To Cross a Wasteland

by Phillip D Granath

  Coal simply nodded and said. “That’s right.”

  “That is quite the operation you have going over there, I mean I should know I usually end up buying your choicest cuts,” Councilman Murphy said with a grin.

  “Well what can I say, it’s always a seller’s market,” Coal said returning the grin.

  “That is definitely true,” Murphy agreed with a nod. “Let’s come back to that in a moment. So about a year ago, we had a little meeting similar to this, do you remember that?”

  “I do. I believe that’s where you offered me the job of forming up and leading your little cavalry unit,” Coal offered.

  “That’s the very one,” Murphy replied pointing at Coal.

  “Oh and I just realized, Rory, I’m not sure if I ever mentioned this to you, how awkward. I originally offered Coal your position. That was of course before I found you and by the way, what an excellent job you have done. No buyer’s remorse there,” Murphy said with a grin and turning in his chair to include Rory.

  “No, no I didn’t know that boss. Funny how things work out,” Rory replied. To Coal, the words sounded rehearsed, but Coal didn’t even turn to look at the Ranger.

  “There are a few things my Rangers have some…,” Murphy paused as if searching for a word. “Inexperience with though. Things that I think Coal could help us with.”

  “Sure is, I’m sure Coal could teach us all kinds of things,” Rory added.

  “What kind of things?” Coal asked flatly.

  “All kinds I’m sure, but especially, and please correct me if I’m wrong with any of this Rory, but things like. How to travel with horses in the deep desert? How to track men out there in the wastes? Those sort of, what’s the term again Rory?” Murphy asked.

  “Bushcraft,” Rory said simply.

  “Yes, bushcraft. Also, any information on the natives would be very helpful as well,” the Councilman added.

  Coal found himself nodding as the men spoke. Not in agreement, but in understanding. Murphy had managed to train a dozen cold-blooded killers to ride and kill together. But aside from killing, they were the proverbial babes in the woods if they lost sight of the town. If Murphy wanted to expand his power base, he needed his Rangers to be able to push out farther and stay out longer. He needed the skills of a tracker, someone who knew the desert and how to travel across it, he needed Coal’s skills. Coal pictured himself leading the Rangers deep into the desert and then once they were hopelessly lost, abandoning them to die. The thought made him smile.

  Taking Coals nodding and smile as an encouraging sign Murphy pushed ahead. “Coal last time we spoke, I offered you a tidy sum of chits, and I want you to know that my offer still stands. What I’m willing to do now, is also offer to become a partner in your hunting business as well. You’ll continue to receive 50% of the profits from that venture. In exchange, you’ll train my Rangers in bushcraft and act as their master tracker when the need arises. You’ll work with Rory, not for him,” Murphy made a point of emphasizing, “And report only to me.”

  “I’m sorry Councilman, let me take just a moment to digest all of that,” Coal replied with a furrowed brow.

  “You are offering me the same pile of chits, and it is a generous pile as I seem to remember. But now you want me to give you half of what my ranch brings in, and in exchange for that, I come and work for you? Forgive me for the asking, but how is that a better deal?” Coal asked skeptically.

  “I’m sorry, I wasn’t exactly clear on some of the finer points. You would keep 50% of the profits, but I would take over all aspects of the business you see. You would become a silent partner. In fact, I would expect you, and of course, your lovely family would want to move out as well. You could, of course, go anywhere else you would like in town, one of my buildings I suspect,” Murphy explained a grin sliding across his face.

  “I, I don’t know,” Coal replied not having to fake confusion. Wait, what? Was he actually considering handing it all over to this snake in a suit?

  “Coal, I want to say how impressed I ‘am that you managed to hold that operation together for as long as you have. It’s not every man that can take on the responsibility to govern and to lead men. It’s a heavy burden to have to carry, especially if one has not been properly prepared or even, dare I say even bred for such responsibilities. Trust me Coal I know. At times I have even doubted myself,” Murphy said clutching a fist to his chest a little melodramatically.

