"A Storm in the West", Chapter Two
Title: A Storm in the West
Chapter: 2/13
Fandom: Arashi
Character, Pairing(s): no pairings yet
Rating: R
Warnings: There's a lot of language, and some graphic medical situations.
Summary: A saloon owner with an enigmatic past, an idealistic sheriff, a remorseful shotgun messenger, and the town that unites them.
Jun's head was throbbing from the excess of whiskey the night before. It was nothing new, but in the summer sun it felt worse than usual, and he tried to keep in the shadows of the train depot as best he could, leaning against the wall. The cigar helped, but only a little- and the men loitering near his position were louder than they needed to be.
"Lucky job," one of them was saying, with a tone that said otherwise. "Rich folk comin' out here like it's a vacation."
"Bite your tongue," the other said, taking a quick swig of his flask when the train hands weren't looking. "Get paid better by rich 'uns than by prigs."
Jun breathed out a lungful of smoke slowly, watching the fog linger around his head in long, thin strings. The two men finally took a notice of him; they were stupid to be just now realizing there was someone listening in on their conversation. It meant they were unobservant- but not necessarily dumb, and Jun knew the importance of the difference. He let his fingers fall from the figurado between his lips and moved his arm; the motion caused his poncho to rise, displaying his belt, and, by association, the holsters residing on it.
He tended to get recognized when folks noticed him, and he wasn't aimin' to get recognized til after the job was done. The revolvers snug against his hips would keep the men off his back until the task at hand was finished, and that was all he needed.
The two hired hands fell into silence, and Jun was glad for it.
The train's whistle signaled its arrival long before the billows of smoke did, and once the iron horse slowed down to a crawl and eventual stop, Jun pushed himself out from the shadows and onto the raised platform. The job was to escort a family from Philadelphia to one of the larger towns near Santa Fe; a mining town, sprung up around the silver ore discovered, that proved to be a lure for many an Eastern city-dweller. Jun hadn't seen a lick of silver yet, but he wasn't about to tell any of the prospectors that.
The woman was the first one off- high collar, large broach, white gloves. Typical, and older than most who ventured west. Her husband followed, escorting a boy no older than ten. Family out to improve their fortunes; though by the look of the pristine state of their clothes, their fortunes didn't need much improving.
Jun reached automatically for the chests, and silently followed the family to the stagecoach waiting on the other side of the station.
The two men from the platform were the hired drivers. They kept the conversation up, asking about the family's life back in Philadelphia, and what they planned on doing once they were in Pinos Altos- Jun would have liked to sleep, but nodding off with a shotgun in his hands at the back of a stagecoach seemed like a stupid way to lose out on almost certain wages.
"-so rough out here," the wife was saying, wrinkling her nose and picking at her gloves a bit. "I certainly hope that someone can keep things organized."
"Ma'am, the sheriffs 'round these parts do that," one of the hireds answered.
"If they are anything like you, I cannot see that helping matters," she sniffed. Jun snorted, and managed to muffle the sound by inhaling deeper on his cigar.
"Some are," the driver said. "But some- well, they come from out East, like you folks."
"Yeah, what was that place with the new sheriff?" the other asked. "Real idealistic bloke, young?"
"Ah, shit," the driver huffed. There was a moment of silence, and Jun adjusted his grip on his shotgun, watching the horizon line behind them for signs of movement. The trip to Pinos Altos wasn't too far, but a good enough distance from the nearest town to be open for bandit attack. His trigger finger hadn't seen action for awhile, and he was content with that. The last thing he wanted to see was Indian feathers in the distance, and the war whoop that accompanied them.
"Rapid Springs," the driver said, snapping his fingers. "That's it- Rapid Springs. Got that federal appointee."
"Shoot, that was ages ago," his partner scoffed. There was a scuffle, like he was smacking the driver- but Jun's breath had caught in his throat, and his chest had constricted. Just the name had been enough to summon all the memories unbidden to his mind, all over again. The beige horizon blurred until he managed to breathe again, sucking in hot air that burned when he swallowed it too quickly.
He dropped his cigar, too, and it rolled a couple of times in the sand before fading out of sight in the wheel tracks.
"Well, I hope he's doing good there," the Yankee man said, with a note of finality, and that was it- the conversation moved to discussions about the mines in the area, and the missions that had sprung up along the railroad tracks.
But it took a very long time for Jun's breathing to even out, and even longer to push the nostalgia out of his thoughts.
------
“Ouch, that hurts!”
“Not as much as it would if it got infected and I had to saw your arm off,” Doc Ogura mumbled, looking through his half-moon glasses as he stitched the wound. “Besides, you’re the sheriff. You’re not gonna let some little cut drain you of your manhood, are ya?"
Sho frowned, looking away from the oozing wound and the needle and thread stitching it closed. He wished he had something alcoholic to numb the pain, but Doc Ogura said the bottle in his drawer was for him, not for patients. It was often hard for Sho to admit it, but he tended towards the clumsier side of things.
He’d been in the jail cell, cleaning up a pretty nasty shit stain Old Harry had left behind the night prior. Old Harry had been wandering the streets, drunk and shouting, and Sho had locked him up. Of course, being in the next room all night had kept him from sleeping, so between the smell and his exhaustion, he’d slipped and fallen, cutting his arm on a spring sticking out of the cell’s mattress. A nice shirt ruined and his arm was going to ache for days.
A sheriff’s life wasn’t as glamorous as all the dime novels had promised. Sure, Rapid Springs was small and he knew everyone’s face by now. And he’d done his share of fighting corruption, getting less than desirables to vacate Ninomiya’s saloon or chase down people that tried to steal extra horseshoes from Aiba’s place. But then there was dealing with Old Harry and settling disputes about pricing of merchandise at the baker’s dry goods store. He felt more like a caretaker for grown men who could barely keep track of themselves.
“I’ll put a bit of bandaging round here,” Doc Ogura said, snipping the end of the stitching with a pair of dull scissors from his black leather medical bag. “Just don’t lift your left arm if you can help it. Might tear open again.”
“Thanks, Doc,” he mumbled, rolling his bloodied sleeve down as soon as Ogura was finished. “Don’t go telling anyone what happened, if you don’t mind.”
The Doc chuckled, taking off his glasses and putting them on his desk. “Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of, sheriff. Injured in the line of duty. And besides, it could be worse. Last week, I had a guy from the next town over come in about some itching in his nether parts. Man was too embarrassed to see the local medic and he rode all the way here. All that bouncing in the saddle couldn’t have felt too good.”
Sho sighed, shaking his head. “It’s a strange world out here.” In Boston, there were so many people, all piled on top of one another. His own neighborhood hadn’t been too crowded, a few blocks north of Harvard Yard, but it was still a bustling metropolis and out here, well, your neighbors were a bit farther away.
The doctor stretched, wiping the sweat from his face with a handkerchief. “Heard you caught some of the Sandburg boys playing cards the other night?”
He felt a wave of pride come over him. He hadn’t even had to address them - his mere presence in Ninomiya’s saloon had been enough to send those criminals straight to where their horses were tied and back out of town. They’d be back, Sho wagered. Lowlifes always made for the best bar patrons. Maybe he’d have to take a firmer stand next time.
“Sure did,” he bragged. “Walked right in the door. Now they were just playing cards and drinking, so I couldn’t exactly go in and arrest them. But they were making a lot of noise that Sable Johnson came out of her house to complain. That’s really all I needed.”
Ogura leaned back in his chair, fanning himself with an old newspaper. “Don’t you worry what Ninomiya’s gonna think, you driving away his clientele and all that?”
He shook his head and laughed. “Maybe Ninomiya needs better clientele. We have families here in Rapid Springs. A church full of god-fearing parishioners every Sunday. But not a one of those folks goes to Ninomiya’s, despite advertising on their sign outside for meals. And you know why? Because of the folks that patronize his business.”
“Sure.”
“So for all I hear he complains about his finances, he could do more to attract the right kind of customer. It’s not my place to run his business, but it is my place to see that Rapid Springs is a safe place to live.”
Ogura set down the newspaper. “How long you been practicing that, sheriff?”
Sho sputtered, nearly stumbling off of the doctor’s table. “I didn’t…I don’t practice what I say.”
“Sure, sure.” There was a knock at the door, and Ohno wandered in. “Ah, Mr. Ohno, what’s troubling you today?”
The usually calm, quiet store owner merely held up a hand with a cut on the palm. “Dropped a box.”
That was Sho’s cue to leave. “Thanks again, Doc. Mr. Ohno.” He went back out into the dry, nasty heat, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his arm.
Did he practice? Well maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Not everyone had to turn into an illiterate, cursing good for nothing once he crossed the Mississippi. He wandered past Ninomiya’s saloon, seeing a few ranchers sipping sweet tea at the counter. The bar owner was out of sight, and Sho felt a twisting in his belly. There was a problem in Rapid Springs, and that problem was Ninomiya.
-------
She was screaming.
It was high-pitched and terrifying, almost inhuman sounding; it split his head and made his ears ring, and he couldn't throw his hands up to block the sound because he couldn't move. They had her by the hair, dragging her along in the sands- she'd been hurt, she'd been cut, and she was leaving angry red trails on the granules as she was tugged through them. Everything was dark, including their skin, but under the moonlight it was all still visible, and it took on an eerie, other-worldly glow that wrenched at his stomach.
