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Bang Bang - Flashback (Javia)


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Mature Content:  violence

Author: Jay

With: Jay, Thomas, Granny Miggins
Location: Granny Miggins home
When: Just before the storm hit 1875
 

 

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Desperation caused it. The gang was riding into a town that was known for trouble. Whitfield. A lot of people knew that name but it was the only town close by, that had a sheriff, who was crooked enough to be riding with them. He didn't. But he probably wouldn't put his life on the line to defend the 'good citizens', that were left in Whitfield. The place was half gone anyway.

Thomas and his men needed food and they were desperate to get their hands on enough cash to get them through the winter in some cheap rented rooms.

 

As usual Jay was keeping to the back but he had all eyes on him. There had been rumors that he was leeching off the others and not pulling his own weight. So when they hit the second home, he was the one who grabbed the silver wear, backhanded the elderly owner just enough to show him that he didn't stand a chance. "Stay down!" He commanded in a deep, rough voice.

The man whimpered, clearly hurt and afraid but complied. "Please don't hurt me more."

On his way out Jay grabbed a piece of dried meat, that set on the counter and hungrily shoved it in his mouth.

 

Outside he tossed the others the bag, who were satisfied with his performance for now. Above dark clouds were moving in and the wind had picked up, blowing snow against his face, like tiny icy thorns.

 

"That one!" The Englishman suggested, pointing to a small house on the side of the town where the road was leading away from it. It was small but well kept and it had curtains, a sign that the owner might not be poor.

 

"There are much nicer places in town. Big ole houses!" The red haired  right hand of Thomas shouted above the wind and gave Thomas a look, shaking his head. "English guys got no ba*ls!"

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Outside he tossed the others the bag, who were satisfied with his performance for now. Above dark clouds were moving in and the wind had picked up, blowing snow against his face, like tiny icy thorns.

 

Sitting quietly on the lead horse, that pawed and sniffed at the snowy ground, snuffling for grass, the ‘noted highwayman’, he’d read that in a newspaper, the ‘noted highwayman, Thomas Gage Love' watched Red and Curly’s childlike delight as the weight of the gunny sack full of plate and candlesticks pulled down in their hands. He had an image of them in the Louvre or some such noted art gallery in Europe, leaving the Mona Lisa on the wall and carrying off the exit sign, because it was heavier. He didn’t even hate them. Wouldn’t even enjoy killing them. They were just boring. No, boring was too boring a word for them, there was a vacancy for a new word in the dictionary for those two.

 

“That stuff’s no good.” He announced tersely, raising his voice, which he hated to do, only enough to carry it over the scurrying snowy wind. “Somewhere with food and drink and cash, gentlemen.”

 

"That one!" The Englishman suggested, pointing to a small house on the side of the town where the road was leading away from it. It was small but well kept and it had curtains, a sign that the owner might not be poor.

 

He nodded. Good choice. Behind the makeshift mask his mouth smiled the faintest of smiles beneath his downy growth of whiskers, for there was a certain amount of pleasure to be drawn from the thought of what was about to happen to the innocent, unsuspecting folks behind that door: the door that English had singled out, like some benign God of Greek myth who does not realize that his merest touch will reduce a mortal to a pile of ashes.

 

“All right. Curly, go with English, we’ll keep look-see.” Red jumped off his horse too, to hold their horses’ reins and his own. Tom Love pulled his mask down and took a hit of the freezing air through his nostrils. This was slow. Sure, they needed food and drink and cash but … he could have carried on working in the office in Boston and got all that and more. He wasn’t sitting on a stolen horse in the freezing cold wind and snow in some shit-ass hole at the top of the Territories for a few swiped dollar bills, a slice of Aunt Mary’s homemade fruitcake and a bottle of home-brew.

 

The other two trudged toward the house like a pair of Christmas Carolers.

 

Curly was a coward. He would bitch to Red and Tom about the Englishman, but was all friendship to his face. Also, he was increasingly unnerved by their leader’s erratic behavior. As they approached the house which Ryker had singled out for their attentions, he shook his head as he cocked his Remington-Beals Revolver. “Tom’s acting a little strange lately English, don’t ya think? … me and Red, we’ve… we’ve both been talkin’ about it.”

