Jackass
07.04.2011, 21:32
Mit etwas Verspätung der Liebling des Monats April 2011.
Leider habe ich keine Zeit gehabt für etwas Besonderes. Daher nur ein kleiner Groschenroman nach altem Muster, den man früher als Kind kaufte. Zumindest, als ich ein Kind war. Western von Gestern.
It was one of these days, he thought afterwards. One of these days that feel like trouble. One of these days that gives you the idea of the world pissing on you, and grinning while doing so.
It had all started at the rodeo, and god damnit, he should’ve stopped it right away, because he knew, hadn’t he? But damnit, those were modern times, eh, right after the fucking Civil War, when people tried to behave nicely and let people walk free and get ‘er heads blown off for just taking a dump someone’s farm’s land. Fuck you, 1874. Fuck this fucking town called fucking Metback.
And the rodeo. The fucking rodeo. He thought about the fucking rodeo...
….He was sitting next to Cindy Lorang. The fucking stupid bitch had spread her legs a few months ago a bit too far, he guessed, and was obviously pregnant again. Not that it stopped her from boozing down the cheapest whiskey the whore could find.
“All well, Cindy?” he asked.
She looked at him, after taking another sip. The whiskey was running down her lips still. There’d been times you’d hang a bitch like that. She was in her late 20s, well beyond her best years serving at the dello of the saloon, well beyond. Her blonde hair hung dirty over her shoulders, her breasts were hanging down as if dragged down by a sack of stones, and she was getting fat. Still, some fool had rolled over her, and she’d throw out another little cocksucker or going-to-be-bandit just in a couple of months. Damn this world, he thought.
“Ya, Sheriff,” she replied in a hard voice, “thanks for asking.”
He nodded, then turned back to the rodeo. His eyes narrowed, as he saw who actually was sitting on the next bull to be lead in. The goddamn bastard just didn’t knew any better, damnit. It was the fucking Reverend of this fucking goddamn town. They called him Reverend Rock, because he was as old as the fucked-off mountains in the valley and he certainly behaved like a rock. 100 indians could run at him and he wouldn’t even move, trying to stare them down.
And he still rode in the rodeo. In his youth, the Reverend had been a gunslinger, one of the ugly kinds, he had heard. But Christ found him. Probably drunk under some whore’s sheets, but hell, the goddamn not-to-be-killed carpenter of Jerusalem found the man, and turned him to believe and have faith. The people quite liked their reverend, who’d swear worse than any cowboy west of Washington and would drink as if God himself was holding the bottle to his neck.
Yet, he was old now. He shouldn’t be sitting on a bull.
Sheriff Thrashen stood up, and walked over to Bones Meanou. The man was a walking cripple, so the people had started calling him Bones a couple of years ago. He quite liked the nickname. Trashen wondered why, since he was making fun of. On the other hand, Thrashen knew what people called him, right on.
“What’s the goddamn reverend doing on the bull?” he asked. Bones was the man who knew anything happening in this goddamn place.
Bones grinned. “Says he knows how to ride a bull still, Sheriff. Said he’d ride it like a whore. Said he hadn’t forgotten about that either. Insisted on taking part.”
“Fucking idiot,” Thrashen cursed. “He’s gonna break his old neck.”
“Dunno, Sheriff,” grinned Bones. “Take a look at the bull, will ya?”
Thrashen took a closer look. The bull actually had a furious apperance, as it should be, but as he looked closer, he noticed...
“What’s up with the fucking animal?” he whispered.
“I’d say the Reverend had a little talk with him, that I say. And a little drink. Or a few more.”
Thrashen laughed softly. The reverend had actually got his bull drunk. You couldn’t see it really if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but if you knew, the signs were there. The eyes of the animal hung sleepily under the lids, and the bull was trotting from the left to the right before it was left out to the arena. People thought the bull was just pissed. Thrashen it would be, but probably only by next morning.
