THE SMOKING GUN - AN OLD WESTERN SHORT STORY OF MINE

Jed Brody gingerly pulled the door to his cabin in the sleeper car closed. He set his bag down on the bench and watched what he could of the scenery filter by his window. He shed his black vest, standing there in a silk shirt from the east he pulled up a little kit he kept with him. Before becoming what he was, he had been a longhaired field hand working a small farm day in and day out. A visitor had dropped by, an older man, intense eyes and skeletal fingers reminiscent of the way Brody's hands looked, if you factored in the withering of advanced age. The visitor was a gentleman from up north, an undertaker he told them, who was just passing through.

He stayed on the farm for three days, resting most of the time, and then going for long walks at twilight. Pistol shots in the distance. Jed followed the old man one night, careful to keep his feet in the old man's tracks, because where the old man moved there seemed to be no brush to crackle underfoot. Jed's trip brought him to what the old man was using for a shooting range. The old man was standing there, a pistol in his hand facing a butte some distance away. Jed crouched down and watched the old man put a few rounds into an old can down range. After six shots, the old man spoke.

"You make more noise then rutting moose." The older man said. As the undertaker, his voice was a reserved and measured tone, reeking of proper training and time spent with various tutors of his wealthy family's cost, but on the pistol range his voice was like a serrated knife that slowly cut across the distance, leaving the very atmosphere rent apart where the words passed through.

Jed stood up, he'd been made. Was the old man going to shoot him? The old man reloaded his pistol, his slim fingers working fast, dropping old shells into a pocket in his vest, sliding the new ones home in the cylinder. The time of judgment, the old man turned and Jed was looking at a pistol from a new perspective for the first time in his life. A fear like he'd never felt crept over him, suddenly he felt all the mistakes of his past and would have prayed for the chance to endure his pain again in the future, anything so long as he made it through the night.

"Why don't you give it a try." The old man says, flipping the gun around in his hand, offering it to Jed butt first.

Brody slowly walked over to where the old man stood, he reached out slowly with a shaking hand and clasped it around the gun butt, the old man held the barrel still.

"Christ, try to shoot with a shake like that you'd be lucky to hit a barn from a distance you could piss across." The old man pulled the gun away, stuffed it into the waist line of his trousers. His slim fingers went into another pocket in his vest, came up with a pouch of tobacco.

The old man sat down on a wide flat rock, Jed walked over to where he was sitting. As the old undertaker rolled a cigarette, he spoke in his signature voice.

"Didn't your father teach you how to shoot?"

"I never knew my father, sir." Jed said, in nineteen years he'd never seen nor heard from anyone in his family.

"That's a shame, young man." The old man said slowly, "Here." The old man handed Jed Brody his first cigarette. The old man lit it for him and watched him smoke it, coughing like all young initiates do. "You feel that now?" The old man said haltingly as Brody finished his smoke "You feel that light calm settling over you?"

Jed nodded.

"Okay, now try it again." The old man said, pulling out the pistol, offering it to Brody who took it with a steady hand. "Now for your lesson, young man."

The old man stands up and walks to where he was standing at first, Brody walks beside him. He sets the gun up in his hand, holding it in a rather odd way.

"You really don't know your way around one of these, do you?" The old man asks, he gave him directions on how to hold the gun then continued. "Different methods for different men. The fastest draw in the whole world isn't worth a shithouse if he isn't accurate. Accuracy takes time, young man. Time in practice, and time on target."

Brody made a certain effort to listen to the old man, but he reasoned that the voice would have cut into his subconscious had he been trying to ignore it, he felt the words being written on his mind for all time. He followed the old man's instructions to the letter. About to fire, pulling the trigger he squinted an eye down as the light began to wane.

"Hold it. Get your eyes open! How the hell are you going to know what's going on around you with one closed? Are you behind a rifle? No this is a pistol, an extension of your arm, young man. You hold it the way I showed you, lesson one hit your target. Take in a breath, feel it go down inside you, that's what you're gonna shoot with tonight. As you breath back out, let half out and hold it. That's when you pull the trigger, and chase it towards your target by letting out the rest of the breath."

