Guns of the Waste Land: Departure: Volumes 1-2

by Leverett Butts

  When the last person was served, Big Jim Murratt, standing protectively behind his very pregnant wife, Elaine; and had taken his place. Gary Wayne and Boris were allowed to make as good a plate as they could from the leftovers and eat it leaning against the back wall as best they could manage once the sheriff allowed the dinner to begin. There were just enough of the peas and greens to split into two almost decent portions, but they had to split the last piece of cornbread and the final slice of baked ham that Gary Wayne had managed to save back.

  As the two boys carried their plates to the back and took their places against the wall, Ardiss rose, tapping his knife against his glass of tea until the hall reached some semblance of silence.

  “I’d like to thank you all for coming and helping me and Gwen celebrate the new year this afternoon.” He paused long enough to set his glass and knife back on the table and to allow the applause to die down a little. To his right, Guernica smiled shyly and nodded her head, blushing faintly at the attention. Lancaster, sitting beside her, gave her a reassuring pat on her shoulder as Ardiss continued. “Before we get started,” here he turned to his left and spoke to the Rev. Tallison, “Merle, will you lead us on with a few words?”

  Rev. Tallison smiled thinly, as he did every year, and rose slowly to stand beside his friend. He looked uncomfortably about the congregation, smoothing his black frock coat, and nervously flicked a strand of blond hair from his eyes as he towered at least a foot over the sheriff.

  “Let us pray.” The reverend’s voice rose with the last word so that he seemed to be asking permission. As everyone lowered their heads, he continued:

  “Lord Jesus Christ our God, You, who blessed the five loaves in the wilderness and fed the multitudes of men, women, and children, also bless these, Your gifts, and increase them for the hungry. Grant us also, as we stand at the beginning of this new year, the comfort of Your presence and guidance as we face the future. In the midst of life’s temptations and the pull of our stubborn self-will, help us not to lose our way but to have the courage to do what is right in Your sight, regardless of the cost. This we ask in the name of our Lord and Saviour, who by His death and resurrection has given us hope both for this world and the world to come. Amen.”

  As the congregation murmured their own amens, Rev. Tallison sank slowly to his seat. “Not this year, apparently,” he muttered as he slid his chair closer to the table, though Gary Wayne, at the back of the fellowship hall, admitted to himself that he could well have been answering an unheard question or muttered something else entirely.

  “As I’m sure you know,” Ardiss explained after the reverend was settled in, “it is our tradition to ensure that we don’t all just die of boredom out here in the wilderness, to make sure we start our new year with exhilaration. To this end, we cannot partake of our New Year’s feast until at least one person can provide us with some noteworthy div…”

  Ardiss’ speech was interrupted by the sudden crack of the double doors in the rear of the hall slamming into their frame, followed by a deep-throated chuckle.

  “Well, I reckon you’ll all be eating directly then,” the newcomer laughed.

  Gary Wayne, along with the rest of the startled congregation, turned to see a giant of a ruddy-faced man striding purposefully toward the front of the hall. He stood at least seven feet tall and was as broad across the shoulders as an ox. Beneath a leather vest, he wore an olive shirt open to his chest and tucked into a pair of trail-dusted jeans. He bore a pair of guns slung low on his hips.

  “Who might you be, friend?” Ardiss’ smile never wavered. Gary Wayne was sure he was the only person in the hall not startled by the stranger’s entrance.

  “Name’s Greene,” the newcomer replied not breaking his stride until he was within an arm’s reach of the sheriff. “Nathaniel Greene. My friends call me Nat.” He paused. “You can call me Mr. Greene.”

  Ardiss’ smile wavered for only a second. “Well, then, Mr. Greene. Come, share our meal, and tell us what brings you to our little corner of the Waste.”

  Mr. Greene turned his gaze over the hall with a mocking sneer. “No thank you, Mr. Drake. I will not eat your meat, nor will I taste your drink. I will simply do what I come here to do and be on my way so your fine folks can enjoy what’s left of their dinner in peace.”

  Ardiss’ smile widened, but even from the back of the room, Gary Wayne could see the steely gaze behind his cold blue eyes. Gary Wayne would later swear the temperature in the hall dropped a few degrees before Ardiss replied to this latest insult.