The bull was released, with the Reverend on its back. The Reverend made a big show out of the whole thing. While the bull rather galloped gently like a horse, the animal read from the bible on the back, some shit from the old days when God was absolutely pissed at someone. Thrashen didn’t know if God wouldn’t be pissed at this either, but he assumed the old man would just have a laugh. People were staring in astonishment, and some of the people would say that the bull was tamed by Jesus itself, speaking through the Reverend. Rather by the Jesus in the empty whiskey bottle.
The Reverend won the goddamn thing, no surprise. His bull galloped with him for a few minutes while people were applauding, yelling “Yehaa” and “Holy God” or even “Fucking god”, though in the last case it was mainly the Reverend saying that in between reading from the bible.
It could have been a nice afternoon, and a story to remember, right on. But it only could have been. Could have been turned out to not had been.
It had to be the fucking Mains gang. It just had to be. The bastards were around all the time, and always complaining ‘bout things not being fair and such shit, mostly not being fair to them, but at times life or shit not being fair to some other dude they thought they could take advantage of.
Nr. 5 had ridden in the stupid tournament too. Thrashen assumed the guy had a first name, but he just couldn’t remember it. He was the youngest of the family, and by far the brightest, it seemed. For once, he was able to actually tuck his belt, which obviously appeared like high mathematics to the rest of the crowd.
“It’s not fair,” he shouted, and though most people were still applauding the Reverend, some of them turned around and had a look at the young Mains brother. One listened to the Mains brothers, mostly because it usually ended up in a fight with some other guy, and you just couldn’t say no to some decent entertaining, couldn’t ya?
“The fucking bull was drunk,” yelled Nr. 5, and was supported by his brother or whatever, who was named Ed. Ed was a bastard as well in Thrashen’s eyes, though to be honest, Thrashen thought that most people of this goddamn town were bastards, including himself. Ed was a large built guy, who was willing to hit first and ask questions later, if by then he maybe had formed a complete sentence in his mind.
Some people strolled over, and had a look at the bull. O’ course, the freaking idiot Bonzey, who pretended to be from France originally and was therefore made fun of as the “Bonfuckinghomme”, agreed loudly that the fucking bull was drunk. The guy would actually agree on anything and support anything, if anyone would just listen to him. He was the sort of man you really didn’t want to ride along next to you into war, because you had no clue on which side he’d be at the end of it.
“Got a problem, Mains?” roared the Reverend. He emptied his whiskey bottle and three it at Ed. Thrashen watched the bottle fly and was already cursing under his breath, because if the bottle hit the goddamn idiot, there’d be blood all over the soil in a few minutes.
Yet, the bottle was shot right out of air, exploding in little bits, and people shielded their eyes. Some bulls protested against the shot, running wildly behind the fences, but furthermore nothing happened. He turned around, and saw Nr. 5 holstering his gun. Thrashen had forgotten how fast the guy could shoot.
“Ya,”, said Nr. 5, “I got a problem, man. You not being fair. You fucked up the bull with your fucking whiskey bottle. That’s against animal rights, it is, man.”
People were looking at each other, and even Thrashen raised a brow. Animal rights? The goddamn things had a right to be fucking dead and be served to him on a plate, that was animal rights to him.
“The Lord told me to share the salt of the earth with his kind,” said the Reverend, and that got some laughter. He knew how to entertain the crowd. “Say I was cheating, do you?”
Everybody turned silent. Cheating was like saying you killed a man or raped a woman, only worse. Cheating, that was like sayin’ you got no honor.
Thrashen spoke up. “Now listen, lads, we all had a good time, ya hear, and now it’s all nice and settled and we just...”
“Yeah,” said Nr. 5 bluntly though. “Ya cheating. Ya a god damn cheater, Reverend, and I tell ya the fucking Lord won’t praise that.”
“Don’t you dare using the word Lord with the word fucking, or I will smash you head with the fucking bible, you fucking Sheepherd. The fucking Lord Christ would beat you up for hearing how ya talk about his daddy.”
The Reverend tried to make his way through the crowd, which was cheering at his words. “Das right”, said Bonzy, supporting now the Reverend, for good sports and all because obviously the Reverend said shit people liked.