She clawed at the hands holding her hair, and one of them kicked at her, hard, in the side- her screams stopped for a moment as she gasped for air like a horse did when it knew it was to be put down. She knew- she had to know, just like he knew, just like the realization was tearing through his stomach like hot bile and choking him, clogging his throat and his chest.
And then she shrieked again as the red arms came down with a knife to her throat, and he screamed with her-
-and woke up to pounding on his bedroom door. Automatically, flying on pure reflex, his own knife was in his hands, grabbed from under the mattress; it wasn't a shotgun, but if worse came down to it, he could throw the damn thing and get pretty close to an important organ. He jumped, bare feet pattering across the floor, to fling open the door with the blade outstretched.
Scarlet's wide eyes awaited him once his vision cleared.
"Shit," Nino gasped, lowering his arm; all at once, the fire caught up with him, a rush in his ears that muffled out all other noise. "What the hell have I told you about waking me up?"
"I- I'm sorry," Scarlet stammered. Without the powder on her cheeks or kohl around her eyes, she looked older- wearier. Maybe they all did when woken in the dead of night, but Nino didn't have a mirror nearby to confirm with. "There's a man outside, one of Mendoza's gang- he wants to talk to you."
Suddenly, he was glade for the knife in his fingers.
"Mendoza's boy?" he repeated.
"Says- says it's urgent," she whispered. She flattened herself back against the far wall away from him, but he didn't have time to waste on alleviating her fears- he could deal with skittish whores later, once the trash was off his property. He grabbed for his trousers, buckling them even as he went down the stairs. He stopped by the bar before reaching the door- the shotgun felt a good deal safer in his hands than the blade did. He checked the cartridge for rounds, and moved to the door.
"What?" he asked, crossly, at the man waiting on the other side.
"You broke your word," Mendoza's man hissed. There was the stink of whiskey on his breath, but he was staying upright well-enough on his own; not enough to get him drunk, at least, which didn't bode well for Nino. If Mendoza was keeping his men sober enough to fight, he had a problem on his hands he didn't particularly want to deal with.
"I promised you nothing," Nino replied, tapping the barrel of the gun against his shoulder a few times. "And you tell your boss that- I said I'd hold the game, and I did."
"The sheriff-" the man started.
"Horse shit," Nino spat. "You boys knew 'bout the sheriff comin' in here, and you came anyway. It's not my fault that he showed up and you ran like scared dogs with your tails between your legs. Don't come crying to me 'cause you don't have the balls to stick around when he pokes his nose in your business."
Mendoza's man seemed to consider this, and Nino kept his finger on the trigger in case the considering went the wrong way.
"Reward ain't good enough no more," he said, finally.
"What reward?"
"Comin' here ain't worth dealing with him," the man said.
"Are you giving me an ultimatum?" Nino asked. Across the way, one of the lanterns flickered on at the general store- Ohno was awake, then, or had at least heard the confrontation outside. If he'd heard, there was no telling who else was woken by the argument, and the last thing Nino needed was the entire town up in his business. He had his hands full with Sho.
"Mendoza said we won't do business with you 'til the sheriff is taken care of," came the answer.
"Mendoza said that?" Nino repeated forcefully.
"From his own lips."
Nino stared up at the lantern in Ohno's window. So far the curtains hadn't been opened; Ohno tended to keep out of things that weren't his, but there was a limit to how long he could keep his curiosity from overflowing. And as of yet, there weren't any other lights flickering on, but Nino wasn't willing to press his luck.
"Fine," he ground out, through his clenched jaw. "I'll deal with it."
It satisfied Mendoza's man, or at least enough that he started to amble away. Nino didn't know how he'd gotten there, or where his horse was, or that he was stupid enough to ride through the desert at night; he didn't care about anything else other than shutting the front door to the saloon and locking the metal bar with a satisfying clang. He didn't even return the shotgun to its usual resting spot, opting to take the weapon upstairs with him.
He met Scarlet halfway up, seated on the steps with what looked like the remnants of tears dusting her cheeks.
"What are you gonna do?" she asked, when he moved to go past her without slowing.
"Don't know," he answered curtly.
"We gonna stay here? Nino?"
"Don't know," he said again, and stomped the rest of the way up to his bedroom to slam the door with a violent bang.
--------
He hoisted the batch of hay, sweat coursing down his brow. Nagase had a thousand head of cattle and at least fifty hands, but this was a special delivery today. Jun set the hay down with the others before checking to see if any of the other ranchers had followed him into the barn.
His gloves stopped at the wrist and the hay was bundle fairly tight. It scratched up his arm as he dug his hand straight through the center, feeling around for the package within. He didn’t much care what it was. In these situations, it was usually a cash payment for services rendered, and said services were usually illegal in these United States, but so long as he got paid at the end of it all, it didn’t matter.
Jun’s hand closed around the envelope, and he pulled it clear of the hay, brushing off a few itchy bits of the stuff before heading for the barn exit. The next kid bringing in hay set it down on top of the one he’d just disturbed, oblivious. The main house was a good walk from the barn, and the sun was unforgiving as always. Nagase was waiting on his porch, idly swatting at flies when he arrived.
“Mr. Matsumoto.”
“Mr. Nagase.”
The older man, tall with skin tanned permanently from years working outdoors with his cattle, offered Jun a glass of water. No matter the weather, Nagase always wore his Confederate officer’s jacket. Rumor had it that he’d only been a lieutenant, but he’d been at Glorieta Pass in ’62 and snagged himself a captain’s jacket. The blood stained brass buttons had never been cleaned, and nobody knew if the stains were from the war or from more recent skirmishes. Either way, Nagase wasn’t someone to mess with.
“Sit a spell,” the man said, accepting the envelope Jun held out. He remained standing but accepted the water gratefully.
“I trust everything was delivered to your satisfaction,” he remarked as Nagase counted the bills in the envelope.
Nagase nodded. “I don’t keep cheats and thieves in my employ. Sit down already, I have a proposition.”
He was fixing to get out of there. If Nagase was getting cash for some deal, there was no doubt the government would be breathing down his neck one of these days. He didn’t need to stick around for a long job if the government might come poking their noses around. But Nagase was a powerful man in this part of the territory, and Jun knew being amenable to the man’s wishes would keep him alive another day.
So he sat down. “You’re quiet,” Nagase said. “You do the job, you’re on time, and you don’t try to skim off the top.”
He nodded. He’d never much cared what the job was so long as he made enough to move along to the next one without starving. Moving around, going from job to job, payment to payment kept the devil away. The devil that gnawed at his heart and his mind, the one who made the scar on his shoulder ache, the bullet scar that would never go away and never let him forget. That same devil who tinkered with his dreams, filling his ears with screams and his vision with blood-spattered dirt and the tipped wagon.
“I’ve got a few head of cattle to sell to a gentleman in Rapid Springs, south of the new rail line.” Jun froze in place while Nagase kept speaking. “I need you to travel with my boys, make sure no Indians get any ideas about stealing them.”
He downed the rest of the water before shaking his head, feeling the itching in his shoulder like the devil himself was gnawing at it. “I’ve got another job. Quinn up in Shoemaker’s already hired me.” Lying to Nagase was a bad move, especially when enjoying his hospitality and his water, but this was a job he would not take.
“Quinn’s a drunk and a liar. I’ll double what he’s paying you.”
Jun shook his head. “I don’t break my contracts, written or verbal, Mr. Nagase.”
“I’ll triple it, and you’ll lodge with me until it’s time for the job.”
He stood, trying not to shake in his boots at the shrewd way Nagase was sizing him up. “Your offer’s mighty fine, sir, but I have an obligation to Mr. Quinn. I’ll be happy to do any other job you have coming up, but Mr. Quinn’s got me for the next…”
“You think I don’t know about Rapid Springs, Matsumoto?” Jun chewed on his lip. “You think I haven’t done my studying about you?”
“Sir, I don’t mean any offense…”
“I know you don’t, kid.” Jun’s vision went red. He was nearly twenty-six - he was no kid. “But the fact remains that you’re just ensuring the safe passage of my merchandise and my boys. You ain’t gotta shake hands with the townsfolk.”
He looked at his boots. “I don’t take jobs in Rapid Springs.”
Nagase moved the worn gray jacket aside, revolver gleaming. “You take ‘em as far as the blacksmith’s shop, are we clear?”
His scar itched and his blood boiled, but there was no turning down this man unless you wanted to take up work five hundred miles away. “Mr. Nagase, please don’t make me…”
“The blacksmith’s shop.”
He’d lost. But so had the south, and Nagase knew something about losing battles. Jun nodded wordlessly, heart racing at the thought of the steeple on the whitewashed church, the dry goods store and the saloon across the way.
Nagase stood, giving him a handful of cash without counting it. He slapped him hard on the back. “You’ll be staying here tonight. I’m sending the boys down to Rapid Springs in two days. Go take a bath.”
It had been four years since he’d been there. Four years trying to forget, but it was all flooding back. He pocketed the cash and followed Nagase into the house.
-------
The sun was on its descent back towards the horizon line when Nino heard the shouting begin outside the saloon doors. He would have ignored it- because the last thing he was fixing to do was get involved in more altercations- but he picked out the sheriff's voice immediately, and from the hitching accent of the others- Mendoza's men, the lot of them. He grabbed for the shotgun under the bar, but left it by the side of the doorframe as he exited; he wasn't stupid enough to walk out into the middle of an argument with his weapon drawn.
