Take Aim

Who knew that a small town girl could get her hands dirty? Who would ever suspect sweet little Bailey Clementine to kill one of the toughest men there is around? No one. That’s why I got away with it. Randy Howard, that was the bastard that killed my little brother, Johnny. He was just a boy, only seventeen years old, but that didn’t stop Randy. Nothing would. 

You see, my little brother didn’t know what he was up to that night. He was just messing around, having a little fun. Johnny always acted tough, but everyone knew he wasn’t. That’s why the whole town blamed him for his own death, including ma and pa. 

“He shouldn’t have messed with that ol’ Randy,” Pa said one evening while I was upstairs, “Johnny should’ve just shut his trap and he would’ve been fine.”

“I always believed our boy to be smarter than that,” said Ma, “Who knew he was just plain stupid?” 

I was surprised to hear this. How could they not care for their own son? Little Johnny Clementine who used to bring Ma and I wildflowers. The boy who would help Pa out with the cattle early in the morning. Yes, maybe he brought most of it onto himself, but who pulled the trigger? Who aimed that gun towards my brother's chest? Randy Howard. He was the one to blame, but if you lived around here, you would call him a saint.

Quietly, I put on my boots and laced them up tight. It was going to be a long night. Most of the town was at home, asleep, unless you were part of the drifters, cowboys, and gunfighters. Or you were a lady sneaking in to have a little fun. That’s who I was gonna to be tonight. 

 I grabbed my brother’s revolver off of my bedside table and slipped it between my leg and my sock. Easy access, I thought. Making sure, I leaned down to grab the gun and lift it up in a swift motion. My fingers laced the cool metal as I aimed it towards my reflection in the mirror. With that in check, I placed it back where it belonged. 

One more time, I looked at myself. This was it. There was no turning back. Johnny’s portrait that I painted when he was just five years old was sitting on my dresser. I put my fingers to my lips and touched his cheek. Without a moment's hesitation, I climbed out my window. 

It wasn’t the act of killing Randy that I was worried about. I was more worried if I was going to be taken seriously by him, or if he would be suspicious. 

Oh what am I worrying about. He probably doesn’t remember Johnny. He was just another target to aim at.

Lifting my head up high, I walked into the Saloon. Some looked at me while others were too drunk to notice I was there. My heart was racing as I walked up to Mr. Howard. He was sitting upright, not nearly drunk enough to get him to leave. His brown hair was tousled around as if he hadn’t brushed it in days. His white cowboy hat laid on the bar table. I noticed his revolver set on the side of his waist, on display for all who wanted to see. Most people would take it as a warning, I take it as a salutation. 

Without acknowledging the man, I sat down on the stool, pretending to admire somebody on the other side of the room. I made sure to dab some of Ma’s perfume on my neck, so that I could capture this guy's attention. But it’s not hard when that’s all these type of men want from a woman. 

“Well…” he started and I gave him a quick glance, “What’s a pretty young lady doing in a place like this?” 

I smiled and warmth rose into my cheeks, “Oh, nothing much,” I said, grazing the brim of his hat with my finger tips. He grinned and gulped down the rest of his drink. In a matter of seconds, another one was brought to him.

Bringing the glass to his lips he said, “Now, why haven’t I seen you ‘round town before, miss?”

It was because I never left the house. Pa was always so protective over me and now with Johnny gone, I couldn’t go anywhere. 

“I don’t live here, sir. Simply just passin’ through.” 

“Got a man?”

I laughed, “No, sir.”

“Good, that’s real good.” He continued to drink and another glass was empty. A third one was brought to him. 

“Why do you think that?” I asked innocently, “I’ve always thought that havin’ a man was something a woman depended on?”

Randy leaned in, his breath reeked of liquor, “That depends on what kind of woman you were brought up to be.” 

Smiling again, I sat up straight saying, “I believe to be brought up fairly well from my Ma and Pa.”

