Reaper (#1, Duster and a Gun)

by Gregory Blackman

  “Tell me how you truly feel.”

  “Ya’d like that, wouldn’t ya?” he asked. “I bet ya get off on hearin’ about others. I reckon ya think yer some real slick shit. Not today, and not after I’m through with ya.”

  “You got me all figured out it seems,” I said, rising from the bed and walking over to the iron bars that separated us. “No point in hiding it anymore. I’m a bad, bad man, Deputy Foreskin, and you don’t want to mess with me.”

  “Keep talkin’,” the deputy replied. “You’ll be an ol’ man before ya see the other side o’ these bars.”

  “What time’s it, Foreskin?”

  “It’s fuck you o’clock!” Deputy Forsythe shouted as he brandished a pistol. “I told ya to stop callin’ me that! Say it one more goddamn time… go on... I fucking dare ya!”

  The deputy stood shaking, and shuffled over towards me. He might try to talk tough, but his nervousness told me more. Likely this wee little deputy had never been in a fight he couldn’t fix, probably never fired that gun of his, either.

  “You’re a true blue hero,” I said with my hands on the iron bars. “I bet you wanted to grow up just like the Duke, himself. Probably the reason you put on that badge… am I right?”

  “Yer damn right!” the deputy bellowed as he took a step closer. “Ya don’t have the privilege of mutterin’ his name. He respected the law, knew when to step up and be counted. He’d be sick to his goddamn stomach lookin’ at the likes o’ you.”

  “Boy, you don’t have the guts to pull that trigger. You’re no man, you’re nothing more than a rat, so crooked it could swallow nails and spit out corkscrews.”

  “I told ya,” he said with the pistol pressed to my head. “Keep it up an’ I’ll swear to the Sheriff ya took my keys an’ I was actin’ in self defense.”

  “But that’s exactly what I’m doing, Foreskin—.”

  “I told ya!” the deputy screamed as he pulled back the hammer. “Shut. The. Fuck. Up!”

  I grabbed the gun before he managed to pull the trigger and a bullet fired into the cell. I pulled his arm and used the iron bars to snap it in two. He cried out in agony, spewing vomit across the room.

  “M-my arm!” he cried. “Ya broke my fucking arm!”

  “You’re lucky I didn’t kill you,” I said, rummaging through his pockets, “but I’d be lying if I said I didn’t enjoy it.”

  “Goodnight, Foreskin,” I said as I banged his head against the bars, “…Or maybe I should say good morning, someone didn’t have the courtesy to tell me.”

  It took a little longer than usual, but I was a free man once more. I unlocked the bars, grabbed the pistol and dragged the unconscious Deputy Forsythe into the cell. He wasn’t bleeding heavily but he could lose the use of his arm.

  I checked through the Sheriff’s records in order to get a better idea what I was dealing with. A man like him probably had a number of men on his payroll, those not in uniform and hidden behind dark shadows. It didn’t take me long before I gave up my search. Whatever this crooked copper was dealing in, he kept his contacts in a safer place.

  “I reckon I misjudged you, Sheriff,” I said under my breath. “Maybe you’re not a complete buffoon after all.”

  * * * * * *

  I waited in the jail for close to an hour, until it got dark, his gun aimed towards the door as I sat in his chair. I was a patient man, but I needed to be on the road, and my time could be better spent than sitting in the tiniest shithole of a Sheriff’s office I’d ever seen.

  I opened the door of the jail to find that night had indeed fallen and surprised I also found the esteemed Sheriff waiting for me outside, henchmen to each side with guns drawn.

  “Nice to see ya awake, Mr. McKidrict,” said the Sheriff as he took a step forward. “I’ve been waiting for ya. Never did like the boy much… and now I’ve got two men to replace him. I reckon ya remember them?”

  It was the two rednecks from the fight in the tavern, one Irishman and one enormous hillbilly, now standing like toy soldiers, straight as an arrow and lacking the stink of alcohol or any emotion.

