Cowboys & Devils (Devil Aster Days Book 3)

by Olson, Mitchell

  The pianist cringed. What is that idiot doing bursting in here, declaring he’s after Ulric? Doesn’t he know he’s talking straight to Ulric’s gang? the pianist thought.

  “Who wants to know?” the greasy thug cackled, taking a swig of his ale.

  “My name is Aster,” the stranger said. “Though I suspect that won’t mean anything to you all.”

  The men erupted into laughter. “You mean Aster, like the flower?” one of them said, practically howling with childish (or drunken) delight.

  “With a tough-sounding name like that, its no wonder he’s tracking the most dangerous outlaw in the state!” another man said, wiping the tears of laughter from his crusty eyes.

  Aster sighed. “I am aware I share the name of a particular plant,” he said, turning away from the gang of unhelpful strangers. Instead, Aster turned towards the bar, locking eyes with the confused old bartender.

  “Maybe you could help me find Ulric,” he said. The bartender looked past Aster, to where Ulric’s gang was already on their feet with guns drawn. The bartender looked back at Aster’s hopeful, oblivious gaze. He made the smart call and hit the deck instead.

  “What you lookin’ for Ulric for?” said a gang member.

  Aster turned around to face them once more. “I’m the man that’s going to drag Ulric’s sorry carcass back to Hell where he belongs.”

  Gasps. Blank stares. Frustration.

  Aster left them and headed for the pianist next. The outlaw was outraged by Aster’s outlandish behavior. His patience wore thin.

  The pianist panicked seeing Aster striding towards him. This fool’s behavior was definitely not accounted for in the pianist’s plans. He wrapped his left hand around the barrel of a gun concealed within the bottom of his coat. He had a feeling he’d be needing it soon.

  “Excuse me, music man,” said Aster. “You’ve probably heard by now, I’m looking for Ulric. Is he here or what?”

  “Fool…” the pianist uttered. “That’s his gang over there!”

  “Them?” Aster said, casting a disgusted look back towards the other men. “I guess it must be slim pickings here. Hardly the image of the men I’d want in my army.”

  BANG!

  The outlaw’s anger had peaked. Though he wasn’t exactly sure what Aster had meant by the army comment, he still recognized his words as a vague insult and had to be dealt with. So he shot him.

  The bullet hit Aster square in the back. The pianist saw a flash of pain in Aster’s eyes before the man stumbled forward. Aster’s death, unfortunate as it was, would be the perfect moment for the pianist to get his plan back on track. He knew it was now or never.

  He caught Aster by the shoulders and held the man’s limp body in front of him. With his other hand, he held his gun. The outlaws were still hootin’ and hollerin’ and drinking. Far too distracted to notice the gun now pointed at them. The first step was to take out the aggressive one. The others were still relaxed and hadn’t yet drawn their weapons.

  The pianist drew his gun. Aimed. Almost fired.

  “Are you using me as a shield?”

  The pianist froze. He turned his head slightly, and sure enough Aster was staring directly into his eyes with that same look of bored agitation. Even though he’d just been fatally shot, he looked as though he thought he was in no danger at all.

  A second of confused pausing too long. Someone noticed the extra gun in the room.

  “The piano man’s got a gun!”

  Ulric’s gang was up and on their feet with weapons drawn. Aster was still staring into the pianist’s eyes.

  “You don’t mind if I acquire a new shield for the both of us?” Aster asked. The pianist shook his head. Aster spun free from the pianist’s grip and kicked the edge of a nearby round table. The thick, wooden table spun on its rounded edge and rolled forward, blocking the outlaw thugs from sight.

  “How’s that?” Aster asked.

  “Draw your gun and get down!” the pianist ordered as he did just that. Aster remained standing, even as the table before him became littered with bullet holes.

  “This is only step one of my plan,” said Aster. Without consulting, Aster gripped the edges of the table and rolled it forward at the gang. He used his full strength, and the table rolled across the room so fast it actually became lodged in the wall on the other side.

