Magnificent Guns of Seneca 6

by Bernard Schaffer

The bandit leaned down over Bob and said, "Then let me ask you a question. Why in the hell are them bastards still breathing?"

  Bob Ford stood up from his bunk and went over to the sink to run the foul yellow water over his hands. He dunked his head under it and started to scrub until it was soaking wet. The prison staff only gave the inmates safety razors and greasy lard cream to shave with, so it took Bob a fair amount of pulling and ripping to cut off all his hair and get himself bald. He picked up the safety razor and inspected it in the darkness, feeling the small but sharp edges housed in plastic.

  The next morning, he got out of his bunk and draped his towel over his arm, keeping his hand hidden as he headed for the showers.

  “Boy, look at the shiny dome on young Bob,” someone hollered.

  “Looks even more like a walking pecker than he did before, if that’s possible.”

  He stopped at the edge of the concrete floor, feeling the slippery tile with his toes. He stripped out of his loose shirt and pants and headed for the stall. Bob dropped a bar of soap into his towel and wound it in his hand and held it by its tail.

  “Shower time again, Bob?” someone said from behind him.

  “Ain’t seen you in here in two weeks. Where’s your guard friends? Thought you weren’t coming in here without them anymore.”

  “I don’t need them,” Bob said. He heard the shiver in his own voice and cursed it. He sucked in enough air to fill his chest and turned around to face the other men. There were three of them. The same three it always was.

  The fat one looked at the towel in Bob’s hand and sneered, “What you gonna do with that, Bob? Towel us off when we’re done?”

  The men came forward around the edges of the shower, surrounding Bob. Bob remained still.

  “We been nice to you so far, boy. Gentle as lambs. Why you wanna change up the arrangement?”

  “There is no arrangement,” Bob hissed. “You all are going to leave me alone!”

  “Sure there is,” the tallest one said. “You belong to us and nobody else messes with you. There’s a lot of angry people in here, Bob. It’s best to have friends.”

  “We are not friends,” Bob said.

  “No,” the tall one said. “I suppose not.”

  They all rushed forward at him at once, coming from every direction, expecting him to start swinging his makeshift weapon. Bob flung the towel and soap bar at the tall one and hit him with a lucky shot that smashed him right in the mouth.

  The other two grabbed Bob, the fat one putting his beefy arm around Bob’s throat and the other taking hold of his wrist. Bob relaxed, letting them move his body, letting them get close enough to him. He felt the fat one’s rolls of flesh against his back and reached back behind his legs with his free hand, the one with the modified safety razor.

  “Hold that son of a bitch,” the tall one sputtered. His mouth was black with blood and he stormed forward with both fists clenched, spitting spat chunks of sharp tooth fragments onto the floor, when the man behind Bob started to scream.

  The hold around his throat loosened and Bob whipped his hand around in a wide circle, spraying the shower walls crimson as he swung for the man holding his wrist. The edge of his razor caught the man across the right eye, splitting the orb in two.

  Bob pushed both men away from him and held up the razor, showing it to the tall one. He passed through the hot jets of water in the shower, feeling it washing him clean even as the other man tried to back up and get away from him.

  ***

  Johnny Saringo leaned against the damp, mildewed doorframe and looked through the slotted window at the beaten, naked figure on the muddy floor. Bob Ford lifted his head slightly, squinting at the bounty hunter between two swollen eyes, and then laid his head back down.

  “They’re all gonna live,” Saringo said. “You cut that one fool’s nose almost completely off. He’s gonna be able to breathe a lot easier without either of his nostrils getting in the way. The other one’s blind in one eye. And the fat one, well, let’s just say his baby making prospects just went down significantly if he should ever get out of here.”

  Bob pushed off of the floor and clutched his stomach, groaning in pain. “What the hell do you want, Mr. Saringo?”

  “The guards want you gone, boy. For one thing, they think you’re crazy and after they put the whooping on you, they’re afraid you’ll start cutting them up next.”

  “I wouldn’t do that,” Bob said. “They were just doing what they’re supposed to.”

  “Fair enough,” Saringo said. “But now they’re also worried about what the other inmates will do to you, including the three you mutilated once they get back from sickbay. They don’t want any dead bodies on their hands, Bob. It’s bad for business.”

  “But everything else that goes on here is okay?”

  “Everything has its limits, Bob. People too, which I think we’ve all seen pretty clearly here today. So, they intend to ship you out at the next flight. I have no idea what rock they’re going to bury you under, but I god-damn-guarantee you it will make this place look like a playground. That’ll be the end of your days, my friend.”

  “I guess that’s it, then.”

  “I guess it is,” Saringo said. “Unless, of course, you changed your mind about helping me.”

  “They aren’t going to let me walk out after all this,” Bob said.

  Saringo smiled and said, “You’d be surprised, Bob. The men I work for are what you might call the influential type.”

  “Influential enough to make all this go away?”

  Johnny Saringo reached down and twisted the cell door handle, then pulled it open enough for Bob to walk through. “That’s putting it mildly.”

