Gunner sat down on the crate, staring at his hands. "What do you know about it, Pablo? You walking on the path of righteousness and all."
Pablo's voice lowered. "I know more than you might guess. I haven't always walked this path, after all. Not too long ago I was lost, like so many are. Blown about by loss and rage, given to drinking and unruly behavior. Just another fool looking for a way out."
He sighed. "I can't remember a single time I got a good night's sleep during that period of my life. Maybe I could if I exhausted myself badly enough. Drank myself unconscious. Maybe then."
Gunner nodded, face grim. "I been from one place to the next, but nothing changes. Either you fight, or you're prey. But every time you fight, you kill a little piece of yourself. And I know the things I've done. I know they ain't right. I wear gloves on my hands so I don't have to think of the blood they've shed. Sometimes I try to fool myself into thinking I can go straight. Hang up my guns, wash the stains from my hands, and settle into a normal life."
"And why can't you?" Pablo asked. "Why can't you go home, Gunner?"
"Ain't got one."
"No family?"
"Not no more."
"Then you can make a fresh start. Begin again. Repent from your sins and be reborn. Relieve yourself of pains and sorrows, and accept the love and acceptance from your Father in Heaven. This is the gift that God gives you."
Gunner shook his head. "Maybe I don't want that gift right now. Maybe never. I got scores to settle."
"Vengeance belongs to God. Let Him settle your scores."
Gunner's jaw clenched as he stood and turned away. "God takes too long. I'm done waiting. Been done a long time ago."
Pablo looked at him sadly. "This man you asked about earlier. What did he do to you, Gunner? What did he take from you?"
"Everything," Gunner said. "And your God didn't lift a finger to stop him, either. So I figure He won't stop me from doing what I gotta do, either."
Chapter4: Haughty Eyes
Gunner woke to the scent of coffee, bacon, and burnt toast. When he made his way to the main room, Roscoe was already drinking from a battered tin mug. He gave a welcoming nod to Gunner.
"Top of the morning, friend. You're looking pretty bleary-eyed for a man just waking up."
Gunner grunted. "How am I supposed to get sleep with you snoring like an injured bear?"
"If you're not snoring, you're not sleeping well."
"I wouldn't know. That bacon and eggs on the stove?"
"Yeah, but not for you."
"That's funny. I remember paying ahead for meals just yesterday."
"Oh, I ain't holding back any grub. Just you got better options, is all." Roscoe pointed to a note lying on the table.
Gunner picked it up. "An invitation to breakfast with the Judge at my earliest convenience. Huh."
Roscoe raised a shaggy eyebrow. "Reckon you made an impression."
"Yeah." Gunner glanced down at his dingy shirt. "Guess I'll change into my new clothes."
A few minutes later, he strolled onto the grounds of a manor-style building of weathered brick and clay shingles, standing in stark contrast with the surrounding structures by being clean and free of the reddish dust that covered most of the Town. Servants swept the grounds and wiped down the building and its furnishings with feverish dedication, and several automated blowers hummed as they kept the dust at bay.
Bodyguards lounged against the siding or played cards at a picnic table, laughing and talking trash. Gunner recognized Janey's scarred features when she looked up as he walked through the gate. Her eyes widened slightly. He ignored her, continuing his way to the door.
"Hey, gunfighter."
He paused, glancing back. She had turned around on the bench, leaning casually against the table. Too casually. He noticed her hand resting against the butt of her revolver. The other toyed with the cigarette in her mouth. Smoke spewed from her nostrils.
"You're the one we robbed and beat up the other day."
"Yeah."
The other players paused as the air practically crackled with tension. Eyes focused on Gunner, weighing out options, anticipating his next move. The guard by the door hefted his rifle as if ready to use it.
Janey kept her cool, eyes on Gunner as if speaking to a friend. "I heard about your gunfight yesterday. They say you're lightning quick. You come here to kill me?"
"Didn't expect to see you here. Came at the Judge's invitation."
"Yeah? The hell he wants to see you for?"
"Guess I'll find out when I see him."
