The Colonel had placed posters around the town, the ink still glistening, fresh from the local newspaper’s press. The posters read:
All day the Colonel sat at the back of the Southpaw, his back against the wall and facing the entry. He could see the entire establishment from his corner. Feet clunked across wooden floors boards that were loose in places.
So far everyone that had enquired about the job Colonel had rejected. He received all manner of people who could (or thought they could) handle a gun, or as one gentleman put it - sling shooting irons. If it wasn’t their boasting, the first thing that would escape their lips was:
- So how much does this pay?
The Colonel knew how much they were after, but always gave the lowest price to send them away with sour, disappointed faces. However, the Colonel knew he was running out of time. The stranger had killed his compatriots, people he trained and supported across this frontier. There was only he and Shaman left. Part of his mind would cling to the hope that the killer might seek Shaman first. And maybe, there would be a chance that Shaman would be the one to finally despatch this adversary. But it was last conversation with Shaman chilled him. He had seen Shaman do many things. He had seen him at the end of that terrible day in the valley. Covered in the ink of old tattoos and the blood of his enemies. Of his victims. He had seen for the moment an inhuman look in Shaman, which in a blink was gone. Paris avoided him after that day. The Colonel kept his promise and allowed Shaman to walk away and never enter another battle again.
The whiskey bottle was empty, and so it seemed that the Colonel’s time was up. But the Colonel wouldn’t go without bringing one final war.
The train of thought was ended when a newcomer entered the saloon. Dressed in a dark coat, covered in the dust from the desert wind. A mottled black hat with a wide brim hid his features. The Colonel could feel the cold steel of the derringer in the palm of his hand. The killer always got very close to his kills. The man came up to the table without a word, heavy boot thudded across the floor. And then stopped opposite to the Colonel.
- Excuse me, sir.
His voice was gravely and low
The Colonel narrowed his eyes, his finger felt for the trigger.
- Are you the one who has put up those posters around town? The same which claims you are looking for – skilled individuals?
Exhaling, the Colonel eased his grip on the derringer in his hand.
- Yes.
The tall man removed his hat from the crown of his head in respect.
His face seemed worn like the cliffs in a desert wind.
- Well I was wondering, in regards to the certain dangerous person you needed protecting from, how dangerous is he?
The Colonel smiled.
- You know something, you are the first person to ask me that all day. Please take a seat.
- Much obliged.
The man took out a chair and sat down, placing his hat on the table.
- And what is your name?
The Colonel eyed the man, which the man returned in kind.
- Most of all people call me Eli, so I guess that’s what I go by now. But you still haven’t answered my question.
The Colonel sat back, his smile eroded.
- Very dangerous. He has killed a number of my friends and a few others. All very skilled people. Such as I imagine you would be.
Eli nodded, rubbing his with his index finger.
- Oh I’ve been in a situation or two. And I’m around still to say how it got resolved. Do you know what he looks like?
- I’ve had reports that it’s just some pale kid in a coat that just too big for him. He guns down anybody that stands in his way, but he’s always hunting someone in particular. Heard that he walks the entire way too. Doesn’t have a horse, can’t ride or won’t. Thing is that he takes the weapon they’ve used and something else they’ve had on their person. Never takes any currency. Whatever he takes of value isn’t for selling, but for some kind of memento. And now I believe he’s coming after me.
- Your adversary sounds mighty interesting. Any reason why he might be coming after you?
- And that is the damnedest thing. I have no idea why. I figured it might be a job we did a number of years ago, figured it was a family member out for a spot of revenge. But I heard the boy barely speaks, or he some kind of mute. I’ve seen plenty of people on a vendetta. They all have a story and they are all proud to tell it to anyone. This boy, well, he just doesn’t have a story. He just kills. And he kills very well.
Eli sat silently taking this in. The Colonel leaned in slightly.
- And you’re still interested in the job?
Eli nodded contemplatively.
- Yeah. Yeah, why not. And I’ll help you find others, considering the turnout I’ve heard you had today.
A smile slithered across the Colonel’s face. He signalled over to the barkeeper
- Excellent. Let’s have a drink.
One of the bar staff brought over a fresh bottle of hard liquor and two glasses. A young woman poured out the amber liquid with soft hands. The Colonel watched her intently, rubbing his index finger against his bottom lip. Eli watched them both. The girl seemed to ignore the Colonel body language, as a woman working in such a place, with men filled with drink and certain ideas might. Eli knew the Colonel was no better than anyone he worked for. But a job was a job. And Eli knew this might turn out to be the strangest yet.
The Colonel raised his glass to toast the newfound deal. Eli raised his.
- Salud.
Chrystal clinked together and both Eli and the Colonel found each other sipping at their whiskey. They both smiled.
