Blind Sooner_Hangman's Drop Space Western Ep. 1

by D. J. Proctor

  “This is Dr. Fallon’s office.”

  “Better send someone over to Judge Cairns’ house. His servant had an accident with a knife.”

  “Do we need to notify the Marshal?”

  “This is the Marshal.”

  Merritt wasn’t in the mood to let the servant die. After all, he was only doing his job. Merritt heard giggling behind two large wooden doors. He walked up, pushing the doors open. It was a den, and Judge Cairns lay on the couch, his grotesque belly exposed from lack of a shirt. Three naked women sat near him, two humans and one garan. Merritt felt blessed that the Judge had his pants on.

  Cairns sat up as fast as he could, his belly in the way. Face turning deep red, he demanded, “What the hell is the meaning of this, Merritt?”

  “My apologies, Judge Cairns. There are a couple of urgent matters that I need to discuss with you.”

  “Where’s Fulton?”

  “Oh, you mean your man at the door?”

  “Fulton!” Cairns yelled.

  Merritt smirked. “He’s coughing up blood on your porch, but don’t worry, I called the Doc.”

  “Girls, get the hell out of here,” Cairns said.

  The girls gathered up their clothes, which were spread all over the floor, then ran from the room. Cairns, thankfully, put on a shirt.

  “Barging in like this shows a level of disrespect I didn’t think even you held for the law,” said Cairns, as he stomped over to his desk and sat down. “Now what the fuck can I do for you?”

  Merritt walked over to the desk, but didn’t sit down at the chair in front of it. “Judge, the first matter is the Becker place. I saw a sign that it’s up for auction tomorrow.”

  “That’s right, the Beckers are dead and they never fulfilled the full five-year term on their claim. The claim is up for auction. What’s it to you anyway?”

  “There’s an open investigation surrounding the circumstances of their deaths. I’m working on finding who’s responsible, and there could be a conflict in having their property up for auction so soon.”

  “Well, I have it on good authority that the Orland James Gang is responsible for those deaths. Round those sonsofbitches up and we’ll get them hung soon as possible.”

  That was interesting. Merritt hadn’t told the Judge about the James Gang. “Hold on, Judge Cairns. I don’t know where you heard that the James Gang was responsible, but as a matter of fact I have evidence that Charles Moon is behind it.”

  The Judge stood up, his belly flopping over his desk as he leaned forward, pointing a finger at Merritt. “I want to get something clear with you right now. Charles Moon had nothing to do with those deaths, and your investigation is over. If you pursue this matter, Hangman’s Drop might have reason to find a new Marshal.”

  Merritt’s blood boiled. Cairns didn’t have the authority to decide when his investigation was over, but he could decide whether to pursue charges. It was pretty clear that Cairns and Moon had an agreement. Merritt wanted to follow up with threats of his own, but there was no telling what lengths Cairns and Moon might go to. He’d have to tread carefully and decide on a course of action. Merritt could shoot the Judge dead right now, but the corruption didn’t end with Cairns. The Colonial Government might just send another corrupt Judge. Merritt wasn’t sure that there was any other kind.

  “Judge Cairns, let me state what I’m after. I want to request that you delay the auction so that I can finish my investigation, and I want a warrant for the arrest of Charles Moon.”

  “Do you have shit in those ears, or are you going deaf from Voltan syphilis?” Cairns slammed his fist on his desk, apparently harder than he intended, as Merritt heard a loud crack. “Fuck!” Cairns shook his hand, groaning.

  “No, Judge, no shit in my ears. I think I understand completely.”

  Merritt would have to approach this in a different way. Like so many things on the frontier, reckoning sometimes had to be outside the law. Merritt turned to walk out.

  Cairns said, “You heed my words, asshole. Stay the fuck out of this situation.”

  “The Doc should be here soon. You should have him look at your hand.”

  Merritt walked out.

  Chapter 11

  Sam idly kicked an empty can of beans into the fire. It had been a hard ride to meet the cowboys, and tomorrow promised to be even harder to bring the cattle into Hangman’s Drop. Sam had herded cattle only a couple of other times and absolutely fucking hated it. Volta cattle had to be the stupidest creatures ever to grace creation.