"Yeah, I bet. Even so, I reckon we gotta settle up. Ain't never known a man to take a beating without coming for payback."
"Maybe so. But the thing is, you and your boys caught me fair and square. Could've put me down, but you didn't. I ain't the type to hold a grudge. What's done is done. So I'm hoping we can just put this behind us. I won't come for you if you don't come for me. That sound about right?"
She squinted at him in silence for a second before nodding. "Yeah, all right. But I'll be right here when you're done gabbing with the Judge, case you change your mind."
"Good enough."
He turned to the guard by the door, a burly man in a weathered poncho who spat in the gravel and nodded at Gunner's weapon.
"Gotta leave the six-shooter. Pick it up when you come back out."
Gunner removed the belt and holster and handed it to the guard, who stood to one side and allowed him to pass through the polished, brass-trimmed doors into the manor.
The interior was grand and spacious, restored to preserve the original design as if meant to be a museum instead of an inhabitable home. Wood was everywhere: on the walls, on the floor, and most of the furniture, buffed and polished, smelling of citrus polish and oil. Old paintings hung on the walls: portraits of grave faces with wise eyes, depictions of buffalo hunts and battles of the Old West.
A slim robot butler in a tuxedo approached, nodding its cylindrical head and rubbing gleaming metal fingers together.
"Mr. Gunner, I presume."
"Yeah."
"The Judge is waiting for you in his solarium. This way, please."
Gunner followed, walking through a hallway and across a sitting room with a private bar and billiards table before exiting through a set of glass sliding doors into the solarium outside. The morning sun blazed down, but the heat didn't touch the climate-controlled interior, where rose gardens and flowering trees bloomed, the walkways were paved with smooth rocks, and the grass was green and perfectly manicured.
Children ran and skipped across the grounds, smiling and laughing. Their faces were clean, their clothes new, their skin rosy with health. Their voices rang in the air as they jumped across the narrow stream that divided the grounds, playing tag or other games. Hidden vents created a cool breeze that stirred the branches and tousled the children's hair. They went about under the watchful eye of a solitary figure, standing at the far end of the solarium in a tattered overcoat and wide-brimmed slouch hat like a giant, protective scarecrow. His face was completely shadowed, though Gunner caught a glimmer under the brim of the hat, light reflecting off the man's eyes as if it were a beast in the guise of a human being. His presence prickled Gunner's senses, invoking a surge of adrenaline that made his fingers twitchy for the gun he no longer wore.
In the middle of the park, the Judge sat at a bench under the shade of a purple-leaved Japanese maple tree with a spread of mouth-watering dishes in front of him: fresh pastries and fruit, steaming piles of eggs, sausages, bacon, waffles, pancakes, glistening pitchers of juice and flutes of bubbly mimosas.
The Judge was tall and broad-shouldered, relaxed in pleated slacks, an embroidered vest, and a snowy satin shirt with the first three buttons undone. His hair and beard were iron-grey, his weathered features ruggedly handsome. A screen floated in front of his face, divided into sections displaying different video feeds from the cameras around the Town. He shut the screen down with a wave of his hand at Gunner's approa
ch, a smile spreading across his face.
"Gunner. Nice of you to come. Please have a seat. This food won't eat itself, after all."
"Don't mind if I do." Gunner eased himself on the bench opposite of the Judge and piled food on his plate.
"You have the look of a man stumbling upon the unexpected," the Judge noted, eyes crinkling in amusement.
Gunner paused in mid-chew, glancing around. "You got me there, Judge. This ain't the place I imagined. And you're not the man I imagined, either."
The Judge chuckled as he bit into a croissant. "Ah, yes. I'm sure you imagined me as a more villainous sort. Dressed in all black, eye patch, that sort of thing."
Gunner shrugged. "Didn't know what I imagined. But this ain't it. Whose kids are those?"
The Judge glanced in their direction with a sad smile. "Surreal, isn't it? That they can go about their childish business, completely unaware of the runaway train of adulthood barreling toward them. How long ago was it when you or I were innocent and young, Gunner? Ages? Forever ago?"