  Coal’s world had been turned on its head. He had been fully prepared, no, he had been looking forward to turning down another offer from the most dangerous man in town. To spit in the devil’s eye and laugh. He hadn’t been prepared for this. He had been offered exactly what in his heart of hearts he had been yearning for. How had Murphy known? Was the man that good? That smart? Coal was dumbstruck, on the surface at least this would solve all of his problems. He could simply be Coal, riding out into the wastes, working for Murphy when the need came up. He would still be the second richest man in town, still have his girls and booze when he wanted it. He may even start to like Rory and the rest of the Rangers. He glanced up at Rory. The Ranger Leader watched him wearing a smug look knowing Coal had been surprised and caught off balance. No, Coal decided then, he would still have to kill Rory.

  “Coal, let me take this burden from you. You would be free to ride out with the Rangers or on your own whenever you like, letting your Indian hair down so to speak. You would be the scourge of the wasteland, a legend in no time I’m sure. I think you would even find Rory and his men share many of the same …hobbies that your people do. What do you think about all of this Coal?” Murphy asked in an earnest almost pleading tone.

  “I don’t know…what about…what about Charlie? And my people?” Coal asked in reply.

  “Charlie?” Murphy asked looking at Rory.

  “His foreman, he runs most of the day to day over there,” Rory replied.

  “I see no reason any of your employees need to leave, all would be welcome to stay. The business was successful enough with them in place. Including this Charlie fellow.”

  “I, I need time to think about it,” was the only reply Coal could muster.

  The former councilman leaned back in his chair, his hands clasped in front of him. He stared at the half-breed intently, deep in his own thoughts. Murphy then turned and looked to Rory.

  “All right,” Murphy said then turned and looked back to Coal. “All right, but the window on an opportunity like this one, well it closes quickly Coal.”

  “Two days, three at the most, I’ll give you my decision then,” Coal replied.

  Murphy nodded. “Alright Coal. I just hope it’s the right one.”

  Coal stood, nodded to Councilman Murphy and walked out, brushing past Rory without a glance. The Ranger looked at the Councilman.

  “Pardon me for asking boss, but didn’t you want me to kill him if he said no?” Rory asked.

  “Plans change. I think our latest offer may have just done the trick, I’ve never seen Coal so self-engrossed. No, we’ll give him his few days, but if he hasn’t come over to our way of thinking by then he never will,” Murphy explained leaning back in his chair.

  “Then he becomes the Ranger’s problem,” the Councilman added.

  Rory simply nodded in reply.

  Black Jackets

  By the time Coal rode away from Murphy’s the sun had all but set. The town was bathed in half-light but in the shaded streets and alleyways night had already arrived. It matched Coal’s mood, dark and threatening. The half-breed couldn’t quite put his finger on what part of the deal he hated. The part where Murphy handed him a pile of chits, the part where he took all of the worries off of Coal’s shoulders or maybe it was just the way Coal hadn’t seen any of it coming. He shook his head, Murphy had been so right about him he just didn’t want to admit it, didn’t want to give the bastard the satisfaction.

  Coal had never considered himself a leader. Hell Charlie showed more leadership and management skill
on any given day then Coal had...well probably ever. Some men took to it, it fit them, like a suit of fucking armor or something. Murphy was like that, the bastard wrapped himself in it and projected an aura that told weaker men they should follow. Sure the man was batshit crazy and was leading a pack of stone-cold killers, but even Coal couldn’t deny the ease in which he did it. The city council had underestimated the man, the youngest elected official in the town’s history he had once boasted. Now the council and the rest of them had been paying the price for that mistake for more than a decade.

  Leadership to Coal had always felt like a straitjacket. It constrained him, it held him back. It told him to run when he wanted to fight, it told him to stay when he wanted to go. It was a cumbersome burden he would cast off if he could. That’s what Murphy had offered, a release from all of that, a chance to just ride, perhaps with Murphy’s Rangers, maybe just away. Let the big man take on the responsibility if he wanted them, he already said Charlie would stay on to run the place, probably do a better job with Coal gone anyway.