Thrashen noticed how Nr. 5’s right hand was moving towards his holster again. He pulled up his own gun, and fired into the air. Some guys drew their gun, and turned towards him, but put it back in their holsters when noticing it had just been Thrashen.
He knew he had no choice here. There was no way he could settle things between Nr. 5 and the Reverend. They’d blew their heads off any minute, but there were way too many people around. Innocent people might get killed, like Cindy. Well...let’s say some innocent people worth anything could get killed, and Thrashen was the fucking Sheriff of this fucking place, so he had to settle this thing. In his style.
“Tell ya, fellows, if ya wanna do it like Men,” he said, “then do it like Men. High noon, right?”
Everybody knew what it meant. And they agreed. Bonzie, who had spotted who was the best with the gun of the two of them, immediately cheered for Nr. 5. It made some people uneasy. If Bonzey cheered for him, the Reverend might be in trouble.
But so it had happened, and so it was closing on on High Noon now, fair enough, and people were already outside. Wiping away the thoughts of the morning rodeo, Thrashen strolled out. Bones was standing at the Sheriff’s cottage side, grinning when Thrashen stepped out.
“Going to a burial, Sheriff?” he asked.
“Ya,” said Thrashen. “Hope it’s not gonna be mine.”
“Na, “ said Bones, trying to catch up with him, limping on one leg. “Don’t fancy that. Guess the Mains boy will shoot our Reverend right into Heaven to booze away with the goddamn Jesus Christ, that I say.”
Thrashen shook his head. “The Reverend got old in the West, Bones. And you know what they say about bastards like him, don’t ya?”
“What, Sheriff?”
“The older they get, the harder it gets to kill them. They have this tendency to stay alive. Like, they’re used to being alive.”
Bones laughed. “Fair enough, Sheriff, fair enough.”
There were already tons of people in the street. Men, women, and kids. Yeah, they even brought the little kids, they did. If ya love ya kids, ya share the entertainment, even if it was a bloody one to haunt some nightmares.
The Mains gang was standing on the opposite end of the street. No one was actually cheering for them, but no one was actually cheering against them as well, in case Nr. 5 won and might remember later who wished for his death.
Bonzie was standing in front row of the street, and talking loudly.
“...always liked the Mains. Decent folks, I’d say. Decent folks. My most favourite shepherds, tell ya that. Would hire ya guys if I had any sheep, that is...”
Thrashen gave this no further consideration, and walked over to the Reverend. The man was actually working his way through another whiskey bottle, and having good success in it obviously. “How ya feeling, Reverend?” he asked.
“Good, good, lad,” said the Reverend. “It’s a nice fucking day, isn’t it?”
“Ya,” said Thrashen. “But ya know...”
“I remember the fucking day when I shot this bastard Grabonski, remember him? Some said he was the best of his time. He was, truly. Just I was better than, at that present. Shot him right through the eye. It was such a lovely day like this.” He was quite cheerful saying that, and people smiled at his words.
Bonzie had heard them as well, and gave this some immediate thought. “...on the other hand, I always said, the Reverend is a holy man, and a good holy man, that is, with drinking all this whiskey and still standing upright...”
People were getting annoyed by the sudden change of loyality from Bonzie, even though they were sort of used to it.
In the back of the street, Ed was throwing a coin in the air. Nr. 5 drew his gun, and shot it in half mid-air.
“....though the Mains guys, I always say,” said Bonze, “are very decent chaps, and good fighters, so I presume our good Reverend might just...”
“Kid’s fast,” said Thrashen, glancing at Nr. 5.
“Ya, he goddamn is,” said the Reverend. “It’s not always about being fast, ya kennit. It’s about just doing the damn thing, and shooting some other blokes head off.”
Thrashen nodded. There was a difference between being fast, and being a murderer, fair enough.
The Reverend smiled, and flipped a coin into the air. People stared at it, flying through the air, flying, flying....