He sighed. "Some are my grandchildren. Others are grandnieces and nephews. The rest are their friends. Here, they have a safe haven to run and play and be themselves. The Town is no place for children, I'm afraid."
Having finished a stack of pancakes, Gunner tackled a platter of bacon and eggs. "Way I hear it, folks are putting the condition of this place at your feet."
The Judge laughed. "And who told you that? Your friend Pablo, mad with visions of fiery judgment from above? Or your new friend Rosco Gibbs, a known liar and swindler? Or maybe it was the Baron." His teeth flashed in a sly grin. "It looked like she took an interest in you. I doubt she had anything pleasant to say about me."
"Not really. She says you're running this place into the ground. Unchecked lawlessness and such."
"Did she? I'm guessing she didn't tell you about how she used her contacts with the railroad to keep the train from coming through here?"
"Guess she forgot about that part. Can't see what she'd gain from doing that, though. From what I understand, the train stops are the only thing that keeps this place running."
The Judge lifted a mimosa flute, sipping slowly. "That's right. It's the main artery that pumps life into this Town. Trade, money, and manpower. Without it, this place has become overrun with outlaws and hired guns with no one to hire them. The stores are running out of wares and food, and the farms won't be able to produce enough. Naturally, vice and violence have spread nearly out of control."
"Still don't see how this benefits the Baron."
"Stopping the train puts me at her mercy. Without blood shards, the generator wouldn't be able to operate. Since she's retrofitted the equipment to run on lithium fusion from the mines, she's able to control the power supply. This only happened after I went through great expense to purchase a new fusion motor to replace the faulty old one. So she undercuts me by making my purchase useless. And with lawlessness growing worse by the day, she's working hard to convince everyone that I'm to blame. When the place crumbles into chaos and ruin, she'll pull her people back and watch the Town burn. Then she'll pick up the pieces, reopen the train route, and rebuild in her own image."
Gunner glanced up through the panes of thick glass at the rusty generator towers that loomed over the surrounding buildings. "Sounds like a pretty bold plan. Excuse me for asking, but you seem to have pretty deep pockets and a lot of guns on your payroll. What's stopping you from rolling in on the Baron and putting her out of commission?"
"Politics, Gunner. Politics. The Baron has immersed herself in the infrastructure of this Town. My fault for trusting her when she offered her services. She's become quite popular, while my public image has taken a tumble. If I make a move against her without clear evidence of a crime, the people might turn against me or simply leave for greener pastures. I can't afford a full-blown riot or mass exodus right now. I lost quite a few men recently to a rogue Nimrod squad, and though I can't prove it, I'm sure she had something to do with that as well."
Gunner wiped his mouth with a cotton napkin. "Well, sounds like you got your hands pretty full, Judge. I'm figuring since you invited me here to enjoy this fine spread with you, there must be something you think I can help you with."
"I must admit, I was curious to see you in person. You've created quite the persona, you know. Is it true you were a Ranger? They say you killed hundreds, maybe thousands of Ferals in Texas before you lost the stomach for it. Or so the stories go. Some even say you switched sides. Fought with the Ferals and slaughtered soldiers, women, and children. They say you killed your superior officer and turned fugitive, fleeing into Hinterland and coming back alive. They say your peacemakers spit fire and sulfur that burn entire towns, and you can't be killed. They say you shed your skin every full moon and take the form of a wolf. They say—"
"They say a lot of things. I get it. I don't talk about my past. No point to it."
"Depends on the past, I suppose. Like just a few days ago. You know—when you killed my nephew and his boys."
He spoke the words so casually that the statement didn't hit Gunner for a second. Then he caught the hard glint in the Judge's eyes as he sliced into a pear, juice dripping down the edge of the knife.
"That's right. Who else could it have been? You came into town with that renegade Pablo after I sent Clyde and his men out to hang him. Waingrow found Clyde and the others gunned down at the hanging tree, feeding the buzzards. Tracks showed only one bike rode in. What do you think the odds are that those tracks match the tread on the Steed that Waingrow captured the other day?"