The Sandburg Boys were standing down the street, trousers dusty and boots filthy. There were three of them, all steady on their feet and obviously itching for a show-down, and Mendoza wasn't one of them. Guns hadn't been drawn yet, but even from his vantage point Nino could see the fingers twitching towards the holsters. Sho was closer to him, a few feet away from the saloon doors, staring down the gang boys 'cross the way.
"Fine time we run you outta town, sheriff," one of the boys called, and Nino let his gaze linger on them a moment longer. He hadn't yet come up with a way to get Sho off his back, and he hadn't been aware that there was a time limit on his actions- apparently, that fact had failed to be communicated properly. Either Mendoza had a hankering for keeping Nino's saloon in his rotation more than he let on, or Sheriff Sakurai had irritated him beyond just Saturday night.
Nino hung back, near the doorframe. If he sided with the Sandburgs, and the sheriff won, it would be the last drop in his noose 'round Rapid Springs. If he took Sho's side and the Sandburgs won- well, he'd be three feet under ground 'fore sundown, that much was sure.
So he choose neutrality, because there was only one thing he knew for certain, and that was that he had no intentions of dying yet.
--
"I'm not figurin' to be run out yet," Sho called back. He kept his grip firmly around his shotgun, but allowed the barrel to stay tipped towards the ground. The men in the street looked to be in a fighting mood, but so far, all they'd done is threaten him- and Sho was used to being threatened. "Why don't you boys move on through, now."
"The only moving goin' on oughta be you," the one with the broad-rimmed hat shouted, pointing a slender finger in Sho's direction. "Go back home, Yankee, and leave Rapid Springs to us."
Sho pulled his shotgun up, resting the barrel in his other hand- enough to show he was serious, but not enough to start a firefight yet.
"I'll let you boys go," he said. It was a generous offer, but they didn't look to be moving anytime soon, feet firmly entrenched in the dust and dirt of the road.
"I don't think you understand," one answered. "We don't plan on letting you stay here."
"Don't think you have much authority to be lettin' anyone do anything 'round here," Sho replied, but let his gaze flicker up past their shoulders, to the blacksmith's shop at the edge of the bounds. He didn't see Aiba anywhere, and he wasn't entirely sure how to get the man's attention without alerting the Sandburgs themselves. He needed backup- and Ninomiya had not moved from his spot in the saloon's doorway, shrewdly watching the scene outside. It was his fault the gang was there in the first place, and his obvious lack of involvement made Sho's fingers tighten around the handle further. "Move along, now."
---
The last few miles into Rapid Springs felt like they lasted a lifetime. Jun tried to keep his thoughts on anything but his re-entrance to the town he'd sworn never to return to, but the only images his mind could conjure were those of bloody tracks in the sand and mangled bodies lit by starlight- and he needed those less than he needed the anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He kept his eyes on the ground, to avoid seeing the familiar swatch of dark roof against the expanse of sky, and trudged behind the other hands to better conceal himself.
They were almost to the blacksmith's forge, and Jun just wanted to drop the cattle and leave again, but the hands in front of him stopped suddenly. He craned his neck to look over the closest one's shoulder.
Something was going on in the street. From his position, Jun could only see the backs of three figures- Mexican, by the look of their threads and ponchos- and beyond them, a lone figure holding a shotgun 'cross his chest. The star on his collar shone in the light of the setting sun. Sheriff- the new one, then, by the looks of things. Jun ducked his head down again and started to go around the ranch hands towards the open blacksmith shop; they'd managed to show up in the middle of a territorial show-down, and he wanted no part of it.
He just wanted to find Aiba- even remembering the blacksmith's name brought a rush of bile to the back of his throat- and move on.
--
"We ain't asking you to leave," Mendoza's man in the center of their triangular position said, "we're tellin'."
Nino kept his face expressionless, but the sheriff was beginning to look a bit nervous; he kept glancing back beyond the gang to the blacksmith's shop, like he was hoping to spot Aiba and add a man to his count. If the deputy came out, he'd at least have a chance to even the odds- as it were, three against one didn't look like the fight was going to go in his favor.
Letting his fingers brush against the doorway- a quick reminder that it was his saloon, still, and all he had to fight for in order to keep it- Nino looked back towards the horizon as well. If Aiba came out, then the fight would go in a drastically different direction.
But he didn't see the deputy. Instead he saw a herd of cattle and two ranch hands staring down at the fight on the street with unabashed curiosity, and a third figure heading inside to the forge itself.
His throat closed painfully.
"I don't want any trouble with you boys," the sheriff was warning, and Nino barely registered the words- he knew the figure. He would never be able to forget the set to the shoulders or the angles of his limbs; it was firmly entrenched in his memories, resurfacing every night with the rising of the stars in the sky. It made him sick in the pit of his stomach, like he'd drank too much gin.
Fury clouded his vision, turning the sides red, and he reached for the shotgun just inside the doors without really thinking about it.
--
"Trouble was just what we were lookin' for," one of the men said, and then jeered, displaying the rot in his teeth. And then, in the side of Sho's vision, Ninomiya was moving, hoisting his shotgun against his shoulder and bolting forward out of the doorway with the barrels squared down the way.
Sho hadn't been expecting the saloon owner to jump in on his side, but he was willing to accept the aid- though it wouldn't completely absolve Nino's involvement in the entire debacle.
"You cock-sucking son of a bitch!" Nino yelled, sounding throaty and a bit raw.
"What?" Sho asked, taken aback.
"What?" the leader of Mendoza's hunting party parroted. He sounded equally confused. But Ninomiya ignored all of them, moving forward with the liquid grace that accompanies a blind rage, a complete block of everything outside. He was still close enough to Sho's position that the sheriff could see the involuntarily tremble in his arms.
"You gotta lotta nerve waltzing back in here, you murdering scum!" Nino continued.
"Nino, back off!" Sho shouted, and just as soon as the words left his mouth he realized that Nino's barrels weren't pointed at the Sandburg Boys at all; they were pointed past them, up the road to the blacksmith's forge.
--
"Fuck you!" It rang in Jun's ears, rang like the knells of a church bell during a funeral. It was the same thing that he'd run from the last time- the same voice, the same emotion warbling the tone, the same scene as he stared down the road into the rapidly approaching shotgun barrels. "Fuck you, you cock-sucking bastard!"
Jun's mind was frozen, but his body wasn't; when the shots rang out, his legs sprung into action without conscious thought, hurtling him to the side to shelter himself behind one of the half-walls of the shop. He rolled, and lost his hat, and flattened himself against the side of the wooden boards as the subsequent bullets start pounding the ground around him. The cattle started screeching and bolting, and the hooves were like thunder shaking the dirt, and one of the bullets pinged harsly against the wall near Jun's ear, too close for comfort.
And then, from within the structure, he could see Aiba running towards him with a revolver in his soot-covered hand.
--
"Nino, stop it!" Sho commanded, but Ninomiya was far past listening to anything he said. He just kept shooting, and the Sandburg Boys were moving, ducking for cover and drawing their own weapons from their belt-held holsters. One of them let out a savage cry in Spanish that Sho didn't understand, and then there were three muzzles pointed in his direction and a split-second before the bullets followed.
He launched himself to the ground, behind a trough half-filled with grimy water, and the gunfire erupted around him.
"Shit," he hissed, unaware that he was saying anything at all. His nerves were on overdrive, but he was going to get stuck behind the putrid watering hole if he didn't do something, and there was really only one thing to do. He cocked his shotgun and turned, shooting over the top of the trough.
There was a cry of pain audible even over the din of bullets, and through the smoke filling the air Sho could make out at least one figure on the ground, and Nino continuing to move towards the forge.
"Shit," Sho repeated, pulling the trigger again.
--
How Mendoza's boys hadn't hit him yet, Nino didn't know, nor did he particularly care. He couldn't see anything other than the tip of Jun's boot hidden 'round the corner of the blacksmith's wall as he moved towards it. He wasn't even aiming, really- he was shaking too badly with rage to even know where the barrels were when the shots left. And there was so much smoke, and the cry of spooked cattle, and shouting from every side of him-
-and then Aiba was in front of him with his revolver out, mouth moving before Nino heard the sound.
"Stop!" the deputy was calling, nearly tripping as he ran. "Nino, stop!"
He only lowered the shotgun because it was Aiba- it was cheerful, respectful, heedless Aiba who had always ordered an extra drink than was necessary to help Nino out, who cleaned the store room at Ohno's without being asked. He couldn't point the barrels at the blacksmith and be okay with himself, so he dropped the weapon entirely, handle slipping from his fingers as his muscles lost rigidity all at once, the air stolen from his lungs. Everything was still red- but Aiba was in front of him, and at least he'd lowered his revolver.
"Cock-sucking son of a bitch," Nino gasped, because he could hear her screaming in his head again, and he was awake.
"It's okay," Aiba said. There was another quick barrage of shots behind him, on the street, and then shouts in Spanish- retreat. Mendoza's boys were retreating; at least, the ones still standing were. Nino couldn't focus on very much but the pebbles wavering near his palms, digging into his skin.
