Red Star Sheriff

by Timothy Purvis

  Mesmerize stood staring at her and munching on some grass, his ears flicking sporadically. She nodded at him.

  “I suppose you’re right. I can’t just go running back home. Not now. Not after what I’ve already done. And what is left to accomplish.” She wasn’t really looking at him as he snorted and went back to chomping at the grass. “I started this. I have to finish it. Besides, we’re not talking about good men here, now are we?”

  Mesmerize shook his head and clomped his rear foot, likely due to flies, but she nodded as if it were an affirmative.

  “No, good men don’t make the law turn a blind eye. Good men don’t infest the country with vile urges and vicious ways. Good men aren’t reviled and feared. Only a malignant cancer is looked at with such scorn and fills people with such helplessness.” She looked down and watched the trail of ants for a long moment, then to Mesmerize and smiled. “What say we cut it out of the Sutures?”

  Mesmerize whinnied and she stood to go over to where her coat lay out flat like a makeshift bed. She pulled her saddlebag over to use as a pillow and laid down with her head propped up. She folded her arms behind her head and stared up at the night sky. A ripple of dark colors flowed from horizon to horizon.

  She sighed and closed her eyes. They spent the next two days in the glen.

  THEY STARTED WITH Easton and discovered Kern had already moved on. Rumor had it he’d taken up in Lovers Bluff. At least, that was the general consensus of the few men loyal to Kern in town, anyhow. She went to a cartographer, got a map of the Sutures, and proceeded to the next destination. Every time, she found she’d just missed him and he was always one step ahead. Her life became a constant process of blending in, finding those followers of his, putting them down, and then tearing across the dusty plains like a wraith bringing the fury of hell right along with her.

  What little law there was mostly stayed out of her way. Very few asked questions, merely commented it was ‘Wastelands business’ and occasionally pointed her in the right direction. It was a disgrace and it filled her with even more rage. And she was less afraid of venting that rage on the animals that considered themselves ‘men’. Such as the gang member that was holed up in the whorehouse in Dreary getting his jollies. Nobody stopped her as she entered the front door, asked the madam where the filth was, and made her way up the stairs. She was pretty sure a lot of people cut out upon seeing the fierce look of her resolve and wicked revolver clutched tightly in her hand.

  The door shattered under her kick, its light frame buckling easily. The woman within was screaming even before Aidele had reached the room. Splintered boards came to rest on the floor and she saw her latest prey hovering menacingly over the harlot, his fists balled, her face bloody. Aidele raised her Iron towards the man and squinted.

  “That ain’ in the lady’s job description,” she stated with a caustic edge. “How ‘bout ya dismount, little feller, an’ ya come tangle wit’ me?”

  The nude harlot, with her swelling black eyes, cried out as she leapt off the bed and raced out of the room. The naked outlaw slid off the bed himself, a snarl on his face. His cock dangled limply, covered in a shaggy black hedge of wiry hair. Aidele was repulsed.

  “Fuck ya want, den?” A scowl crossed his bearded visage. “Come ta play, whore? Take off ‘em jammies’n we’ll play!”

  She cocked her Iron and narrowed her eyes. “Ya ain’ gonna like the kinda fuckin’ ah have in mind. On yer knees’n reach fer the roof.”

  “An’ if’n ah refuse?”

  The nightstand beside him and part of the bed exploded into a thousand shards of wood and shredded bedding. He winced at the bright light and cacophonous noise. She re-cocked the hammer and he whimpered dropping to his knees and raising his hands. A fresh breeze blew in from the new hole in the wall. Startled screams rose up from outside. Aidele saw his little man turtle up to near nothing and worked to stifle a grin.

  “Ah ain’ much in a talkin’ mood. So, tell me now’n ah’ll make it quick. Where’s Kern Michaels?”

  He trembled, but she couldn’t tell if it was because of her threat, or his fear of Kern. His eyes darted around the room before landing back on her, not quite making eye contact.

  “Kent tell ya that. Jus’ gonna hafta kill me.”