  Darkness was settling in as Sam, Kerin, Bill Bessie, and his two buddies George and Ed huddled around the fire. With the night came harsh cold on this planet that dealt in extremes of hot days and cold nights. There was very little cover around, and the landscape was dotted with only sparsely distributed gnarly trees. The terrain was hilly and rocky, and in this particular area none of the rocks were large enough to offer cover.

  Knowing that tonight would be the last opportunity for the cattle rustlers to mount an attack, they had dug a shallow trench a few hundred feet from the campsite to provide some small cover.

  “I will take Bill and Ed. We will take a position in the trench. Give the signal if they come,” said Kerin, gathering up her rifle.

  Bill and Ed followed with their own rifles. Sam watched as they walked off into the distance, sinking down into the trench.

  Sam glanced at George as he stoked the fire, adding additional scraps of dry wood that they were able to scavenge from nearby. He checked the cylinders of his pistols, making sure their charges were good. He had a rifle at his feet, and a single-shot slug gun tucked into his boot. George was armed with a blaster pistol and a rifle.

  Two hours went by, and night settled firmly in place. The sky was clear. The bright stars and two moons in the sky provided some illumination to the landscape. Sam couldn’t see well in the dark, but his hearing was keen. Long before he saw them, he heard men moving slowly and quietly through the sagebrush. They occasionally kicked a stone, and he heard somebody cuss under his breath. Sam figured there were five. Sure enough, a few moments later five figures rushed from the darkness, guns drawn. As they got near the firelight, Sam could see that each was wearing a sack over his head to hide his identity. That was interesting. If they felt they needed to hide their identity, they must not intend to kill.

  “Throw your weapons out of reach. We’re going to take those cattle, “said one of the men, “and whether we leave corpses behind is entirely up to you.”

  Sam had kept his head low, looking into the fire. Slowly, he lifted his head to look directly into the lead man’s face.

  “Well boys, we got a dog,” said the man. “Now you be a good boy and do as we said.”

  Sam gingerly moved the flap of his jacket to the side, revealing the Deputy Marshal badge on his shirt.

  “I’m Deputy Sheriff Fenris Samuel, and you boys are under arrest for murder and attempted cattle rustling,” Sam said, keeping his hands to his sides and standing up slowly on two legs.

  The men laughed, looking at each other. “Now, boy, I don’t think those dog ears heard me correctly. You two are outnumbered, and speaking of that, we was following three of you. Where’s the third?”

  “The third fell sick; he’s off in the scrub emptying his stomach,” said George.

  The men came closer to the fire, leveling their weapons on Sam and George. The lead man spoke again, “Alright now. My patience is about done. Take those guns off your belts and toss them. I won’t be asking again.”

  Sam and George raised their hands in the air. Sam lifted his face to the stars and let out a yip like an Earth coyote. Blaster fire illuminated the ground from Kerin’s position, and a big smoking cavity opened up on the lead man’s head. In a blur of motion, Sam drew both of his pistols. He was one of the fastest guns on Volta, and the cylinders on his guns whirred as blaster bolts erupted from them. He dropped two of the men before diving to the side to take cover. There were two men left to return fire.
One of them fired blindly into the dark in Kerin’s direction. The other fired at George as he lifted his rifle. George took a blaster bolt to the gut, the air filling with the scent of cooked bowel. More blaster fire came from Kerin’s position, taking out another of the men. The last one turned and ran. Sam jumped up and took aim, but before he could fire at the fleeing target he felt a sharp pain in his side from behind. He winced, firing wildly. Turning, he saw that one of the men he thought was dead still had some life in him, evidenced by the blade sticking from his side. Sam felt weak, dropping to a knee. He managed to bring up one of his pistols, firing point-blank into the man’s chest. Sam removed the blade and felt the wound. He was relieved that it seemed shallow, not likely to have pierced anything too important. Kerin, Bill, and Ed arrived at that moment.

  “Do you think we should pursue him?” said Kerin.

  “Not worth it. No sense risking being ambushed or shot at from a hidden position,” said Sam.