And the Reverend caught it again. “Goddamn fools,” he yelled at the expecting crowd. “Only fucking idiots shoot coins. Coins buy ya family food, the Lord says. Coins buy ya kids a bed, the Lord says. Coins buy ma fucking whiskey, the Lords said to me.”
This caused some heavy laughter and applause.
“...but the Reverend is a wise man with a lots of experience,” said Bonzie on his usual loyality change in the back.
The Reverend leaned closer in on Thrashen, and lowered his voice. “Tell ya,” he said, “If worst comes to push, make sure it’s a decent funeral with lots of whores and whiskey. God would like it. Well. I’d like it. And the bastard then owes me if I get shot through my fucking head in a minute.”
Thrashen nodded. No need to say more.
It was about time. Nr. 5 was walking to his spot on the edge of the corner, and looked very confident.
Bonzie noticed it as well. “...just the Mains family are such good lads, and such good gunmen, tell ya that, so I think that...”
The Reverend got up, and strolled over to his spot, sipping a last time on his bottle while doing so. He then threw it away, hitting off a chicken which had jumped on the doorstep of the Saloon. This got some cheers.
“...but of course I always loyally supported our Reverend...,” said Bonzie loudly enough for the Reverend to hear, but maybe not loudly enough to be perceived by Nr. 5.
Thrashen noticed though that Nr. 5 shot Bonzie a glance. He had heard what the guy said, and obviously didn’t like it all. Not a single bit.
Bonzie noticed it as well, and quickly stuttered, “...but I saw the Mains guys practise shooting, and boy they are good, so I guess...”
Now the Reverend shot Bonzie a glance, and the man trembled in slight fear. “....that our Reverend will have a hard time winning this, yet, being the man he is, he most likely will...”
One of the Mains brothers coughed, and Bonzie turned around to look at him, but all he saw was Nr. 5 staring at him. “...give a good fight but our good man of the Mains family will of course...”
Someone booed, and Bonzie turned around to look at the Reverend again, who gave him a menacing stare. Bonzie was panicking. “....so I will just say that the Reverend will probably, perhaps, can’t think otherwise, but might be...”
He looked from his left to the right in panic. Both the Reverend and Nr. 5 were now staring at Bonzie intensely. Then, they looked at each other.
Thrashen held his breath. He saw them staring at each other. He saw their hands move to their holsters, and he knew that either he’d have to bury the goddamn Reverend of this town tonight, or one of the Mains family, and in both cases it would just be the start of trouble truly...
Then, they drew, and the shooting started.
As it was over, Thrashen blinked. He was half expecting to see both man down on the ground, but they were still standing. He now expected one of the man to fall to his side, and die a fucking horrible death in the sand of this goddamn town. But they didn’t.
“Eh...” said Bonzie. “Well done, both of you.” Then, he looked down. There were 4 holes in his chest where there shouldn’t be holes. Slowly, he fell over.
There was some cheering. The Reverend pulled out a whiskey bottle of his coat, and threw it to Nr. 5. The man nodded approvingly.
Thrashen walked over to Bonzie. He kicked the man in his side, and to his suprise, the guy groaned. With four bullets, he should be well down. But he clearly wasn’t. He pulled the guy up, and had a look at him. No red dots grewing larger. No blood. What the hell..?
Bonzie looked at him, then put his hands under his shirt and pulled it up. A metal plate was nicely tugged into his pants and running up his chest. Four bullets were hanging out of it.
Thrashen raised his eyebrow.
“Not the first time people shoot me eventually . Can’t say why. Go prepared everywhere," said Bonzie, shaken.
Thrashen laughed, and patted the man on his shoulder. “Good man,” he said, “wise man.” Always prepared, he thought, in one direction or the other.
He glanced over his shoulder. Nr. 5 and the Reverend obviously didn’t mind, because they were just throwing the Reverend’s bible int he air and shooting it at the same time to the hooray of the folks.
Some days start nice, to seem shitty in the meanwhile, and end up by people shooting holy things. Modern times, Thrashen thought. Gotta like ‘em.