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Jay had seen the look in Thomas' eyes when he declared that the silverware was no good. They were menacing, even more so when he was wearing a mask. For a second they had locked eyes but the Englishman never dared to hold his gaze. It was like a challenge, one he was certain he'd loose.

 

Pulling up his own bandana he complied and took Curly, whom he could not stand, to the other house. The guy was as dumb as they came. Nothing between the ears. A partner like that could easily get you shot, so he decided to make sure that Curly wouldn't say a word and stay behind him.

“Tom’s acting a little strange lately English, don’t ya think? … me and Curly, we’ve… we’ve both been talkin’ about it.”

 

Strange was an interesting choice of words. Excentric, egotistical, greedy would be more adequat. "I bet you put a whole lot of thought into that conversation." Jay mocked him.

 

The click of the revolver behind him, made him freeze in his tracks.

"You don't need that. Sneak around the back, look what you can see from the other side and then come back and tell me.", He told the other gangster.

Why would Thomas send an idi*t like this man with him? He surely wasn't any help.

 

Once Curly had disappeared around the corner, the Englishman quietly tip toed to the door. The snow silenced his every step and the wind did the rest.

First he craned his neck to peek in through the window.

 

Inside he could see an old woman standing with her back to him. Grey hair, up in bun and the posture gave it away. Noone else was in sight.

 

Out of nowhere a loud noise from the back of the house could be hear. "Dam*it, Curly!" Jay cursed and pressed his lips together, pulling his head away from the window.

 

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Strange was an interesting choice of words. Excentric, egotistical, greedy would be more adequat. "I bet you put a whole lot of thought into that conversation." Jay mocked him.

 

Curly’s face fell a little, his attempt to talk to the Englishman resulting in a verbal slap in the face. “Well, No need to get personal!” he pouted. Oh well, this just confirmed his dislike of the foreigner. He got his revolver, ready for the raid on the house.

 

The click of the revolver behind him, made him freeze in his tracks.

"You don't need that. Sneak around the back, look what you can see from the other side and then come back and tell me.", He told the other gangster.

“Who died and put you in charge?” muttered the balding outlaw, but obeyed, none the less.

 

Once Curly had disappeared around the corner, the Englishman quietly tip toed to the door. The snow silenced his every step and the wind did the rest.

First he craned his neck to peek in through the window.

Inside he could see an old woman standing with her back to him. Grey hair, up in bun and the posture gave it away. Noone else was in sight.

 

Nellie didn’t live in the house, of course. Her home was a fortress-like homestead out on the range; she was visiting the Widow Jarvis with some chicken broth and chill tonic, what with her having taken poorly just lately. The widow was tucked up in bed and Nellie Miggins was in the kitchen, just preparing to light a different sort of range – the range in the kitchen on which she would warm up the soup.

 

Out of nowhere a loud noise from the back of the house could be hear. "Dam*it, Curly!" Jay cursed and pressed his lips together, pulling his head away from the window.

 

Curly, his gun in its holster, crashed through the back door, and blundered straight into the grandmotherly figure, who cursed to herself that she was nowhere near her gun. Quickly grabbing a vicious-looking toasting fork from the wall, she thrust it up and at Curly’s surprised face.

 

“Hold it right there yuh no good skunk! One more move and I’ll shove this thing so far up your ass that it’ll tickle yer tonsils!! Bust in on a harmless old lady would ya!? Why, I’ll a mind to frazzle yer fat backside on that there cookin’ hob!”

 

Little did she know that behind her, Jay had the drop on her, and could have shot the top of her quaintly bonneted head off at his ease.

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Very carefully he pulled the wooden door open, which barely made a sound. Snow was blown inside when Jay entered like a cat with a big old 6 shot Dragoon. He had to pass through the living room to make it to the kitchen and decided to grab a pocket watch, that someone had place on a small table. His eyes scanned the place but it was as poor as it looked from the outside. Worn out furniture, some pictures, handmade quilts. So it would really come down to food.