Brody followed his directions and went through the process. The hammer fell, the flash in the dying light, the sound. Down range, the can jumped as Brody's bullet went through. Brody was ready to fire again when the old man's hand was on his arm.

"If it hits right, you only need one shot." He said.

That night on the shooting range changed things for Jed Brody. The old man was only under the cover of an undertaker, he was a trigger man known for his skill, but not his appearance. As he maneuvered through society, he was capable of invisibility, people simply looked at him and saw nothing there that warranted a second look. The undertaker bit was only one of many covers he had used, others included a magician and a doctor.

Perhaps he saw potential in Brody, he left him with a small allowance. A small chip off the iceberg of loot the old man had pulled down for a job cleaning up after a sloppy bunch of outlaws. In the bag with the money, he left a small card with his name and how a letter could be gotten to him. The name: Lincoln Hall, wasn't familiar. But the place he was hanging his hat was. It was the name of a place that Brody stumbled across in research on his father's whereabouts at the time of Jed's conception. With some of the money, Brody bought a pistol , a small number, worn grips, chipped metal. He bought bullets.

Brody was contemplating setting off for the address, but Hall had told him he wouldn't be around that way for a good bit yet, so Jed just waited. Nightly, he would go to the "range" and fire a single bullet at the old can, until he needed a new can which worked just as good. At dawn and dusk, after Jed upped his schedule, he began to work on his speed. He quickly found that the faster he got the gun free of his makeshift holster, the further he seemed to miss his target by. He worked on it hardcore for a while, burning quite a bit away on bullets and eventually got it to where he could hit within a fist sized target area while trying to hit the center of it.

He was about to consider heading out to Hall's place when a letter came for him.

-Brody, if you've been practicing what I told you keep reading, if not throw this in the trashbin, you'd be wasting both our time. I've got something coming down soon, not a solo this time. I'm putting together a pack. A couple of mine caught a slight case of death, so there's an opening for you.

Lincoln Hall-

Brody was on the next train he could catch out to the address on the letter. That was how the story finds him, just settling into his cabin, some of the allowance from Hall held out long enough to put him in halfway decent clothes and get him a shave and haircut, his pistol in his bag. He put the mirror away and tied the case back up. He tossed it to his bag and sat down beside it. He was feeling to alive to sleep, so he pulled out some parchment and entombed his day in ink.

-

Brody sat down in the club car, he wasn't feeling hungry. He considered rolling himself a smoke, but was saving the tobacco in case he came down with a case of nerves and needed a cure. He listened to two old women go on about rose water or something, he wasn't paying attention to them. A vision of riding into some town, part of a mismatched group of hired guns and outlaws to carry out a contract and be out before the sheriff closed in. Jed never felt his eyes get heavy.

He woke up with a weight pressed down on him, something smothering him. He isn't in his room, his gun no where in sight. He opens his eyes, staring right into a pair of frightened, frenzied, female eyes. He has a woman on top of him, putting on a good show that they are well acquainted. Jed goes to move, and he feels something push into his abdomen, hard, metal. The woman laying on top of him on the bench has a derringer buried in his gut.

He watches in her eyes as she makes a hurried check of the periphery. She puts a hand in the center of his chest and pushed herself up. She's straddling him, looking around the car. Whoever she was worried about is gone, walking off. A quick look out the window, new city, but not Jed's destination.

The woman dismounts, she hikes her dress up and stows the derringer in her garter.

"What's going on?" Jed asked, feeling much like a prop in a stage show.

"Don't worry about it. It isn't your business."

"Really?" Jed was to his feet, he grabbed her arm. "You made it my business." He shoves her down into the seat, the guitar case in her hand falls to the floor. Jed gently picks it up. "Now, would you mind telling me what's going on here?"

"Just give me the case." She says, a hand out and demanding.

"You know I used to play a little bit, do you mind?" Jed asks, sitting down next to her.

"Don't open that!" She half screams at him.

"Okay, fine." Jed laid the case out on a seat. "What's your story."

"Why should I tell you anything?"