  The anger rose in her hot as fire. They never made it easy. Couldn’t just tell her what she wanted to know. No, she had to get violent. She took two heavy steps towards him flipping her Iron over so it was pistol grip towards him and raised it high. The outlaw saw it coming and brought his hands up. Only, she was already in mid-swing. Each blow she made came with a word. Each word had a growling emphasis. Each emphasis came with an even more violent blow.

  “Where. Is. Kern. MICHAELS!?” She stood back from where he lay on the floor, his body twitching, face a bloody mash. His jaw hung loosely and looked shattered. His eyes stared blankly towards a wall. “Shit.”

  A loud commotion, like tables being overturned, and a few startled voices came from downstairs and she looked over her shoulder to stare down the hall beyond. Garbled grunting caused her to sigh as she made out gruff voices.

  “Git outta here! Shootin’s ‘bout ta start!”

  “Where’s she at?”

  “Upstairs! Heard it from Lulu!”

  Guess his buddies decided ta pay me a visit. All the better. Ah done broke thissun. She holstered her Iron, and pulled the left one still loaded with blanks. She popped that cartridge out to exchange for a Marsolite one. She thumbed the disc to three, holstered it, redrew the right, thumbed it to setting two. Re-holstered it. No sense killin’ all o’em jus’ yet. Spare one fer a long talk.

  She walked to what was left of the wall and its one window. People were rushing down the street and she saw there was no way to safely drop down and take them by surprise through the front.

  By the stairwell then. Let’s go say ‘hi’, yung’un. She turned back towards the door, hands hovering over her revolvers, and walked down the hall to the stairwell. It was quiet as she took her time descending. Halfway down, once she was past the second floor and could see where it became ceiling, she stopped. In the main brothel foyer, she saw four men. All were watching her, hands itching to pull their revolvers. Well, three were ready to dance, nervous eyes continuing to question the one man sitting at a table, feet up on a chair, pouring a whiskey for himself. That one leaned back to give her a knowing smile.

  He looked to be in his mid to late forties. The chiseled jaw, trimmed brown beard with flecks of grey in it, poofy mustache, and calm demeanor told her that he was the man in charge. The muscles in her hand twitched in anticipation. Fear and rage welled in her gut. She was sure it was him at long last.

  He placed his glass on the tabletop. “Now, ah’ve been hearin’ some interestin’ rumors lately.” His voice was grating. Not quite deep. Not quite high. Somehow, it was a mixture of both. Like he’d never fully grown out of puberty. If not for that beard and bushy mane of hair on top of his head, she might have suspected the such. “The rumors go, some little girl is ridin’ all over the Sutures killin’ mah men, screamin’ ‘bout how she’s tryin’ ta find that sumabitch Kern Michaels.”

  “Are you him? Are you Kern Michaels?” Aidele ventured.

  “As a matter o’fact, ah am! An who might ah have the pleasure o’gettin’ ta know?”

  “Aidele. Wilson.” She put extra emphasis on, ‘Wilson’. “You an’ yer gang murdered mah father.”

  She didn’t expect an apology. Maybe a grunt or a sigh. But she certainly hadn’t planned on him bursting out into laughter. Raucous, hardy laughter that got his three cohorts rolling too. Burning anger heated her face.

  “Woman, ah done kilt a lot o’papis over mah life! What makes ya think yers is any more special?”

  Her lips drew back. “His name was Cooper Wilson. A professor out in Chesik Villa. You and yer lot gunned him down comin’ home!”

  The smile vanished and his demeanor turned from sociable to grim.

  “Right.” He lea
pt to his feet, tossing the table over.

  His three men opened fire on her position as she drew her revolvers in the same instance killing one man. She shot the floor in front of the other two causing it to explode and sending them reeling backwards as she leapt over the banister and rolled into cover behind the madam’s counter. To their credit, Kern’s men weren’t incapacitated for long and opened up where she knelt low.

  With her left Iron, she leaned around the counter corner, saw Kern taking aim, and fired at the center of the table he was cowering behind. He ducked just as the shot hit and the table was obliterated. There was no time to see if she’d hit him as bullets shredded the counter. One went deep into Aidele’s thigh. She retreated towards the back room firing at the stairwell. It collapsed into a heap blocking the hallway as she made her escape out through a back door.