 

While Curly was busy shouting at the grandma, Jay made his way to the kitchen. His face was hidden behind the bandana and the hat, which he'd almost drawn down to the bridge of his nose. Only some of the grown out blonde hair was visible.

 

The picture he stumbled upon was almost too precious to interrupt. He would have loved to see that fork get stuck in Curly's privates, who demandend. "Put that away and give me your jewelry...everything you got."

 

Jay cleared his throat behind her and made an annoyed 'tsk, tsk, tsk' sound. "Mam, it'll be much easier, if you cooperate. We'll be gone in a second and you won't be harmed. Would you lower that fork, please."

 

His eyes already darted to the stove because the great smell had made his mouth water.

 

To Curly he said. "Go on....see what you can find and if anyone else is in the house."

 

Then he moved around her, colt till aimed at her to shove a few pieces of bread in his pack, then some dried meat and pickled vegetable jars from the cupboard.

 

@Javia

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The picture he stumbled upon was almost too precious to interrupt. He would have loved to see that fork get stuck in Curly's privates, who demandend. "Put that away and give me your jewelry...everything you got."

 

“Jewellery? JEWELLERY?! I ain’t got no damned jewellery, who d’ya think I am, the queen of Sheeba?!” barked the Septuagenarian, still holding the toasting fork up threateningly to Curly “And if I did I wouldn’t give it to you, y’ fat galoot!”

 

Jay cleared his throat behind her and made an annoyed 'tsk, tsk, tsk' sound. "Mam, it'll be much easier, if you cooperate. We'll be gone in a second and you won't be harmed. Would you lower that fork, please."

 

Granny Miggins turned on her heel and saw that she was outgunned and outflanked, she let out a choice expletive, and tossed the offensive weapon onto the table top. “Got the drop on me, eh?” she observed.

 

His eyes already darted to the stove because the great smell had made his mouth water.

 

“Hungry, eh?” Nellie concluded “Well, I’d a given you something to eat if you’d knocked on the door and asked polite!”

 

To Curly he said. "Go on....see what you can find and if anyone else is in the house."

 

“Oh, there’s just the Widow Jarvis upstairs" the elderly woman informed them "... she’s taken to her bed poorly. Doctor reckons it’s the cholera, highly contagious!” frowned the old lady “I wouldn’t go up there unless you’re fixin’ to catch it yerself. Why, a big fat fellow like you, you’d be dead in a week! It always affects the baity ones the worst!”

 

Curly visibly hesitated.

 

Then he moved around her, colt till aimed at her to shove a few pieces of bread in his pack, then some dried meat and pickled vegetable jars from the cupboard.

 

“Well, don’t pack it that a-way, y’ daft scallywag! You’ll spill half of that pickled stuff on your bread! Here, let Granny do it for ya!” the wiry old lady commanded, moving forward. She waved the nozzle of his colt out of her way. “And stop pointing that thing at me, you’re making me nervous!!”  To stop her progress toward the ill packed pack, he’d have to either shoot her or clobber her.

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When Curly heard something about an old woman upstairs, he knew there were treasures to be found. Old people had 'stuff' but then the word 'cholera' stopped him dead in his tracks. He had no idea whether the old lady was just telling him a lie or actually serious. But old ladies didn't lie now, did they? So he pursed his lips and raised his brows.

His eyes narrowed at her but then he decided to at least pretend that he was going upstairs and disappeared towards the stair case around the corner, which was close to the back door.

 

"See's foolin' you!" Jay called after him but then the woman pushed his gun to the side and urged him to give her his bag. His fingers curled around the fabric in his leather gloves but he was too surprised by her actions to push her away and didn't have the heart to shoot a woman, who wanted to help him.

 

Changing his plan he left the bag for her to rearrange and searched through the bottom cupboards.

"Hurry, lady. I don't have all day. There's a storm moving in."

Jay had to crouch down low to get to the cans on the bottom as well as some stored potatoes, which he handed to her.