"Because I woke up with a derringer in my stomach, put there by some woman I don't know."

"Fine, I'm trying to get away from a cheating no good fiancee. He followed me onto the train, had to make a show he'd understand. Simple as that, now my case please."

Jed didn't like being lied to. But, he did like looking at the woman. Dark hair, full lips, bright eyes. They gave the lie away. Good form, or at least as far as he could tell from waking up with her on top of him. Guitar case was heavy. Derringer in the garter. It didn't add up to a small town girl getting out of a relationship.

-

Brody didn't see her again until the late meal that night. He had his pistol in his right boot, the pants leg pulled down over it. He was wearing a different shirt, same make as the first and bought at the same time, and the vest. It gave him an heir of dignity and class, he put off as best an act as he could, and borrowed Hall's undertaker line, or he would at least if he got the chance to tell anyone. As it was, he was content not to have to put his story on someone and see if they bought it. He sat down at a table with the young woman from earlier.

"Good evening, ma'am." He said, feigning class.

"Have we met?" She asks, impassively.

"Climb on top of me and have a look from a different angle, then you tell me." Classic Brody shined through.

"Be quiet." She hissed. "I don't want to draw attention to myself."

"Well, you have my full attention." Jed said, calmly.

"Just get up and go to another table."

"Why?"

"I'm holding a gun on you under the table."

"I've got one on you too. Want to have a look?" Brody's hand had slipped down and withdrew his pistol, he held it up where the tablecloth hid it.

"Okay, so we can sit here and shoot each other. What's that going to help?" She asks.

"Nothing. I just want some answers. Straight answers, this time." Brody really didn't care about real answers, just stretching out his time with her.

"Let's put our toys away." She said, slowly. "And just eat dinner like two civilized people. Come to my cabin later, I'll give you your truth."

-

Brody walked with the young woman back to her cabin. Over dinner, they made small talk. Her name was Sadie North, singer musician dancer, whatever was paying in the town she stopped in next. Brody felt a disquieting feeling pass over him as she had said "Whatever pays."

It wasn't long after Brody was in her cabin before Sadie tried to kill him. A knife drawn from her other garter, Brody saw it coming and wrenched it out of her grip. He pushed her down onto the bench, made up as a bed for the evening.

"And we were becoming such good friends." Brody said slowly, playing with the knife in his hand. "Who are you really?"

Sadie opened the guitar case silently. Inside was what looked like the top of a guitar, it was part of a fake panel, window dressing so to speak. Sadie pulled a little latch and opened the panel. Inside she had a revolver and a rifle in the guitar case, with some old clothes packed around them.

"You're a hired killer?" Jed asked.

"Yeah, I'm going to meet up with some gunslinger named Lincoln Hall for some big manhunt or something."

Jed laughed, he reached into his vest with his left hand and brought out his own letter from Old Hall. He handed it to Sadie as she put her case back together. She read over it and looked back up at Jed.

They made it in Sadie's cabin. She was very good, Jed thought. She had ridden him harder then the girls he knew back home, perhaps hired guns in the business of death do everything with a sense of urgency like that, like it's the last chance. Brody left Sadie under the covers and pulled on his dry goods. He made a check to see if he still had everything he'd come in the room with, and then left quietly.

At some point, there had been an interlude of conversation in which he found out Sadie was wanted in the town she boarded from. The man who came on board looking for her was in fact the sheriff of that town.

Also, Sadie's dark hair was part of her act. Her natural color was blond. When she took off the wig, underneath her hair was short, just past the middle of her neck. Jed couldn't think of a better way to begin his life as a hired trigger man.

-

When Brody and North met Lincoln in a saloon in the next town, there was an immediate problem.

"You're a woman." Hall said to Sadie, as if it was the most scathing comment he could make.

"Yeah, Hall, I'm a woman, but I'm still good. Besides, you sent me the letter." Sadie said.

"Good for what, a quick roll in the hay?" Hall asked, he gauged the response on Jed's face and on Sadie's, he sighed loudly and rubbed the bridge of his nose (something Brody would also do at times that warranted it) "I sent that letter to SAM NORTH." Hall said at length.