  Outside, two more of Kern’s men were waiting with drawn guns and wide eyes. She saw they were underneath a balcony and aimed at its support beams. The shot went straight through two and the whole structure came down on top of them. She hobbled across the street towards where Mesmerize was tied up and retreated.

  Kern came racing outside from the front, he and his men firing at her as she fled. They stopped when Kern lowered his weapon and shouted.

  “Don’ ya come back ‘round, Wilson! Next time, we won’ think twice ‘bout killin’ ya! Jus’ put a bullet in yer head the second ah see’s ya!”

  He didn’t put any effort into chasing after her and his voice died into quiet gibberish.

  A WEEK LATER she was sitting at her campsite healing up, but more determined than ever. She was twirling the spherical splitter she’d found in her father’s workshop in her hands thinking about how everything had played out. Sure, she’d been driven out of town. But she also saw fear in Kern’s eyes and that filled her with a kind of joy she’d never experienced before.

  Maybe on our next encounter, ah’ll give you a present, Kern. Ah’ve got just the gift. She’d failed in their first meeting, but just in rattling him she knew she wouldn’t fail next time. He was afraid, why else would he and his crew not come after her? She put the splitter down and went to the map splayed out before her. Little check marks were by every town she’d rode through chasing Kern. The last little town she’d been to, scuttlebutt said Kern was making a beeline for Dodge. Which was interesting because that was one of the towns she’d been through. And the village before the last one she had heard tell of his heading towards Bastion. A pattern was emerging on his travel habits. He was blowing into towns staying for no more than two days, creating chaos (sometimes killing the local lawmen), loot, pillage, and move on. But it was never precisely town to town. He would hit three in a row, then double back to the first (if that town happened to have picked up new lawmen when he’d killed them before, he killed this bunch too), then he’d move forward to what would have been the fourth town in a line had he not doubled back to begin with.

  The exact reason for this behavior escaped her. However, she figured it was Kern Michaels and he was deranged. So maybe it was all a game to him. She was certain she’d nailed the pattern. But she’d have to test her theory first before taking him on. She picked a town that was likely to be his fourth and would ride out there a day after she expected him to move on. If she was right, in two weeks she’d make for Rented City. This time, she’d be waiting for him. Let him get comfortable, settle in. Then strike relentlessly.

  AIDELE RAN THE brush through her hair again. Three months hunting them all across the Sutures. Now they were dead and the countryside could rest easy knowing their terror was driven six-feet under. And her father could rest as well.

  She put the brush down and sighed. The face in the mirror wasn’t smiling. In fact, it looked anything but happy. It looked worn, tired, and hard. And not for the first time she wondered who she was now. The Aidele from before a few months earlier, couldn’t be seen.

  Crickets chirped happily outside her window and she could hear the unnatural swirl of dust blowing across the Dustlands far to the west. Somewhere in the dark, a manger howled mournfully. It was all almost calming.

  Standing up, she crossed to the bed grabbing her father’s journal. Then went to sit by the window. The white rocker creaked as she sat and stared out into the darkness. It was a clear night. Moonlight cast a dim, white aura over the pastures and ridges beyond. The barn was a faint silhouette. Light from her twin oil lamps cast a yellow outline of her window across the ground outside.

  And it was quiet. Very, very quiet in their little corner of the Sutures.

  She sighed and hugged the journal to her chest. It’s over now. All o’it. Ya ken rest. Ah ken rest. Grandfather ken rest. We all ken rest. She felt her heart beating in her chest underneath her cotton gown. An’ tomorrow, ah’ll git back ta lookin’ after the herd an’ the crops. All will git back ta the way it was. She looked down to the journal. But yer words… Ah kent read any o’yer words right yet. Ya had so many o’em. So many ideas. So, ya sleep now. An’ later, we ken talk some more. She gave a slight smile.

