Sixes Wild: Manifest Destiny

by Tempe O'Kun

  A snap of my wing thumbs draws him back to the world of the living.

  After an instant of bewilderment, he tips his hat to me and spits an arc of syrupy chaw in a genial manner. I nod back, but don’t let my eyes linger too long on that sickle. Haven’t known Harland to drift off like that. Could be he’s just tired.

  Having never heard so much as a cough from the other world, I put stock in echolocation, not echoes. Of course, it’s far less typical back east than it is here. I’ve heard talk that, because death is so much closer out here on the Frontier, the dead are likewise close at hand.

  My aunt insists to this day that inheriting my uncle’s badge when he died is what drove me to abandon law school and become a sheriff myself. I say it has more to do with reading his diaries when I should have been studying. I’m not one to believe in echoes, but I’d not be opposed to the notion of a good luck charm.

  Something about the old raccoon’s behavior sticks in my mind, though the place runs so rife with swaying ears and deft paws these days that calm thought seems impossible. If only she weren’t so flighty, not to mention a dyed-in-the-wool—

  “Thief! Thief!”

  A masked form tears out of a house and down the street with an armful of glimmering treasures.

  Mrs. Deloris Wiggins scampers out after him in a fit of ferret hysteria, frilly pink dress in disarray. “Get him, Sheriff! He’s done stole mah shinies!”

  I give chase, flapping to beat the band as I catapult myself over a water cart. The thief, another ferret, ducks down an alley. I turn sharp, kicking off a wall and tackling him. As we collide, his horde of pilfered riches flies into the air. We collapse in a heap, long strands of shiny material raining down around us.

  Tinsel.

  I’ve been chasing a tinsel bandit.

  Managing not to resort to profanity, I drag the offender back to Deloris’s, enlisting her young daughter to reclaim the evidence. I keep ahold of the miscreant’s scruff with one hind paw, and he proceeds into an immediate sulk on her steps.

  Her long body swoons over her porch rail at the strain of the ordeal. “I declare, Sheriff! It surely was good of you to return mah shinies. Raymond’s taken a shine to that Slippaws girl more ‘an we thought, makin’ off with mah—”

  “Wait.” I glance between the ferrets. “You know him?”

  “Oh ah most certainly do! He’s mah nephew!”

  She doesn’t press charges, though she invites me in for brunch, which I decline so as to avoid an uncomfortable hour talking about the finer points of sparkle in silverware. She does insist on my taking home some of her famous cricket brittle, which horrifies me only a trifle. No doubt she has confused what kind of bat I am, though it’s a nice thought.

  It then occurs to me that I flew quite successfully, and for the first time since Six saw fit to put lead through my wing. The relief I feel is worth carrying home any amount of cricket brittle.

  The ferret fiasco behind me, I continue on my rounds. The saloon is opening up, taking in a wagon’s worth of spirits. The bardog has an echo item too, he claims, though I suspect it’s just a gimmick to sell more whiskey out of his “lucky” shot jiggers, which he claims have never spilled. He and I are on good terms, though he doesn’t like to spread the fact around. Bad for business, he says. This does not stop him from sending for me every time a fight gets out of paw.

  Odder still, the squirrel running the general store keeps the place immaculate, save one for old sea chest on the middle of an aisle, layered in dust. I offered to move it for him once, but he declined with frantic vehemence. Claims that every time he’s moved it, the windows rattle in the wind all night with such fury that he’s not given a moment’s peace. Even Hayes is unwilling to deal with the squirrel’s crazed chittering and leaves it be. Everyone else in town avoids it like a weasel’s breath.

  Hayes. Last year, the deputy and I tracked down another thief who robbed Hayes’ store. We found the man in a deep ravine, only a few hours dead. Never could prove Hayes had a paw in the killing, but who else would have? The lion would have us think that he just fell down the canyon and broke his neck.