Leider habe ich keine Zeit gehabt für etwas Besonderes. Daher nur ein kleiner Groschenroman nach altem Muster, den man früher als Kind kaufte. Zumindest, als ich ein Kind war. Western von Gestern.
It was one of these days, he thought afterwards. One of these days that feel like trouble. One of these days that gives you the idea of the world pissing on you, and grinning while doing so.
It had all started at the rodeo, and god damnit, he should’ve stopped it right away, because he knew, hadn’t he? But damnit, those were modern times, eh, right after the fucking Civil War, when people tried to behave nicely and let people walk free and get ‘er heads blown off for just taking a dump someone’s farm’s land. Fuck you, 1874. Fuck this fucking town called fucking Metback.
And the rodeo. The fucking rodeo. He thought about the fucking rodeo...
….He was sitting next to Cindy Lorang. The fucking stupid bitch had spread her legs a few months ago a bit too far, he guessed, and was obviously pregnant again. Not that it stopped her from boozing down the cheapest whiskey the whore could find.
“All well, Cindy?” he asked.
She looked at him, after taking another sip. The whiskey was running down her lips still. There’d been times you’d hang a bitch like that. She was in her late 20s, well beyond her best years serving at the dello of the saloon, well beyond. Her blonde hair hung dirty over her shoulders, her breasts were hanging down as if dragged down by a sack of stones, and she was getting fat. Still, some fool had rolled over her, and she’d throw out another little cocksucker or going-to-be-bandit just in a couple of months. Damn this world, he thought.
“Ya, Sheriff,” she replied in a hard voice, “thanks for asking.”
He nodded, then turned back to the rodeo. His eyes narrowed, as he saw who actually was sitting on the next bull to be lead in. The goddamn bastard just didn’t knew any better, damnit. It was the fucking Reverend of this fucking goddamn town. They called him Reverend Rock, because he was as old as the fucked-off mountains in the valley and he certainly behaved like a rock. 100 indians could run at him and he wouldn’t even move, trying to stare them down.
And he still rode in the rodeo. In his youth, the Reverend had been a gunslinger, one of the ugly kinds, he had heard. But Christ found him. Probably drunk under some whore’s sheets, but hell, the goddamn not-to-be-killed carpenter of Jerusalem found the man, and turned him to believe and have faith. The people quite liked their reverend, who’d swear worse than any cowboy west of Washington and would drink as if God himself was holding the bottle to his neck.
Yet, he was old now. He shouldn’t be sitting on a bull.
Sheriff Thrashen stood up, and walked over to Bones Meanou. The man was a walking cripple, so the people had started calling him Bones a couple of years ago. He quite liked the nickname. Trashen wondered why, since he was making fun of. On the other hand, Thrashen knew what people called him, right on.
“What’s the goddamn reverend doing on the bull?” he asked. Bones was the man who knew anything happening in this goddamn place.
Bones grinned. “Says he knows how to ride a bull still, Sheriff. Said he’d ride it like a whore. Said he hadn’t forgotten about that either. Insisted on taking part.”
“Fucking idiot,” Thrashen cursed. “He’s gonna break his old neck.”
“Dunno, Sheriff,” grinned Bones. “Take a look at the bull, will ya?”
Thrashen took a closer look. The bull actually had a furious apperance, as it should be, but as he looked closer, he noticed...
“What’s up with the fucking animal?” he whispered.
“I’d say the Reverend had a little talk with him, that I say. And a little drink. Or a few more.”
Thrashen laughed softly. The reverend had actually got his bull drunk. You couldn’t see it really if you didn’t know what you were looking for, but if you knew, the signs were there. The eyes of the animal hung sleepily under the lids, and the bull was trotting from the left to the right before it was left out to the arena. People thought the bull was just pissed. Thrashen it would be, but probably only by next morning.