Preceded by: Part 3
Continued in Part 5 (Coming Soon)
Wanted: A Group of Skilled Individuals for Protection and Capture of Dangerous Person. All Fees Paid in Hard Currency. Enquire within Southpaw Saloon.
All day the Colonel sat at the back of the Southpaw, his back against the wall and facing the entry. He could see the entire establishment from his corner. Feet clunked across wooden floors boards that were loose in places.
So far everyone that had enquired about the job Colonel had rejected. He received all manner of people who could (or thought they could) handle a gun, or as one gentleman put it - sling shooting irons. If it wasn’t their boasting, the first thing that would escape their lips was:
- So how much does this pay?
The Colonel knew how much they were after, but always gave the lowest price to send them away with sour, disappointed faces. However, the Colonel knew he was running out of time. The stranger had killed his compatriots, people he trained and supported across this frontier. There was only he and Shaman left. Part of his mind would cling to the hope that the killer might seek Shaman first. And maybe, there would be a chance that Shaman would be the one to finally despatch this adversary. But it was last conversation with Shaman chilled him. He had seen Shaman do many things. He had seen him at the end of that terrible day in the valley. Covered in the ink of old tattoos and the blood of his enemies. Of his victims. He had seen for the moment an inhuman look in Shaman, which in a blink was gone. Paris avoided him after that day. The Colonel kept his promise and allowed Shaman to walk away and never enter another battle again.
The whiskey bottle was empty, and so it seemed that the Colonel’s time was up. But the Colonel wouldn’t go without bringing one final war.
The train of thought was ended when a newcomer entered the saloon. Dressed in a dark coat, covered in the dust from the desert wind. A mottled black hat with a wide brim hid his features. The Colonel could feel the cold steel of the derringer in the palm of his hand. The killer always got very close to his kills. The man came up to the table without a word, heavy boot thudded across the floor. And then stopped opposite to the Colonel.
- Excuse me, sir.
His voice was gravely and low
The Colonel narrowed his eyes, his finger felt for the trigger.
- Are you the one who has put up those posters around town? The same which claims you are looking for – skilled individuals?
Exhaling, the Colonel eased his grip on the derringer in his hand.
- Yes.
The tall man removed his hat from the crown of his head in respect.
His face seemed worn like the cliffs in a desert wind.
- Well I was wondering, in regards to the certain dangerous person you needed protecting from, how dangerous is he?
The Colonel smiled.
- You know something, you are the first person to ask me that all day. Please take a seat.
- Much obliged.
The man took out a chair and sat down, placing his hat on the table.
- And what is your name?
The Colonel eyed the man, which the man returned in kind.
- Most of all people call me Eli, so I guess that’s what I go by now. But you still haven’t answered my question.
The Colonel sat back, his smile eroded.
- Very dangerous. He has killed a number of my friends and a few others. All very skilled people. Such as I imagine you would be.
Eli nodded, rubbing his with his index finger.
- Oh I’ve been in a situation or two. And I’m around still to say how it got resolved. Do you know what he looks like?
- I’ve had reports that it’s just some pale kid in a coat that just too big for him. He guns down anybody that stands in his way, but he’s always hunting someone in particular. Heard that he walks the entire way too. Doesn’t have a horse, can’t ride or won’t. Thing is that he takes the weapon they’ve used and something else they’ve had on their person. Never takes any currency. Whatever he takes of value isn’t for selling, but for some kind of memento. And now I believe he’s coming after me.
- Your adversary sounds mighty interesting. Any reason why he might be coming after you?
- And that is the damnedest thing. I have no idea why. I figured it might be a job we did a number of years ago, figured it was a family member out for a spot of revenge. But I heard the boy barely speaks, or he some kind of mute. I’ve seen plenty of people on a vendetta. They all have a story and they are all proud to tell it to anyone. This boy, well, he just doesn’t have a story. He just kills. And he kills very well.
Eli sat silently taking this in. The Colonel leaned in slightly.
- And you’re still interested in the job?
Eli nodded contemplatively.
- Yeah. Yeah, why not. And I’ll help you find others, considering the turnout I’ve heard you had today.
A smile slithered across the Colonel’s face. He signalled over to the barkeeper
- Excellent. Let’s have a drink.
One of the bar staff brought over a fresh bottle of hard liquor and two glasses. A young woman poured out the amber liquid with soft hands. The Colonel watched her intently, rubbing his index finger against his bottom lip. Eli watched them both. The girl seemed to ignore the Colonel body language, as a woman working in such a place, with men filled with drink and certain ideas might. Eli knew the Colonel was no better than anyone he worked for. But a job was a job. And Eli knew this might turn out to be the strangest yet.
The Colonel raised his glass to toast the newfound deal. Eli raised his.
- Salud.
Chrystal clinked together and both Eli and the Colonel found each other sipping at their whiskey. They both smiled.
Preceded by: Part 3
Continued in Part 5 (Coming Soon)
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