  I stop at the post office and mail a letter to County Records, researching political decisions that went in favor of Hayes. It’s a long shot, but it might give me some hints as to just where his crooked dealings lie. I’ve been trying to track down some of his former cronies, but anyone who falls out of his favor seems to posses the good sense to leave town. I have Harding on the scent of some leads too. Maybe I’ll luck out and find he has history of unsolved robberies, though that seems a bit much to hope for. If Six is right and this was a front for sending bribes around, that money won’t be coming up on anybody’s books. The lion runs a tight ship, more so than his uncle before him.

  Were Hayes a less reputable citizen, I’d ask around town. As it stands, I’d get nothing but looks. What’s worse, it would be unprofessional if I just started digging through gossip in the hope of pinning Hayes. Seems likely to earn me a bullet in the guts too.

  All in all, I think patience is the way of it. Life’s a prickly pear out here— you have to take time to burn off the spines before you can enjoy it.

  If only I could stop thinking about that damn bunny.

  Sometimes, you just need to crush the life out of something to feel yourself again.

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  I’ve always had a rotten temper, the kind that sears and throbs like a bad tooth. Back east, I was Father’s blunt instrument. The family held me back as a threat, setting me loose when somebody challenged the natural order a little too much. The rest of the time, I was just too eager for violence. I see that now. Had I seen it a decade sooner, I might not have slashed out Big Dog Theo’s eyes and they might not have sent me out here.

  I don’t lose control like I used to. Some of it might be age, but I reckon the bulk of it comes from having no one else to stop me. Morris knows I’d relieve him of his lower half if he got in my way. Mary Elizabeth ceased caring what I do long before we came out here, being now much more interested in anyone else’s husband but her own. I don’t care who she lifts her tail for, so long as word doesn’t get around. Challenging a lion’s authority like that is often the last thing a fella does. Or a woman.

  Life’s all about control. Control yourself and you’ll stalk down new opportunities. Control your mate and men and they’ll raise you up. Control your enemies and you’ll come out on top. Control your resources and you’ll stay there.

  One of the resources I’ve kept over the years is the cult. They’re my blunt instrument. Like a club, they’re unwieldy and destructive, but cheap and ready at hand. For the price of supplies and showmanship and some half-recalled Swahili my grandfather babbled in his toothless years, with a healthy helping of words I made up for good measure, they’re truer than a gold bar. All that acting’s a bargain. Having a few dozen hired guns backing you is one thing, but having that many crazed followers makes other folks in the business think twice before muscling in on you. I can’t count the number of times that hesitation has saved me and mine. All thanks to the ore.

  My eyes catch the shine of black lacquer across the red dirt. This is no Wells Fargo coach. I spur my pony around to face it. A team of four sleek ponies pulls the stagecoach into view. A matched set, they’re gray on the top and black-belled as storm clouds. Wherever Mei Xiu found them, they must have cost her dear.

  The stage pulls up beside me, covered in a fine layer of red dust. The door opens, and silk flows out like a waterfall, taking the form of a tall, powerful tigress. She moves like a statue given breath: graceful in motion and sculpted in posture.

  I drop out of the saddle, jostling the Winchester repeater in the boot of it— sometimes prey is out of claw’s reach. Almost unloop my satchel from the pommel, but then leave it. Though I’m not in the habit of leaving cash lay out, Mei Xiu takes it as an insult if I don’t trust her manservant with my possibles.

  Her manservant is a stern-faced Siamese. He’s sup
posed to be some manner of butler, but I’ve seen him practicing with those funny little daggers of his. He sits there in his tailed coat, derby, and striped trousers. I can feel those steel-blue eyes even when I turn away, as if he’s uncomprehending on the fact that I could rip him down the middle if I were inclined.

  Mei Xiu snaps her fan closed.

  I face her. She’s a few inches shorter than me, but I’ve seen what she can do with those wide paws, with that refined mouth. A shiver runs through me. Reckon it’s queer how the both of us came across continents just to find so fine a mirror. Were it not for a little fur, a few stripes, we could be of the same breed. Most folks are too thick to appreciate things like this. We appraise each other for a long while before she speaks.