The bull was released, with the Reverend on its back. The Reverend made a big show out of the whole thing. While the bull rather galloped gently like a horse, the animal read from the bible on the back, some shit from the old days when God was absolutely pissed at someone. Thrashen didn’t know if God wouldn’t be pissed at this either, but he assumed the old man would just have a laugh. People were staring in astonishment, and some of the people would say that the bull was tamed by Jesus itself, speaking through the Reverend. Rather by the Jesus in the empty whiskey bottle.
The Reverend won the goddamn thing, no surprise. His bull galloped with him for a few minutes while people were applauding, yelling “Yehaa” and “Holy God” or even “Fucking god”, though in the last case it was mainly the Reverend saying that in between reading from the bible.
It could have been a nice afternoon, and a story to remember, right on. But it only could have been. Could have been turned out to not had been.
It had to be the fucking Mains gang. It just had to be. The bastards were around all the time, and always complaining ‘bout things not being fair and such shit, mostly not being fair to them, but at times life or shit not being fair to some other dude they thought they could take advantage of.
Nr. 5 had ridden in the stupid tournament too. Thrashen assumed the guy had a first name, but he just couldn’t remember it. He was the youngest of the family, and by far the brightest, it seemed. For once, he was able to actually tuck his belt, which obviously appeared like high mathematics to the rest of the crowd.
“It’s not fair,” he shouted, and though most people were still applauding the Reverend, some of them turned around and had a look at the young Mains brother. One listened to the Mains brothers, mostly because it usually ended up in a fight with some other guy, and you just couldn’t say no to some decent entertaining, couldn’t ya?
“The fucking bull was drunk,” yelled Nr. 5, and was supported by his brother or whatever, who was named Ed. Ed was a bastard as well in Thrashen’s eyes, though to be honest, Thrashen thought that most people of this goddamn town were bastards, including himself. Ed was a large built guy, who was willing to hit first and ask questions later, if by then he maybe had formed a complete sentence in his mind.
Some people strolled over, and had a look at the bull. O’ course, the freaking idiot Bonzey, who pretended to be from France originally and was therefore made fun of as the “Bonfuckinghomme”, agreed loudly that the fucking bull was drunk. The guy would actually agree on anything and support anything, if anyone would just listen to him. He was the sort of man you really didn’t want to ride along next to you into war, because you had no clue on which side he’d be at the end of it.
“Got a problem, Mains?” roared the Reverend. He emptied his whiskey bottle and three it at Ed. Thrashen watched the bottle fly and was already cursing under his breath, because if the bottle hit the goddamn idiot, there’d be blood all over the soil in a few minutes.
Yet, the bottle was shot right out of air, exploding in little bits, and people shielded their eyes. Some bulls protested against the shot, running wildly behind the fences, but furthermore nothing happened. He turned around, and saw Nr. 5 holstering his gun. Thrashen had forgotten how fast the guy could shoot.
“Ya,”, said Nr. 5, “I got a problem, man. You not being fair. You fucked up the bull with your fucking whiskey bottle. That’s against animal rights, it is, man.”
People were looking at each other, and even Thrashen raised a brow. Animal rights? The goddamn things had a right to be fucking dead and be served to him on a plate, that was animal rights to him.
“The Lord told me to share the salt of the earth with his kind,” said the Reverend, and that got some laughter. He knew how to entertain the crowd. “Say I was cheating, do you?”
Everybody turned silent. Cheating was like saying you killed a man or raped a woman, only worse. Cheating, that was like sayin’ you got no honor.
Thrashen spoke up. “Now listen, lads, we all had a good time, ya hear, and now it’s all nice and settled and we just...”
“Yeah,” said Nr. 5 bluntly though. “Ya cheating. Ya a god damn cheater, Reverend, and I tell ya the fucking Lord won’t praise that.”
“Don’t you dare using the word Lord with the word fucking, or I will smash you head with the fucking bible, you fucking Sheepherd. The fucking Lord Christ would beat you up for hearing how ya talk about his daddy.”
The Reverend tried to make his way through the crowd, which was cheering at his words. “Das right”, said Bonzy, supporting now the Reverend, for good sports and all because obviously the Reverend said shit people liked.