"You mailed it to S North, it just happens my late father and I have the same initials." Sadie said.

"Well, I'm not going to watch out for you just so you can put some 'cowboy notches' on your garter belt. Go look for a whore house to set up shop in. I have things to discuss with Brody." Hall said.

Sadie fired a look over at Brody, maybe lovers' code for "help me, you aren't going to let him talk to me like that, are you?"

"Hall, "Brody began, feeling his voice in the back of his throat "I'll watch out for her. She wont be your responsibility."

"For Chrissakes, she's already got her hooks in? Fine, I don't care if you keep a harem, just keep them out of the way when the time comes." Hall was bathing Sadie in scalding looks.

"Hall, you old buzzard I hope someone gets the drop on you, and I'm the one to put him down. Then, we'll see who's the better trigger." Sadie stood up, Jed was about to make a move to follow her, but she beat Brody to the punch with more words "I'll get us a room, you two talk business and you can tell me the details later." She walked away.

"I still say you're better off dumping her." Hall said. Jed shrugged absently. "In any case, here's the deal on my pack. We (Jed was sure Hall was mentally deleting Sadie from the equation) ride out in the morning. The others are meeting up west of here, coming east. We'll ride out and meet them halfway through and then set out for business."

"How much does it take for a horse here?" Jed asked.

"Taken care of." Hall said. "If you can talk her out of coming with you I can get back the money I put down for horse and tack for Sam."

"I don't own her, Hall." Brody said.

Hall sat there silently for a while. "If you can run her off before morning its extra money to go around."

-

The next morning, Hall, Brody, and North rode out the town gates. The morning on horseback brought the trio to the described meeting place. The rest of Hall's pack was assembled.

There was Old Wang, a Chinese who was in charge of explosives and had three sticks of dynamite in his belt at all times. Moccasin Joe, who was a short thick fellow who was down right deadly with his twin pistols. Avery the Whisper, a lean man advancing in age who works at distance with his rifle. The introductions were made, that is Brody was introduced. Sadie wasn't even there as far as Hall was concerned, but the others tipped their hats a fraction to her when Hall wasn't looking.

"So, Hall, where do we go from here?" Wang spoke good English, but his accent took a little getting used to.

"North, the Olander Gang and some hired savages and are holding out in a town called Prosperity. We bring 'em down quick and clean and the town name will ring true in our ears." Hall said.

"How many?" Old Wang asked.

"Does it make a difference? Numbers don't mean a thing, just shoot until you don't see anymore Olander boys, and hope there aren't any Indians holed up in Prosperity on lawful terms." Moccasin Joe stated.

"We'll find out when we get there." Hall said, "Let's ride."

-

It was a good piece out there. It was seven days hard riding, Hall didn't want to leave any openings for others who might have picked up on the contract, undercutting his estimate. The days passed relentlessly, under a burning sun. The nights were calm and quiet, spent out under the moon.

Every day at the end of the ride, Hall would walk off with Brody, teaching him the mechanics of being a shootist. Jed's piece was a single action.

"The trick is you gotta cock the trigger with your thumb as you draw. Some folks hold the trigger down so that as soon as they line up with their prey, they drop their thumb off the hammer and the gun goes off. Of course that ain't the most accurate way. " Old Hall instructed Jed to unload his pistol. "There, now you've got a dead man's your draw, get smooth as that silk shirt you wore two days ago."

Jed was going through the steps. Making good progress too. His speed was itmproving, and Hall seemed pleased with his progression.

"Now, remember the first shot doesn't mean shit. The first shot that hits is slightly more important. The first shot that kills is what you focus on, young man. And keep both eyes open, intent on your target you see all of him, from the top of his hat to the toes behind the front of his boots. I think you've got good instincts though, kid. " Hall pulled up a cigarette, lit it, "You still get the jitters?"

"On the target range, I got myself calmed down pretty good. Haven't smoked much, if that's what you mean." Jed reloaded his gun and returned it to it's holster.