  Kerin inspected Sam’s wound, and it was as Sam thought. Nasty, but not serious. She bandaged him up. There were a lot of cattle to bring in, and with George dead it would be that much more difficult. Sam wasn’t looking forward to the long ride tomorrow as it was, but he knew his wound would make it that much more miserable. They settled back in around the campfire, setting up a watch even though it was unlikely they would be bothered again in the night. Sam settled into his bedroll.

  Chapter 12

  Charles Moon slapped his lead man with an open hand, hard across the face.

  “You let the Deputy Marshals kill my men and keep those cattle?”

  “Sir, they had us outnumbered,” he lied, “and it was dark. I apologize, it won’t happen again.”

  Moon drew his pistol and fired it into the man’s head.

  “Jared, you’re my lead man now.”

  Jared stepped forward, avoiding the expanding pool of blood on the floor. “Sir, what would you like me to do?”

  “I want you to take some boys to the Marshal’s office. Kill the Marshal, and get our people out of jail. If you incompetent fucks manage to pull that off, you’ve earned a night at Jackrabbit’s Hole. Don’t get too drunk, because I need you to make sure none of the ranchers get into the auction tomorrow.”

  Jared nodded, gesturing for the other men to follow him as he left Moon’s office.

  Moon poured himself a glass of whiskey, and then sat down at his desk. If his men had done their jobs, none of this would be necessary. It was a goddamn inconvenience, and Moon was at the end of his patience. He was going to get that land, and no number of bodies would be too many to make it happen. That land would let him run the biggest cattle operation in the frontier. Even more importantly, control of that land would be an ace in the hole when he dealt with the Baak Corporation. But first things first, that fucking Merritt had to go.

  Chapter 13

  Shenanigans were afoot. Merritt had no doubt of that. His suspicions were confirmed when a blaster bolt ripped through the Marshal’s office window, slamming into a wood wall and setting it on fire. Merritt leapt from his chair, grabbing a fire extinguisher and hosing the wall down as he dropped to his knees. More blaster fire came through the window, peppering the wall but not catching it on fire since it was now coated with fire retardant.

  Merritt dropped onto his belly, drawing his pistols.

  “Oh yeah, lawdog! Looks like my boys are coming for me tonight,” said the man with the notched boot, as he stood and walked up to his prison cell door.

  Orlin and his boys laughed from their prison cell.

  Merritt knew he was in trouble. With Sam and Kerin off pretending to be cattle herders, he was left with no backup. He crawled back to his desk and activated the outdoor surveillance monitor. On his knees, he poked his head up to look at the monitor screen and saw that there were ten men out in the street. Several were armed with rifles, others had pistols.

  “You can’t win a standoff, Marshal. Let Moon’s boys go, and you’ll survive the night,” yelled a man from the street. “We don’t mind shooting you dead if you resist.” Merritt had only one trick up his sleeve, and he hoped it was enough. He sat in his chair, activating the external blaster cannon. It was basically an overpowered blaster rifle, and he only had one, but it might do the trick. He brought it online, targeting one of the men outside. His screen erupted in light, and his target’s abdomen was turned inside out. The corpse hit the ground just as he had another man targeted. Merritt let loose another blaster bolt. That one lost his left arm. The remaining eight men dove for cover. Merritt saw flashes of blaster fire on the screen, and an alarm went off on his console. They must’ve targeted his blaster cannon, because a blinking light told him it was offline.

  Merritt hit the floor again, just in time to avoid a volley of blaster bolts that ripped through his desk console.

  “Do what they say, Marshal. They’ll kill you in cold blood,” said the man with the notched boot.

  “You open that shit hole you call a mouth again, there’ll be one fewer of Moon’s boys for me to worry about,” said Merritt, crawling to the broken window.

  Merritt opened fire, sticking his pistol up through the window and firing blindly. He heard a scream. He must’ve got a lucky shot. Return fire came through the window, and Merritt heard boots on the porch outside. Merritt crossed the room on his hands and knees, taking cover behind Kerin’s desk. The door burst open, and Moon’s men poured in. Merritt squeezed off two shots in quick succession, removing the top of the head of one of the men and catching the other in the abdomen. There were three of them, and they opened fire. Kerin’s desk became hot wreckage. Merritt barely avoided a round that burst through the desk, just singeing his chest as it passed by.

