Comeuppance

Evening encroached on the desolate plain, the dim sunlight stretching out the shadow of a lone man riding his horse in the sandy street. Neck tilted, he faced the horse’s shoulders with a broad wide-brimmed hat covering his face. He had on canvas with overalls, a tan shirt, and leather boots, but what shimmered in the evening sun was the Colt single-action revolver on his hip alongside the countless bullets running along the belt. Laughter echoed in the distance. The rider lifted his face; he’d reached the town. Most buildings were vacant, with the sun nearly down, but the saloon was bustling. Well, this was only one of three in the massive town having almost a thousand occupants. Individuals walking in the street whispered upon seeing him. The rider glanced over at the horses tied up outside the saloon and dismounted, finding what he came for. The batwing doors swung open, and within a moment of him standing in the doorframe, the noise within nearly ceased.

The spacious saloon had about forty people spread out over gambling tables, booths, and the bar. Although the bar only had a few people. A plump middle-aged man with a badge on his chest sat next to an attractive young woman at the bar. He drew her close, not noticing the rider, which seemed much to her dismay. The rider stepped in, the old wood flooring creaking under his weight clearly in the silent room. The bar owner nervously wiped a shot glass glaring at the Colt at the man’s hip as he approached the bar and sat next to the plump Lawman.

   “Frank… what are you doing here?”

Frank sat on one of the stools, considering how uncomfortable they were. One would need to be quite intoxicated to stay seated like this for a while. He removed his hat, tossing it onto the counter. Frank had a scruffy beard and mustache, sharp brown eyes, and a rugged jaw that most men were envious of.

   “Well, I just finished burying my brother, and I considered it good to have a drink. Honor his memory n stuff. Give me some brandy.”

Nervously, the bar owner shifted, glancing over to the Lawman. Hearing the rough voice, the Lawman turned his attention from the young woman. She shifted more into her chair, creating space. A shot glass clicked against the counter in front of Frank.

   “I-it’s on the house tonight, Frank. Just be sure to get yourself home safe.”

Frank grinned, spinning the glass, looking at his distorted reflection.

   “I appreciate it, but I’m not one to accept charity,” Frank shifted his eyes to the bar owner, smile vanishing, “I’ve always sorted things out myself, but I’ll get back to my place safe.”

The bar owner turned a shade whiter. He swallowed.

   “Yer Frank Anderson? Joseph Anderson’s brother?”

The Lawman finally spoke, turning his shoulders towards Frank. Frank faced the man. He had patchy light brown facial hair and a round face. His head was rather large and accompanied by an even bigger wide-brimmed hat, a duster suit, and a collared shirt that was too small, causing part of the fat on his neck to fold over the collar. Frank guessed that he had to try to make himself look slimmer somehow, though it seemed cruel to those top buttons trying to keep everything together. Frank’s eyes drifted to the badge on the left side of his duster.

   “That’s me.”

The Lawman looked him up and down, noticing the Colt at his hip.

   “A damn shame what happened to yer brother, eard he was a good man.”

   “He was. Better man than most. Definitely better than me.”

   “Well then, a toast. To yer brother.”

The Lawman raised his glass near Frank. Frank eyed him for a moment and gave a slight grin shifting his glass to his left hand and tapping his glass with his own.

   “For my brother.”

The Lawman raised the glass to his lips. A hammer clicked into place, and immediately a blast like thunder followed. The glass of the Lawman shattered, and smoke rose from the tip of Frank’s Colt. Blood and moonshine rolled down the Lawman’s shirt. He gagged a moment and fell over onto the bar floor. Frank finished his Brandy with a sigh of relief.

   “Ya always did have the best drinks. Relaxes the muscles,” he said, looking at the bar owner while spinning his Colt and whipping it back into the holster.

No one in the bar moved; the woman beside the Lawman shook on the verge of a panic attack with blood plastered on her face.

   “Ahh, my apologies, miss. I thought his head was fat enough to catch his own blood if I only shot em once. Didn’t mean to ruin yer night, although, ya didn’t seem to be enjoying it,” Frank said, pulling a handkerchief out of his pocket and sliding it over to the woman, “Find yerself a better man. Scum like em doesn’t stick around long.”

The woman nodded quickly, took the handkerchief, and ran out of the saloon without a word. Frank glanced over at the body of Lawman. With that extra hole and all the blood, he might finally lose that weight he’d kept raving about. Although, he wouldn’t be there to see it. Shame… Kind of. Frank glanced around; all eyes were on him.

   “My apologies folks. Seems I disturbed ya more than I intended.”

Frank stood from the bar, placed a ten-dollar bill under his shot glass, and put on his hat.

   “Sorry for the mess, I’d stay and clean up myself, but I got a few more visits to make today,” he tipped his hat to the bar owner and made his way towards the exit.

   “Frank… are you really going through with this? Your brother-”

   “Well, he’s dead. And like I said, I ain’t as good of a man as my brother. But this time, I feel like he’d be a bit more understanding. A line has been crossed.”