--
The bullets ceased around his position, and then in the street, too- the silence was almost louder than the gunfire had been in a way that rung in his ears so loudly it hurt. Jun glanced around the beam- one of the ranch hands was in the dirt, groaning and writhing, and half the cattle were gone, and he didn't know where Nagase's other man had run off to.
God, it had been stupid to return to Rapid Springs, and now the dirt was lined with specks of blood glaring harsh at him like damnation all over again.
--
It was over, and all Sho could hear was screaming. It was like the rest of the noises in the town had died out - no spinning windmill behind the Johnson place, no idle chatter inside Ohno’s store, nothing but screaming. Aiba, trying to calm Nino. Nino, still cursing and shouting like a man possessed by some kind of demon. And the horrible sounds of cattle as they ran off like a thunderclap.
His shotgun barrel was still hot, and Sho realized that other than target practice, he’d never actually fired it before. He was the law here, and his arm was bleeding. His white sleeve was soaked through, but he ignored it, seeing one of the Sandburg gang writhing in the dirt and one of the strangers who’d just arrived with the cattle doing the same. His voice nearly caught in his throat.
“Aiba!” he screamed. “Aiba!”
He looked around, finally seeing Aiba hurrying over. For his part, Ninomiya had managed to collapse to his knees in the dirt, eyes wide in horror. “Sheriff,” Aiba cried, his breath heaving. “What the heck happened?”
“There’s no time for that.” Ninomiya had fired at the cattle and their herders or whoever they were. “Get him in a cell. Right now.”
“But Sheriff, he’s under control…”
Sho gave his deputy a shove. “I said get him in a cell now, damn it. And confiscate the weapon. Lock it up.” He’d never been short with Aiba before, but the other man seemed to realize the severity of what had just gone down. He nodded, racing back to haul Nino to his feet.
His arm ached but he managed to get to Doc Ogura’s place. Sho banged on the door. “Doc! Doc! The shooting’s stopped, but we got two men hurt. Doc, come out!”
The Doc answered in seconds, medical bag in hand. “What the hell is going on?”
“Skirmish,” he explained, unconsciously leading the doctor first to the injured ranch hand. “Sandburg boys starting trouble when these boys and some cattle showed up. Ninomiya comes flying outta his place in a rage and starts shooting. Sandburgs join in and I returned fire but…”
Ogura was already kneeling down at the rancher, his hands becoming stained with blood as he felt for a pulse. “This one’s already gone, sheriff.” Sho felt his heart sink. He didn’t know what these men were in town for, but they’d come at the worst possible time. And now this one had paid the ultimate price.
The doctor got to his feet slowly, since he was getting up there in years. Sho followed the man to the Sandburg fellow, and that was when Sho wanted to be sick. The young man’s hand was blown nearly clean off, and his shirt front was soaked in blood. He dropped the shotgun he was still carrying, realizing that he’d done all the disfiguring. And the boy was still alive.
“Jesus, Jesus, ayudame. Dios, ayudame,” he was mumbling, crying, feeling for his other hand with the one that was still intact. “Mama!”
“He’s nothing more than a boy,” Ogura said, standing over the bandit. “Sheriff, who…”
“Me,” he admitted. “I was the only one firing their way. I…I had to…”
“Nobody’s accusing you of anything,” the older man reassured him. “We need to move him…I can try and get the bullets out but his hand…”
Sho felt a fresh wave of nausea, and even with the sun setting it was still hot. There was nobody else on the street. The townsfolk stayed in their homes, and Aiba was busy getting Nino in lock-up. He spied just one solitary man, the one Nino had been cursing at. Sho didn’t recognize him, but he was the only help available.
“You! Get over here!” The other man barely reacted, fumbling his fingers shakily across the dirt to retrieve his hat. Sho noticed a rather nasty looking bullet hole through the brim of it. He walked over, kicking up the soil. “You hear me? Get up! We need to get this man inside so the Doc can patch him up!”
The other man finally looked up, and Sho had never seen a man look so lost in his whole life. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Well it’s too late for that,” Sho replied, ignoring the pain in his arm to grab the other man by the sleeve of his long duster and hauling him up. He wasn’t much taller, but his features were sharper, testament to a hard life lived out here on the frontier.
“Can’t help you…need to get the cattle.”
Sho started to physically drag the man over to where Ogura was waiting anxiously. “Don’t think those cows are coming back, son. Now get over here and help.” He grabbed the kid under his arms and the man with the hole in his hat got the legs.
“Mama…por favor, Mama…”
The sheriff bit his tongue to keep from letting out a scream of frustration. Why couldn’t he have just killed this boy? Now he was suffering something awful, and it was all his fault. And word would get back to Mendoza, who would relay it to his boss, Sandburg, and Rapid Springs was going to be facing a heap of trouble.
Ogura had the door open and had them bypass his usual office space to lay the kid down on his own bed sheets. Sho had blood on his hands, all over his clothes, his own mingled with the blood of the youth he’d shot. “Hand’s not going to make it,” the doc announced, departing the room and leaving Sho with the other man.
Sho could barely concentrate. He knew he had to ask the man who he was, where he’d come from, what the deal was with the cattle. But all he could hear was the boy begging in Spanish to be helped, begging for his mother. All he could say was “don’t go anywhere” when the other man tried to leave. He needed to get the full story so he could report back to the territorial government about what the hell happened.
The doctor returned with a gleaming handsaw, and Sho nearly doubled over. “Doc, you aren’t…”
“This boy ain’t gonna use that hand again.”
Sho closed his eyes. The boy wasn’t going to breathe for much longer with all the holes in him. Couldn’t the doc just give him something for the pain and kill him quick? Sho’d failed to give the boy a merciful, quick death, and now he’d have to watch what his failure had brought.
“You never shot anyone before,” the other man finally spoke. “Have you?”
He turned to see the other man’s cold eyes, unblinking, sizing him up the same way the Sandburg boys had. “No, I haven’t,” he admitted honestly.
Ogura pointed to Sho’s middle. “Belt. Take it off.”
“What? Why?”
“You’ll see,” the other man noted darkly, and Sho undid the buckle with trembling, sticky fingers.
He held the belt out for the doctor, who shook his head. “No, get that in his mouth. Let him bite it.” Sho paled, moving to stand behind the headboard, awkwardly positioning himself by the boy, getting the leather belt in his mouth as he kept crying for his mother.
“Hold his legs,” the doctor ordered the other man, who obeyed as if he’d been in this sort of situation time and time again.
The sound the boy made when the saw first cut through bone was never going to leave Sho’s mind. He was seeing spots, concentrating on the leather in the boy’s mouth, and he was going to faint if Ogura-san didn’t get that limb off quicker.
“Tighter. Hold the legs tighter.”
“Mama!” the boy cried, voice distorted from the belt between his lips.
“Just slit his throat, doc,” the other man argued. “Hacking his hand ain’t gonna stop the holes in his chest from bleeding out.”
“We have to try…” Sho heard himself say, although he didn’t feel like he was really there. “We have to…” This boy would never see his mama again. For all that he was caught up in a gang of bandits, they had to save him.
“He’s suffering, Sheriff. Doc, come on.”
Ogura said nothing, and Sho listened to the saw finish its work. The boy had passed out, and Sho was about to follow him. “He’s out,” Sho announced, seeing the doctor’s pristine bed sheets soaked through with the boy’s life.
There was the sound of boots and then Aiba appeared in the doorway. The blacksmith’s skin went green almost immediately at the sight of the doctor’s bedroom. “Sheriff, Ninomiya’s secure…uhhhh, what should I do from here?”
Sho couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. “You…Aiba, could you…”
The other man let the dying kid’s legs go and moved to the door, and Sho watched, numb, as he pat the deputy on the shoulder. “Go house to house, tell them all the shooting’s over for now. Reassure them that your sheriff has things under control.”
“Don’t…Aiba, he’s…” Sho could barely form a sentence. There was so much blood, and now Doc Ogura was cutting open the boy’s shirt with a knife and there was blood oozing from everywhere. He couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen, he thought. You did this to him. You did this.
“Sheriff…who…” Aiba mumbled.
“Jun Matsumoto,” the other man said briefly.
Aiba was still looking for answers, looking between him and this Matsumoto, and Sho could only watch Ogura digging around in the boy’s flesh with some kind of medical tool, poking around for fragments of bullets.
“Deputy Aiba, go house to house…tell them…”
His deputy merely nodded. “You got it, sheriff.” Aiba’s footsteps were heavy as Sho listened to him retreat.
“Doc, you need us?” Matsumoto asked. Ogura shook his head, and Sho let the belt go. He didn’t want to watch this boy get cut to pieces. Was he even going to make it? Jun took off, and Sho stumbled after him, into the doctor’s regular office.
“Wait.”
“I need to find the cattle. I was…” He stopped speaking, eyeing Sho suspiciously. “I can’t stay here and keep doing your job, sheriff.”
Sho quaked in anger. Who was this guy, telling him what to do? Rapid Springs was his responsibility. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Matsumoto made it to the doc’s door and opened it. “I’m going to find the cattle.” Sho watched him go through the door, only pausing to look back at him one more time with those calculating eyes. “Your arm’s bleeding something awful, sheriff. Might wanna get that mended.”
The door slammed closed, and Sho sighed. He felt a hand on his shoulder minutes later, and Ogura’s even, always calm voice.
“Boy’s gone.”
Chapter: 2/13
Fandom: Arashi
Character, Pairing(s): no pairings yet
Rating: R
Warnings: There's a lot of language, and some graphic medical situations.