 

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Changing his plan he left the bag for her to rearrange and searched through the bottom cupboards.

"Hurry, lady. I don't have all day. There's a storm moving in."

 

“Oh, don’t you worry, Granny knows what’s best. Best to pack it proper, nice and slow, than havin’ it all falling outta yer sack on the trail.” she advised with a kindly smile on her face, but when he turned away to check on what Curly was up to, and fetch more vittles, she scowled and let a dribble of spit fall on the bread rolls.

 

Jay had to crouch down low to get to the cans on the bottom as well as some stored potatoes, which he handed to her.

 

“Oh, you growing boys do eat and eat. You remind me just of my Grandson, he’s a handsome young feller just like you, you know. Oh, it does make me sad what some of you nice young fellers are forced into; it’s the times, I know, it’s the times. Not your fault really.” She rabbited on, buttering him up, and trying to remember if she’d loaded both barrels of her shot gun or just one.

 

“I only wish I had some money to give you boys, to help you on your way – oh, I know! How would you boys like to take along some of Granny’s ‘chill tonic’? Brewed it m’self. It’s pretty strong stuff, though.” She joked, giving Jay a conspiratorial wink. Hmm, the fat one would be easy to hit a mile off, but this skinny English one might be a harder target. Why, she hadn’t plugged an Englishman since 1812 – and her aim had improved since then, she reckoned.

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Jay wasn't one for chatter and this old woman was talking too much for his taste. When she expressed her understanding, Jay briefly felt like she knew him very well . 

Oh, you growing boys do eat and eat. You remind me just of my Grandson, he’s a handsome young feller just like you, you know. Oh, it does make me sad what some of you nice young fellers are forced into; it’s the times, I know, it’s the times. Not your fault really.”

 

She understood what he was going through. Jay never wanted to be a criminal but it paid off. Enough food, a room and a big dream four all of them without any work.

 

“I only wish I had some money to give you boys, to help you on your way – oh, I know! How would you boys like to take along some of Granny’s ‘chill tonic’? Brewed it m’self. It’s pretty strong stuff, though.”

 

His eyes narrowed. Now it was obvious that she was solely trying to manipulate him, so he straightened his back, reached for the bag  and tore  it out of her old hands. "Give me that."

With an angry glare he added. "You can fool someone else, old lady."

 

Then he had another look around to see if there was anything else within easy reach. he'd already been in the house too long. The more time passed, the greated the chance of the sheriff being alerted.

 

"Curly, pack it up!" Jay hollered, unaware that the other bandit had already left the building through the back door.

 

Then he tipped his hat and turned around to head for the front door.

@Javia

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His eyes narrowed. Now it was obvious that she was solely trying to manipulate him, so he straightened his back, reached for the bag and tore it out of her old hands. "Give me that."

 

She gave a yelp of surprise as the pack flew out of her hands.

 

With an angry glare he added. "You can fool someone else, old lady."

 

“Oh, don’t be that a-way!” she whimpered pathetically “I’m just a scared old Lady, tryin’ to pacify you ruffians. Wait ‘til you’re old and feeble and two big brutes come crashin’ into your house.”

 

"Curly, pack it up!" Jay hollered, unaware that the other bandit had already left the building through the back door.

 

One was called Curly and the other one was English. That might help the Sheriff, she ruminated. Pity that their masks made any further identification difficult. But she at least noted the color of their clothes and their hair as it peeped under their headgear.

 

Then he tipped his hat and turned around to head for the front door.

 

Nellie’s eyes narrowed, she would have run for the shotgun right away, but she wasn’t sure where the other varmint was. By the time she was sure that the fat one, with the bald patch which showed pink below the back of his hat, had gone too, she was almost too late.

 

$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$$

 

Outside, Red was still standing by his horse, but now he was holding three sets of extra reins, instead of two. As Jay and, from somewhere, Curly trudged laden toward him in the snow, he gave a weary shrug.

 

"Tom's gone to set a house on fire." he explained, simply. 

 

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