The Burden of Souls (Hawker's Drift Book 1)

by Andy Monk

“Something.”

  She didn’t pry further, which he was grateful for as he walked out into the bright morning sunshine.

  “One thing Amos,” she said from the doorway, “I never got round to asking what you do?”

  “Is it important?”

  She shrugged, to suggest it wasn’t, but he knew otherwise. She wanted to know if he was the kind of man who could save her, which, of course, he wasn’t. He considered her question and decided he didn’t want to lie to her any more than he actually had to.

  “I kill people.”

  She didn’t look surprised, or shocked. Molly had seen the bad side of life and become ensnared by it, Tom had saved her without her even realising it, and now she believed the only way to save herself from the Mayor was to find a man who was an even meaner excuse for a human being than he was.

  Amos really wished he hadn’t touched her hand.

  Molly nodded, “I’ll see you soon.”

  He nodded in return and walked out onto the street as she closed the door to her little house.

  He stood in the gateway, took in a long deep breath of the morning before placing his hat upon his head and tipping the rim down to cut out the sun’s glare before looking first up the hill, then down and back up again.

  The street was quite empty. Blane and his buddies appeared to have slithered back into their holes.

  *

  “Yep, I sold that asshole a rifle, a good un too and yep the Mayor paid for it,” John X mumbled between mouthfuls of the sandwich he was devouring on the bottom of the wooden steps that led up to the back of his store.

  “You didn’t like him much then?”

  John X shrugged as he worked some gristle out from between his teeth with his tongue, “Can’t say I knew him much, but he’d gotten in a fair few brawls started with that temper of his. Drunk too much too, which didn’t help none.”

  “Any idea what he wanted the rifle for?”

  The gunsmith shrugged again, “I dunno, shooting rabbits maybes…”

  Amos raised a sceptical eyebrow.

  “None of my business. Man comes into my store and wants a rifle; so long as he can pay for it he gets a rifle.”

  “Or has sufficient credit with the Mayor.”

  “Mayor’s credit is always good…” John X took another bite of his sandwich, his eyes not rising from his feet as he chewed.

  “He didn’t say anything?”

  “He wasn’t much of a talker… and he seemed, I dunno, distracted…”

  “Distracted?”

  “Distant… had a kinda faraway look in his eyes. Thought he had a wicked hangover, which would have been pretty normal for him.”

  “Didn’t hear any talk of what Tom McCrea was up to from anyone else?”

  John X stopped chewing, his eyes rising to look at Amos, “I don’t hear much, not really one for gossip. Why the interest?”

  “Just trying to do a good deed.”

  “That so?” He nodded thoughtfully, “anything connected to seeing Molly McCrea home last night?”

  “I thought you weren’t one for gossip?”

  “I’m not, but the whole town is talking about her stepping out of Jack’s with a stranger, that would be you by the way, her poor husband still warm in the ground,” he shrugged and returned to his sandwich, “Small towns…”

  “Small towns,” Amos agreed. He’d hoped John X would have been able to cast some light on Tom McCrea, whatever he said he suspected he was the kind of man who knew an awful lot about what went on in town. So far he hadn’t been overly helpful.

  Amos joined the gunsmith on the wooden step and peered across the junk filled yard out back of his shop.

  “You collect a lot of crap.”

  “I like making things.”

  The yard was filled with assorted bric-a-brac, mostly machinery, a lot of it old and rusted, mostly unidentifiable to Amos. Some of it might have been useful for making guns. He supposed.

  “Keeps your hands busy, huh?”

  “Keeps my brain busy, my hands usually occupy themselves.”

  Amos remembered the coffee-coloured children he’d seen running around town.

  They sat in amiable silence till John X had finished eating. He pulled a bright red handkerchief from his pocket and wiped his lips clean when he was done.

  “You gonna ask me about the Mayor again now, huh?”

  Amos screwed his face up a little, “Thinking about it… but people here get kind of twitchy talking about him. You included.”

