A bit from something else I was working on.
—
The first day I got into town, twelve of the local gang died.
It hadn’t all been me. Once I set on my path and the locals got the idea that I wasn’t the sort to be easily gunned down on the street, they got some gumption and helped out. On their own they probably wouldn’t have been able to begin, but I’m good for a few things and a kick-start is one of them. It was a big day for them followed by a night of celebrations, but it came clear the next morning that things had gone to their head.
“We’re gonta gi’ up after the lot of em and put em all down, sir… that’s the plan.”
I watched the town spokesman smile. Too eager. His rheumy eyes were bright, his lips half-parted in anticipation, a dark toothless gash in his yellow-grey beard. I knew what we’d done the day before, and I knew the warlord that the group of toughs had represented. Beatin’ one was a damn sight different than beatin’ the other. I shook my head.
“Nothin’ like it, grandad. You’ve got what you fought for, so take it and make some use of it. The fight’s mine past this point, and it’ll take time.”
“You’rn? We’ve suffered powerful at the hands a’ those we kilt!”
I nodded, then jerked my chin at the row of pine boxes learning against the barn across the street. “You’ve had your payment of those that wronged you. Keep the fight going and you’ll fare worse than you did before.
“But we can… us’n you can --”
“You do what you like.” I finished my drink and stood. “I’ll be gone.”
He pulled up short and gave me a beady eye. “Whyssat? You pullin’ out on us?” He squinted. “You afeared a’ these?”
Time was, early on, when I’d have killed a man for saying such things, but even back then all I heard was ignorance. “You do what you like, old man.” I said as I started walking. “I’ll be gone.”
They’d left it be and lived their lives. When the time was right, me and mine took care of the warlord.
And I hadn’t even had to shoot the old man.
