by Ian Dyer
Those three brothers are deadly, Stephen. You would be doing the rest of the world a great justice by wiping them off the face of the earth.
There was no getting away from it, Stephen was as trapped as a fly in a spider’s web. Part of him was distrustful, holding back from the urges that he felt swelling inside of him like the coming of a great tide. There was another part, the part of him that had pushed him through the Watchman trials that was weak to such urges, weak to such base desires. He could usually keep that at bay, but Jonah was different, he was in their all the time, tapping on his head – even the smallest hammer, given time, could destroy the biggest rock.
The image of the dead Clicker came to Stephen and it reminded him of how close he had come to dying earlier today, it also reminded him of how much of an asset Jonah could be for him. He just needed to set some rules.
‘I will kill for ya, Jonah, I shall pull your ancient trigger but in return please be quiet. Only speak when I need you the most or I swear to all the Gods that I shall throw you into the deepest darkest hole and bury you there caring not for the outcome of any future. Do you understand?’
Yes. Now, off to the hill. I’m hungry!
10
Stephen grabbed his light coat and raced from his room, down the stairs, out of the bar and into the dark streets of Rockfall.
Back in the travellers, hidden by the open door of the bathroom, stood a confused Susie. She clutched tight the set of towels she had been asked to fetch wondering who it was that Stephen had been talking to. She daren’t open the door to his bedroom, even though she didn’t hear a second voice she feared for what she might find in there. Instead, she skittered into the bathroom and watched from the window as Stephen made his way from the boardwalk, across the dusty road and off in the direction of Hangman’s Hill.
It wasn’t too long before Susie went after him. It was something that she would regret doing, but only for a short while.
Morrie and a few other patrons watch her leave and turned to face each other – their faces alight with smiles. There was no one left to man the bar.
The Ones Needing Luck
1
‘So it’s done then?’ John scanned the three fire lit blank faces.
‘Course its fuckin done, John. We aint a bunch of fuckin Runnies ya know!’
John ran his hands though his hair. How he hated the Quint brothers. Hated them almost to the point of doing something about it. Almost; but not quite. He liked his life too much to act so foolishly.
‘Look, John, we could stand here all fuckin night staring into each other’s eyes like a couple of queers or you could hand over the money and we could be well on our way. We have just committed a murder ya know!’
The Deputy swallowed hard and prayed to whatever God loved him still that the Quint brothers would wait just a little while longer.
‘I have not got the money. Cathy is bringing it with her and she must be running late.’
Wilson closed his eyes and took in a deep breath. Before he could insult the good Deputy he heard footsteps coming up the hill.
‘Looks like you’ve been saved, my dear John.’
In silence Cathy walked up to John and kissed him upon the cheek. She handed him four rather large bag of money and stood aside.
‘This money is for a job well done and for staying the fuck out of this place for the rest of yer days.’ John threw the bag of money and they hit the floor hard. Wilson weighed them and then handed them to Boyd stood on his right.
‘My pleasure, Deputy. We will never darken your doorstep again. By the by, John, your ex went screaming and cursing your name something rotten. Made me regret not taking my time.’
Cathy lowered her head and closed her eyes trying to block out what she was hearing. Wilson couldn’t believe his luck.
‘Oh, so now the deed is done you have regrets?’ Wilson spat a huge wad of phlegm onto the floor, ‘Well it’s too fuckin late for that, now. Deed done. Live with it! Now if ya don’t mind we will be on our way. Good luck to ya John and Cathy, may the fates favour ya. You is going to be needing it.’
2
Wilson turned and came face to face with the barrel of a gun.
3
‘They aren’t the ones needing luck, Wilson Quint.’
4
Wilson smiled at the man facing him. He had to admire the bloke’s balls if nothing else. Bane and Boyd turned on the spot and drew their six shooters each pulling a bead on the lone gunman. Wilson raised his hands gesturing them to lower their weapons. He wanted this cunt to himself.