  “That’s because my mamma didn’t raise any fools. Actually, she barely raised me at all on account that she run off with my Uncle when I was two, but you get my drift.”

  “I know you’re not a fool John. In fact I think you’re smarter than most of the people in this town. A lot smarter…”

  John X swivelled his head and stared at Amos, his eyes narrowing a little, “I’m just a small town gunsmith son. Nothing else.”

  Amos didn’t meet his gaze; he just kept staring at a battered tin bath that sat in the yard, full of cogs and wheels of all shapes and sizes.

  “Stupid people spend their lives in fear because their ignorance fills the darkness with monsters. You’re not stupid John, but you are scared of the Mayor. So, tell me, what scares a clever man?”

  “Philosopher too, huh?”

  “Just wondering…”

  “Take my advice, Molly McCrea is a nice lady, if you can get past that damn mouth of hers, but she ain’t worth crossing the Mayor for my friend. No one is. If you’re looking for some female company, there are a lot ladies in Hawker’s Drift who’d be much less trouble than Molly.”

  “I’m not looking for female company.”

  John X looked perplexed, “She paying you to help her?”

  Amos let a little chuckle escape his throat as he shook his head, “Nope, if she could afford me she could probably pay the Mayor off.”

  “Then why you helping her?”

  “It’s complicated.”

  “Gonna get a helluva lot more complicated if you piss the Mayor off.”

  Amos continued to stare into the junk cluttered distance. It wasn’t a question he could readily answer himself. It wasn’t like him to get involved in someone else’s business unless he was being well paid to do it. Actually he could answer it, but he knew he’d just sound foolish if he uttered it aloud, so he said nothing instead.

  “Tom McCrea worked for the Mayor, didn’t he?”

  John X nodded, “So I heard.”

  “Doing what?”

  “Some stuff out on the Mayor’s ranch I think, don’t know exactly, but the Mayor paid him well enough. The pair of em rolled up in Hawker’s Drift with barely a change of clothes between em, three months later they were in a nice house on Baker’s St, and she was wearing some quite lovely dresses. I did notice that…”

  “Where is the Mayor’s ranch?”

  John X shook his head, “As I’m the closest thing you’ve got to a friend in this town, discounting folk with long red hair and fine looking breasts, I’m gonna do you a big favour and not answer that question.”

  “I’ll find out anyway.”

  “Don’t go poking around there Amos, seriously…”

  “Then tell me why I shouldn’t?”

  “I gotta get back to work…”John X let out a long sigh before rising wearily to his feet, he patted Amos’ shoulder a couple of times as he turned before walking up the short flight of stairs to the back door of his store.

  Amos raised a hand in acknowledgement, before closing his eyes and saying in a soft hoarse little voice before he could stop himself, “She reminds me of a woman I once… knew, back when I was still a righteous man…”

  “And is that enough?”

  “Enough for what?”

  “Enough to die for.”

  A rueful smile played across Amos’ face, “Oh, I died a long time ago.”

  “Be careful... else you might end up dying twice.”

  “Ther
e’s always that…”

  He heard the door open and the floorboards inside creak under John X’s boot, but the door remained open and he could feel the gunsmith’s eyes staring down at him.

  “Amos.”

  “Yeah?”

  “A clever man is scared when he knows the monsters are real...”

  The door clicked shut and Amos was left alone to stare across the junk filled yard.

  The Sheriff

  A noise, urgent and unfamiliar, pulled him awake. He peeled open his eyes to see the scuffed metal tip of a walking cane.

  “Sleeping on my dime Sheriff?”

  It was a familiar voice, and when he lifted his head from his arms he found the Mayor standing over him, his cane tap, tap tapping upon the desk top.

  “I’ve been here since 6am,” Sheriff Shenan growled, slowly sitting up, his back was stiff and his skin was damp with cold sweat.

  “I’ll see about a bonus then,” the Mayor eased himself into the chair opposite.

  “Is there a problem?”

  “Other than your narcolepsy?”

  “Narco what?”

  “There are always problems,” the Mayor sighed, he took off his fedora and placed it upon the desk, obscuring some of the papers the Sheriff had scattered across it.