  Ulric’s gang was divided, diving out of the way of the rogue table. The pianist couldn’t believe what he saw, but snapped to his senses more quickly. He dove behind the edge of the bar for safety before the gang regrouped. Aster remained standing in place.

  “Get down!” the pianist urged him. “They’ll shoot you again! You got lucky that first shot was a dud! At least draw your own gun! Do something!”

  “I don’t really want to hurt any of you,” Aster said to the gang as they scrambled to their feet once more. “But if you’re going to insist on siding with Ulric and being annoying, well then I guess I’ll have to deal with you first.”

  Aster picked up a nearby chair. The first man to draw his gun and aim it at Aster became the first target. Aster tossed the chair across the room with such force and accuracy that no one in the room had ever seen before. The chair collided with the outlaw’s face, the wood split and cracked from the force. The man dropped his gun and fell to the ground. He did not get back up.

  The next guy to draw his gun almost wet himself from fright. It probably didn’t help that he’d been drinking whiskey all day either. His hand was shaking and his aim was poor. Aster sensed this, and made no move to dodge. He only advanced.

  The outlaw fired, a stray bullet that hit the wall. He aimed a little more steadily, but Aster kicked the chair before him. It flew across the room and hit the poor drunkard in the chest. He toppled to the ground, landing on top of a full spittoon that splattered its contents all over the man.

  Another gunshot. Aster felt the bullet collide with his shoulder. He turned his attention towards the next man, the trigger happy gunman who shot him. Aster started walking towards him now, but the outlaw wasn’t going to give him the chance to launch another chair.

  BANG! BANG! BANG!

  Three more gunshots went off. The first hit Aster in his gut. The second slammed into his solar plexus. The last one struck him in the chest. Aster winced. He’d have some bruises for sure, but the bullets were definitely not fatal.

  “Your toys are starting to annoy me,” said Aster, standing before the outlaw who shot him. The gun in his hand clicked over and over again, refusing to pop any more caps into the pissed off stranger before him.

  “I think we done bought some bad bullets,” the outlaw said. Aster clocked him on the side of his head. He only used less than half of his strength. He knew a full one hundred percent of his strength would kill the man.

  Three gang members remained. All three took shelter behind a nearby flipped table. One at a time, they took turns popping up and firing a round at Aster. Aster managed to easily dodge, strolling casually through the room he snatched up a deck of playing cards.

  Aster waited for the next outlaw to pop up from behind the table. As soon as one did, he took a playing card and chucked it at him. With precise aim, he managed to badly cut the man’s fingers. The outlaw screamed at all the blood coming from his hand and dropped his gun at once. Suddenly, the other gang members were having mixed thoughts about their chances.

  “I’ll leave you all alone if you get out of here right now and forget about Ulric,” said Aster. “Or, I could hurt you some more. It’s your call.”

  The pianist watched everything from behind the bar. He was too amazed to do anything more than watch. Is that guy an assassin too? If so, he’s way better than me.

  Suddenly Aster spun around. There was another gun shot. Everything moved so fast, the pianist couldn’t tell what happened. He crawled forward, trying to find a better vantage point. When he finally deduced what had happened, he couldn’t fully believe it.

  Standing in the room with them now was Ulri
c, a bloody playing card lodged in his forehead. Aster was on the ground writhing in pain. In Ulric’s hand was a smoking gun.

  Ulric reached up and plucked the playing card out of his forehead. Blood shot out of the wound. He admired the card, a joker, for a moment before smirking and discarding it.

  “Your aim is as sharp as ever,” said Ulric flatly.

  “Not so…” said Aster. His face displayed a look of pain he’d yet to show. “I was aiming… for your gun.”

  “An interesting little tool, isn’t it?” Ulric asked, examining his gun with a grin. “With only one movement of my finger, I can render you unconscious. I could even kill you with it if I had enough bullets.”

  Ulric pointed the gun at Aster. He pulled the trigger, firing a bullet right between Aster’s eyes. The pianist felt his blood run cold at the spectacle.

  “Everyone up,” Ulric called to his men. “I don’t care how hurt you are: on your feet!”