"Pretty good," Gunner said.
"Imagine if Waingrow had known who it was he was robbing. Would he have let you live? Would he have even taken the first shot? We'll never know. What we do know is that you've placed me in quite a dilemma. On the one hand, I should have you killed for the murder of Clyde and his boys. I often told Clyde he was my favorite nephew. It was a lie, but that's beside the point."
"And on the other?"
"On the other, I can't ignore the man that the stories claim you are. If they're even halfway true, I believe you're more valuable alive than dead. The balance in this Town is thin as a razor. A slight push and everything tilts one way or the other. I need an agent that can make sure things tilt in my direction. Someone the Baron doesn't know. Someone who will get things done."
"And you think that's me?"
The Judge's expression darkened, frown lines tugging at the corners of his mouth. "It had better be you. Because I don't take too kindly to my men being killed. You might be fast on the draw. You might be a survivor. Hell, you might even be the living legend they say you are. But you're still one man, Gunner. And while I've seen a hundred men shoot one man down, I've never seen one man shoot down a hundred. Simple mathematics. But we don't have to resort to more violence, do we? Not when there are other far more persuasive incentives."
Gunner responded with a tight smile. "I'd agree with that sentiment."
"I thought you would." The Judge picked up a small wooden case from beside him and placed it on the table, sliding it toward Gunner. "Fifty thousand in gold bulls to start. More to come if you produce results. I want to know what the Baron is planning, what she's doing when out of sight of the cameras. You'll want to get close to her. And I don't mean seduction because she won't be interested. You'll have to get creative."
"I'll think of something." Gunner slid the case inside his pocket, stood and adjusted his hat. "Figure I'd better get on out there and turn some stones over. Thanks for the meal."
"You're welcome." The Judge spoke in a lazy tone as if his words were of no consequence. "Let me make a quick introduction before you go. Bane, come on over here."
The hulking guardian lifted his head at the Judge's command, obediently trudging over. For a second, Gunner's breath caught in his throat as he imagined a skull-like face and flashing crimson eyes, a voice like gravel raked across concrete…
He blinked, and the instant passed. A r
agged bandana covered Bane's face from his nose to his chest like a cloth beard. His eyes were barely visible under the hat, cold and blue, glowing like indicator lights. Every movement produced metallic grinding sounds, like gears in need of lubrication. He was taller than Gunner by about half a foot and built like a human tank.
"Bane here is my right-hand man," the Judge said. "Got himself burnt up real bad in an explosion some years ago. I dragged him out, got him to some labcoats in time for them to save him. What was left of him, anyway. Bane doesn't talk much, but he watches everything. He'll be keeping an eye on you too, Gunner. Thought I'd tell you in advance so we can avoid any potential misunderstandings."
"I get it. Guess I'll be on my way, then." He paused in mid-turn. "One last thing—what's gonna happen to Pablo?"
"So, you do care about the preacher. Here I thought you were using the situation to get an audience with me." A smile slid across his face. "I'm not going to kill him if that's what you're worried about. Didn't work out so well last time I tried. No, he'll stay where he's at. It will allow the people to see how foolish he is once his prophecies utterly fail. He claims God sent him here. Let God get him out."
Gunner nodded. "Fair enough."
"As for you, I have plenty of space here in the manor. Feel free to stay in one of the free rooms if you like."
"I figure that would make it hard to gain the Baron's trust. Better if I stay put where I'm at."
"I see your point. Very well, you can exit the same way you came in. My butler will see you out. I want to enjoy this a little while longer. It's so hard to find a moment of real peace. I'm sure you know what I mean." He closed his eyes and tilted his head back, listening to the playful laughter of the children.
"Yeah." Gunner turned and headed for the manor doors, where he paused and took a last look behind at the garden. It was like looking at a dream: green and beautiful, an oasis in the middle of the sand and rust of the surrounding Town.
But the mood was ruined when he saw Bane staring back at him like a baleful demon, electric eyes glimmering under the brim of his tattered hat.
The Gunner Chronicles Page 5
