Sneak peek at "The Gunslinger's Fall" – Part Two of the Gunslinger's series

The Gunslinger's Fall

The two bullets traveling at approximately 900 feet per second happened to be on the exact same trajectory. Both men were exactly the same height and had aimed directly at the other's heart.

The Gunslinger's .45 caliber bullet was traveling slightly faster because of the longer barrel of the Colt, but the Marshal's .44 caliber bullet had left the chamber of the Smith & Wesson a nanosecond earlier. They smashed together, head-on, at exactly the midpoint between the two men.

The force of the two projectiles colliding released a tremendous amount of energy, causing the lead bullets to fuse together. Sparks and minuscule pieces of shrapnel flew through the air. The shockwave from the collision expanded outward. Silence took over as soon as the sound waves from the exploding guns departed down the deserted streets. The hot molten lead stayed suspended in the air for a second, and then dropped to the asphalt with a soft click. Both men stood frozen, unable to recognize or believe what had just happened.

The four dimensions of the perceived world had splintered. The natural order was disrupted, but the universe reacted quickly to repair the damage.

Suddenly, the men were knocked to the ground as the pressure from the once fractured dimensions contracted with extreme violence.

 

Detroit, Michigan
September 2013

"I woke up first. My ears hurt and my head ached as if I had just woken up from a two-day drunk. It was dark. The sun had passed to the other side of the earth. I pushed myself up off the ground and immediately noticed that the sand, dirt and mud of the street had been replaced by a hard black surface. I straightened myself as best as I could and looked around. The street I remembered was gone. I was standing in a narrow alleyway. The buildings on both sides did not have the peeling painted wood of Silver City—instead, I recognized brick and mortar. I stretched my crooked neck and looked up. The structures reached high into the sky. I felt like I was in a narrow desert canyon, but the walls that surrounded me were perfectly symmetrical and definitely man-made."

The boy's eyes opened wide with anticipation. He was at an age when stories still fascinated.

"My vision slowly adjusted to the darkness. The alleyway was populated with a variety of large boxes and barrels, all filled to the brim with broken bottles, paper, scraps of wood, rotting food and other discarded miscellany. The smell was unpleasant. One end of the alley was completely black except for a dim light hovering above a solid looking door. The other end of the alley was open. I could just make out lights, people and vehicles passing by on the main street."

The boy shook his head and encouraged him to go on. The Gunslinger didn't need to be prodded, he was from a time when storytelling was a preferred form of entertainment, and he was good at it.

"I know now that the lights were electric and the vehicles were automobiles. At the time however, I had no idea where I was or what I was looking at. I was terrified. Thirty feet towards the darker end of the alley, I could just make out the Marshal. He was face down, moaning slightly. It appeared that he was still alive."

"Did you finish him off?" The boy asked.

"I thought about it, very seriously. One Colt, warm from recent use, was still in my right hand. The other lay comfortably in my left holster. I walked, or rather limped, swayed and stumbled to where the Marshal was regaining consciousness. Halfway there, I noticed a lump of red-hot lead burning itself into the street. I knew immediately what had happened. Our bullets had met in midair. I looked up again, straightened my neck and back as much as possible and caught sight of the star lit night above the buildings. I asked God if this was another miracle."

"What do you mean another miracle?"

"I wasn't always this way," the Gunslinger pointed to his crooked legs and gestured with his bent back, "but that's another story."

He looked at the skinny, dirty, ragamuffin sitting next to him. The campfire they had built in the parking lot of the abandoned building was keeping the autumn chill at bay, but he could tell the boy was still cold from malnourishment and exposure to the elements. The injuries he had sustained earlier in the morning were healing. The boy pulled his jacket close, and peered into the Gunslinger's soul with his blue eyes. He reminded him of a tiny version Albert Doyle, the mountain man he had spent several years with in the Rockies. While the boy's pale skin, blonde hair and ability to listen, reminded him of Mary Ann, his one true love.

"What did he say?"

"He didn't say anything, he was mostly unconscious."

"No, I mean, God. What did God say?"

"He didn't say anything either, but I had never heard of two bullets meeting in such a manner, so I accepted it as a miracle and thanked him for my life. Then, I cursed him for returning the pain and crookedness to my legs and spine."

"What? Now I'm confused," the boy said, wincing slightly from the pain in his ribs.

"I can see by your scrunched up face that it's gonna take a long time to tell you my story. You ask too many questions. Do you want the long or short of it?"

"Both... but, first tell me what you mean by saying you weren't always this way, and what does God and miracles and curses have to do with it. Then, you can continue on with the Marshal."

"At least you don't mince words and you say what you want. I like that in a boy."

Andy glared at him from across the fire.

"My name's Andy. And if you were halfway polite yourself, you would have introduced yourself a long time ago."