Randy laughed again, “A proper young lady would be layin’ in bed fast asleep, not wandering off into a saloon,” he drank another glass and slammed it down on the bar table. I did my best not to jump although I doubt he’d notice, “You should probably be gettin’ home soon, darlin'”

“Oh, but I don’t want to go home,” I said in pity, “I came here to have a little fun, you see, my Ma and Pa don’t let me have any fun, not since I was a little girl.”

Randy moved his stool closer, “What kind of fun do you want to have?”

I licked my lips and sighed, “Oh… Well I’m not so sure…” My eyes traveled around the room then back towards him. I set my eyes on the revolver, “You shoot?”

Randy was confused at the sudden change, but he just shrugged and said, “I do.” 

“Can ya teach me how?”

He laughed, so hard that he could barely breathe. As Randy took another swig of his drink, half of it dripped down his chin, “Wait, you want me to teach you how to shoot? Ha! That’s your idea of fun?”

“Yes sir,” I said. I knew mentioning this may be risky, but he was already slurring his words around. Besides, nobody was paying attention to us, so it’s a risk worth taking.

“Alright, I’ll teach ya. But ya have to give me somethin’ in return.”

“And what’s that?” I asked, but I already knew. He just grinned and started walking away. 

Then of course, I followed. 

We made our way out of the saloon, and I followed him down this old beaten path that brought us out of town. The sky was dark, but the stars were my guide. My heart was beating fast. I kept my eyes up at the sky then down at my feet. Randy was starting to struggle with walking, but he didn’t seem to mind. After a few minutes, we made it to this old shack. Not a person in sight. 

He stumbled inside the house, and I waited, wanting to stay as far away from that place as possible. A moment later, he walked out with some beer bottles in his hands. Randy started to drink one and chugged it down until it was empty, “I’m a better shot when I’m drunk,” he said as though it were a secret. 

As he opened another bottle, he placed the empty one on top of a fence post. While his back was turned, I thought to myself, Should I just shoot him and get it over with? Or wait a little longer? Before I could decide, he made his way back to me. 

Taking the revolver out of its holster, he aimed it towards the bottle, “Don’t worry sweetheart, the next one’s yours.” Instantly, he pulled the trigger. I jumped back at the sound of the gun that made the bottle explode, flying glass everywhere. 

Gulping down the other bottle he handed it to me. “Go put yours up there.” 

My eyes widened and I wasn’t sure if I was able to move my own two feet. If I stayed there any longer, it would only get worse. I thanked him and managed to walk over to the fence post. My back formed an arc, preparing me for the moment I may get shot. But it never came.

Randy loaded a couple of bullets into his revolver and handed it to me. I positioned myself and tried to aim for the bottle, but it was so dark that I could hardly see and my hands were shaking so much that the barrel moved left to right.

Randy then stepped behind me and put his hands where mine were. He directed me to the right position, whispering in my ear how to shoot his gun correctly. I could hardly breathe. If Randy Howard were any other man in the world, I would find this romantic. But no. This was the man I was about to kill. 

“Now, take a deep breath and pull the trigger,” he whispered. Trembling, I did what I was told, as if I were being manipulated. I jumped back as the gun recoiled. Bottle pieces flew everywhere. Randy was still holding me in his arms. 

It was quiet. It was still. Suddenly, I felt calm. Maybe he’s not so bad after all, I said to myself, Johnny was probably being dumb as Ma and Pa said he was. I can’t kill Randy Howard. I’ll simply go home and act as though this never happened. Nobody will know. Not a single soul knows me in this town. It will all be as though all of this was a dream—

Randy turned me towards him, interrupting my thoughts. The revolver was aimed towards his jaw, but he didn’t seem to mind. His eyes locked on mine. I wanted to look away, but somehow couldn’t. His grip on my wrist tightened. He muttered, “Now… you’ve got to give me somethin’.” 

