Hire, Not Higher

Written the day after the 9/11 attacks

"I am retired, boy, I don't see how you cvan miss the point of that."

         With that the shambling bag of wrinkles that had once been Ulyssus Armbruster, ‘the deadliest man in all 18 counties’ picked up the brown bottle from the bar and adjourned to an unlit table. He settled there, close to the front of the saloon but between the pillar and the union of two walls. In his trail-crusted coat and a week’s worth of beard, he poured himself a glass full of the dark amber fluid and shot it back without reaction. He looked no more fearsome than the town drunk and seemed to be hiding in a corner.

        The young man in the tight suit was not going to leave it at that. “You were once feared... It’s said that you killed 10 men before noon and, and look at you - you’re nothing but an old drunk. Have you become a coward sir?”

        Something glinted in Armbruster’s eye and he slowly put down the glass, which he had just drained for the second time. “I am old, it’s true. Do you know of many old gunfighters?  As for name calling - I out grew that a long while back but, a drunk?  I drink when I can afford it and I make no apology about it - you would not like me if I were too long sober.” and with that he poured another and drank it a bit more slowly.

        “I don’t like you now, but I am prepared to pay for your services... fifty in silver for each of the Cali Men gang you can kill.”

        “Hah!  You’re either an idiot or the funniest man I’ve yet to meet. There are eight ‘Cali-men’... are you honestly expecting me to call them each out in the street?”

        “How you… earn your pay is not my concern. I was lead to believe that you were man enough for the job. Perhaps you were... once.”

        “Look mister,” said Ulyssus as he slowly placed a rusty, single shot pistol on the table, “you can insult me all you want and yes, I am more than a little drunk, but killing men isn’t about being the fastest draw, the steadiest hand or a fella’s manhood.”  Then, ever so slowly, he cocked back the hammer of the old firearm and, even slower, pushed it into the middle of the suited man’s chest saying, “It’s about being willing to kill them. Looking them right in the eye, knowing the wife and child they’d leave behind and still putting a penny’s worth of lead straight into their heart - then cleaning their guts off your hand and going on with your day.”

        After a very long silence, Armbruster gently released the hammer and slid the gun back into its holster. He poured another glass of the local whisky and offered it to the man in the suit - who was now drenched in sweat. He drank it quickly and made no other comment. As he rose to leave, the killer called out to stop him, “What’s it to you?  Why do you want so many dead men on your conscience?”

        “They have murdered and robbed and terrorized so many... do I really need a reason of my own?” said the suit, but there was something more than justice in his heart.

        “Yes. You do.”  And the sixty-something lead-slinger pushed himself to his feet. He was not a tall man nor half as lean as in his prime. A passer-by would dismiss him as just another trail bum but the suit had just gotten a demonstration of something underneath all that, which was colder than the steel rail that had just been added to this frontier town.

        “They burned my house,” said the solicitor, “I had a wife to join me and a good chance at success. I don’t even know why. I am a dentist - what trouble could I be to anyone?  Now, with my savings gone and my wife refusing to come to such a hostile place... I have agreed to carry this offer. The town has taken up a collection and sent me to find a... to find you. Our sheriff and laws are no match for the Cali men.”

        Armbruster took the measure of the man opposite him at the table and asked, “$400?”

        “Is that it?  Just for the money then?  Then yes, $400. $50 up front the balance on... afterward.”

        “Give me the $50.”

        Three days later Ulyssus looked like a new man. Clean clothes, a bath, shave and a brief visit to the brothel down the street seemed to make all the difference. The brothel, by the way, wasn’t much more than a large shack. Just past the livery on the south side of the main street, it sported one large parlor and four small ‘bed-rooms’. They were forever airing the place out - more than likely just to show off the silken underthings and fine linen sheets that they hung on a line from the banister across the porch.

        From the miner’s supply Ulyssus watched the eight Cali-men ride into town... all but one of them stopped at the brothel and got the sheets taken off the line. The one called ‘Mean Ken’ went next door to the livery, as his horse had broke a shoe.

        Within three-quarters of an hour all five ‘ladies’ of that last house in town came out and headed up the street - perhaps going to the grocery, but more likely to the bank. All in a little clutch like a group of nuns headed to prayer.

        When they were half way up the block Armbruster killed the Cali men. It was not the showdown the little man in the suit had tried to request... it was not a matter of honor or justice... it was just murder.

        While they were occupied with the prostitutes, Ulyssus bought 12 sticks of dynamite from the miner’s supply and strung them around the brothel. Two sticks at each corner and one in each door and window. In seeing the women leave, he lit the fuse and calmly walked back across the street. Each of the sticks exploded randomly - but the effect was still the same - between the concussion of the blast and the collapse of the structure - all the men were killed. All but ‘Mean Ken’.

        Ken came running from the stable, first in fear then recognizing that the building he had left his companions inside simply was no more. He ran toward the burning mess only to be stopped by seeing the body of his younger brother. The boy, not yet 18, had been felled by a splintering beam and pierced through the arm and belly. He lay there, naked and wide eyed, with his legs bent at an impossible angle.

        ‘Mean Ken’ screamed in pain and terror as he fell to his knees at the end of the dusty boardwalk. When his vision cleared enough to stand, he turned to look for help or reason. With the blood rushing to his face, he realized that his only living kin and all his friends had been killed as they rested. As the fury in him rose, from across the street, Ulyssus Armbruster, having taken quiet aim, shot him dead.

        “You wanted them dead, they’re in Hell now and you got rid of a whorehouse to boot.”  He told the suit from his table behind the pillar as he drank a cool glass of water.

        “But... I wanted them to know... why... they were...” words failed him. He put a note on the table that guaranteed the remaining fee had been deposited in the bank and when he found his voice, it was only to say, “It just seems so cowardly to have done it this way.”

        This time, in the blink of an eye, a shiny new revolver was instantly against his head, “That’s the last time you call me a coward mister. I did what you wanted and you paid your bill... now I think it’s best that you go back east and join your wife. I told you, you wouldn’t like me sober.”

 

Reviews

[Michael X]

barry, you have a great way at creating an image and playing off of every detail, this writing here
is a clear reflection of taking the reader to another place and time, the ole west, gunslingers,
your character portrayal stands out, and one can see the events unfold on screen, dramatic,
and the ending, ever clever, a great read here that sets the readers imaginartion in flight.