  Merritt heard blaster fire strike metal, followed by a cell door squeaking open.

  “Yeeeehaaa!” yelled one of Moon’s men.

  Merritt knew he was about finished. Orlin was chuckling nearby from his cell.

  “Hey, let us out too,” Merritt heard Orlin say. “Hey now, come on. We’ve rubbed each other the wrong way a few times, but you can’t leave a man in a cell like this.”

  “Fuck you,” somebody said.

  Merritt heard blaster fire again, but this time from the street, followed by more screams. He heard boots trampling his floor again, but this time heading back outside. Merritt was confused. Kerin and Sam couldn’t be back already, but no one else in this town had the testicular fortitude to step in and help him. He risked peeking from behind Kerin’s desk and found that they were gone. He stood up and edged to the door, looking out. A gunfight erupted in the street. Two of Moon’s men were pinned down behind a wagon, while three more were making an escape on horseback. Another man on the other side of the street was firing from behind a couple of barrels. Merritt had a clear shot from behind at Moon’s last two boys. Maybe it was bad form to shoot men in the back, but frankly, Merritt didn’t give a shit. He leveled his two pistols at the men and fired at the same time, hitting them both in the back. One of them lie still, spine smoldering. The other rolled over and fired wildly in Merritt’s direction. Merritt returned fire, blowing three holes in the center of his chest, leaving smoking buttons like it was a meat suit.

  The man behind the barrels stood up and walked across the street, approaching the Marshal’s office. It wasn’t until his face was illuminated in light from his open door that the Marshal could tell it was Terrence Shaw.

  “Shaw… I don’t know what to say,” Merritt said, holstering his guns. “I think you just saved my life.”

  Shaw holstered his pistol and then slammed his fist into Merritt’s face. Caught off guard, Merritt fell backward into the Marshal’s office, falling hard onto the floor. A split second later, Shaw knelt over him, one hand grabbing his coat and the other raised in the air for another blow.

  “Now hold on, Shaw,” Merritt said, as Shaw’s fist slammed into his face again. Blood spattered from Merritt’s mouth.

  His surprise worn off, Merritt punched Shaw in
the gut. Shaw winced, letting go of Merritt’s jacket. Merritt pushed him away, scrambling to his feet.

  “Hold on, goddamnit,” Merritt said, “what the hell is going on?”

  Shaw’s face was as flushed as a teenager after his first visit to a soiled dove. “I knew you were a sonofabitch, but I never knew you were the kind of low-down disrespectful piece of dog shit who would desecrate a grave.”

  Shaw took a few steps toward Merritt, making fists.

  Oh shit. Merritt had forgotten about crushing Susan’s gravestone. It was done on a whim, out of anger. He regretted it. On the other hand, it looked like now was the time to deal with Shaw.

  Merritt took a few steps to meet Shaw, feigning a left hook. When Shaw reached up to block it, Merritt came around instead with a right uppercut. It caught Shaw square in the jaw, and he flew backward. Merritt didn’t waste any time, advancing on him. He kicked him in the stomach when he was bent over, holding his face. Shaw fell to the ground, moaning. Merritt drew his pistol and put it up against Shaw’s head.

  “Go ahead and do it, asshole,”Shaw said, spitting blood on the ground.

  Merritt started to squeeze the trigger, feeling its resistance start to give below his finger. It would be so easy right now to just end this, and God knew he wanted to. But even if he had an ulterior motive, Shaw had saved him from the Moon boys. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t give Shaw the beating of his life. Merritt holstered his pistol and then slammed his fist into Shaw’s stomach. But Shaw was ready and took the blow while lifting a knee into Merritt’s groin. Merritt stumbled backward, hitting a jail cell. He sunk to his knees from the throbbing between his legs and felt hands grasping at him from the cell. It was Orlin, now holding him tight against the bars. Shaw stood up, walking slowly to Merritt.

  “Kill him here and now, and let me and my boys out of here. I’ll make it worth your while,” said Orlin.