Thrashen noticed how Nr. 5’s right hand was moving towards his holster again. He pulled up his own gun, and fired into the air. Some guys drew their gun, and turned towards him, but put it back in their holsters when noticing it had just been Thrashen.
He knew he had no choice here. There was no way he could settle things between Nr. 5 and the Reverend. They’d blew their heads off any minute, but there were way too many people around. Innocent people might get killed, like Cindy. Well...let’s say some innocent people worth anything could get killed, and Thrashen was the fucking Sheriff of this fucking place, so he had to settle this thing. In his style.
“Tell ya, fellows, if ya wanna do it like Men,” he said, “then do it like Men. High noon, right?”
Everybody knew what it meant. And they agreed. Bonzie, who had spotted who was the best with the gun of the two of them, immediately cheered for Nr. 5. It made some people uneasy. If Bonzey cheered for him, the Reverend might be in trouble.
But so it had happened, and so it was closing on on High Noon now, fair enough, and people were already outside. Wiping away the thoughts of the morning rodeo, Thrashen strolled out. Bones was standing at the Sheriff’s cottage side, grinning when Thrashen stepped out.
“Going to a burial, Sheriff?” he asked.
“Ya,” said Thrashen. “Hope it’s not gonna be mine.”
“Na, “ said Bones, trying to catch up with him, limping on one leg. “Don’t fancy that. Guess the Mains boy will shoot our Reverend right into Heaven to booze away with the goddamn Jesus Christ, that I say.”
Thrashen shook his head. “The Reverend got old in the West, Bones. And you know what they say about bastards like him, don’t ya?”
“What, Sheriff?”
“The older they get, the harder it gets to kill them. They have this tendency to stay alive. Like, they’re used to being alive.”
Bones laughed. “Fair enough, Sheriff, fair enough.”
There were already tons of people in the street. Men, women, and kids. Yeah, they even brought the little kids, they did. If ya love ya kids, ya share the entertainment, even if it was a bloody one to haunt some nightmares.
The Mains gang was standing on the opposite end of the street. No one was actually cheering for them, but no one was actually cheering against them as well, in case Nr. 5 won and might remember later who wished for his death.
Bonzie was standing in front row of the street, and talking loudly.
“...always liked the Mains. Decent folks, I’d say. Decent folks. My most favourite shepherds, tell ya that. Would hire ya guys if I had any sheep, that is...”
Thrashen gave this no further consideration, and walked over to the Reverend. The man was actually working his way through another whiskey bottle, and having good success in it obviously. “How ya feeling, Reverend?” he asked.
“Good, good, lad,” said the Reverend. “It’s a nice fucking day, isn’t it?”
“Ya,” said Thrashen. “But ya know...”
“I remember the fucking day when I shot this bastard Grabonski, remember him? Some said he was the best of his time. He was, truly. Just I was better than, at that present. Shot him right through the eye. It was such a lovely day like this.” He was quite cheerful saying that, and people smiled at his words.
Bonzie had heard them as well, and gave this some immediate thought. “...on the other hand, I always said, the Reverend is a holy man, and a good holy man, that is, with drinking all this whiskey and still standing upright...”
People were getting annoyed by the sudden change of loyality from Bonzie, even though they were sort of used to it.
In the back of the street, Ed was throwing a coin in the air. Nr. 5 drew his gun, and shot it in half mid-air.
“....though the Mains guys, I always say,” said Bonze, “are very decent chaps, and good fighters, so I presume our good Reverend might just...”
“Kid’s fast,” said Thrashen, glancing at Nr. 5.
“Ya, he goddamn is,” said the Reverend. “It’s not always about being fast, ya kennit. It’s about just doing the damn thing, and shooting some other blokes head off.”
Thrashen nodded. There was a difference between being fast, and being a murderer, fair enough.
The Reverend smiled, and flipped a coin into the air. People stared at it, flying through the air, flying, flying....