Summary: A saloon owner with an enigmatic past, an idealistic sheriff, a remorseful shotgun messenger, and the town that unites them.
Jun's head was throbbing from the excess of whiskey the night before. It was nothing new, but in the summer sun it felt worse than usual, and he tried to keep in the shadows of the train depot as best he could, leaning against the wall. The cigar helped, but only a little- and the men loitering near his position were louder than they needed to be.
"Lucky job," one of them was saying, with a tone that said otherwise. "Rich folk comin' out here like it's a vacation."
"Bite your tongue," the other said, taking a quick swig of his flask when the train hands weren't looking. "Get paid better by rich 'uns than by prigs."
Jun breathed out a lungful of smoke slowly, watching the fog linger around his head in long, thin strings. The two men finally took a notice of him; they were stupid to be just now realizing there was someone listening in on their conversation. It meant they were unobservant- but not necessarily dumb, and Jun knew the importance of the difference. He let his fingers fall from the figurado between his lips and moved his arm; the motion caused his poncho to rise, displaying his belt, and, by association, the holsters residing on it.
He tended to get recognized when folks noticed him, and he wasn't aimin' to get recognized til after the job was done. The revolvers snug against his hips would keep the men off his back until the task at hand was finished, and that was all he needed.
The two hired hands fell into silence, and Jun was glad for it.
The train's whistle signaled its arrival long before the billows of smoke did, and once the iron horse slowed down to a crawl and eventual stop, Jun pushed himself out from the shadows and onto the raised platform. The job was to escort a family from Philadelphia to one of the larger towns near Santa Fe; a mining town, sprung up around the silver ore discovered, that proved to be a lure for many an Eastern city-dweller. Jun hadn't seen a lick of silver yet, but he wasn't about to tell any of the prospectors that.
The woman was the first one off- high collar, large broach, white gloves. Typical, and older than most who ventured west. Her husband followed, escorting a boy no older than ten. Family out to improve their fortunes; though by the look of the pristine state of their clothes, their fortunes didn't need much improving.
Jun reached automatically for the chests, and silently followed the family to the stagecoach waiting on the other side of the station.
The two men from the platform were the hired drivers. They kept the conversation up, asking about the family's life back in Philadelphia, and what they planned on doing once they were in Pinos Altos- Jun would have liked to sleep, but nodding off with a shotgun in his hands at the back of a stagecoach seemed like a stupid way to lose out on almost certain wages.
"-so rough out here," the wife was saying, wrinkling her nose and picking at her gloves a bit. "I certainly hope that someone can keep things organized."
"Ma'am, the sheriffs 'round these parts do that," one of the hireds answered.
"If they are anything like you, I cannot see that helping matters," she sniffed. Jun snorted, and managed to muffle the sound by inhaling deeper on his cigar.
"Some are," the driver said. "But some- well, they come from out East, like you folks."
"Yeah, what was that place with the new sheriff?" the other asked. "Real idealistic bloke, young?"
"Ah, shit," the driver huffed. There was a moment of silence, and Jun adjusted his grip on his shotgun, watching the horizon line behind them for signs of movement. The trip to Pinos Altos wasn't too far, but a good enough distance from the nearest town to be open for bandit attack. His trigger finger hadn't seen action for awhile, and he was content with that. The last thing he wanted to see was Indian feathers in the distance, and the war whoop that accompanied them.
"Rapid Springs," the driver said, snapping his fingers. "That's it- Rapid Springs. Got that federal appointee."
"Shoot, that was ages ago," his partner scoffed. There was a scuffle, like he was smacking the driver- but Jun's breath had caught in his throat, and his chest had constricted. Just the name had been enough to summon all the memories unbidden to his mind, all over again. The beige horizon blurred until he managed to breathe again, sucking in hot air that burned when he swallowed it too quickly.
He dropped his cigar, too, and it rolled a couple of times in the sand before fading out of sight in the wheel tracks.
"Well, I hope he's doing good there," the Yankee man said, with a note of finality, and that was it- the conversation moved to discussions about the mines in the area, and the missions that had sprung up along the railroad tracks.
But it took a very long time for Jun's breathing to even out, and even longer to push the nostalgia out of his thoughts.
------
“Ouch, that hurts!”
“Not as much as it would if it got infected and I had to saw your arm off,” Doc Ogura mumbled, looking through his half-moon glasses as he stitched the wound. “Besides, you’re the sheriff. You’re not gonna let some little cut drain you of your manhood, are ya?"
Sho frowned, looking away from the oozing wound and the needle and thread stitching it closed. He wished he had something alcoholic to numb the pain, but Doc Ogura said the bottle in his drawer was for him, not for patients. It was often hard for Sho to admit it, but he tended towards the clumsier side of things.
He’d been in the jail cell, cleaning up a pretty nasty shit stain Old Harry had left behind the night prior. Old Harry had been wandering the streets, drunk and shouting, and Sho had locked him up. Of course, being in the next room all night had kept him from sleeping, so between the smell and his exhaustion, he’d slipped and fallen, cutting his arm on a spring sticking out of the cell’s mattress. A nice shirt ruined and his arm was going to ache for days.
A sheriff’s life wasn’t as glamorous as all the dime novels had promised. Sure, Rapid Springs was small and he knew everyone’s face by now. And he’d done his share of fighting corruption, getting less than desirables to vacate Ninomiya’s saloon or chase down people that tried to steal extra horseshoes from Aiba’s place. But then there was dealing with Old Harry and settling disputes about pricing of merchandise at the baker’s dry goods store. He felt more like a caretaker for grown men who could barely keep track of themselves.
“I’ll put a bit of bandaging round here,” Doc Ogura said, snipping the end of the stitching with a pair of dull scissors from his black leather medical bag. “Just don’t lift your left arm if you can help it. Might tear open again.”
“Thanks, Doc,” he mumbled, rolling his bloodied sleeve down as soon as Ogura was finished. “Don’t go telling anyone what happened, if you don’t mind.”
The Doc chuckled, taking off his glasses and putting them on his desk. “Ain’t nothing to be ashamed of, sheriff. Injured in the line of duty. And besides, it could be worse. Last week, I had a guy from the next town over come in about some itching in his nether parts. Man was too embarrassed to see the local medic and he rode all the way here. All that bouncing in the saddle couldn’t have felt too good.”
Sho sighed, shaking his head. “It’s a strange world out here.” In Boston, there were so many people, all piled on top of one another. His own neighborhood hadn’t been too crowded, a few blocks north of Harvard Yard, but it was still a bustling metropolis and out here, well, your neighbors were a bit farther away.
The doctor stretched, wiping the sweat from his face with a handkerchief. “Heard you caught some of the Sandburg boys playing cards the other night?”
He felt a wave of pride come over him. He hadn’t even had to address them - his mere presence in Ninomiya’s saloon had been enough to send those criminals straight to where their horses were tied and back out of town. They’d be back, Sho wagered. Lowlifes always made for the best bar patrons. Maybe he’d have to take a firmer stand next time.
“Sure did,” he bragged. “Walked right in the door. Now they were just playing cards and drinking, so I couldn’t exactly go in and arrest them. But they were making a lot of noise that Sable Johnson came out of her house to complain. That’s really all I needed.”
Ogura leaned back in his chair, fanning himself with an old newspaper. “Don’t you worry what Ninomiya’s gonna think, you driving away his clientele and all that?”
He shook his head and laughed. “Maybe Ninomiya needs better clientele. We have families here in Rapid Springs. A church full of god-fearing parishioners every Sunday. But not a one of those folks goes to Ninomiya’s, despite advertising on their sign outside for meals. And you know why? Because of the folks that patronize his business.”
“Sure.”
“So for all I hear he complains about his finances, he could do more to attract the right kind of customer. It’s not my place to run his business, but it is my place to see that Rapid Springs is a safe place to live.”
Ogura set down the newspaper. “How long you been practicing that, sheriff?”
Sho sputtered, nearly stumbling off of the doctor’s table. “I didn’t…I don’t practice what I say.”
“Sure, sure.” There was a knock at the door, and Ohno wandered in. “Ah, Mr. Ohno, what’s troubling you today?”
The usually calm, quiet store owner merely held up a hand with a cut on the palm. “Dropped a box.”
That was Sho’s cue to leave. “Thanks again, Doc. Mr. Ohno.” He went back out into the dry, nasty heat, trying to ignore the throbbing pain in his arm.
Did he practice? Well maybe he did, maybe he didn’t. Not everyone had to turn into an illiterate, cursing good for nothing once he crossed the Mississippi. He wandered past Ninomiya’s saloon, seeing a few ranchers sipping sweet tea at the counter. The bar owner was out of sight, and Sho felt a twisting in his belly. There was a problem in Rapid Springs, and that problem was Ninomiya.
-------
She was screaming.
It was high-pitched and terrifying, almost inhuman sounding; it split his head and made his ears ring, and he couldn't throw his hands up to block the sound because he couldn't move. They had her by the hair, dragging her along in the sands- she'd been hurt, she'd been cut, and she was leaving angry red trails on the granules as she was tugged through them. Everything was dark, including their skin, but under the moonlight it was all still visible, and it took on an eerie, other-worldly glow that wrenched at his stomach.