  The gang of outlaws grumbled in pain as they climbed slowly on their wobbling feet. The bartender was uttering a silent prayer to himself, and the women had long since ducked into a storage closet. On the balcony above the bar, the woman Ulric had dragged off to bed earlier stood naked, leaning up against the railing with a cigarette pressed between her lips.

  “Hey boss,” one of the men said to get Ulric’s attention. “Is our bullets bad or something? How come that guy ain’t dead yet?”

  Blood oozed out of Aster’s forehead wound, but the bullet sat on the floor next to him. Aster looked dead or unconscious.

  “This man is like me,” said Ulric. “Hard to kill. Tie him up, drag him around, string him up, then use him for target practice.”

  “Okay boss,” one of the men said. “But what if he gets up and starts making trouble again?”

  “Another shot to his head will put him to sleep again,” Ulric said. “So remember: head shots.”

  Two of the men sprung into action heading outside to retrieve rope. While they were busy doing that, one of the men told Ulric about the pianist.

  “The piano man has a gun too,” he said. “He’s behind the bar right now, probly waitin’ to ambush us!”

  The pianist didn’t wait any longer. He grabbed a nearby bottle of alcohol and chucked it towards the other end of the bar. Instinctively the outlaws drew their guns and fired towards the sound. The pianist, no, the assassin acted.

  He leapt from the opposite end of the bar, gun drawn and aiming straight at Ulric. “You’re mine, Ulric!” he declared. The assassin squeezed the trigger. His gun fired. The bullet struck Ulric. It was the first thing Aster saw as he gained consciousness on the floor, Ulric’s gang already working to tie him up.

  The bullet struck Ulric in the shoulder. The man stumbled back a bit, but was otherwise okay. Aster tried to stand up, but found himself much weaker than he’d anticipated. He tried to bust free from the ropes too, but they slung a rope around his neck and pulled it tight.

  Ulric returned fire on the assassin. The assassin dove behind the bar again. Someone dragged Aster out of the bar by his neck while the other men fired off the rest of their bullets at the bar. When they ran out of bullet, the gang promptly left the bar.

  The assassin waited only a moment before rushing to the window. The men were on their horses now, with one man still holding the rope that was tied around Aster’s neck.

  “Put as many bullets in his brain as it takes to kill him,” Ulric said. “It may take a while, so have some fun with it. When you’re done, bury his body where no one will ever find it and head back to Fort Luster. I’ll see you all there!”

  With a slap of his horse, Ulric was off. The assassin thought about trying to put another bullet in the man, but his confidence was shaken. He couldn’t believe that everyone in the bar that night had been sold bad bullets, but it seemed the only reasonable conclusion. How else could Aster and Ulric still be alive?

  His thoughts returned to the unfortunate Aster, as the outlaws took off dragging him at top speed towards the edge of town.

  Part Three: Devils Don’t Die

  Less than a mile outside of Granger Ulric’s gang found a nice tree. It was a tall, thick oak tree. Barren but sturdy. The lowest hanging branch easily supported the weight of the length of rope that was tossed over it. Two of the men gripped the rope tightly in their hands and started walking away from the tree. On the other end of the rope was Aster.

  Being dragged through the dirt for so long had torn his clothes to shreds but did not hurt him much. Devils are much tougher than humans, after all. He was unconscious for most of the dragging anyway, and only awoke when he felt the pressure of the rope tightening against his neck. He had only to exert a little of his strength and flex his neck slightly to avoid any strangulation.

  When Aster opened his eyes, he was facing the tree trunk and slowly spinning. He closed his eyes quickly before turning to face the gang of outlaws. He could hear them already celebrating their supposed victory over him. He didn’t want to spoil the ending just yet, so he pretended to be asleep while he thought over his next move.

  The gang was none the wiser to his act. Assuming the man to already be dead or at least severely unconscious, they were already convinced of their success. They took the time to assess their inventory, examine the “bad bullets” they were using, reload their guns, and of course drink more alcohol.