  “Mister Hayes.” Her English is clear and sharp as cut glass. To this day, I’m unsure if she’s a genuine Chinese or just of the stock. My inquiries find no purchase on her, and like any good predator she melts into the shadows regularly, vanishing until she wants to be found. Took me a month and more than a few bribes to even learn what she went by. Her real name’s Soon-Hooey-Zong or some such, but after I said it wrong for about the twentieth time she told me to just call her Mei Xiu. Not long after, we began these little rendezvous.

  “Madam, you are looking radiant as ever.” I take her paw and bow, kissing it all formal-like. Something about her bearing commands such things. Her paw is at once soft and powerful, just like her scent, just like everything else about her.

  “I must admit I was surprised when you sent word to me. We were not due for another hunt until the fifteenth.”

  “Much obliged.” I stammer a shade then dig my claws into my palm to regain control. “Need to let off some steam, is all.”

  She nods. “Then let us commence without delay.” She slips from her silks with liquid grace. They flow to the scrub grass with unearthly slowness, adding to the peculiar perfection of her form. Her body sweeps in muscular curves. Not a wasted ounce on her. Her bare fur shines in desert, burning like a striped sun.

  I fumble out of my clothes. Nobody in the vicinity, nobody for miles, just the jagged buttes of the desert and the sway of brittle grass. My claw catches on a buttonhole— I snarl and shred the shirt to tatters. As the strips of ragged cloth fall away, so too does all the tommyrot cowshit we call polite society.

  She gets down on all fours. Beside her, I dig my paws into the hot earth. I don’t get too close— a fine lady’s got to be respected, particularly since I’ve seen her claws at work.

  I shiver in anticipation. The wind plays over my naked fur, carrying the first hint of our quarry. I dash off on all fours, and she follows with a growl. My pulse gallops.

  The hunt begins.

  Predators.

  Prey.

  Not a shred of propriety to get between the two.

  Snapping and snarling, we sprint off together. Today it’s one of the man-sized lizards of the wastes. Doesn’t matter. It was just the nearest critter big enough to provide a mouthful. No words are needed. We just know.

  We lope along for about a half mile, then come upon it. The scaly beast is near on six feet long. It sees us and lights up a shuck, but we soon catch the fat waddling thing. Mei Xiu dashes through the rocks to trap it.

  The great lizard hisses, cornered against a stone face. We have it. We close in. Mei Xiu comes in from the flank, but gets snapped at. Powerful jaws crack together, spraying spit and perhaps venom at her.

  Now!

  I leap down between the rocks. My fangs sink deep into the flesh of its neck.

  The lizard squawks in terror as it realizes its life will soon end, must soon end. Sometimes, you just need to crush the life out of something to feel yourself again.

  Mei Xiu joins me now. Together we bathe in the gore of the beast, ripping its pulsing entrails out and gutting them down like pure animals. Our vivid pelts dye to a gristly rust, a perfect match. In this moment, I can almost forget about that rabbit fouling up my plans again. Again.

  I tear into the lizard’s flesh, picturing that rabbit in its place.

  You’re gonna lick it?!

  ~ ~ ~ ~ ~ ~

  Wind whips my coat. Night air chills clear through my fur. Loose steps clatter under my boots.

  I knock hard, giving the street the old up-down. I reckon nobody should be out to see me at this hour. But then, two months back I never reckoned I’d be back in this burg neither.

  I find myself fingering my iron out of habit. Makes me feel better, touching them, these last three days in particular. I’m not easy to rattle, but I’ve been feeling eyes on my back ever since I snuck back off Hayes’ property.

  I start to think better of showing up here, but my guns get to whispering again. The echo mutters under every gust of wind, tugging me back whenever I step away.

  I knock again. Some minor clamoring, then I hear footsteps inside. Soft, like the fella isn’t wearing boots.

  Door swings open and who do I see but Sheriff Jordan Blake, wearing long johns, a gunbelt, and not a thread more. Seeing him makes my heart beat a whole different kind of anxious. I let my ears drop and he jumps like he’s been struck by lightning.

  “Six?”

  “Howdy, Sheriff.” My eyes trace around the room, then down those long johns. “You alone?”

  “Y-yes. What are you doin’ here?”