"No need to get cross boy. David Jefferson Johnstone, call me David."

"Okay then David, get on with it."

The Gunslinger laughed at Andy's guile and enthusiasm.

"I was born pretty much the way I look now, except the scars on my face came about from an accident when I was about your age. When I was little older, around nineteen years old, the Lord answered my prayers and saved me from a life of suffering and sadness, giving me another chance. Then, sometime later, through a miracle, which I still don't completely understand, He straightened my legs and my back making me stand over six feet tall. I lived tall, straight, strong and good-looking for nearly ten years...until just a few weeks ago, when I suddenly showed up here."

The Gunslinger threw another piece of wood on the fire.

"That's why I thanked God on the one hand and cursed Him the next. Is that enough back swagger for you, Andy? Permission to continue on with my story?"

"I guess so, but it raises more questions than answers," Andy said, moving closer to the fire. "Promise me you'll tell me more, later."

"Okay, I warrant it."

The Gunslinger also shifted more closely to the fire, turning the right side of his face, the good side, towards the boy. He let his smooth Midwestern voice bringing them back to the alley.

"Be it as it may, when I finally stood over the Marshal I could tell that he was going to live. It would have been easy to put a bullet through the back of his head, but instead, out of respect for the miracle or curse, that I had just experienced, I decided to let him live. It's not every day bullets fired from thirty paces collide with each other, and I had no idea where I was, but I knew that everything had changed."

"I heard noises coming from the main street; they were unfamiliar but, familiar all the same. Whining noises, which sounded like steam locomotive whistles, and men shouting orders to one another, was all I needed to know that the law was catching up with me. I know now the noises came from police cars, and the shouts were from policemen—and women."

Andy leaned back against a stump with a slight moan. The Gunslinger offered him a swig of his warm beer. The boy accepted gladly, and downed a couple of aspirin from a dirty bottle taken from his backpack. The Gunslinger wondered what type of medicine the boy had taken and were he had gotten it, but decided that it wasn't worth asking.

"Law women, with guns, badges and handcuffs... Andy, let me tell you, when I realized such a thing existed in your world, I knew I was in trouble."

Andy laughed, and then quickly regretted it.

The Gunslinger liked the boy's laughter. It reminded him of his days in the Black Hills with Mary Ann, and the pure sound brought back a few fleeting memories of playing with his brothers and sisters on the farm in Iowa.

"I wasn't sure which way to go... At least I was hemmed-in by the buildings surrounding me, so my choices were limited. I checked the chambers of my guns and reloaded. I counted the bullets left in my belt. I had enough to make a stand of it on the main street."

The Gunslinger looked off into the darkness around them, "If I had been in Silver City, in 1879, that would have been my preferred course, but since I was in a time and place unfamiliar to me, I decided to run for the door at the end of the alley. I said farewell to the Marshal and placed his Stetson on my head. My sombrero had gotten lost somewhere in the shuffle. Apropos, I figured, it was the least the Marshal could do, considering I spared his life."

"It's a nice hat," Andy said.

"I thought so too. Gun-metal gray goes good with my dark eyes, don't you think?"

The Gunslinger smiled at the boy, tipping his hat and showing him his best evil grin.

Andy gave an exaggerated shiver in response, but without fear, stared back.

The Gunslinger chuckled warmly. The boy didn't shy away from making eye contact. He respected that, especially from one so young.

"I shuffled down the alleyway as best as I could, I was still getting used to traveling with my deformed back and legs. It was a nostalgic feeling that I would've rather forgotten. In any case, I reached the door and, of course, it was bolted. Also to my dismay, it was made of metal—steel, I presumed. I had never seen a steel door before. I banged on it. No one answered. Undeterred, I stood back a few feet and shot three bullets into the door handle. In a flurry of sparks, it fell to the ground with a loud clunk and the door slowly swung open. I smashed the light above my head, and dipped inside the building."

"You want any more of these hotdogs?" Andy asked.

"You mean the sausages? I don't eat dog, I told you that already."

"And, if you remember, I told you these are made of pork and we call them hot dogs. You want some more or not?"

"No thank you."

Andy gobbled up the last three Oscar Meyer Wieners burning on the makeshift grill.

"Inside the door, it was dark and cool. After my eyes adjusted, I made my way toward a light at the end of a long hallway. I cursed as I crawled along, bumping into all manner of things—tables, chairs, cabinets and boxes. I squashed a cat's tail and his scream sent my blood boiling. I wondered what kind of pinch I had gotten myself into."

"When I got to the end of the hallway, I found myself standing next to another door. This one was wooden and swung on hinges. Strangely, this made me smile. I had finally found something that felt familiar. The tiny window in the door above my head emitted some light. I wanted to look through it, but it was built to the height of a normal man. I was a good two feet too short, so I leaned closer and listened."