  ***

  The space freighter bounced them up and down in their seats like rubber balls, but Johnny Saringo paid it no mind as he held up the display screen. He pointed to the masked figure at the center of the screen and said, “This is footage of Gentleman Jim during the Sandy Hill Bank Robbery. He shot the female clerk in the face when she told him she couldn’t open up her register, then he killed the bank manager just for sport. That’s what finally got him into the big leagues as far as bounties go.”

  Bob Ford leaned forward in his seat and squinted at the grainy photograph. “Can I see that?” he said.

  Saringo handed the screen to Bob and sat back. The seats were made of molded plastic and Johnny stuck his hands under his rear end to give his tailbone a rest. “Word is that he’s getting into darker stuff than just knocking off banks and robbing stage coaches. We have intelligence that he’s trafficking humans, snatching women and smuggling them off planet to sell them to the highest bidder.”

  “Selling them for what?” Bob said.

  “What do you think, Bob?”

  Bob Ford handed him back the screen and said, “I can’t help you, Mr. Saringo. That isn’t Gentleman Jim.”

  Saringo took the screen back and looked down at it, seeing the masked man holding a cocked revolver in his hand. “The hell are you talking about, Bob? It most certainly is.”

  “No it isn’t,” Bob said. He tapped the screen with his finger and said, “Gentleman Jim was three inches taller than me and had a square chin. This man is hardly taller than the woman he’s standing next to, plus he’s got an inverted chin, like it stopped growing early or something. See that mask? It’s all crooked and cheaply made. The man I rode with wouldn’t have used that mask to wipe his boots off with. Anyway, Jim never hurt a single woman in all the time I knew him and never let anybody else do it either. You’re looking for the wrong man.”

  Johnny Saringo looked back at the display screen for a moment, then turned it off and set it aside. He leaned forward in his seat and said, “Now you listen to me, you lily-livered son of a bitch. The only reason you aren’t getting bent over your bunk and stove-piped right now is because you accepted an assignment. Now, I don’t care what your memory tells you about the man you used to know, but that isn’t really important. The man in t
his photograph is the only Gentleman Jim I give a shit about and if you don’t want to spend the rest of your worthless, useless existence servicing the inmates of an entire prison wing, I suggest you get your head on straight. Am I clear right now, boy?”

  Bob Ford looked down at his shoes and nodded.

  “Outlaws die all the time and get replaced,” Saringo said. “Probably, one of his new partners was too smart to get caught in the same ruse that trapped you and put a bullet in the last one’s brain. All he had to do was put on a mask and sooner than you could say ‘stick-up’ he was the new boss hog. So what if this new one don’t have quite the same code of chivalry as the former? If he wants to wear the mask, he’s gonna face the consequences for every single one of them that’s ever done it.”

  “It wasn’t me being stupid that got me caught,” Bob said. “It was me being loyal. I did what he told me to do because I was following orders.”

  “Yeah,” Johnny Saringo said, “And look where that got you.”

  ***

  Johnny Saringo watched Bob get dressed in his old clothes and frowned as he hiked up his black trousers. “Look how baggy they are. You lost some serious weight in there, boy.”

  “The food had bugs in it,” Bob said.

  “Yeah, they don’t pay much mind to the cuisine they serve, I reckon. Listen, the first thing you need to do is get a room and establish some sort of presence. Don’t move too fast, or you’ll spook people. Just get the lay of the land for a few days and see who knows what. Buy some drinks. Nothing like a free drink to loosen a man’s tongue.”

  “How am I supposed to pay for all that?” Bob said.

  “You didn’t bring no money?” Saringo said sharply.

  “Well, no, they didn’t let me keep any when I got arrested.”

  Saringo snorted with laughter and said, “I’m just kidding with you, Bob. Lighten up for Pete’s sake. Here.” He reached into his pocket for a small sack of coins and said, “This here’s enough for two full weeks of shelter, food, and drinks to bribe the locals for information. Use it wisely because there won’t be any more of it for two weeks, and after that, you only get half this much.”

  “What about a gun?”

  “The hell you need a gun for?”

  “What kind of outlaw doesn’t carry a gun?”

  “That kind that just got out of a goddamn maximum security facility and should be grateful to still be drawing air, Bob.”

  “All right, Mr. Saringo. I understand.”

  Saringo dropped the bag of coins into Bob’s hand and said, “Listen, I put a little extra in there out of my own pocket so you can enjoy yourself tonight. You been through hell, and I reckon you can use a few drinks and maybe some female companionship to get your head right. But just tonight, okay? Come first light, you better be hard at it, or else. Understand?”

  Bob nodded and said, “Thank you kindly for the consideration, sir.”

  Saringo patted Bob on the arm and said, “You sure are a puzzle, Bob Ford. Anyway, go on now. Get to it.”