  When I first saw them in the bar, I didn’t give them a second thought. They were hooligans, not worth the time it’d take to stomp them. They were the kind that took up space in the world, never contributing and certainly never amounting to anything of value.

  These men barely resembled the two. They stood without expression; their stares were dead, with not a hint of thought behind their eyes. It was as if they had lost the freewill that was given to them in birth.

  I didn’t know how the Sheriff was doing it, there was something more going on in this town than I had realized. The bartender was right; I’d never seen a drunk tank like the one in this town.

  The Sheriff held my gun and ordered his boys to holster theirs; they both did so willingly and stepped forward to fight me, their daggers glistening in the moonlight.

  Even liquored up and full of narcotics, these lowlifes wouldn’t have managed to slow me down for more than a minute. Still, I had little time to spare and I wasn’t about to waste any more time dealing with them. It was the Sheriff that I wanted. Unlike these two shells, he knew exactly what he was doing.

  Before they took another step I put them down with two bullets to the brain. They weren’t bad men, but they were in my way; and the latter never fared well. They were both rocked backwards and collapsed to the ground.

  Two bullets down, that left one for the Sheriff. “Never bring a knife to a gunfight, Sheriff!”

  “Now don’t think for a second that I won’t put one through your head too if your finger so much as twitches. Put my gun in my holster and take it off, nice and slow … we’re going to take our time with this.”

  “So now we do this hard way?” the Sheriff asked. “Ya got a real twisted sense o’ morals, Horace.”

  “That’s twice you’ve used my name,” I said, watching him lower my gun. “Now, how exactly do you know who I am?” You got someone else pulling the strings, I get that. What I don’t get is why anyone would give a shit about some inbred wannabe, playing Sheriff with a brain damaged deputy—.”

  “You’re nothin’ but a tick,” he said, “feedin’ off the blood o’ hard workin’ people. I’m gonna enjoy this, reaper.”

  I expected him to strike first, even gave him the opening he needed. I figured I might as well give him a running start, so to speak. What I didn’t expect, however, was he’d be concealing brass knuckles. The taste of blood had already reached my mouth by the time I hit the ground. The Sheriff started to rain down blows as he straddled me.

  “One more for the good guys,” the Sheriff said as he licked some blood from his brass knuckles. “I’ll see you in Hell, you uncivilized piece of trash.”

  With his back arched and fist raised high, the Sheriff prepared to crush my skull with one final blow, but a kick to his balls made him recoil in agony.

  “Nothing but trash, isn’t that right, Sheriff?” I asked, slowly picking myself up and wiping the blood from my eyes.

  I caught the gleam from the brass knuckles as Sheriff Madsen swung to strike me one more time. I sidestepped the blow and returned one of my own, hard into the solar plexus. He gasped for air frantically as I darted into the shadows, out of his line of sight. The Sheriff had done a number on me. One more slip and it’d be my last.

  “Show yourself, reaper!” barked Sheriff Madsen. “I want to see the life flee from your eyes when I bash your goddamn skull in!”

  “You’ve called me by name,” I said, stepping from the shadows. “You’ve called me by title. Explain to me just how you know who I am? What demon is it that whispers in your ear?”

  “Fuck you,” the Sheriff said.

  He took a jab at me, but I avoided it and took his legs out from under him. I stepped on his hand and wrapped my hand around his throat and dug in deep as he gasped for air, spittle running down his chin.

  “How do you know my name?” I asked once more. “Tell me and I’ll ma
ke this quick.”

  “I’m not tellin’ you shit,” he croaked. “If you’re gonna kill me, get on with it.”

  “You’re not getting off that easy… believe me, Sheriff; I know pain.”

  “You h-heard me,” the Sheriff stammered. “You can g-go screw y-yourself, reaper.”

  “Relax Sheriff,” I said, “You’re going to live… both you and your good for nothing deputy.”

  I struck him in the head with the butt end of the gun. He went out like a light and went limp under my grip. He wouldn’t to be bothering me anymore.

  “You’re a lucky man, Sheriff,” I said, collecting my holstered gun. “Ten years ago I would’ve plugged all three of you before you got a chance to open your damned mouth. So yeah, you’re lucky that I’m getting soft.”