  “This.” Before I can think better of it, my paws seize on his chest fur. I pull him into a kiss, one leg kicking the door shut after myself. No sense in making this a public event. Folk might start to talk if the good sheriff was seen associating with bunnies unknown, especially ones looking to be of the coarser sex. Before he knows what’s what, I’ve got him pressed against the wall again. My little heart is racing, just like no time passed at all. My guns hum. We knock a few wanted posters down before I pull back.

  Once he can breathe again, he manages to say: “Well, I…umm… Nice to see you too, ma’am.” I’ve got him so flustered he reaches up to tip a hat that isn’t there.

  My paws smooth the thin fabric over his chest. “Don’t you go callin’ me ‘ma’am.’” I look up at him all playful-like, but he’s already looking at me. Got a real heart-melter of a look to him too. This balls me up inside and I look back down, blushing. Standing beside the window, his eyes are right lovely in the starlight. Almost make me forget the trouble that drove me here. For the moment, though, I’ve got another sort of trouble in mind.

  “What brings you through these parts?”

  My muzzle brushes along his long, funny one. The short fuzz there tickles me something fierce. I do my damnedest not to think about the mine, but my whole body feels tight as a whip, frozen, and not from the night air. “I don’t care to speak on that just now.”

  His wings wrap around me like two soft, living blankets. I am a touch surprised he is willing to let me so close to them. I can’t help but glance at that scar I gave him, though I resist the urge to pester him about it further.

  For a spell, we just stand there in the hall, breathing in the night. The hallway is narrow and a dying lantern on a nail is the only light. Now that I am inside, I can smell the sour tang of my own fear. I’m sure he can smell it too because he brushes one of his fancy wing thumbs down my arm and asks all soothing: “You aren’t gonna bolt on me again?”

  “Don’t know what I can promise.” My little fluff of tail bounces unbidden against his wings, rascal that it is. “’Side from the fact that I like where I’m at.”

  “Just so long as you don’t lock me in that cell again.”

  I laugh just a little in his embrace. “I’ll do my best.”

  We stand a while longer. He shifts, sleep making him a little unsteady. “My legs are getting tired.”

  My body is stiff and sore from worry and travel. Not being too clear on the particulars, I trace my paw down his chest in what I hope is a seductive manner. “Just what are ya suggestin’ we do about that?”

  “Well, sitting down would be the reasonable thing.”

>   “Do ah strike you as the reasonable type?”

  “Not sure. You haven’t struck me since I chased you down in the desert.”

  I chuckle, knocking a paw to his shoulder. “You just watch it, lawbat. I’m of a fightin’ sort.” One little look, then I have just got to kiss him on the muzzle.

  “And what was that for?”

  “You’re blushin’.”

  He squirms just a little under me. “Ah… Umm… I’m not exactly accustomed to being in this sort of position with a lady.”

  “You mind who you’re callin’ a lady, lawbat. With a pretty little muzzle like yours, I ain’t convinced ah am the more womanly one in the room.” I run a finger under his chin, then pull back, ears dropping at how forward I’m being. I’m suddenly real glad that Mama is five states away. Then again, that might not be far enough.

  Blake snickers soft-like. “I’ve never had anybody go complimenting my muzzle before either.” He nuzzles in against me. His fur brushes through mine, all light and warm.

  Our muzzles dance with feathery affection across each other’s fur. I haven’t been nuzzled since I came back to the West, and never like this. This ain’t no ‘howdy-do’ between you and your mama; this is the entire length of his narrow fox-like muzzle running on mine. I am stunned for a spell, but then figure I’d better get to returning the favor or he might think me ungrateful. I rub my nose into the fur of his cheek, and low and behold if his fur ain’t about the softest thing ever. I’ve got no prior experience in this area, so I start imitating his movements. I drag my shorter muzzle back along his, sort of see-sawing a bit like he’d done, until our nose pads touch.

  He strokes one of those big, velvety wings up my back, brushing my neck. I can’t help but smile. He smiles too and it sets off fireworks in my bunny brain. I giggle like a swooning schoolgirl, but say nothing.