"Well, everyone needs a gimmick, a distraction. Understand?" Hall pauses, "When you're in public, make sure your gun hand shakes like a tumbleweed in a twister, make a show of calming yourself down with a quick smoke. You wont seem like a threat, till someone calls you out. Walk into the duel with a lit cigarette, if the situation permits drag out the process of rolling it as long as possible. Make the other guy wait, get him jittery. You getting all this?"

"Yes." Brody said, practicing an unsteady hand.

"Alright, it'll make you famous. Guy can't even hold a drink steady in his right hand...actually use the right hand as little as possible...can you make due with your left?" Jed nodded, "Good, now once you start to put notches on the ole gunbelt, you put on a show. A duel with a renowned triggerman and you light two cigarettes at the same time. Judge your opponents in terms of how many cigarettes it takes to calm you down. People will start calling you the Smoking Gun. Nice name eh? Well, the real reason is one:you've got something for the other guy to focus on in an encounter other then his shooting. And two: if someone ever gets it in their pants to confront you someplace, they're cocky, cause you don't have time to calm down with a smoke. They think they've got you dead bang, bang they turn up dead."

"Makes sense, thanks." Jed said, absorbing the information permanently.

"Let me give you the formulae for survival. My formula. I take a team of good individuals, good at shooting I don't care whether they're good, bad, or ugly as people. Anyway, I take a team of lone wolves in with me. Everyone watches their own back, does their own job. No concern for someone else slowing them up. Nobody is counting on someone else to save their ass, so they don't get sloppy." Hall finished his cigarette and ground the stub out with his fingers. He put it in a pocket. He was truly a shadow on the plains, leaving no evidence of his passing through a place. "Now, you take some time to talk to Wang. Get him to show you how to breath like they do in the east. The damndest thing I ever saw. This guy was strangling Wang, before I met him personally, and Wang is just sitting there calm. The guy gave up, couldn't do it at all. Wang just sat there and watched him walk out the door. You spend some time with Wang, besides the breathing, get him to show you some of the stuff he can do with his hands, in case you ever get caught short without your pistol."

-

And so was the way Brody spent the traveling time. Riding during the day, any time there was a stop made, he spent time getting thrown around by Old Wang. At nights, it was time for quick draw practice, and lessons on surviving a gunfight, then off to Old Wang to learn how to breathe. Then, at the end of his curriculum for the day, Jed wrapped up in his bedroll.

He hadn't made it again with Sadie until the fourth night, when he followed her down to the stream where they had all washed up earlier. (Minus Sadie of course, Hall wouldn't let her anywhere near his crew during bathing hours) Brody and Sadie made it on the bank of the stream and took a swim to clean off. They dressed and walked back to the camp, Hall was sitting up, smoking, catching his ashes in the cup of his hand.

"Evening, kids." He said.

"Good night Hall." Sadie said, walking past him and setting up her bedroll for the night.

"When the time comes, kid, are you going to be able to do your job? Or are you going to think with your crotch, and get your brains blasted out trying to save her." He said 'her' like one would say the name of a hated foe. "Think about that the next time you two coil up like rattlesnakes." Hall stood up, pouring the ashes into a pocket. He walked off to his own bedroll.

They came to a ridge, the horses tied up in a grove of trees some way back, Hall judged they would have kicked up to much dust. The last night, there hadn't even been a campfire allowed, and everyone who talked, talked in a whisper. Over the ridge, they could see Prosperity, a quaint little town surrounded by a somewhat low wall, Brody knew he could take it easy.

Sadie was in her working clothes, laid flat on her stomach looking through her scope at the layout. When she tried to tell Hall the layout, Hall merely had Avery the Whisper scan it out through his own scope.

Prosperity looked like an average town, but no one was on the streets. The Whisper passed his rifle to Hall who scanned the area for himself. He saw a faint stirring in the window of a shop. Then he looks around, they're all inside the buildings. He picks out a few sniper posts in second story windows. He caught someone in a priest suit outside the church. It was Jarvis Olander, Hall knew him right off. Olander walked back into the church.

