET, LAS VEGAS, NM - DAY (1879)
Bright morning sunlight cuts through a fresh glass window. The room smells of carbolic acid, clove oil, and plaster.
DOC HOLLIDAY (27) wears crisp, starched white dental overalls over his dark trousers. He leans over a local rancher seated in a heavy cast-iron barber’s chair, carefully rinsing an impression tray.
In the corner, KATE (28) sits at a pine desk, neat stacks of receipt ledgers in front of her. She wears a clean linen apron. For the first time, her face looks rested, peaceful.
The brass bell over the front door CHIMES.
WYATT EARP (31) and JIM EARP (50) step inside. Dust-caked wool dusters, heavy riding boots, Stetson hats in hand.
Wyatt stops dead in his tracks. He looks at the white overalls, the carbolic glass jars, and Doc holding a brass dental mirror. A slow, disbelieving smirk spreads across Wyatt’s face.
WYATT
Well, as I live and breathe.
Wyatt takes off his hat, tapping the trail dust against his thigh. He looks at Doc, then over at Kate, then back at Doc.
WYATT (CONT'D)
What's a high-stakes faro dealer like you doing digging in a farmer's mouth for quarters?
Doc sets the brass mirror onto a glass tray with a delicate CLICK. He wipes his fingers on a clean white towel.
DOC
(calm, measured)
Silver, Wyatt. Four dollars for an extraction, six for a filling. Honest coin. St. Peter keeps a cleaner ledger on teeth than he does on cards.
Wyatt steps closer, leaning his hip against the operating table. He picks up a small silver mouth probe, turning it in the sunlight.
WYATT
Look at you. All dressed up in white overalls, smelling like vinegar and turpentine. You look like a butcher in a hospital, John.
Kate stands up from her desk. Her chair scrapes hard against the floorboards. Her knuckles press flat into her ledger.
KATE
(sharp, warning)
He is a Doctor of Dental Surgery, Earp. A graduate of Pennsylvania. He has a diploma on that wall and clean air in his lungs. State your business and take your trail dust out of our parlor.
Wyatt turns his blue, cold-steel gaze on Kate. Polite, but utterly unyielding.
WYATT
Good morning to you as well, Kate. You're looking fit. The New Mexico water agrees with you.
KATE
We signed a six-month lease. John works by daylight. We eat at six. He hasn't touched a deck of cards or a glass of rye since the train crossed the line. Don't you come in here bringing Dodge City dirt onto my clean floors.
Wyatt looks back at Doc. His voice drops into that low, magnetic purr that always drags men toward trouble.
WYATT
There's two thousand miners sitting down at the Plaza right now, John. Dirty, thirsty, and pockets bulging with fresh silver from the San Pedro mines. They're playing monte on blanket tops in the dirt because there isn't a proper dealer within two hundred miles.
Wyatt tosses the silver probe back onto the tray.
WYATT (CONT'D)
Why pull rotting molars for copper when you could be pouring whiskey at your own bar? You could be dealing faro for fortunes at your own Gin Mill and Parlor House. Kate could be running a proper boarding house instead of cooking hash for your sorry ass.
Kate steps directly between Wyatt and Doc. She stands toe-to-toe with Earp, her Hungarian eyes burning like hot coals.
KATE
He coughed blood in Dallas until his shirt was red, Wyatt! He came here to live, not to die for your ambition! He is done dealing cards for you!
Doc looks down at his pristine white sleeve. He looks at Kate’s fierce, protective stance, then over at Wyatt’s calm, relentless eyes. A heavy silence fills the dental office. The trap has been sprung.
DOC
(a faint, tragic smile)
Wyatt... what kind of license does San Miguel County require for a parlor house?
Kate’s heart breaks in her chest. She turns to Doc, helpless, as the white overalls suddenly look like a shroud.
FADE OUT.