John and Cathy stood petrified, both in total disbelief at what they were seeing.
‘Well, well, well the man they thought to be a Watchman has a pair. We are well met?’
‘Shoot him in the fuckin face, Wilson, kill the fucker NOW!’ Cathy spat, pointing at Stephen.
‘Keep your woman quiet, John, she aint got a clue what she is talking about.’
With a tug upon her shoulder and a stabbing glare from John, they were the last words she spoke to Wilson Quint.
Stephen spoke calmly now. His voice unshaken and his gun not wavering. ‘We are not well met, Wilson Quint. You are a thief and a murderer. Now put down your weapons and place your hands in the air.’
Wilson smiled at the little man come hero standing before him and knew that this man was no match for him; nor his brothers.
‘Nope. They can keep their guns raised and you can lower yours, traveller. You are out manned and out gunned.’
Stephen smiled his deathly cold smile at Wilson. ‘Always so sure of yerself aint ya Wilson. Always so confident about your assumptions. Have you ever been wrong?’
‘Never. And I aint gonna be!’
Bane and Boyd’s trigger fingers became itchy and Stephen sensed that time for small talk was almost at an end. Before he could speak, Wilson butted in.
‘Look mate, you have a big set of balls and I admire that. A Watchman you aint and never will be. I on the other hand am a ruthless son of a bitch who murdered his own mother for a gold coin or two. I suggest that you turn away now before I lose my fuckin temper. Leave now and live my little friend.’
The three brothers stood, the fire ablaze in their eyes and their target stood well out in the open. It was obvious to see why they were so confident; Stephen was one man they were three. In reality though, Stephen was so much more.
Wilson lowered his hand.
Before bane could even think of pulling his trigger Stephen had side stepped to the right, twisted and fired two rounds straight into Banes pumping heart leaving the youngest brother dead as he fell. Boyd, now standing roughly two meters from Stephen had a perfect shot into the Watchman’s chest but Stephen, no sooner as he had fired the two rounds into Banes chest began to run across the flummoxed Boyd and around to the left side of him. Wilson fired off four shots; three missing wildly and the fourth buzzing past Stephens’s ear. The Watchman released another two slugs as he dived to the floor; one went through Boyd’s upper leg; blood pissing into the air the second went straight through his neck almost blowing his head clean off. Boyd fell to the floor on a pool of dusty blood. His screams were great almost monumental and then they were nothing. The Watchman ran forward and scoped up the dropped gun that had been Boyd’s and continued on. The elder brother backing away tracked the run of the lone gunmen (still not really getting the fact that his brothers were dead) and shot off two more shots. With a twist and a turn Stephen dodged the bullets and Wilson backed away even more quickly reloading just one bullet. By the time Stephen had come to a dusty stop, aiming both guns at Wilson’s head, the killer had managed to point his own gun at Stephens’s heart. So here they were like two gunslingers of old. Stalemate. Rules as old as time itself.
‘Wait just a fuckin second.’ Wilson demanded and Stephen who had no intention on firing took a step back and nodded.
‘What in Gods cunt are you?’
Stephen remained silent.
‘WHAT THE FU
CK ARE YOU! ANSWER ME!’
And still Stephen said nothing.
With all the skill he had Wilson fired off his single reloaded shot. The bullet tore through the air heading straight for Stephens heart. As the bullet went through the air Stephen fired his own gun and the two bullets rammed against each other. Sparks flew and hot metal spluttered to the ground. Wilson fell to his knees in shock.
‘I don’t give a fuck who you are I’m still going to kill ya yer fuck! I’m going to shoot yer fuckin eyes out ya cunt! Mark me!’
Wilson tried to reload his gun but his shaking hands and the hot barrels made it very hard. He began to tremble all over as the sweat and the shock mixed with the cool night air.
He managed to load two bullets. His hands still shook and his face was full of fury. He now knew what this man was but he didn’t care. If he was going to die then it would be firing his gun. He swung the weapon up to the man stood not one foot in front of him but before the trigger could be pulled Stephen kicked the gun from out of his hands.