  The Reverend Tallison muttered something under his breath that Gary Wayne could not make out, and Ardiss nodded before taking a deep breath. “And what is it, friend, you wish to do here?”

  “I intend to set things right,” the stranger said, and what happened next seemed to Gary Wayne to happen in a blur. Without taking his eyes from Ardiss, Nat Greene drew his gun from his hip with his right hand and leveled it at his host’s chest, cocking the hammer with his thumb; his left hand, meanwhile, flicked out across his chest beneath his gun to Ardiss’ right. At almost the same time, Lancaster let out a gasp as a heavy black orb hit him square in the chest, his chair fell backward, and his gun skittered across the table. Guernica screamed, and many of the patrons followed suit.

  “No sir, Mr. O’Loch,” Greene said keeping his eyes locked with Ardiss’, “I do not believe your services will be needed today. I believe I can take care of my business with Mr. Drake just fine by myself, thank you kindly.”

  Lancaster merely grunted as he tried to regain his breath, Guernica helping him back to his chair as Caleb picked up the lead ball Greene had thrown and set it upon the table.

  “What do you want, Mr. Greene?” Ardiss asked calmly as if offering his guest a beer, ignoring the cocked gun.

  “I merely aim to deliver a message and a gift and be on my way.”

  “Well, then, sir, deliver them and be done with it.”

  Greene smiled coldly. “Mordecai sends his regards and asks that you have this back.” Nat Greene’s finger tightened on the trigger, and the hall erupted with the sound of gunfire as Ardiss dove to his right and sank to his knees, drawing his own gun. When he took aim, though, Greene lay face down, and Gary Wayne stood over him, smoke curling out of the barrel of his own pistol. When it was clear that Greene was down and that Ardiss was safe, Gary Wayne slowly released the hammer of the gun and handed it back to Deputy Eric Garan. “Sorry, sir,” Gary Wayne explained, “I probably ought to have asked before taking your gun like that,” Eric’s free hand went to his unexpectedly empty holster, and he looked confusedly back at Gary Wayne, “but I had to take my chance when it come.”

  “Th-that’s all right, son,” Eric said looking down to make doubly sure that this was his gun and that his holster was indeed as empty as his hand said it was. “That’s perfectly all right.”

  The rest of the gathered townspeople, who now understood what had happened, slowly clapped their hands as Ardiss stepped from around the table, walked to his nephew, and pulled him into an embrace, slapping him heartily on his back as he did it.

  “Well, Mr. Orkney,” Ardiss said with a laugh, “it would appear that I owe you my life this afternoon, thanks to your quick thinking and sharp shooting.”

  “Well, sir,” Gary Wayne blushed, “I didn’t do nothing nobody else wouldn’t a’done. I seen him up there, not paying any attention to me, so I grabbed Mr. Garan’s gun and got the drop on him is all.”

  Before Ardiss could respond, Eric, who had knelt down on his haunches to examine the body, spoke up. “Why ain’t there no blood?”

  Ardiss turned to his deputy with a question in his eyes.

  “Look for yourself, Ardiss,” Eric motioned to the form at his feet, “there ain’t nothing there. If it weren’t for his vest and shirt being blowed out, I’d say Gary Wayne missed and scared him to death.”

  At this, a low deep chuckle rose from the crumpled body at their feet. Eric fell back on his ass and slid into
his wife, Enid’s legs. Gary Wayne and Ardiss, however, stood their ground, though Gary Wayne’s face paled just a little when the body at their feet rose to all fours. Once again, the hall fell silent except for Nat Greene’s booming laughter. The giant man rose to his feet, dusted himself off, and turned to glare at the boy who had shot him. Throughout the hall, came the sounds of hands pulling leather.

  “Sharp shooting?” Nat Greene let out another bellow. “Really, Ardiss? How hard could it be to shoot a man in the back?” He turned to glare down at Gary Wayne. “Who is this little cock-sucker thinks back-shots make heroes?”

  Gary Wayne bristled at this, bucked up his chest, and stepped up to the stranger. “My name,” he said, “is Gary Wayne Orkney, and …”

  “And he is a duly appointed officer of the law in Bretton,” Ardiss finished. “Furthermore, I'm afraid we don't stand on ceremony here. If someone attempts to assassinate an elected official, we don't much mind whether they're front-shot, back-shot, or side-shot, so long as they're shot.”