  Shenan folded his hands in his lap, sat up and tried to look attentive. He noticed Blane lurking in the doorway as he often did. Like most of the town deputies he’d been hired on the Mayor’s advice and, like most of the Mayor’s men, he scared the Sheriff badly.

  He was too old to be scared, he just wanted to retire, to work a little homestead out of town, grow pumpkins, keep a few chickens, sit on the porch in a rocking chair and watch the clouds tumble across the sky. To dream about Elena and wait to die.

  The Mayor, however, had other ideas. He knew why of course, he just wished he had the courage to tell him where to go, he was tired of being the Mayor’s fop.

  “The McCrea widow,” The Mayor said, still tapping his cane against the edge of the desk.

  Sheriff Shenan tried hard not to sigh, another of the Mayor’s little projects that had very little to do with law enforcement.

  “We’re watching her, just like you asked.” Or at least two of the monosyllabic head cases you made me hire are watching her, he added silently.

  “I asked you to keep an eye on her, make sure she didn’t skip town,” the cane was still tap, tap, tapping. Shenan was trying hard not to look at it, or show how irritating it was.

  “Which we’ve done.”

  “No!” The Mayor slapped the cane down hard enough to make Shenan flinch, “you’re having her stalked! Twenty-four hours a day!”

  His eyes flicked in Blane’s direction, “We like to be diligent.”

  The Mayor forced out a little smile, which Shenan didn’t find the slightest bit reassuring, “Very commendable, but she is just one little girl in a small town with few easy ways out of it. Just keep an eye on her, the stagecoach, the stables, what she is up to. Discreetly…”

  “Discreetly?”

  “Yes, I don’t want people to notice she is being followed. It might upset them.”

  “And the other things you do doesn’t?”

  The cane stopped tapping, “People see what they want to see, especially if they think they’re free and happy. That’s all people want, after all. To think they are free to do as they like and to have all their little comforts, all their petty desires sated. They just want their tummies scratched and to have the bars of their cage far enough away for them to pretend there aren’t any.”

  “I’ll see my men are more discreet.”

  “You do that.”

  They both knew who the town’s deputies worked for, but the Mayor seemed happy to promote the myth that the Sheriff was something more than just a figurehead, a fat old man with an easy smile. Someone who wouldn’t scare the decent folk of Hawker’s Drift; someone who was, after all, just one of them.

  “And how long do we need to tie men up keeping an eye on Molly McCrea?”

  “Until I have her where I want her,” the Mayor replied unhelpfully. Shenan was used to his boss’ habit of never quite answering a question, particularly when it came to his little games. He had once suspected the Mayor had some dark purpose, some scheme, some plan. Now… now he thought it was no more than a game to him; a little diversion to amuse and distract him. He could be wrong of course, but, frankly, he’d stopped caring a long time ago.

  “Well, now we have resolved that little wrinkle…” the Mayor reached for his hat and began to rise.

  “There is something else,”

  “Really?”

  For a moment he considered mentioning the stranger Molly had been seen with a few times, but he was sure the Mayor already knew all about that. He had a habit of knowing things, though, in this case, it would be because Blane would have told him directly rather than anything arcane.

  “I want to retire.”

  The Mayor blinked as if he didn’t quite understand the point Shenan was making.

  The Sheriff decided he’d better rephrase the statement, “I’m going to retire.”

  The Mayor eased himself back into his seat, “Well, I honestly don’t know about that Sam…”

  “Town Sheriff is up for re-election next month, as I’m sure you know being such an advocate of democracy an all. I’m not going to be standing again.”

  “Why ever not? You’ve headed up our fine Sheriff’s office for so long, how could we possibly maintain the peace without you?” The Mayor said, with as much sincerity as a shyster trying to sell a lame horse to a blind man.

  “I’m old, I’m fat, I’m owed…”

  “Owed?”

  “I’ve been loyal, done what’s been asked of me. I just want to see out my days in peace.”