  Aster plotted. He could easily break free from the ropes that were binding his hands together behind his back. That part would be easy enough, but then the gang would know he was alive and well. Another shot to the head and he was certain he’d be out like a light again. He couldn’t screw this up, or they really just might finish him off.

  His plan was simple. He’d start by freeing his hands, then immediately tear/burn the rope around his neck to free himself. Once grounded, he’d use a combination of speed and strength to put his enemies to rest. It all depended on how fast he could go, and he was very confident when it came to his speed. One thing was certain: Aster did not want to get buried by these guys.

  BANG! A bullet whizzed by Aster’s ear.

  Crap, he thought, they’re starting.

  A few more shots were fired before Aster could act. One hit his leg, another hit him square in the chest. No shots hit his head yet though, and for that he was grateful. If it wasn’t for their piss-poor aim I might be dead already, Aster thought, fighting the urge to smirk. Oh well, I better get this show on the road before my luck runs out.

  He was really looking forward to the looks of fear the men would display when he tore off the ropes wrapping his wrists with little effort. He would delight in seeing the men all scramble to draw their weapons, straining their weak human eyes to keep up with his super fast devil speed. He looked forward to the challenge of avoiding every single bullet they fired at him from now on.

  But when he opened his eyes and snapped free from the ropes biding his wrists, another gunshot rang out across the land. The bullet severed the rope only a foot above Aster’s head. The surprised devil fell to the ground while the gang of outlaws scrambled into action, their attention divided between Aster and the mystery gunmen.

  With a less than perfect landing, Aster dashed forward and slapped the gun out of the hand of the nearest man pointing it at him. With his weakest left hook, Aster decked the man in his gut. He dropped instantly. Only one other guy was paying attention to Aster and he was about to warn the others.

  In just two movements, Aster reached into his jacket sleeve, grabbed something, and then threw it. The projectile arced low, then rose suddenly and struck the outlaw’s face. His hat went flying and he dropped his gun to grab at the bloody gash across his face. Stuck to the rim of the man’s hat was a playing card that Aster had snuck out of the bar with him.

  The other men were locked in combat with an invisible enemy. From somewhere far off across the land, a gunman was hiding and firing upon the gang. The unknown assassin took shots at their hands to disarm the outlaws, and when they tried to flee
their legs became the next targets. The remaining outlaws found that dodging bullets coming from an unknown location and trying to stop a man that won’t die is an impossible task.

  With all members suffering from either a fresh bullet wound or a severe physical attack, Aster waited for his unknown assistant to make his presence known. While he waited, he took to questioning one of the men who was hanging on the verge of consciousness.

  “Where is Ulric?” Aster asked, shaking the man violently. The outlaw coughed a little, mumbled something about kissing a specific body part, then passed out completely.

  Aster dusted his tattered clothes off and waited patiently for the assassin to ride up to him. It was the same piano player from the bar in Granger that he’d found himself sided with. Though Aster didn’t actually need the man’s help, he remained courteous and appreciative to not blow his cover.

  “I’m friendly,” the assassin said once he was within earshot of Aster. He rode up on his horse, a huge brown stallion, with his arms raised partially in the air to show he meant no harm.

  “You’re that music man,” Aster said. “What are you doing here?” For someone who’d just been shot multiple times, dragged behind a speeding horse and then hung from a tree, Aster looked quite healthy and spoke as such.

  “I came to help you out,” the man said. “But it looks like you didn’t really need my help. You have quite an ability there.”

  “I’ve been polishing my combat skills for a very long time,” said Aster. “Weaklings like them don’t even put up a decent fight.”

  “I was referring to your ability to not die,” the man said. “How many times were you shot? That’s some luck you have to only get hit by defective bullets.”

  Aster shrugged. “I am lucky, I suppose.”

  “My name is Cactus Jackson,” he said. “But you can call me CJ. I come from Britain, hence the accent,” CJ said. Aster had wondered about his accent.

  “So what’s your plan now if you don’t mind me asking?” CJ asked.

  “I’m going to wait around here for one of these thugs to wake up,” said Aster. “Then I’ll make him tell me where Ulric is.”