His eyes glanced down at my lips and before I could say anything, his mouth met mine. His lips were rough and tasted like alcohol. Randy was urgent and forceful. I kissed him back as a sudden reaction. After a few seconds, we broke apart. I wanted to leave and run as far away from this place as possible. I hated being controlled. I hated feeling as I did now. Hopeless, helpless, and confused. 

Randy picked me up and staggered his way towards his house. As I was about to scream, he kissed me again. Harder. Panic started to rise within me. His lips parted from mine once again. I was stunned. Speechless. He groaned and continued inside. 

Oh, God help me. Please help me! This isn’t what I imagined tonight to be like. Why was I so stupid? So ill-minded? I didn’t want to kill a man nor anybody for that matter! What was in my head? My stupid head! Johnny, how could you put me up to this! Why did you have to get yourself killed?!

I then came to my senses. The gun was still in my hand. It was loaded. As I began to find the trigger with my finger, he grabbed the gun and threw it to the side. It seemed as though he read my mind.

No… No… No… No….

I was placed on a mattress and my doom nearly began. His dark, red eyes glared at mine. Angry, he said, “Better stay there.” then walked away. 

That’s when I realized that I was crying. I had to do it. I knew I had to. With his back turned, I slowly slid my hand down my leg towards my boot. Lacing my fingers on the cool metal, I brought it up. Sitting up I aimed. His back was still turned. I could shoot now, but no. I wanted his eyes to meet mine one last time. 

Randy grabbed another beer and started drinking it. He turned and saw me. 

I couldn’t help but grin. I probably looked psychotic, but who would care? The bastard deserved what he was going to get. 

“You little Bitc—”

Before he could finish, I pulled the trigger. The bullet went right through his head.

After it happened, I didn’t know how to feel. Scared, angry, happy?

All I knew was that it needed to be done. 

I grabbed my handkerchief and dabbed away the tears from my eyes. My hands were shaking, my heart was pounding. So this is how it feels…

I couldn’t think about all of this now. Slowly, I slid the revolver back where it belonged. 

Getting up, I wanted to finally run away, and I could, but I had to take care of Randy Howard's gun. 

Taking my handkerchief, I poured the alcohol from Randy’s half drunk beer bottle and wiped it onto his revolver. I might as well make this look like a suicide. 

Making sure my fingerprints were gone, I grabbed his hand and placed it on his revolver. Blood was already puddling around him and I did my best to be patient. When I couldn’t do it any longer, I ran. 

I ran as fast as I possibly could down that dirt road, and once I made it a tenth of a mile towards the saloon, I cut right, towards my house. 

Quickly, I climbed back into my room taking off my clothing and putting on my nightgown. Silently, I opened my dresser drawer and put Johnny’s revolver away. After that, I slid under the welcoming covers of my bed and let out a soft sigh. 

It was done. 

I closed my eyes and within a matter of minutes, I fell asleep. 

Waking up was difficult, but I managed to get up at the same time that I normally do. I got ready and headed downstairs for breakfast. 

They should know already, I thought, Pa always knows what’s going on around town.

I tried my best to act naturally as I sat down. Pa wasn’t in the room yet, and Mama was sitting there, focused on some needlework. 

“Honey, will you get the biscuits and set the table for us?”

“Sure Ma,” I replied, grateful for something to do. 

One at a time, I placed the biscuits on a plate, letting them cool. Then I went back and set the table. Once I went back in the kitchen, I heard the front door slam shut. 

Here we go.

As I cracked open the door, I saw my mama with her mouth opened wide, her needlework forgotten entirely. Pa was rambling on, his words quick. I set the biscuits down and hid behind the door. 

“—I don’t know what time he died. Hank said that Buck and Joe found him layin’ dead on the floor at four o’ clock this mornin’.”

“Who could have killed Randy Howard?” Ma asked in shock, “He’s the toughest man alive!”

“Nobody thinks that Randy was killed by anyone, Dolly,” he stated, “Because the only man that could kill him… is his own self,” pausing, he pulled out a chair and sat down, “And nobody can tell me otherwise.”