She clawed at the hands holding her hair, and one of them kicked at her, hard, in the side- her screams stopped for a moment as she gasped for air like a horse did when it knew it was to be put down. She knew- she had to know, just like he knew, just like the realization was tearing through his stomach like hot bile and choking him, clogging his throat and his chest.
And then she shrieked again as the red arms came down with a knife to her throat, and he screamed with her-
-and woke up to pounding on his bedroom door. Automatically, flying on pure reflex, his own knife was in his hands, grabbed from under the mattress; it wasn't a shotgun, but if worse came down to it, he could throw the damn thing and get pretty close to an important organ. He jumped, bare feet pattering across the floor, to fling open the door with the blade outstretched.
Scarlet's wide eyes awaited him once his vision cleared.
"Shit," Nino gasped, lowering his arm; all at once, the fire caught up with him, a rush in his ears that muffled out all other noise. "What the hell have I told you about waking me up?"
"I- I'm sorry," Scarlet stammered. Without the powder on her cheeks or kohl around her eyes, she looked older- wearier. Maybe they all did when woken in the dead of night, but Nino didn't have a mirror nearby to confirm with. "There's a man outside, one of Mendoza's gang- he wants to talk to you."
Suddenly, he was glade for the knife in his fingers.
"Mendoza's boy?" he repeated.
"Says- says it's urgent," she whispered. She flattened herself back against the far wall away from him, but he didn't have time to waste on alleviating her fears- he could deal with skittish whores later, once the trash was off his property. He grabbed for his trousers, buckling them even as he went down the stairs. He stopped by the bar before reaching the door- the shotgun felt a good deal safer in his hands than the blade did. He checked the cartridge for rounds, and moved to the door.
"What?" he asked, crossly, at the man waiting on the other side.
"You broke your word," Mendoza's man hissed. There was the stink of whiskey on his breath, but he was staying upright well-enough on his own; not enough to get him drunk, at least, which didn't bode well for Nino. If Mendoza was keeping his men sober enough to fight, he had a problem on his hands he didn't particularly want to deal with.
"I promised you nothing," Nino replied, tapping the barrel of the gun against his shoulder a few times. "And you tell your boss that- I said I'd hold the game, and I did."
"The sheriff-" the man started.
"Horse shit," Nino spat. "You boys knew 'bout the sheriff comin' in here, and you came anyway. It's not my fault that he showed up and you ran like scared dogs with your tails between your legs. Don't come crying to me 'cause you don't have the balls to stick around when he pokes his nose in your business."
Mendoza's man seemed to consider this, and Nino kept his finger on the trigger in case the considering went the wrong way.
"Reward ain't good enough no more," he said, finally.
"What reward?"
"Comin' here ain't worth dealing with him," the man said.
"Are you giving me an ultimatum?" Nino asked. Across the way, one of the lanterns flickered on at the general store- Ohno was awake, then, or had at least heard the confrontation outside. If he'd heard, there was no telling who else was woken by the argument, and the last thing Nino needed was the entire town up in his business. He had his hands full with Sho.
"Mendoza said we won't do business with you 'til the sheriff is taken care of," came the answer.
"Mendoza said that?" Nino repeated forcefully.
"From his own lips."
Nino stared up at the lantern in Ohno's window. So far the curtains hadn't been opened; Ohno tended to keep out of things that weren't his, but there was a limit to how long he could keep his curiosity from overflowing. And as of yet, there weren't any other lights flickering on, but Nino wasn't willing to press his luck.
"Fine," he ground out, through his clenched jaw. "I'll deal with it."
It satisfied Mendoza's man, or at least enough that he started to amble away. Nino didn't know how he'd gotten there, or where his horse was, or that he was stupid enough to ride through the desert at night; he didn't care about anything else other than shutting the front door to the saloon and locking the metal bar with a satisfying clang. He didn't even return the shotgun to its usual resting spot, opting to take the weapon upstairs with him.
He met Scarlet halfway up, seated on the steps with what looked like the remnants of tears dusting her cheeks.
"What are you gonna do?" she asked, when he moved to go past her without slowing.
"Don't know," he answered curtly.
"We gonna stay here? Nino?"
"Don't know," he said again, and stomped the rest of the way up to his bedroom to slam the door with a violent bang.
--------
He hoisted the batch of hay, sweat coursing down his brow. Nagase had a thousand head of cattle and at least fifty hands, but this was a special delivery today. Jun set the hay down with the others before checking to see if any of the other ranchers had followed him into the barn.
His gloves stopped at the wrist and the hay was bundle fairly tight. It scratched up his arm as he dug his hand straight through the center, feeling around for the package within. He didn’t much care what it was. In these situations, it was usually a cash payment for services rendered, and said services were usually illegal in these United States, but so long as he got paid at the end of it all, it didn’t matter.
Jun’s hand closed around the envelope, and he pulled it clear of the hay, brushing off a few itchy bits of the stuff before heading for the barn exit. The next kid bringing in hay set it down on top of the one he’d just disturbed, oblivious. The main house was a good walk from the barn, and the sun was unforgiving as always. Nagase was waiting on his porch, idly swatting at flies when he arrived.
“Mr. Matsumoto.”
“Mr. Nagase.”
The older man, tall with skin tanned permanently from years working outdoors with his cattle, offered Jun a glass of water. No matter the weather, Nagase always wore his Confederate officer’s jacket. Rumor had it that he’d only been a lieutenant, but he’d been at Glorieta Pass in ’62 and snagged himself a captain’s jacket. The blood stained brass buttons had never been cleaned, and nobody knew if the stains were from the war or from more recent skirmishes. Either way, Nagase wasn’t someone to mess with.
“Sit a spell,” the man said, accepting the envelope Jun held out. He remained standing but accepted the water gratefully.
“I trust everything was delivered to your satisfaction,” he remarked as Nagase counted the bills in the envelope.
Nagase nodded. “I don’t keep cheats and thieves in my employ. Sit down already, I have a proposition.”
He was fixing to get out of there. If Nagase was getting cash for some deal, there was no doubt the government would be breathing down his neck one of these days. He didn’t need to stick around for a long job if the government might come poking their noses around. But Nagase was a powerful man in this part of the territory, and Jun knew being amenable to the man’s wishes would keep him alive another day.
So he sat down. “You’re quiet,” Nagase said. “You do the job, you’re on time, and you don’t try to skim off the top.”
He nodded. He’d never much cared what the job was so long as he made enough to move along to the next one without starving. Moving around, going from job to job, payment to payment kept the devil away. The devil that gnawed at his heart and his mind, the one who made the scar on his shoulder ache, the bullet scar that would never go away and never let him forget. That same devil who tinkered with his dreams, filling his ears with screams and his vision with blood-spattered dirt and the tipped wagon.
“I’ve got a few head of cattle to sell to a gentleman in Rapid Springs, south of the new rail line.” Jun froze in place while Nagase kept speaking. “I need you to travel with my boys, make sure no Indians get any ideas about stealing them.”
He downed the rest of the water before shaking his head, feeling the itching in his shoulder like the devil himself was gnawing at it. “I’ve got another job. Quinn up in Shoemaker’s already hired me.” Lying to Nagase was a bad move, especially when enjoying his hospitality and his water, but this was a job he would not take.
“Quinn’s a drunk and a liar. I’ll double what he’s paying you.”
Jun shook his head. “I don’t break my contracts, written or verbal, Mr. Nagase.”
“I’ll triple it, and you’ll lodge with me until it’s time for the job.”
He stood, trying not to shake in his boots at the shrewd way Nagase was sizing him up. “Your offer’s mighty fine, sir, but I have an obligation to Mr. Quinn. I’ll be happy to do any other job you have coming up, but Mr. Quinn’s got me for the next…”
“You think I don’t know about Rapid Springs, Matsumoto?” Jun chewed on his lip. “You think I haven’t done my studying about you?”
“Sir, I don’t mean any offense…”
“I know you don’t, kid.” Jun’s vision went red. He was nearly twenty-six - he was no kid. “But the fact remains that you’re just ensuring the safe passage of my merchandise and my boys. You ain’t gotta shake hands with the townsfolk.”
He looked at his boots. “I don’t take jobs in Rapid Springs.”
Nagase moved the worn gray jacket aside, revolver gleaming. “You take ‘em as far as the blacksmith’s shop, are we clear?”
His scar itched and his blood boiled, but there was no turning down this man unless you wanted to take up work five hundred miles away. “Mr. Nagase, please don’t make me…”
“The blacksmith’s shop.”
He’d lost. But so had the south, and Nagase knew something about losing battles. Jun nodded wordlessly, heart racing at the thought of the steeple on the whitewashed church, the dry goods store and the saloon across the way.
Nagase stood, giving him a handful of cash without counting it. He slapped him hard on the back. “You’ll be staying here tonight. I’m sending the boys down to Rapid Springs in two days. Go take a bath.”
It had been four years since he’d been there. Four years trying to forget, but it was all flooding back. He pocketed the cash and followed Nagase into the house.
-------
The sun was on its descent back towards the horizon line when Nino heard the shouting begin outside the saloon doors. He would have ignored it- because the last thing he was fixing to do was get involved in more altercations- but he picked out the sheriff's voice immediately, and from the hitching accent of the others- Mendoza's men, the lot of them. He grabbed for the shotgun under the bar, but left it by the side of the doorframe as he exited; he wasn't stupid enough to walk out into the middle of an argument with his weapon drawn.