"Alright, they're holed up good. The townsfolk are in the jail, the ones that ain't dead and laid out in the doorways for us to trip over. Jarvis Olander is in the church in the center, I'm putting about ten in there with him, a ready made ambush for us to walk into." Hall passed the rifle back to Avery the Whisper. "Avery, you see right over there?" Hall is pointing to another position, closer to Prosperity with a better vantage to shoot from. "We may have to blast them out of the church, and we might have to do a little demolition to make some breathing room. You ready to show us your magic, Wang? I want you to approach, and come up on the east side."

Avery the Whisper was already making his way to his post, Old man Wang disappeared over the edge of the ridge, making his way down nimbly and quickly for one of his age, or any age for that matter. Sadie gave Brody a wink and went to walk off after The Whisper for the sniper spot.

"Where do you think you're going?" Hall demands.

"I was going to the rifle post, Hall." Sadie said.

"Only one person at that spot." Hall says "Who said I'm going to trust you up here with a rifle once I turn my back on you?"

"You're not touching my things." Sadie said.

"I wouldn't want to." Hall dripped menace from his voice, "I guess I've got to keep you close. You come down with Brody, Joe, and me. Once we're through the town gates and the shooting starts, feel free to hide out wherever you want."

-

As Hall, Moccasin Joe, Brody and Sadie entered the town, there was a sudden stillness, like nature was loath to disturb the scene. The calm before the storm. Sadie disobeyed Hall's orders to wait for the first shot before acting, she caught a glint off a gun barrel from a second story window up ahead, a few buildings away. She has her rifle to her shoulder, looks through her scope at the ugly face nestled in behind it's owner's rifle. She put a bullet through that face.

Like glass shattering, silence cracked and fell all around. Doors on both sides of the street slammed open, Moccasin Joe hadn't even drawn yet as an Olander with a shotgun and an Indian with a rifle emerged right up ahead of him. In one smooth motion, he had his pistols drawn and put a bullet through each. Old Hall casually picked off a man with a pistol who was trying to get a good vantage. Brody's gun felt heavy in his hand for the first few moments.

A cloud of dirt kicked up, a bad shot at him from elevation, he spins, see's someone on a rooftop. Brody put a bullet in him as Avery the Whisper did the same from his vantage. The body jerked first one way, then the other, finally rolling down the roof and landing on the dirt. Jed Brody had his first kill, or at least his first assist.

The others were moving forward, he seemed pinned to his spot. He turned to his right and dropped to one knee, he put a bullet into an Indian gunman who was coming around the building. Brody got to his feet and advanced as Hall and Moccasin Joe fanned out, their six shooters spewing death. Sadie was picking off gunmen who were completely out of pistol range, one of them casually stepped out of the bank, a rifle ready in his hands as one of Sadie's bullets pulped his skull. A thunderous roar as one of Old Wang's sticks of dynamite went off.

Hall was as fast at reloading as he was at shooting, dumping his spent casings into a pocket, Brody half wondered if he'd dig the bullets out of the dead bodies to completely erase his hand in things. Moccasin Joe covered Hall, then reloaded his own pieces. Sadie still had about three of her sixteen cartridges left. Brody was on his second cylinder of bullets, he had no idea how Wang was doing.

Another explosion, bodies hurtle out the front window of a shop. Old Wang's hand at work. A barrage of fire, six Olander gunmen loosing streams of lead down from their place in the second story of a hotel. The group scatters, Hall makes an entrance into a building and puts a round through the surprised door gaurd. Moccasin Joe barely avoids a hail of bullets, ducking behind a water trough, he trades shots, but the gunmen in the window have the advantage. Even so, one of them clutches his stomach and falls. Sadie ran sideways for cover behind a building, and Brody dove into what constituted an alley between two close set buildings. Bullets ricochet, and whine by, chips of the walls vanishing a haze of dust.

Brody found Hall's voice in his mind, telling him to do his job and forget the others. If he wastes time worrying about them, he'll get himself killed, and that didn't help anyone. He even put Sadie out of his mind as he moved on. What should he do? Jed Brody makes up his mind, he's going into the hotel to clean it out from the inside. Only as a means of self preservation he reminds himself.