  I looked down the dimly lit street and made sense of my path. It was a clear shot to the stables, but there was something I had to do first. It wasn’t for Gabriel or the boy that I stayed, but the crazy old geezer I made a promise to and I intended to see it through.

  Honor is a fickle thing among men. For most, it’s a moral compass upon which they could judge, and be judged by others, a code most seemed to abide. But there was always differences between the codes of men, some so stained and twisted who’d see the world burn to make their dreams come true.

  There weren’t many men in the world to stop them, but those of us that did, found we had to become like them to bring them down. For in the darkest depths where those vile creatures roam, they are most vulnerable.

  It was a fine line in which I walked, and the harder I tried to be a better man, the less I became what it was that made me special in the first place. I was a cold-blooded killer, bred for battle with Hell’s most unholy of creatures, and I was good at it, at least I used to be.

  Chapter Twelve

  Duster and a Gun: Reaper

  Gregory Blackman

  Fight Another Day

  I stumbled down the main street as fast as I could. My head was ringing and blood continued to stream down my brow and into my eyes. I would’ve passed out had it not been for the urgency of the situation. By the time the sun rose, I would be far away from here. They could chase me, but I was wise in the ways of tracking, and of keeping tracks away from prying eyes.

  Whatever was going on in this town, it wasn’t my job to find out. All that mattered was grabbing Billy Godwin and taking him someplace safe. I hadn’t thought of what would happen to the boy afterwards and frankly it didn’t bother me in the least. Most likely, I’d drop him at the first orphanage I could find. It wouldn’t be great for him but it was much better than his life here.

  The Sheriff couldn’t wield a power like this. My first thought went to banshees, wicked monsters that could bend the will of man to suit their purposes. Still, it mattered little what creature had taken over this town, I had bigger fish to fry.

  “Here goes nothing,” I said out loud, not a single soul roamed the street. I rushed up to the door and knocked hard. “Mr. Godwin, are you there?”

  No response from anyone inside.

  “It’s urgent! If you’re the there, Billy, you’ve got to answer me!”

  Once more, no response, however I could hear someone moving. I’d be our here all night or until the Sheriff had managed to bring a small army this time.

  “I’m coming in!” I shouted and using the strength and skill afforded to those of my order, I kicked down the door. The house was dark except for the moonlight and stank of manure.

  “What the hell do you want?” Mr. Godwin asked as he stepped from the shadows. “You get the hell out of my house!”

  The boy’s father stopped in his tracks, much like most men do when staring down the barrel of a gun, cocked and ready to fire. He even wet himself a little as he cringed back from me; again, not an uncommon sight for those unaccustomed to the ways of the old days. Eventually, we all learn one way or another.

  “Help!” cried Billy from somewhere upstairs. “Horace… help me!”

  “Stay right there,” I commanded the boy’s father as I started up the staircase. “If I come back and you’re not here… I’ll start shooting and believe me, Mr. Godwin, I don’t miss.”

  I made it up to where I could hear Billy begging behind a door. I could feel his frightened banging on the door. Bump. Bump. Bump.

  “The door is locked!” I bellowed. “Stand back, Billy! I’m going to kick the door down and you don’t want to be behind it!”

  I waited until I heard Billy shuffle to the back of the room before I kicked yet another door down.

  “Come quick,” I said, motioning to the boy. “We’re going to get you out of here.”

  As Billy stepped out of the room and past a moonlit window I caught a glimpse of the young boy, still in the tattered rags that I had found him in. He had been locked in a dungeon for days and seemed to fare no better here. His blonde hair was still matted with sweat and blood.

  “What the hell’s been going on here?” I said in shock.

  “You’re not taking my boy,” Mr. Godwin argued as he grabbed the Billy from the stairs. “The master mustn’t know of the boy’s return! I’ve already lost one child... I cannot lose another! I’ve given up too much to let you take him from me—!”

  “Say another word, you sick bastard,” I said, aiming my revolver at his head. “Just give me one more reason.”