The Sandburg Boys were standing down the street, trousers dusty and boots filthy. There were three of them, all steady on their feet and obviously itching for a show-down, and Mendoza wasn't one of them. Guns hadn't been drawn yet, but even from his vantage point Nino could see the fingers twitching towards the holsters. Sho was closer to him, a few feet away from the saloon doors, staring down the gang boys 'cross the way.
"Fine time we run you outta town, sheriff," one of the boys called, and Nino let his gaze linger on them a moment longer. He hadn't yet come up with a way to get Sho off his back, and he hadn't been aware that there was a time limit on his actions- apparently, that fact had failed to be communicated properly. Either Mendoza had a hankering for keeping Nino's saloon in his rotation more than he let on, or Sheriff Sakurai had irritated him beyond just Saturday night.
Nino hung back, near the doorframe. If he sided with the Sandburgs, and the sheriff won, it would be the last drop in his noose 'round Rapid Springs. If he took Sho's side and the Sandburgs won- well, he'd be three feet under ground 'fore sundown, that much was sure.
So he choose neutrality, because there was only one thing he knew for certain, and that was that he had no intentions of dying yet.
--
"I'm not figurin' to be run out yet," Sho called back. He kept his grip firmly around his shotgun, but allowed the barrel to stay tipped towards the ground. The men in the street looked to be in a fighting mood, but so far, all they'd done is threaten him- and Sho was used to being threatened. "Why don't you boys move on through, now."
"The only moving goin' on oughta be you," the one with the broad-rimmed hat shouted, pointing a slender finger in Sho's direction. "Go back home, Yankee, and leave Rapid Springs to us."
Sho pulled his shotgun up, resting the barrel in his other hand- enough to show he was serious, but not enough to start a firefight yet.
"I'll let you boys go," he said. It was a generous offer, but they didn't look to be moving anytime soon, feet firmly entrenched in the dust and dirt of the road.
"I don't think you understand," one answered. "We don't plan on letting you stay here."
"Don't think you have much authority to be lettin' anyone do anything 'round here," Sho replied, but let his gaze flicker up past their shoulders, to the blacksmith's shop at the edge of the bounds. He didn't see Aiba anywhere, and he wasn't entirely sure how to get the man's attention without alerting the Sandburgs themselves. He needed backup- and Ninomiya had not moved from his spot in the saloon's doorway, shrewdly watching the scene outside. It was his fault the gang was there in the first place, and his obvious lack of involvement made Sho's fingers tighten around the handle further. "Move along, now."
---
The last few miles into Rapid Springs felt like they lasted a lifetime. Jun tried to keep his thoughts on anything but his re-entrance to the town he'd sworn never to return to, but the only images his mind could conjure were those of bloody tracks in the sand and mangled bodies lit by starlight- and he needed those less than he needed the anxiety in the pit of his stomach. He kept his eyes on the ground, to avoid seeing the familiar swatch of dark roof against the expanse of sky, and trudged behind the other hands to better conceal himself.
They were almost to the blacksmith's forge, and Jun just wanted to drop the cattle and leave again, but the hands in front of him stopped suddenly. He craned his neck to look over the closest one's shoulder.
Something was going on in the street. From his position, Jun could only see the backs of three figures- Mexican, by the look of their threads and ponchos- and beyond them, a lone figure holding a shotgun 'cross his chest. The star on his collar shone in the light of the setting sun. Sheriff- the new one, then, by the looks of things. Jun ducked his head down again and started to go around the ranch hands towards the open blacksmith shop; they'd managed to show up in the middle of a territorial show-down, and he wanted no part of it.
He just wanted to find Aiba- even remembering the blacksmith's name brought a rush of bile to the back of his throat- and move on.
--
"We ain't asking you to leave," Mendoza's man in the center of their triangular position said, "we're tellin'."
Nino kept his face expressionless, but the sheriff was beginning to look a bit nervous; he kept glancing back beyond the gang to the blacksmith's shop, like he was hoping to spot Aiba and add a man to his count. If the deputy came out, he'd at least have a chance to even the odds- as it were, three against one didn't look like the fight was going to go in his favor.
Letting his fingers brush against the doorway- a quick reminder that it was his saloon, still, and all he had to fight for in order to keep it- Nino looked back towards the horizon as well. If Aiba came out, then the fight would go in a drastically different direction.
But he didn't see the deputy. Instead he saw a herd of cattle and two ranch hands staring down at the fight on the street with unabashed curiosity, and a third figure heading inside to the forge itself.
His throat closed painfully.
"I don't want any trouble with you boys," the sheriff was warning, and Nino barely registered the words- he knew the figure. He would never be able to forget the set to the shoulders or the angles of his limbs; it was firmly entrenched in his memories, resurfacing every night with the rising of the stars in the sky. It made him sick in the pit of his stomach, like he'd drank too much gin.
Fury clouded his vision, turning the sides red, and he reached for the shotgun just inside the doors without really thinking about it.
--
"Trouble was just what we were lookin' for," one of the men said, and then jeered, displaying the rot in his teeth. And then, in the side of Sho's vision, Ninomiya was moving, hoisting his shotgun against his shoulder and bolting forward out of the doorway with the barrels squared down the way.
Sho hadn't been expecting the saloon owner to jump in on his side, but he was willing to accept the aid- though it wouldn't completely absolve Nino's involvement in the entire debacle.
"You cock-sucking son of a bitch!" Nino yelled, sounding throaty and a bit raw.
"What?" Sho asked, taken aback.
"What?" the leader of Mendoza's hunting party parroted. He sounded equally confused. But Ninomiya ignored all of them, moving forward with the liquid grace that accompanies a blind rage, a complete block of everything outside. He was still close enough to Sho's position that the sheriff could see the involuntarily tremble in his arms.
"You gotta lotta nerve waltzing back in here, you murdering scum!" Nino continued.
"Nino, back off!" Sho shouted, and just as soon as the words left his mouth he realized that Nino's barrels weren't pointed at the Sandburg Boys at all; they were pointed past them, up the road to the blacksmith's forge.
--
"Fuck you!" It rang in Jun's ears, rang like the knells of a church bell during a funeral. It was the same thing that he'd run from the last time- the same voice, the same emotion warbling the tone, the same scene as he stared down the road into the rapidly approaching shotgun barrels. "Fuck you, you cock-sucking bastard!"
Jun's mind was frozen, but his body wasn't; when the shots rang out, his legs sprung into action without conscious thought, hurtling him to the side to shelter himself behind one of the half-walls of the shop. He rolled, and lost his hat, and flattened himself against the side of the wooden boards as the subsequent bullets start pounding the ground around him. The cattle started screeching and bolting, and the hooves were like thunder shaking the dirt, and one of the bullets pinged harsly against the wall near Jun's ear, too close for comfort.
And then, from within the structure, he could see Aiba running towards him with a revolver in his soot-covered hand.
--
"Nino, stop it!" Sho commanded, but Ninomiya was far past listening to anything he said. He just kept shooting, and the Sandburg Boys were moving, ducking for cover and drawing their own weapons from their belt-held holsters. One of them let out a savage cry in Spanish that Sho didn't understand, and then there were three muzzles pointed in his direction and a split-second before the bullets followed.
He launched himself to the ground, behind a trough half-filled with grimy water, and the gunfire erupted around him.
"Shit," he hissed, unaware that he was saying anything at all. His nerves were on overdrive, but he was going to get stuck behind the putrid watering hole if he didn't do something, and there was really only one thing to do. He cocked his shotgun and turned, shooting over the top of the trough.
There was a cry of pain audible even over the din of bullets, and through the smoke filling the air Sho could make out at least one figure on the ground, and Nino continuing to move towards the forge.
"Shit," Sho repeated, pulling the trigger again.
--
How Mendoza's boys hadn't hit him yet, Nino didn't know, nor did he particularly care. He couldn't see anything other than the tip of Jun's boot hidden 'round the corner of the blacksmith's wall as he moved towards it. He wasn't even aiming, really- he was shaking too badly with rage to even know where the barrels were when the shots left. And there was so much smoke, and the cry of spooked cattle, and shouting from every side of him-
-and then Aiba was in front of him with his revolver out, mouth moving before Nino heard the sound.
"Stop!" the deputy was calling, nearly tripping as he ran. "Nino, stop!"
He only lowered the shotgun because it was Aiba- it was cheerful, respectful, heedless Aiba who had always ordered an extra drink than was necessary to help Nino out, who cleaned the store room at Ohno's without being asked. He couldn't point the barrels at the blacksmith and be okay with himself, so he dropped the weapon entirely, handle slipping from his fingers as his muscles lost rigidity all at once, the air stolen from his lungs. Everything was still red- but Aiba was in front of him, and at least he'd lowered his revolver.
"Cock-sucking son of a bitch," Nino gasped, because he could hear her screaming in his head again, and he was awake.
"It's okay," Aiba said. There was another quick barrage of shots behind him, on the street, and then shouts in Spanish- retreat. Mendoza's boys were retreating; at least, the ones still standing were. Nino couldn't focus on very much but the pebbles wavering near his palms, digging into his skin.
--
The bullets ceased around his position, and then in the street, too- the silence was almost louder than the gunfire had been in a way that rung in his ears so loudly it hurt. Jun glanced around the beam- one of the ranch hands was in the dirt, groaning and writhing, and half the cattle were gone, and he didn't know where Nagase's other man had run off to.