Brody was thinking only of himself as he dropped an Indian who was quite surprised to see him coming around the corner. Brody scooped up the Indian's sawed off shotgun, a double barrel weapon. He didn't have time to search the body for any more ammunition, a bullet missed him by a breath of air and a bit of luck. Brody's return shot was true, the gunman went down.

Keeping his head low, Brody maneuvered around so he had a straight shot at the front door of the hotel. He crosses the distance, aware of covering fire from Moccasin Joe, but only because he'd been engaging the gunmen who had turned their attention to Brody's charge. Brody caught the door with a boot with all his weight behind it. Into the hotel, his first opposition was a man halfway up the stairs, Brody ducked and put a bullet an inch and a half above the man's belt. The gunman clutched at his stomach and fell down the stairs with no less then fifteen "clunks".

Brody lifted the dead man's pistol and took the time to replace the rounds in his own piece. He felt like a walking arsenal, the sawed off in his left, the extra piece shoved in his pants at the back. He made his way up the stairs cautiously. He came to the room the shooting was coming out of. He knocked on the door.

"What's the signal?" The one on the other side asks and Brody puts the sawed off up to the door and gives it the left barrel. In a hail of splinters and shot pellets, the door guard flies back, a shocked expression frozen forever on his face.

Brody gives the other barrel to the group by the window. One of them pitches out, he caught the most shot, the other are in various states of injury. They begin to turn around, Brody drops the sawed off as he gives it to the first one with his pistol. He fans the hammer with his other hand, managing to finish off the rest in a hail of terrible shooting. Footsteps behind him. Brody dives forward, his left hand at his back, he takes the force of the fall on his right, pistol in hand, and rolls over as he brings up the borrowed pistol in his left. He gives it to an Olander, the guy staggered and went down.

*-

Brody was back down to street level. Sadie had gotten to a rooftop, and was laying down a good line of fire. That gave the rest cover to move. Old Wang was outside the sheriff's office. He tossed a stick of dynamite in. The guys inside didn't know it was a dud, and ran out frantically. Moccasin Joe and Sadie picked them off as they emerged, Wang scooped up the keys to the jail to free the townspeople after the shooting was over. Hall was making his way towards the church, a shadow that wafted along in the stillness on invisible currents.

He worked with intense calm and reserve, like a master gambler sitting in on a penny ante game. It had come down to the church. Hall standing in front of it.

"Jarvis Olander. It's time to settle up." Hall's voice isn't loud, but it cuts right through stone. It's almost as if his voice wormed into the building, seeped around through the boards and sought out it's audience, having found him, the voice noosed him and drug him out.

Jarvis Olander walked out in his priest suit, offering up the devil's bargain. "Hall, " he says, coming out of the church with another man, younger shifty eyes, "I trained this boy how to shoot. He's quick as a rattlesnake and twice as deadly. You beat him, you can take me away live, Hall. But, if he puts a nice hole in you, me and what's left of my boys get to walk out of here clean."

"Come here Smoke." Hall calls to Brody. "They call him the Smoking Gun." Hall conferred to Olander and his boy.

Jed walked up, shaking his gun hand. He comes up and stand beside Hall. He puts his gun in the holster, shaking so bad he has to guide the barrel in with his left.

Olander's gunman is laughing hard. "You want me to out shoot that?"

"It's a fair deal. Jarvis taught you, I taught him." Hall said, "You agree, Olander?"

"Of course, Hall." Jarvis Olander was laughing. "But, if your boy looses, I want you to shoot yourself with his gun. Deal?"

"Sure, but only if when your boy looses, I shoot off your trigger finger with his gun." Hall smiled. Olander had no worries, he looked at Brody's shaking hand and the look in his eyes. It was going to be too easy.

"Deal. Now, call you're people all off."

-

All of Hall's people came in to Prosperity's limits. The two other men Olander had left, plus one wounded Indian and Jarvis himself came out of the church. Hall's crew stood on one side of the street, Olander's crew on the other.

In the street, Brody and the Olander Gun, named Cliff were faced off. The tense stand off, two gunmen there facing each other at a distance of ten feet. Brody held up a hand.