  Why did Coal want to resist this so badly? Murphy had made him more than a fair offer the first time. This time he had offered up maybe the only thing that mattered to Coal, his freedom. Why couldn’t he just say yes then? Because fuck Murphy, that’s why. Coal grinned and almost said the words aloud. Because before the world had gone to hell, men in suits, men in offices had ruled the world with slick talk. Well, now men with dirt under the nails of their calloused hands did, men like Coal. Sure it may not be much of a world, but it was theirs now. Of course, men like Murphy would never stop trying to take it back if they could. Men that would smile, while shoving chits in your pocket and then a knife in your back.

  He wouldn’t sell out to Murphy or any other of the Murphy’s of the world. In fact, Coal decided things had gotten just a little too convenient for the would-be Kingpin of the wasteland. Coal would look into what he could do to even the playing field a little bit. Coal stopped his horse in the street, he looked up and saw two Black Jackets walking their rounds up and down Main Street. He grinned and kicked his horse into a trot into the darkness.

  “Fuck all of the Murphys of the world!” Coal shouted out loud.

  A few minutes later Coal sat on his horse in front of the Black Jackets clubhouse. Knowing Rincone, the man would have loved to have set up shop in the town’s police station. Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, depending on where you stood, it had been burned to the ground just days after the collapse. The building that the post-apocalyptic police force now called home had been a private social club. Not the type supported by college kids with pockets full of singles, the kind where retired business types sniffed cognac and avoided their aging trophy wives. At least that’s what Coal imagined had happened in these types of places.

  The building itself was a two-story red brick structure that had survived the collapse relatively unscathed. The Black Jackets insured it stayed that way by constantly patrolling their single block with an unwelcoming party. Thieves, murderers, and civilians, in general, were encouraged to stay out of the area entirely. Usually, that encouragement was punctuated with an exclamation point in the shape of a nightstick.

  Four Black Jackets stood on the front steps of the clubhouse. Two flanked both sides of the heavy double doors while the other two leaned against the steel railing. All conversations had stopped when Coal road into view and all eyes were on him now. One of the guards next to the door spoke first.

  “What’s your business here Coal?” the young man asked.

  Coal dismounted before he replied simply. “I’m here to see Rincone. My business is with him.”

  The man cracked the doors a few inches and whispered inside then shut them again. Coal still holding his horse’s reins looked around awkwardly for a place to tie them too. Not finding any place within easy reach the Indian held them out for the closest Black Jacket to take, one of the two leaning against the rail. The young street tough looked down at the offered reins, then up at Coal before he scoffed loudly and turned back to his friend. The other Black Jacket’s eyes went wide as he watched Coal, it was enough to make the first man doubt his decision and turn back to Coal.

  It was too late. Coal’s punch caught him just above the left eye, and the gang member dropped like a stone. Two of the remaining Black Jackets froze, not quite sure how to respond. The third doubled over laughing hysterically and pointing to his crumpled leather clad compatriot. Coal didn’t say a word, he just held out the reins to the second man. To his credit, the Black Jacket hesitated just a moment before taking them from Coal.

  At that moment the double doors swung open and tall black-clad man filled the doorway. “Coal!” he shouted.

  “Chief of Policing Rincone,” Coal replied, watching the eyes of the gang leader light up at the use of his title.

  Then Coal saw those eyes narrow as the Chief noticed the unconscious form still laying in a pile at the bottom of the stairs. His eyes took in the scene darting between his men and then came to rest back on Coal.

  “What happened here?” Rincone asked.

  The guard standing next to the door had just been able to choke down his laughter when the Chief had arrived spoke. “He fell down…hard.”

  Rincone’s eyes stayed with Coal, the Indian didn’t look away. “Well, he did fall,” Coal offered.

  The chief shook his head and shouted down at the still unconscious form. “Be more fucking careful!” with that the chief turned and walked back inside nodding for Coal to follow.