The bar owner remained silent; Frank pushed open the batwing doors, letting them swing back and forth as he walked over to his steed, untying it from the post. Daylight remained, although it was fading quickly. The clopping hooves of a horse approached as Frank untied his animal.

   “Sceuse me.”

Frank turned his head slightly and paused. A man was sitting on his horse several paces behind him and, like the man before, had a badge on his duster coat. With a thick mustache, bowler hat, and a half-smoked cigar in his mouth, he seemed more like a businessman than a lawman. Although, with all the dealings they had done, Frank thought it fit.

   “I heard a gunshot a moment ago. Any idea what caused it?”

   “A gunshot? Under your watchful eye lawman?”

The Lawman froze, a voice he recognized. His colleague had been meeting a young lady at this saloon, and now there was a single gunshot with this man exiting. The Lawman clutched the grip of his revolver and pulled back the hammer. Frank sidestepped with a turn, whipped out his Colt, tugged the hammer, and fired fluidly. Another gunshot followed a moment after drilling a bullet into the post Frank stepped away from. He grinned, relaxing his posture as the Lawman’s horse panicked and shook the man off. Dust scattered upon the man landing on his back, wind leaving his lungs and cigar his lips; the Lawman gasped and clutched his right shoulder with blood seeping between his fingers. Rattled, he searched for the gun that loosed from his grip during the scuffle. Spotting it just out of reach, he stretched for it. A hammer clicked, and the Lawman froze. Frank stood over him, barrel aimed directly at his face.

   “A mighty find draw Lawman. Perhaps if I was as fat as your partner, you may have hit me.”

The Lawman breathed quickly, turning to Frank, face wrinkling like a wild beast about to snarl.

   “Now now, you’ll burst a blood vessel,” Frank said dismissively, picking up the cigar that dropped from his mouth, taking a puff, and nodding appreciatively; it was a good cigar, “It’d hurt my conscious executing an injured unarmed man. So, ya go on and reach for your gun. I’ll give you a fair fight… like ya did my brother.”

Eyes quaking, the Lawman stared down the gun barrel, sweat breaking out across his forehead. People watched from the saloon’s windows, not daring to interfere.

   “Anderson!”

Frank paused. Three men on horses approached, the dull orange setting sun silhouetting their figures. But the outline of a Winchester rifle aimed directly at him was clear. Two of the men dismounted; the center man maintained his aim with the Winchester. Slowly approaching, the two men reached for the weapons on their hips. The injured man looked at the others, eyes welling with tears of relief.

   “I think that’s far enough,” Frank said, leveling his gun on the injured man.

   “I’d advise you to surrender Anderson. You’re within range of the Winchester, and both of us are ready to draw. You kill him, and there’s no way you make it out of this.”

It was the head sheriff. He had a confident crooked smile on his face that Frank always hated seeing. The oldest of the group, a wide-brimmed hat with curled edges, sat on his head; he had a thin white beard and probably a balding head, although Frank never saw him without the hat, which was more brown than white from all the years it’d been used. Unlike the others, he didn’t have a duster coat, but just a long sleeve white shirt, brown pants, a very thick leather belt with a big iron on his hip, probably almost as old as he was, and of course, a large badge on the left side of his chest. They all had badges. The other that dismounted was lanky, the type of skinny where if you kicked him in the stomach, odds were you hit his spine also. Meanwhile, the other was a relatively solid man, tall and naturally built, more like an ox than a man.

   “Surrender?” Frank said, puffing smoke out the side of his mouth, “I doubt you’d accept it once ya peek inside the saloon.”

   The smile vanished from his face, “You killed Jason?”

   “Ah so that’s the fellers name,” Frank spat out the cigar, disappointed he didn’t have the time to enjoy it, “Never got the chance to ask.”

The hands of the Sheriff twitched, touching the grip of his gun.

   “Hey now, don’t put yer other colleague in the dirt before his time.”

   Veins bulged on the Sheriff’s forehead, “You crossed a line, Anderson.”

   “Funny you should that. I was thinking the same thing about you.”

The howling wind filled the silence as the men glared at each other. Eyes daring one another to move. The Lawman clutching the Winchester while sitting on his horse breathed as steadily as he could, hands sweaty and shaking slightly. It was alright. He’d made this shot before, and he could make it again.

Frank shifted his gaze between the three men but kept mindful that the injured Lawman was still within reach of the revolver on the ground. Frank snapped his gun upward, ripping a shot at the built Lawman on the horse. The man grunted with the bullet clipping his neck and squeezed the trigger, firing over Frank’s head. Frank dashed to the left, towards the closed general store, as the Sheriff and other Lawman drew their weapons. Rounds whizzed past him as he returned a shot to each Lawman. The first punched a hole in the Sheriff’s hat but left him unharmed, and the second struck the Lawman in the thigh, causing him to drop to his knees with a cry. The Sheriff unloaded his rounds, one finding its mark tearing through the back part of Frank’s left arm. He growled but kept running towards the general store. The Lawman Frank held hostage gripped his revolver and lifted it towards Frank as he neared one of the store’s two windows.