"Hold on, I have to smoke before I duel." He says, and goes into his pocket for a cigarette. Cliff stands there suddenly annoyed, hands on his hips. He has himself psyched for a duel and some asshole wants to smoke first? He smiled, like an execution victim. He smokes his last one.

Jarvis Olander himself lights up Jed's smoke. Brody stands there, smoking slowly. His eyes are scanning his opponent. He is envisioning how it will go down. He sees his gun come out of the holster clean, up on target, hammer falls, Cliff goes over. He watches it play over and over in his mind until it's almost as if he has already done it and is merely living in a flashback. He sees Cliff become a bit nervous as Brody puts on the act of his gun hand becoming more and more steady. He doesn't see a living body ahead of him, merely a corpse no one has clued in yet.

Still, he knows things could go wrong, the gun could misfire, anything was possible. He swept his eyes over the small crowd. He smiles as his eyes pass over Sadie. When he comes to Hall, he winks and nods. He finished his cigarette, dropped his hand to rest beside the butt of his pistol, lets the stub fall from his fingers. It smolders beside his boot. His hand is still as death.

"Ready now?" Cliff demands.

Brody nods.

The stand off. Cliff's fingertips brush the grip of his 45. He's nervous now, Brody's hand is still. Seconds tick by like tense hours, days. It comes in a blur. Cliff calls out "Draw",and closes his hand around the butt of his pistol. Brody's draw is smooth, coming up on target, pistol cocked. Cliff is coming up on target, ready to fire. The two guns fired in a quick question answer session that took place in less then a tenth of a second. It was over. Cliff staggered and went down, Brody was still standing. Cliff's gun had discharged in the spasm that took him as Jed's bullet hammered home, and the bullet had flown through the air to chip away at the side of a building some twenty yards behind and to Brody's left. Jed calmly pulled out the spent casing and slid a fresh bullet home. He gave the cylinder a spin and returned the gun to his holster.

Hall walked over to Cliff's body, and picked up his gun. Four minutes later, with Olander's remaining men tied up, the final scene played out in the hotel lobby. Jarvis Olander confessed he thought dressing as a priest would protect him, it didn't. Hands were tied. He was sat in a chair across the table from Hall. Moccasin Joe stood by with one of his twin pistols pressed to Jarvis' temple. Hall was holding Cliff's gun.

Olander lays his hands up on the table, they are tied at the wrist. His right hand is palm down. Hall puts the barrel of Cliff's 45 down on Jarvis's hand. He stands up, and slides the barrel along the back of Olander's hand, bringing it to rest just past the knuckle that connects his first finger to his hand. Hall looked straight into Olander's eyes and cocked the hammer. The job was over. Hall's pack had done without a casualty. Brody proved himself, but that weakness for the woman, Hall still didn't like that. Maybe I can use him again, Hall thinks to himself. Brody had to do the work, but it was Hall's hand who penned the first chapter in the life of the Smoking Gun. It was Hall's hand that tightened close around the 45's grips. It was Hall's finger that pulled the trigger.



-----------------------------


I know, the tense is all over the place, but at the time I tried to use present tense to make the scenes feel like they were happening "now." Some things happened faster than others, so the shifting sort of made sense to me. I always felt funny reading action where it seemed like everything had already happened. I like the feeling that whatever I'm reading is happening as I cross each word.

To me, it almost feels like an extrapolation of the slow motion technique used (and now abused)in film. Maybe that is just me.

Besides being a story about a young farmhand's transition into a gunfighter, it was a story about my own entrance into the writing game. The Brody/Hall relationship mirrors something of an imagined apprenticeship on my behalf. I'd always liked the idea of writing, but it wasn't until I began reading the works of William S. Burroughs that I ever took the enterprise seriously.

Of course, my early work was heavily influenced by Burroughs. I remember that one of my professors jokingly accused me of channeling the old man on a couple of my free form essays. He also suggested that I should work to find my own style, and that if I were alive in a different era he could have easily seen me suffering from tuberculosis as it would be a very chic illness for a tortured author.