  I was ready to pull the trigger but I felt a slight tug on my duster that halted my actions. I looked down to see Billy, wide-eyed and tearing up at the thought of losing his father. Mr. Godwin wasn’t a good man by any stretch of the word, but he was still the young boy’s father, and no child should have to see his father gunned down in front of him.

  “You’re a lucky man, Mr. Godwin,” I said, “but not that lucky.” as I struck him with me gun on the side of his head and sent him reeling to the ground. Billy cried out, seeing his father bleeding on the floor, but I assured the boy that his father would be all right after a sleep. I grabbed Billy by the hand to lead him out of his house.

  “We’re going to get you out of here Billy, where no one will hurt you.”

  I turned, stopped and shielded him behind me. It looked as if every man, woman and child in town was standing in the street outside the house. They were waving torches and pitchforks in the air, the only weapons they likely had. Half of the townsfolk wore the same vacant expression as the two thugs the Sheriff had set upon me; the rest shouted obscenities and cursed me, believing that I was to answer for their sins. Even the bartender was there and while he wasn’t a man I expected to bond with, I never thought to see him spewing the same bile from his lips as the rest of the pack. Perhaps they were right, but I wasn’t about to be judged here, by them.

  I should’ve fired my gun into the air to drive the horde back, but I couldn’t help but reel from the parallels between this crowd and the people that’d saved me from the Abaddon all those months ago. They were simple people wielding whatever weapons they could find, all in the hope of driving back the darkness that threatened to unravel their town. This time, however, the monster was me. I was the one they feared so much that they’d risk their lives to stop me.

  “Come out here an’ face the music!” Sheriff Madsen shouted as he pushed through the crowd. “I’ll have your damned head on a pike!”

  The Sheriff didn’t look any better than when I’d left him lying in a pool of his own blood but he was full of piss and vinegar and ready to go another round.

  “You gonna take us all on, gunslinger?” the Sheriff continued. “I doubt you’ve got enough bullets for all of us.”

  “I reckon I just need one,” I said with my gun aimed at him. “Strike you down and watch them scurry.”

  “You know nothin’,” he replied. “This lot will tear you apart, piece by piece, until all that’s left of you is feed for the pigs!”

  We’ll see about that, I thought to myself, but another tug on my jacket pulled me back to Billy. He was scared, no doubt about that
, but even though he spoke no words, I could understand exactly what his eyes were trying to say. There was a way out of this mess and Billy knew exactly where it was.

  “Another day, Sheriff,” I said, as I pulled a large bookcase beside the front door over to block the home’s entrance and hurried after Billy through the dark.

  “Get him you idiots!” the Sheriff bellowed. “The one who kills ‘im, gets a statue in ‘is honor!”

  “Well go! And fast, that won’t hold’em long boy.” I said.

  He pointed to a doorway and I scooped him up and ran, downstairs, which was odd enough, seeing as houses like these rarely had basements and none that spiraled as I barreled downwards with Billy over my shoulder.

  “What the hell is this?” I asked myself at the bottom of a cavernous room with a big black hole in the wall that appeared as if it had been created from the outside in. I don’t know how recent this development had been, but debris from the hole lay around the entrance and no attempt to clean it up had been made.

  “I hope you know where you’re going, boy,” I said, but he looked just as unsure about the situation as I was. Still, we didn’t have much of a choice so I pressed on through the hole until we were concealed by the same shroud of darkness that covered the entire passageway.

  Monsters thrived in the dark, and now I was walking straight into their lair. That was all right with me, however. Monsters I could kill, but an entire village of people was without precedence. If I was walking into a trap, I’d bring Hell down with me before I gave up the fight. A reaper doesn’t fear, he is feared, by humans and demons alike.

  Chapter Thirteen

  Duster and a Gun: Reaper

  Gregory Blackman

  Down and Out

  Billy and I trudged through the tunnel in the dark. It came to an end at another that would run under the main street, at least that’s what it felt like. We couldn’t travel any faster in the dark, his tender hand wrapped around mine.