"I heard familiar sounds and breathed in recognizable smells. The sounds were of men gambling. I heard cards being dealt, coins and chips falling into the center of the table, filled glasses clinking and jokes being tossed amongst friends. The smell of cigars, whiskey, beer and prepared belly timber reached my nostrils. My stomach growled and my throat became parched. It seemed that they had not heard the gunshots, or if they had, it didn't disturb their game. I decided to join the party."

"Whoa, dude, you're kidding me?"

"Dude?"

"Forget about it. Just get on with your story...please."

"I stumbled through the swinging door and everything stopped. The five men at the table froze in their comfortable chairs."

The Gunslinger looked into the fire and replayed the moment in the yellow flames. Cigar ash had refused to answer the call of gravity. Smoke ceased to swirl upwards and instead hung suspended in midair. Coins and glasses silenced themselves. Time slowed.

"The men were speechless. They stared at me in disbelief. I don't know if they were shocked at being interrupted, or if they were just unsure of what type of creature stood before them."

He looked at Andy to be sure he had gotten the full affect of his words. The boy tilted his head, listening intently.

"For the most part, they looked overfed and slow. A long evening of whiskey and palaver had dulled their senses. I saw ire on their faces and fear in their eyes. The scrape I was in had just gotten considerably more thorny. In any event, I decided to be polite and extend my hand in friendship."

'Pardon the interruption,' I said, 'Allow me to introduce myself.'

"Before the words had left my tongue, the men started reaching for their pistols and shotguns. Further niceties were out of the question. The cards had been dealt. My mind cleared and without delay my instincts took over—I drew."

"Eight rounds and four seconds later, three of the men were dead with holes in their heads and torsos. I moved to my right as I holstered one gun and pulled the other. A shotgun blast shattered the wall where I had been standing. Two seconds later, the other two men were motionless, spilling blood onto the table."

"Wow," Andy said wide-eyed.

"I reloaded and waited."

"Are you that fast?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

"Can I see your guns?"

"Later. Do you want to hear the rest of the story? Or, is it time for bed?"

Andy sat up straight and nodded to go on.

"I took a swig of whiskey and gathered up some of the bills and coins. The money looked strange to me, not the currency I was used to carrying. The whiskey tasted good too, not the cheap stuff I usually welcomed down my throat. The beer was excellent, and the tiny beef sandwiches were just what I needed. I do like the food in your world."

"Much obliged, cowboy," Andy said. "You know those mobsters were the top bosses of the Jimmy Valentino gang. I read about that hit in the newspapers. The cops said it was part of a gang war."

The Gunslinger smiled at the boy. He was smart and quick, and he had a good sense of humor.

"I'll accept that."

"And then what happened?"

"Another man, an underpaid guard I presume, came crashing through a side door. I shot the gun out of his hand, and put a bullet through his left thigh. I wasn't ready to kill him. I needed to talk to somebody. I was lost, and I had a trunk full of questions. I dragged him through the door into another room."

"This room opened onto a main street. The front doors were locked and the curtains were drawn. No one else was around. I went back down the long hallway where I had entered. I looked out the door. The police were making their way carefully down the alley towards the Marshal. I bolted the door and moved a large desk and some tables in front it for good measure."

The Gunslinger took another swig from the beer he had purchased earlier in the day. It was lukewarm, but still tasted pretty fair.

"Heidi-Ken, is this the best beer in town? Do you want some more?"

"No thanks, I'm only twelve. I don't know that much about beer, but it's better than Budweiser, I know that for sure," Andy, said as grown-up as he could. "It's pronounced Heineken. It's a German beer."

"This sure ain't Germany. Or, maybe it is?"

"This is the USA, I can promise you that."

"Well, that's what the wounded fellow told me. And the year is 2013. And, I had just knocked off the biggest crime boss' poker game in the city of Detroit, Michigan. I thought I was in trouble with the Marshal coming after me, but I soon realized I was in much deeper horse manure than I could have ever imagined."

"You can say 'shit' and 'fuck' and other swear words, I'm no baby."

He looked the boy in the eyes and watched the reflection of the yellow flames from the fire on his face. The cuts and bruises on his smooth skin were slowly healing. The blood had stopped flowing from his nose and the color was coming back to his face.

"I reckon I could swear as much as I want, whenever I want. However, I choose not to, especially around youngsters and women. The world is ugly enough."

"Sorry David."

"No need to be sorry, you can say whatever you want. I'm not your daddy."

Andy smiled, but it was a sad, lonely smile. The Gunslinger knew the boy had a story to tell.

"Let me finish and tomorrow you can tell me more about yourself. How's that for a deal?"