Slowly Stephen leant forward pushing one gun to the forehead of Wilson the other digging into his chest just above the heart.
‘Time to die, Mr Quint.’ A single gunshot echoed through the desert drumming out the sound of skull and brain as it splashed against the hardpan.
5
As the smoke cleared from the moonlit air, Stephen threw down the gun that his left hand had scooped up and picked up the gun that he had kicked out of Wilsons shaking hands. With a twist of the wrist the chamber swung open and Stephen shook out the two remaining bullets. They fell to the floor closely followed by the gun.
Without even looking he addressed the two shuffling figures of Cathy and John.
‘Don’t move. Don’t speak. I am arresting you for conspiring to kill Ellen Drive and then paying for her brutal murder. Don’t even think of running. Mark me well! As much as I need to kill ya, I want you to face justice. I want you to look your children on the eye.’
John slumped to the floor looking at the three fallen brothers. Cathy quickly followed. Neither of them considered running.
‘How could he have known? How could he have known?’ Cathy muttered to the hardpan. ‘How did you know?’
John moved his hand over to Cathy as if to silence or bring comfort, Stephen was unsure of which.
‘How did you know?’ John mirrored as the situation sunk in. ‘Answer her question, Stephen. You owe us that, at least.’ John watched Stephen turn the three bodies over onto their bellies and knew that this was one of the old ways; though John couldn’t remember which one.
‘I owe you two nothing. You have broken the laws I was sworn to protect and for that you shall rot in a cell for the rest of your miserable lives.’
6
From the other side of the hill and hidden in darkness Susie sat with her back to Stephen; her head in her hands and tears rolling down her cheeks. She struggled to control them. Struggled to stop screaming. She had watched the man she knew she loved take down three hardened killers without taking a hit. She had watched Stephen effortlessly move between them like a ghost; like death, and cutting them down before they even knew it.
She heard footsteps coming her way and she pulled herself together. Susie quickly stood and ran off into the darkness and back toward Rockfall. The wind was cold against her skin and her eyes stung with the tears that still poured form them. She couldn’t believe what Stephen had done. What had she fallen in love with? How could such a kind man be so ruthless?
Above her, the Old Lady and her Nine Daughters winked with what looked like starry laughter.
From his vantage point Stephen watched Susie run off and on the breeze he could hear her sobs. He cared little for them. He could hear the mutterings between Cathy and John and cared little for those too.
He waited there for some time, in perfect silence until the Sheriff and a few of his townsfolk showed up. He answered their questions well enough leaving much to the imagination. Saying that he made them argue between themselves and taking advantage of the three brothers whilst they were distracted.
As he went to leave he heard Cathy scream at the Sheriff for forgiveness. Her screams were cut short by a slap to the side of her face and Stephen walked down Hangman’s Hill with a smile upon his mouth. He looked up to the stars and saw the Old Lady surrounded by her nine daughters and wandered if his King could see the same stars.
Thank you Stephen and as promised I shall remain quiet.
And Jonah was good to his word. He was quiet. But Jonah had other tricks up his sleeve, deadlier tricks, one that Stephen didn’t know about, ones that Stephen couldn’t even feel. It was these tricks that would, in a matter of hours, turn Stephen into the ruthless killer he needed to be.
7
Stephen walked back into Rockfall alone. The streets weren’t busy, time had raced on. The moon was high; halfway through its eternal cycle. It was a quiet evening, the scent of lavender was carried on the soft breeze. Somewhere far off he could hear the harsh tones of a banjo twanging out an odd tango.
As he passed a few sleeping homes, looking like blackened teeth in a mouth of yellow gore, his eyes were drawn to a lower window where a candle flickered brightly. A woman beckoned him over to her. As he approached Stephen noticed that she was naked, her bare body dazzled in moonlight and the flickering red of the candlelight. She was slim, underfed, with a face that was plain, hard and shone echoes of better days.