  Aidele reached over to the window and closed it to a crack to keep out the predators but give her enough cool air so she wouldn’t sweat to death. She stood up, closed the thin white curtains, and went to her closet. There, she opened the doors and with her foot pulled over a step stool sitting in the inside corner. Stepping up to the top shelf, she pushed several boxes aside and ran her hand along the surface until a hatch popped up with a muffled poof. Inside was an empty storage compartment large enough to hold three hardback books and an assortment of keepsakes.

  Standing in front of the closet, the shelf didn’t look that thick. There was a stylized horizontal panel covering the whole closet rod. With the lid shut, the compartment was invisible. Aidele placed the journal inside, shut the lid, then stepped off the footstool. She pushed it back into the corner inside the closet and closed the doors back and then went over to turn out her oil lamps. She hopped into bed, pulling the sheet to her chest, and placed her arms behind her head. A deep contented sigh left her lips and she stared at her dark ceiling, moonlight bouncing off the back wall.

  How long before ah ‘find more enemies’? Grandfather, ah love ya. But sometimes yer an alarmist. Ah’ll be fine. Ah don’ need new ‘enemies’. More’n ‘nough out here ta keep me happy.

  CHAPTER THREE: GOOD FER NUTHIN’

  SHADOWS HID HIM as he skulked among the brush like a cat ready to pounce on a rodent. Or maybe he was like the rodent hiding from the cat. He wasn’t so sure anymore. The only thing he was sure about was if he didn’t succeed here a lot of people were going to die. The night was wearing on and his nerves were on end. He’d already wasted too much time trying to find the ranch and his time was ever more limited.

  From where he sat crouched, he could see a light on in the back of the house. He was pretty certain it was Mr. Lester’s room which meant he’d be waiting a little while longer.

  Come on, beddy bye. Time for some shut eye. He moved forward to stretch out onto his stomach and pulled out a set of viewers from a pocket in his black coat. He unfolded the circlet like device and affixed it around the backs of his ears. Depressing a sensor on the left lobe, a holographic display that only he could see popped into existence before his eyes. The display created an overlay of the entirety of the ranch. It outlined the house in a green wireframe, though it couldn’t reveal what lay in the interior. Not until he was in the room in question, anyway. The same was true for the barn, coops, and sheds. There was a workshop behind the house, but only part of it was visible from this vantage. It would give him clearer line of sight given the dim moonlight couldn’t break the heavy shadows between him and the house. In fact, most of the ranch was a silhouette from here, making the yellow light from Mr. Lester’s window an eye in the darkness.

  The light went out. Yes, good, turn in. I’ll give you twenty minutes to get to snoozing, then move in. He checked the time in the display. It was just past ten. He reached up to his right lobe, placed
a finger on the sensor there, then triggered an indicator dot. The faint red dot was large over the main home. Good. It’s in there for sure. Somewhere.

  It was almost half an hour later before he felt comfortable enough to approach the house. He kept low as he hurried across the jagged landscape and leapt over a fence that was surrounding the ranch. Passing the back door, he went around the front side checking windows. He found one unlocked about halfway down. A howl echoed in the night and he paused, looking around. He heard nothing further and turned back to the window. It opened with little sound and he slid inside. It was nearly pitch-black inside but the overlay showed him display cases, dressers, a desk and chair right next to where he crouched on the floor, several book cases, and a really nice-looking liquor cabinet. He was in the den. The door to his left towards the far corner led into the living room. The door cattycorner to him on the right, the hallway. If he remembered correctly, one could access the laundry room, basement, storage room, and kitchen from there. It also ran straight past the den and to the front of the house.

  The indicator dot had turned a faint orange and was directly in front of him. He moved forward as quietly as he could, the dot shrinking some. As he moved his head side to side, the dot kept its position on another point in the house.

  Of course, it’s deeper in. Couldn’t be so simple as to be here in plain sight, now could it? He edged deeper into the room and through the doorway. The dot showed him the object of his desire was through the kitchen. The display kept shifting the outlines to account for each room, giving him a modicum of relief. At least for his shins. The way led down an ‘L’ shaped hall. Halfway down the first run, loud snoring filled the corridor. He stopped, seeing the door was semi-cracked.

  Hello, Mr. Lester. Don’t mind me. I’ll just hop on down the hall real quick, get what I need, and be on my way…