  “Well, sir,” Greene responded, continuing to stare down at an unflinching Gary Wayne, “where I'm from, only a coward or a woman can get away with shooting a man in the back. Which are you?”

  Gary Wayne's face filled with blood and his jaw set firmly, but before he could try to draw someone else's gun, Ardiss gently pushed the young man back and stepped between them.

  “Mr. Greene, you appear to have received a belated Christmas miracle,” Ardiss' voice seemed an odd mixture of patience, irritation, and amusement. “I suggest you count your blessings, confess yours sins, and get the hell out of my town, before my hot-headed young deputy here shows you once again how much of a cowardly woman he is not.”

  Greene seemed not to hear Ardiss. “I demand satisfaction from this squint.”

  It was Ardiss' turn to chuckle now. “I am afraid, sir, that you are in no position to demand a thing. Except for a cleared path to the door.”

  “I have no objection,” Gary Wayne said, bending down to help Deputy Garan back to his feet. “If this man wants a fight, I will give it to him.” At this, he turned to meet the giant's eyes. “What are your terms, sir?”

  Nat Greene smiled. “My terms are these: You take a year to enjoy your newfound manhood. We will meet again, one year from today, in my territory and see if the fates smile on you as they have on me today.”

  “I do not understand,” Gary Wayne admitted.

  “It is very simple, son,” Nat Greene's smile widened, “We have had but half a duel; you took your shot. In one year's time, I will take mine.”

  “That's absurd,” Eric Garan called from behind Gary Wayne. “That ain't no proper gunfight.”

  “Nor was this,” Greene countered.

  Garan turned to his sheriff. “Ardiss, you can't permit this. It's foolishness.”

  “Indeed, it is,” Ardiss agreed. “I will not allow it.”

  Gary Wayne turned to Ardiss. “With all due respect, sir, unless you tie me to the bed in a jail cell, I do not see what you can or cannot do about it if I accept his terms.” Here he turned back to his challenger. “And I do accept his terms.”

  “In one year then,” Greene said as the crowd parted and he made his way back to the hall’s doors, “I shall send my second for you. Look for him after Christmas.”

  After the intruder left, the congregation turned back to their plates and ate their meals in relative silence. This year's meal had seen an assassination attempt, a resurrection, an impromptu deputizing, and a one-sided duel planned, suggesting (according to Ardiss' reasoning) a most notable year to come, few dared to speculate upon it or seemed comfortable discussing it so close to the young man seemingly doomed to enjoy but a year of his adulthood before surely falling under Nat Greene's fire.

  III.

  Sitting astride Valiant, Boris looked over his shoulder to where Gary Wayne and Gringo had fallen behind over the last hour. His friend seemed to be staring blankly out over the desert, and he was chewing the inside of his mouth as he had done whenever he was deep in thought for as long as Boris could remember. He felt briefly guilty for riding Gary Wayne about the jackalope earlier; Boris knew Gary Wayne had been obsessively vocal about finding Lancaster and exacting vengeance for his brother. Some of Gary Wayne's ideas about the proper disposition of Lancaster's remains once he was caught, tried, and justly hung had made Boris question his friend's mental soundness (one such suggestion, for instance, involved stretching Lancaster's skin into something called a cod-sock). Given this unhealthy fascination, Boris knew he should've been more sympathetic to Gary Wayne's distraction regardless of how silly it seemed at the time. He also knew that it would be fruitless to bring it up again. If he tried, Gary Wayne would simply answer with a grunt, and refuse to elaborate. Once shot down, most people, Gary Wayne included, very rarely got up again.

  Most people that is, except Nat Greene. Boris knew that the jackalope had reminded Gary Wayne of the Nat Greene incident. This was another reason Boris should've feigned more interest in Gary Wayne's fearsome critter. Had he not questioned what Gary Wayne claimed to have seen, Gary Wayne would, himself, not felt the need to justify it. Now Boris’ pard was falling behind, and it was obvious he was thinking about the day he was deputized.

  Boris knew exactly what Gary Wayne was thinking. He remembered that day as well, the interrupted New Year’s dinner (Boris had been just on the verge of amusing the townspeople with his story of finding a four-leaf clover growing out of a horse biscuit last week). He remembered the preternaturally silent dinner afterwards (Nat Greene’s entrance and its sequel drastically lowered the currency of Boris’ clover in shit story).