God, it had been stupid to return to Rapid Springs, and now the dirt was lined with specks of blood glaring harsh at him like damnation all over again.
--
It was over, and all Sho could hear was screaming. It was like the rest of the noises in the town had died out - no spinning windmill behind the Johnson place, no idle chatter inside Ohno’s store, nothing but screaming. Aiba, trying to calm Nino. Nino, still cursing and shouting like a man possessed by some kind of demon. And the horrible sounds of cattle as they ran off like a thunderclap.
His shotgun barrel was still hot, and Sho realized that other than target practice, he’d never actually fired it before. He was the law here, and his arm was bleeding. His white sleeve was soaked through, but he ignored it, seeing one of the Sandburg gang writhing in the dirt and one of the strangers who’d just arrived with the cattle doing the same. His voice nearly caught in his throat.
“Aiba!” he screamed. “Aiba!”
He looked around, finally seeing Aiba hurrying over. For his part, Ninomiya had managed to collapse to his knees in the dirt, eyes wide in horror. “Sheriff,” Aiba cried, his breath heaving. “What the heck happened?”
“There’s no time for that.” Ninomiya had fired at the cattle and their herders or whoever they were. “Get him in a cell. Right now.”
“But Sheriff, he’s under control…”
Sho gave his deputy a shove. “I said get him in a cell now, damn it. And confiscate the weapon. Lock it up.” He’d never been short with Aiba before, but the other man seemed to realize the severity of what had just gone down. He nodded, racing back to haul Nino to his feet.
His arm ached but he managed to get to Doc Ogura’s place. Sho banged on the door. “Doc! Doc! The shooting’s stopped, but we got two men hurt. Doc, come out!”
The Doc answered in seconds, medical bag in hand. “What the hell is going on?”
“Skirmish,” he explained, unconsciously leading the doctor first to the injured ranch hand. “Sandburg boys starting trouble when these boys and some cattle showed up. Ninomiya comes flying outta his place in a rage and starts shooting. Sandburgs join in and I returned fire but…”
Ogura was already kneeling down at the rancher, his hands becoming stained with blood as he felt for a pulse. “This one’s already gone, sheriff.” Sho felt his heart sink. He didn’t know what these men were in town for, but they’d come at the worst possible time. And now this one had paid the ultimate price.
The doctor got to his feet slowly, since he was getting up there in years. Sho followed the man to the Sandburg fellow, and that was when Sho wanted to be sick. The young man’s hand was blown nearly clean off, and his shirt front was soaked in blood. He dropped the shotgun he was still carrying, realizing that he’d done all the disfiguring. And the boy was still alive.
“Jesus, Jesus, ayudame. Dios, ayudame,” he was mumbling, crying, feeling for his other hand with the one that was still intact. “Mama!”
“He’s nothing more than a boy,” Ogura said, standing over the bandit. “Sheriff, who…”
“Me,” he admitted. “I was the only one firing their way. I…I had to…”
“Nobody’s accusing you of anything,” the older man reassured him. “We need to move him…I can try and get the bullets out but his hand…”
Sho felt a fresh wave of nausea, and even with the sun setting it was still hot. There was nobody else on the street. The townsfolk stayed in their homes, and Aiba was busy getting Nino in lock-up. He spied just one solitary man, the one Nino had been cursing at. Sho didn’t recognize him, but he was the only help available.
“You! Get over here!” The other man barely reacted, fumbling his fingers shakily across the dirt to retrieve his hat. Sho noticed a rather nasty looking bullet hole through the brim of it. He walked over, kicking up the soil. “You hear me? Get up! We need to get this man inside so the Doc can patch him up!”
The other man finally looked up, and Sho had never seen a man look so lost in his whole life. “I’m not supposed to be here.”
“Well it’s too late for that,” Sho replied, ignoring the pain in his arm to grab the other man by the sleeve of his long duster and hauling him up. He wasn’t much taller, but his features were sharper, testament to a hard life lived out here on the frontier.
“Can’t help you…need to get the cattle.”
Sho started to physically drag the man over to where Ogura was waiting anxiously. “Don’t think those cows are coming back, son. Now get over here and help.” He grabbed the kid under his arms and the man with the hole in his hat got the legs.
“Mama…por favor, Mama…”
The sheriff bit his tongue to keep from letting out a scream of frustration. Why couldn’t he have just killed this boy? Now he was suffering something awful, and it was all his fault. And word would get back to Mendoza, who would relay it to his boss, Sandburg, and Rapid Springs was going to be facing a heap of trouble.
Ogura had the door open and had them bypass his usual office space to lay the kid down on his own bed sheets. Sho had blood on his hands, all over his clothes, his own mingled with the blood of the youth he’d shot. “Hand’s not going to make it,” the doc announced, departing the room and leaving Sho with the other man.
Sho could barely concentrate. He knew he had to ask the man who he was, where he’d come from, what the deal was with the cattle. But all he could hear was the boy begging in Spanish to be helped, begging for his mother. All he could say was “don’t go anywhere” when the other man tried to leave. He needed to get the full story so he could report back to the territorial government about what the hell happened.
The doctor returned with a gleaming handsaw, and Sho nearly doubled over. “Doc, you aren’t…”
“This boy ain’t gonna use that hand again.”
Sho closed his eyes. The boy wasn’t going to breathe for much longer with all the holes in him. Couldn’t the doc just give him something for the pain and kill him quick? Sho’d failed to give the boy a merciful, quick death, and now he’d have to watch what his failure had brought.
“You never shot anyone before,” the other man finally spoke. “Have you?”
He turned to see the other man’s cold eyes, unblinking, sizing him up the same way the Sandburg boys had. “No, I haven’t,” he admitted honestly.
Ogura pointed to Sho’s middle. “Belt. Take it off.”
“What? Why?”
“You’ll see,” the other man noted darkly, and Sho undid the buckle with trembling, sticky fingers.
He held the belt out for the doctor, who shook his head. “No, get that in his mouth. Let him bite it.” Sho paled, moving to stand behind the headboard, awkwardly positioning himself by the boy, getting the leather belt in his mouth as he kept crying for his mother.
“Hold his legs,” the doctor ordered the other man, who obeyed as if he’d been in this sort of situation time and time again.
The sound the boy made when the saw first cut through bone was never going to leave Sho’s mind. He was seeing spots, concentrating on the leather in the boy’s mouth, and he was going to faint if Ogura-san didn’t get that limb off quicker.
“Tighter. Hold the legs tighter.”
“Mama!” the boy cried, voice distorted from the belt between his lips.
“Just slit his throat, doc,” the other man argued. “Hacking his hand ain’t gonna stop the holes in his chest from bleeding out.”
“We have to try…” Sho heard himself say, although he didn’t feel like he was really there. “We have to…” This boy would never see his mama again. For all that he was caught up in a gang of bandits, they had to save him.
“He’s suffering, Sheriff. Doc, come on.”
Ogura said nothing, and Sho listened to the saw finish its work. The boy had passed out, and Sho was about to follow him. “He’s out,” Sho announced, seeing the doctor’s pristine bed sheets soaked through with the boy’s life.
There was the sound of boots and then Aiba appeared in the doorway. The blacksmith’s skin went green almost immediately at the sight of the doctor’s bedroom. “Sheriff, Ninomiya’s secure…uhhhh, what should I do from here?”
Sho couldn’t think, couldn’t concentrate. “You…Aiba, could you…”
The other man let the dying kid’s legs go and moved to the door, and Sho watched, numb, as he pat the deputy on the shoulder. “Go house to house, tell them all the shooting’s over for now. Reassure them that your sheriff has things under control.”
“Don’t…Aiba, he’s…” Sho could barely form a sentence. There was so much blood, and now Doc Ogura was cutting open the boy’s shirt with a knife and there was blood oozing from everywhere. He couldn’t be more than fifteen or sixteen, he thought. You did this to him. You did this.
“Sheriff…who…” Aiba mumbled.
“Jun Matsumoto,” the other man said briefly.
Aiba was still looking for answers, looking between him and this Matsumoto, and Sho could only watch Ogura digging around in the boy’s flesh with some kind of medical tool, poking around for fragments of bullets.
“Deputy Aiba, go house to house…tell them…”
His deputy merely nodded. “You got it, sheriff.” Aiba’s footsteps were heavy as Sho listened to him retreat.
“Doc, you need us?” Matsumoto asked. Ogura shook his head, and Sho let the belt go. He didn’t want to watch this boy get cut to pieces. Was he even going to make it? Jun took off, and Sho stumbled after him, into the doctor’s regular office.
“Wait.”
“I need to find the cattle. I was…” He stopped speaking, eyeing Sho suspiciously. “I can’t stay here and keep doing your job, sheriff.”
Sho quaked in anger. Who was this guy, telling him what to do? Rapid Springs was his responsibility. “You’re not going anywhere.”
Matsumoto made it to the doc’s door and opened it. “I’m going to find the cattle.” Sho watched him go through the door, only pausing to look back at him one more time with those calculating eyes. “Your arm’s bleeding something awful, sheriff. Might wanna get that mended.”
The door slammed closed, and Sho sighed. He felt a hand on his shoulder minutes later, and Ogura’s even, always calm voice.
“Boy’s gone.”