   “You bast-”

Frank jumped and turned, exhaling as he soared. Leveling his Colt with his eye, he pulled the trigger on his last shot. Hammer striking the pin of the casing, the bullet launched, wedging into the Lawman’s left eye. Frank crashed through the window, which thankfully shattered into small pieces, with only some shards cutting through his shirt and into his skin. Damn, that was a cool shot. Although he aimed for the man’s chest, others didn’t need to know when he’d tell the story. Frank sat up, pain spreading through his body. Frank leaned against the wall and pulled bullets out of his belt. Glancing at his arm, he sighed; it was just a flesh wound, it’d hurt like hell to move, but he still could. Replacing the old casings with new bullets, he was ready for round two.

Footsteps neared the structure; well, one was dragging his leg. Frank moved a bit further in. The general store was spacious but packed with items ranging from jewelry to guns and food.

The Sheriff and two other injured officers cautiously approached the general store. The dim light made it hard to see inside; guns at the ready, they focused on the various openings. The untouched window shattered. Startled, the Lawman with the rifle snapped to the side, ripping a shot at the movement. A can of beans landed in the street surrounded by glass.

Frank leaped out the initially broken window, the Lawman with the injured leg turned only to be met with a bullet to the skull immediately. He snapped back violently. The Sheriff reacted, pulling the built Lawman before him as Frank aimed. Three shots tore through the Lawman’s flesh, only one punching through but not hitting the Sheriff. The Lawman gagged, eyes wide and eyebrows raised as he looked at the Sheriff, who ignored him. Frank sprinted toward the body in the street as the Sheriff fired. Returning one shot that missed, Frank dove, grabbed the dead body of the Lawman with the bowler hat, and used him as cover. Four rounds followed, two hitting the body, one punching through the corpse’s shoulder and drilling into Frank’s own. He grunted, trying to level his revolver.

The Sheriff observed, saving his last bullet and allowing the dead body of his colleague to drop as he stepped through the broken window to use the structure as cover. Though he didn’t have a precise shot, he saw Frank’s gun, it was shaking, and blood was on his arm.

   “Hey Frank, you seem to be in a particularly bad spot. You killed my men, but I’m still willin to be honorable. We each got a shot left. How about a last draw?”

Frank glanced at his shoulder. A draw certainly wasn’t ideal at the moment, but neither was using a corpse as cover in the middle of the street.

   Frank laughed, “Yer on,” he started putting his weapon away, watching the Sheriff.

The Sheriff holstered his weapon, and Frank stood holstering his. They stood about twenty paces apart in the center of the street—the sunset behind Frank. Blood dripped from Frank’s left arm and right shoulder, and the Sheriff stood unharmed. His crooked smile spread across his face.

   “I think we both know whose winning this draw.”

Frank paused, looking a bit past the Sheriff, and chuckled. He grabbed a cigar he had stuffed in his belt using his left hand. The Sheriff watched curiously. It was a bit bent but still good. Shaking the dust off, Frank stuck it in his mouth, lit a match, and puffed it.

   “A final smoke before the end Frank?”

   “Nothing so dramatic as that. Helps me relax after a long day. Also, you realize I’m not the only sibling you disturbed by killing my brother. So, you best draw quick.”

 Freezing a moment, the pupils of the Sheriff narrowed, and his face went pale. Quickly, he drew his gun from the holster and pulled the hammer, loading the cylinder with a fresh bullet. A gunshot followed. Frank blew another puff of his cigar; it was sweet, although not as good as the one earlier. He would have to find those in the store. The Sheriff’s hand quaked, and the big iron dropped from his hands. His breaths shortened as he fell to his side, gripping his stomach. Glancing back, a young woman approached him carrying a rifle.

   “Hey Sara. Nice of ya to join us,” Frank said, nearing.

   “Yer a mess. Should’ve brought me with ya,” Sara said, slinging the rifle on her shoulder.

   “Well, I was tryin’ to avoid having these crooks kill two of my siblings in the same week. Although I appreciate ya showing up.” 

   “Y-you coward,” the Sheriff managed.

Gripping his Colt, Frank slid it from his holster. The townsfolk came out from the saloon and surrounding structures watching as Frank pushed the Sheriff onto his back with his foot.

   “Coward, ya say? Shot my brother, a man who refused to carry a weapon, for calling ya and yer posse out on your corruption. You’ve executed the innocent, exploited the weak, and welcomed scum into this town,” Frank glanced around, “Many of those here today are armed. Notice how they don’t stand up for ya.”

The Sheriff looked around, but no one moved to his aid. Frank bent down.

   “That badge, yer not worthy of it. But we very well can’t have a town without a lawman.”

Frank pulled the badge off the Sheriff, whipping the blood off it, and clipped it on his shirt. Standing, the hammer on Frank’s Colt clicked into place, the bullet aligning with the barrel.

  “Wait!”

   “Don’t worry Sheriff, I’ll be sure to clean up yer mess.”

Frank grinned and pulled the trigger.