  The freighter’s cargo hatch popped open and Bob leaned forward to take his first breath of fresh air, but caught a face full of hot dust. He lowered his head and ducked into the gust, no sooner stepping onto Seneca’s surface before the engines whined again and the transport started to lift.

  He scurried out of the way and looked up to watch the ship ascend, seeing its thrusters glow as it pushed up into the atmosphere. Bob stood still for a moment, looking into the sky.

  “Get out of the way, you goddamn idiot!”

  Bob leaned back as a destrier pulling a wagon charged past him, its hooves smashing the ground where Bob’s feet had been standing a second before. People stared at him and shook their heads as Bob backed away from the road and headed for the town’s main square.

  He passed rows of bakeries and medicine shoppes until he came to a large wooden building with swinging doors and windows in the shapes of tombstones. Dalewood Saloon was splashed in chipped red paint above the porch roof. Bob walked in and waved to the bartender, “You have any rooms for rent?”

  “Yes we do. How long you staying?”

  “Not sure, sir,” Bob said. “Can I pay as I go?”

  “Five dollars for the first night. For two extra dollars I’ll send a woman up to your room after supper.”

  “I’ll let you know, if that’s all right,” Bob said. He dropped a coin into the bartenders hand and said, “Where’s the gunstore?”

  ***

  The clerk looked up from his newspaper at Bob and nodded, taking stock of him in one glance. Nervous eyes with grey skin and a sickly build. Hollow, wet looking eyes when he said, “Good morning, sir. I’d like to see some of your guns if you don’t mind.”

  “Nobody gets to see guns unless they’re buying one. You got money?”

  Bob smiled nervously as he reached into his pocket, to pull out the sack of coins. He set it on the counter and said, “My Pa just died and this is what I got from his estate. You reckon that’s enough?”

  The clerk squinted at the coins inside the bag and said, “It depends what you’re looking for. I got a couple nice used pieces over here in the case.”

  Bob followed the man and bent down to look behind the glass. “The one on the left’s a Colt Defender. Good, up-close weapon. It’s an older model, but some people still swear by them.”

  Bob looked at the gun next to it and jabbed his finger against the glass, “That one.”

  The clerk reached in and grabbed the gun’s handle, “Course. All you kids want the Defeater. Considered by many to be the finest six-gun ever made.” The clerk cocked the hammer back and laid the gun on the glass, “Used by outlaws and lawmen alike.”

  Bob picked up the gun and held it in the air, aiming down the sights. “I’ll take this one.”

  “Sounds good to me,” the clerk said, “I need to make room anyway.” The clerk’s voice dropped conspiratorially and he said, “Just got something new in.”

  “New?” Bob said.

  The clerk nodded. “It’s all kind of hush-hush because we only got a few and the manufacturer wants us to use ‘em for displays. When people see these things, shoot…they’re gonna go crazy.”

  “What is it?”

  “All right, come on back and I’ll show you,” the clerk said. He opened the counter’s swing door and waved for Bob to follow him. In the back room, he reached for a pine box on the counter that had the words Colt Devastator etched into the lid. He opened the box and showed gun the sleek black weapon inside.

  Bob looked down in silence for a long time until he said, “This is the gun I need.”

  “I know, partner. You and everybody else. Like I said, there’s gonna be a stampede. It’s gonna make all the people carrying those Defeaters around look like schoolchildren.”

  “No, I mean, this is the gun I need right now.”

  The clerk shook his head and closed the lid. He went to put it back up on the shelf and Bob shook the bag of money at him, “You can have all of this. I don’t care.”

  “It’s not for sale.”

  “Of course it is. This is a gun store, you said you had more of them. Sell me that one!”

  “Listen, I made a mistake in showing you this. Now let’s go back out front and you can get that Defeater and be on your way. I shouldn’t have anyone back here like this anyway.”

  “So why did you?” Bob said.

  “Because you look like a nice young man who wouldn’t hurt a fly, and I figured you’d enjoy seeing it. Now come on,” he said. The clerk grabbed Bob by the arm to pull him toward the door. For a skinny arm, it felt tight and wiry, like a coiled spring. Not the limp, weak limb he’d expected.

  Bob pulled his arm back from the man and whirled the heavy bag of coins at the man’s head, cracking him across the temple. The man cried out as he fell, clutching the side of his face, and Bob grabbed him by the shirt collar. “Wouldn’t hurt a fly?” he said. He swung the bag onto the top of the man’s head again, drivi
ng him to the ground. He looked around the storage room as the clerk lay there whimpering, and found a heavy metal crowbar. “My name is Bob Ford, and people like you are going to stop underestimating me, mister.”

  Chapter 6: The Grind Wheel

  Betsy Clayton woke up to the sound of squalling. She leapt out of her bed and raced into the baby’s room to see Claire sitting up in her crib, pulling on her hair. She picked the child up and laid her on her shoulder, patting her back gently and rocking her side to side. “Sam?” she said. “Can you fetch me a bottle from the ice chest?”

  There was no response. She carried the baby through the dimly-lit house back to her bedroom and looked in. The bed was empty.