  “We had a deal Sheriff.”

  “And I’ve honoured it. Let young Blane have it, he’ll do an outstanding job.”

  For a cold-blooded, murderous sonofabitch anyway.

  The Sheriff glanced towards Deputy Blane, if he was surprised or grateful for Shenan’s recommendation he wasn’t showing it. His face was as expressionless as it usually was. The man was like a frying pan; a cold unresponsive piece of iron unless you applied some heat, then he could burn you badly.

  “You’re Sheriff of Hawker’s Drift,” the Mayor shook his head, “till the day you die. That’s what you wanted, remember…”

  “Yeah, I remember, but that was a long time ago.”

  “A deal is a deal. There was no statute of limitation on it.”

  Shenan shuffled uncomfortably in his seat; the only thing more disconcerting than the Mayor’s roving eye was when it stopped roving and fixed upon you.

  “I just want to retire…”

  “We can’t always get what we want Sheriff,” The Mayor flicked the tip of his cane over his shoulder, “Deputy Blane has many admirable qualities, not least his diligence, but he lacks, at the moment, the necessary inter-personal skills required for the job. Wouldn’t you agree Blane?”

  “Yep,” Blane drawled, which was about as verbose as the man ever got. His murky hooded eyes, however, said something else entirely.

  “I need you Sheriff, Hawker’s Drift needs you. So you’ll be the only name on the ballot next month. Same as usual.” With that the Mayor rose smoothly to his feet.

  Shenan wanted to protest, but the words drained out of him. There was no point in arguing. No one changed the Mayor’s mind, save the Mayor himself.

  Once the Mayor had settled his hat upon his head, he tapped his cane upon the Sheriff’s desk one more time, “There’s a newcomer in town, a gunslinger. Keep an eye on him, he looks… insolent to me.”

  “Discreetly?”

  “Yes, discreetly,” the Mayor nodded at the Sheriff and then Blane, “Good day gentlemen.”

  Once he had strolled out of the office Shenan’s eyes turned back to the papers spread over his desk until he realised Blane was still in the doorway, leaning ag
ainst the frame, thumbs hitched in his gun belt, watching him.

  “You heard the Mayor? About the McCrea woman?”

  “Yep.”

  “So start watching her discreetly; like I told you to in the first place, stop following her everywhere. There’s no need to scare the girl witless. She only owes some money after all.”

  “Yep.”

  The Sheriff’s eyes rose from his desk when Blane continued to stand, staring at him, “Is there anything else?”

  Blane considered the question, before slowly shaking his head, “Nope…”

  “Then get outta here!”

  A cold little smile touched Blane’s face before he sauntered off to make someone else miserable.

  Blane didn’t say much and his range of expressions were not significantly wider than the mannequin’s in the window of Madame Fontaine’s on Main Street, but Shenan knew well enough he wanted to swap his silver star for a gold one.

  He’d been the same once. So eager to be the Sheriff of Hawker’s Drift he would have done anything to get the job. He closed his eyes and thought about Donny Bildt.

  Whatever became of him?

  They’d been best friends once, grown up together. Not quite brothers, but they’d been pretty close as kids. They’d both become town deputies, then they’d drifted apart a little, they’d both wanted the same job and the same girl after all; few friendships survived things like that intact.

  “Donny Bildt…”

  He should have gotten the Sheriff’s job all those years ago, should have married Elena May Thompson too. He was the better man after all. He’d always recognised it. They both had, which was one of the reasons their relationship become strained towards the end.

  Still, Sam Shenan had been the one the Mayor had come to and offered a deal. Bildt would be leaving town and he would have a free run at both the sheriff’s job and the girl. All he had to do in return was be loyal to the Mayor. Do as he was told. Don’t ask awkward questions.

  Hadn’t seemed so high a price to pay then.

  He’d shaken the Mayor’s hand and looked into the man’s single fucked up eye and told him he was his man. Forever.

  Dumb sonofabitch…

  Two days later Donny Bildt had been accused of raping and beating a 13 year old girl half to death.