‘I heard what you did, Cowboy.’ She said, her voice low and dull – enticing. There were two purple lavender orchids tied into her ebony hair. In the distance a wounded dog yelped its end.
‘News travels fast.’ He was next to the window now, her sweet scent –wooden and cherry- filled his nostrils. ‘And you are?’
She smiled, a soft smile, one that hadn’t seen much light of the many days she had spent here. ‘An admirer. A woman that knows what a Cowboy needs. A woman that dreams of dreaming of you.’ She leant out and stroked his cheek – his stubble sounding like sand paper against marble. ‘The night is young, Cowboy and still full of wonders. You but only need to reach out a little to grab one. Or three if ya fancy.’
The air was wet with her voice, the candle light entrancing as it shone on her fake pearl necklace. His eyes and her eyes met, both wide; full of their sexual intent. Underneath it all, in the darkness that Jonah swam in, he smiled a wretched smile.
Stephen spent the night there and had himself some wonders – three of them.
Just outside, peeping through the window, Tommy unzipped his trouser and gave himself a quick wonder before running off into the dark night.
8
In the Travellers, Susie spent the night in her room, crying at first, and then remembering how much she loved Stephen and wanted to be with him. She thought about how she would go out tomorrow, to the small valley where the lavender grew and pick herself some of the orchids and decorate her hair for him. All for him. Always it would be for him no matter what he was or was capable of. What was important was that she loved him. Loved him.
She fell asleep with that thought.
Your Lives Are Coming To An End
1
Electrical impulses stimulate areas of our brain millions of times a day. These electrical currents control who we are, what we do and what we feel. They learn, they remember and they help store things away. They have the ability to link two completely separate senses together so that a smell can remind you of a place or an event. In times past, men could control these electrical currents and manipulate the wires of the mind so that memories could be wiped away, new ones made, even changed. Jonah had those gifts. In the past, men had used this marvel for good, but Jonah did not. Whilst Stephen slept, a good sleep – a deep sleep – Jonah had set about his task and rewired parts of Stephens mind. Like an errant child throwing toy blocks from his cot, Jonah showed little care for what he was doing and what he was making.
As the sun breached the horizon and bathed Rockfall in its mighty
glory, Jonah stepped back from his creation his mouth agape.
Wake up, Stephen. Wake up.
Stephens’s eyes opened abruptly.
2
He couldn’t remember what he had dreamt about, why he had awoken with a jolt, but it mattered not now that he was awake. He pulled back the dirty bed sheets and gathered his belongings together dressing as he went about it. He had done this pitiful act many times. This time though he didn’t have to leave a coin. The room he was in was familiar, much like all the others - small, fancy for a trick, adorned with cheap paintings and a beaten mirror. It smelt of sweet lavender and salty, stale sex.
He grabbed his boots and eased them on, his feet groaning. He glanced at the woman. She was not what he remembered. Her skin was pallid, blotchy and full of scars and lumps and bruises. Her tits, which he was sure were plump not six hours ago, were flat, like empty water skins. He rubbed his eyes, hoping that the woman he had seen last night would reveal herself like a poor magic trick – but she did not.
Stephen chuckled, stood and went to leave almost reaching into his pocket but then remembering not to.
Kill her.
Stephen turned and drew Jonah.
With your hands, Stephen.
Stephen re-holstered the gun and did what he was told. The woman’s eyes opened as the grip around her neck tightened. As she struggled the bed creaked and groaned much like it had the night before but this was a different dance. It wasn’t long before froth appeared from her wasted mouth. Her eyes were wide, sucking in the light, begging for him to stop. Her arms flailed wildly like out of control windmills in a winter’s gale.
Her body heaved up and down – up and down – up and… and then her eyes closed, her arms fell and the struggles eased. There was one last struggle for breath, like a distant sob after a good cry and then she was gone.