  Another gang member stood in the entryway as the two men entered, he manned an actual coat check, one that the gang apparently still used. Both walls of the small space held row after row of black leather jackets, a shelf above held an orderly row of riot helmets, now all painted black of course. Though Coal couldn’t recall ever seeing one of Rincone’s men wear one. Next, to the doors leading into the club a wooden rack held over a dozen nightsticks. Not one of which didn’t boast some type of post-apocalyptic upgrades such as steel studs, bolts or spikes.

  The Chief nodded to the guard inside. “He’s with me Wade, no worries.”

  The guard returned the nod and retook his seat, Coal suspected that he may have had to disarm if the Chief hadn’t just personally vouched for him.

  The inside of the club was as nice as Coal remembered. The floor of the hallway was green marble and the walls covered with elegant wood paneling. They passed by one room where a half-dozen gang members drank and laughed around a billiards table. Another room on the left showed a small library with a half dozen couches. At least two of them were filled with sleeping Black Jackets. Coal followed the Chief up a wide wooden staircase and around a corner to the chief’s office. Just outside of the Chief’s door a small desk sat with an equally small Black Jacket leaped up at seeing their approach.

  “What’s up boss? Who’s this guy? I could have brought him up to see you, no need to be bothered,” the little man spoke with quick, twitchy movements. Coal immediately associated with that of a rodent.

  “Relax Benny. You were on the can. No biggy,” the Chief replied raising a hand in dismissal. The two men walked into the Chief’s office, and Coal quickly shut the door behind them, squarely in Benny’s face. If either the Chief or the little man objected to his exclusion, neither said a word.

  “Take a seat,” the chief said gesturing to a chair across from his simple steel office desk.

  Coal sat as Rincone turned up the wick on the lantern that had been burning low on his desk, the flame filled the space with light. To Coal, Rincone with his tall, lanky figure and his perpetual 5 o’clock shadow had always looked like a young Abe Lincoln. Though it had been over a decade since the Indian could even remember seeing a penny. The rest of the Chief’s office looked like it came straight out of a T.V. cop drama. Several steel filing cabinets lined one wall, a simple steel desk, and a back shelf covered in awards and accolades. These included a dozen plaques, many too tarnished to read, a few trophies, several of which
were crowned with men wielding baseball bats and several dozen badges encased in blocks of acrylic.

  The Chief swiveled in his chair following Coal’s eyes to the back shelf. “Admiring our little memorial?” he asked.

  “Uhhhh…yeah, who is it a memorial to exactly?” Coal replied, not sure what else to say.

  “I don’t know really, law and order in general I guess. Civilized society as a whole maybe,” Rincone said, swiveling his chair back to face Coal. The Indian found himself nodding, though he didn’t really understand what Rincone was talking about, to Coal the world seemed just as uncivil before the fall. Now it was just forced to be honest about it.

  “I hope you don’t mind, I have a little court business that I need to see to before we can get to, well whatever it is that has brought you here,” Rincone said apologetically.

  “Fine by me, it’s your show Chief,” Happy to stall as he still needed to figure out the best way to bring up Rincone’s split from the council.

  The Chief smiled and opened one of the drawers on his desk. He reached in and withdrew a heavy revolver. Coal immediately tensed and leaned forward instinctively ready to attack.

  “Settle down there Killer, no need to get riled up. At least not yet,” Rincone warned in an easy tone.

  He lifted the magnum to point it at the ceiling. Coal couldn’t help but notice it looked a lot like the one Kyle had carried. He didn’t know if that was a good sign or a bad. With his other hand, the Chief pulled out what looked like an overly thick wooden coaster and casually threw it on the desk between them. This was followed by a thick wooden mallet.

  “Oh shit,” Coal said as realized what was about to happen.

  BAM-BAM

  Rincone struck the wooden disk twice and recited. “This court is now in order, Chief of Policing Rincone now presiding. The court charges Coal…the Indian, with one count of striking an officer of policing and one count…disturbing my peace,” Judge Rincone seemed to have added the last charge as an afterthought.