  After everyone had finished their meals, and Reverend Tallison had once again blessed the congregation and sent them off to encounter whatever the new year had in store for them, Ardiss somberly approached Gary Wayne, who sat in the back of the hall beside Boris again, quietly scraping the last of his food into his mouth.

  “Mr. Orkney,” He leaned over and spoke in not quite a whisper, “if you would be so kind as to accompany me across the street, there is something I need to discuss with you.”

  “Sure thing, Mr. Drake,” Gary Wayne replied as he swallowed the last of his dinner.

  Ardiss nodded and proceeded on to the door. As he opened it and prepared to step into the street, he looked back over his shoulder. “Bring Boris, too,” He said. “we’ll have need of him.”

  After cleaning up the tables and putting the fellowship hall back into order, Gary Wayne and Boris crossed the dusty street to meet Ardiss. They walked past the jailhouse and entered The Caring Lion Saloon, where Ardiss and his men could be found more often than not, holding court around the faded poker table in back rather than next door pushing papers and riding nursemaid over town drunks locked safely away in a cell. Caleb Ectorson, who in addition to being Ardiss’ Chief Deputy was also the owner and proprietor of the saloon, had long ago cut a doorway connecting the back storeroom with Ardiss’ office in the adjacent jailhouse.

  “You boys can’t be in here,” the bartender, Shanghai Denny, glared at them and waved the rag he used to wipe the counter at them. “You’re too young. Oughta have your hides tanned just for thinking about it.”

  “It’s okay, Denny,” Ardiss said from the back of the room, he and Merle were playing double solitaire in the shadowed alcove in back of the room. “I asked them to come.”

  Shanghai Denny didn’t say anything to this, just grunted his disapproval and began wiping down the counter again, shaking his head. Ardiss waved the boys over to the table, as Merle collected the cards and reshuffled them. He handed the deck to Gary Wayne, who cut it with his right hand. Merle looked at the bottom card in Gary Wayne’s hand, the six of clubs, and nodded to Ardiss before reshuffling the deck and dealing one card face down to each player save himself.

  “The game,” he announced in his almost quavering voice, “is Five Card Stud, nothing wild.”

  “I hate stud,” Gary Wayne said irritably
, forgetting momentarily who had invited him. He could hear Caleb’s voice growling in the back of his mind. Stupid dolt, you’re sitting at table with the sheriff, cully, not some inbred slop-boy. If he wants to play Chicago Bitch naked and with his toes, you’ll strip and say thanks.

  “Stud poker,” Ardiss said, “is as close to life as any game ever gets. You don’t get second chances, and you have to choose based on your best guess and judgment.”

  Merle dealt a card face up to each player. Ardiss’ face showed only a hint of a frown when he received the four of clubs. Boris received the four of diamonds, and Merle looked twice when he laid six of clubs in front of Gary Wayne.

  “Are you not going to play, Reverend?” Boris asked taking note of the empty patch of green felt in front of the dealer.

  “Cards are the devil’s playthings, son,” Merle said with an almost imperceptible wink. “I believe you have the low card; it’s your bet.”

  Boris looked at his hole card and kicked in two coppers, and the betting moved on to Ardiss, who merely glanced at his four of clubs and called. Gary Wayne raised the bet by another two pennies, and his companions each called. Merle dealt the third cards.

  He laid the one-eyed jack of hearts in front of Ardiss, who then turned the corner of his hole card and peeked. He glanced fleetingly back at his jack and looked across the table at Gary Wayne. “You impressed me this morning Mr. Orkney. Not many boys your age would’ve had the grit to stand up to an armed man in a crowded hall.”

  “Or men,” Merle added as he laid the ten of clubs in front of Boris and the jack of spades in front of Gary Wayne. “Your bet, Mr. Orkney.”

  Gary Wayne opened with a nickel. “Oh, I don’t know, Mr. Drake. Boris here woulda done it if I hadn’t. I just had a better chance at Eric’s … I mean Deputy Garan’s gun.” Boris looked at Gary Wayne’s bold opening and threw him a questioning look but met his bet. Ardiss smiled to himself, gently shook his head and did the same. Neither raised.