And the Reverend caught it again. “Goddamn fools,” he yelled at the expecting crowd. “Only fucking idiots shoot coins. Coins buy ya family food, the Lord says. Coins buy ya kids a bed, the Lord says. Coins buy ma fucking whiskey, the Lords said to me.”
This caused some heavy laughter and applause.
“...but the Reverend is a wise man with a lots of experience,” said Bonzie on his usual loyality change in the back.
The Reverend leaned closer in on Thrashen, and lowered his voice. “Tell ya,” he said, “If worst comes to push, make sure it’s a decent funeral with lots of whores and whiskey. God would like it. Well. I’d like it. And the bastard then owes me if I get shot through my fucking head in a minute.”
Thrashen nodded. No need to say more.
It was about time. Nr. 5 was walking to his spot on the edge of the corner, and looked very confident.
Bonzie noticed it as well. “...just the Mains family are such good lads, and such good gunmen, tell ya that, so I think that...”
The Reverend got up, and strolled over to his spot, sipping a last time on his bottle while doing so. He then threw it away, hitting off a chicken which had jumped on the doorstep of the Saloon. This got some cheers.
“...but of course I always loyally supported our Reverend...,” said Bonzie loudly enough for the Reverend to hear, but maybe not loudly enough to be perceived by Nr. 5.
Thrashen noticed though that Nr. 5 shot Bonzie a glance. He had heard what the guy said, and obviously didn’t like it all. Not a single bit.
Bonzie noticed it as well, and quickly stuttered, “...but I saw the Mains guys practise shooting, and boy they are good, so I guess...”
Now the Reverend shot Bonzie a glance, and the man trembled in slight fear. “....that our Reverend will have a hard time winning this, yet, being the man he is, he most likely will...”
One of the Mains brothers coughed, and Bonzie turned around to look at him, but all he saw was Nr. 5 staring at him. “...give a good fight but our good man of the Mains family will of course...”
Someone booed, and Bonzie turned around to look at the Reverend again, who gave him a menacing stare. Bonzie was panicking. “....so I will just say that the Reverend will probably, perhaps, can’t think otherwise, but might be...”
He looked from his left to the right in panic. Both the Reverend and Nr. 5 were now staring at Bonzie intensely. Then, they looked at each other.
Thrashen held his breath. He saw them staring at each other. He saw their hands move to their holsters, and he knew that either he’d have to bury the goddamn Reverend of this town tonight, or one of the Mains family, and in both cases it would just be the start of trouble truly...
Then, they drew, and the shooting started.
As it was over, Thrashen blinked. He was half expecting to see both man down on the ground, but they were still standing. He now expected one of the man to fall to his side, and die a fucking horrible death in the sand of this goddamn town. But they didn’t.
“Eh...” said Bonzie. “Well done, both of you.” Then, he looked down. There were 4 holes in his chest where there shouldn’t be holes. Slowly, he fell over.
There was some cheering. The Reverend pulled out a whiskey bottle of his coat, and threw it to Nr. 5. The man nodded approvingly.
Thrashen walked over to Bonzie. He kicked the man in his side, and to his suprise, the guy groaned. With four bullets, he should be well down. But he clearly wasn’t. He pulled the guy up, and had a look at him. No red dots grewing larger. No blood. What the hell..?
Bonzie looked at him, then put his hands under his shirt and pulled it up. A metal plate was nicely tugged into his pants and running up his chest. Four bullets were hanging out of it.
Thrashen raised his eyebrow.
“Not the first time people shoot me eventually . Can’t say why. Go prepared everywhere," said Bonzie, shaken.
Thrashen laughed, and patted the man on his shoulder. “Good man,” he said, “wise man.” Always prepared, he thought, in one direction or the other.
He glanced over his shoulder. Nr. 5 and the Reverend obviously didn’t mind, because they were just throwing the Reverend’s bible int he air and shooting it at the same time to the hooray of the folks.
Some days start nice, to seem shitty in the meanwhile, and end up by people shooting holy things. Modern times, Thrashen thought. Gotta like ‘em.