PEACOCK UNLEASHED
CHRIS PEACOCK
CHRIS PEACOCK
Louisiana - 1870
Chris let out a very heavy and exasperated breath as he looked up at the ceiling, rousing from unconsciousness. He saw the dust particles floating through the air as light filed in through the door that remained ajar from when he first entered the barn late in the night. It had to be morning. His breathing did not steady. Raising his hand up in front of his face from his leg, he was filled with terror to see that it was covered in fresh blood. He was surprised that he was still alive.
As his consciousness began to slip away once again, perhaps for the final time as he bled out on the floor of the barn, he turned his head towards the door and weakly attempted to call for help. He snorted in derision at his own fate, amused by it even. This situation was his entire doing; he just couldn’t help himself. Now, with nothing to show for his life other than regrets over choices that he should have made differently, he was going to die. On the floor of a stranger’s barn; accompanied by nothing more than a couple of horses, some hay and the large streak of blood that he left on the floor.
If one was to follow that streak of blood to Chris’s previous destination, they would be led to the hideout of a gang that Chris had spent the last year pursuing. A group that had bettered him at almost every turn and seemed to take enjoyment in his suffering. They goaded Chris in for a final stand against them and then promptly left him to die once they’d bettered him. Then, somehow in the middle of the night, Chris crawled what he assumed was several miles until he found somewhere he thought was safe.
Chris had ambitions; things he still wanted to achieve. But that gang - those bastard Nephews - got to him again. He should have been the bigger man and turned the other cheek. He couldn’t resist the chance to finally overcome that wall, and his most recent failure against them has come at the cost of the rest of his goals. He had the tools to be successful in Louisiana and to prosper; to hold power. What he didn’t ever have was the chance. Unsurprisingly, it was as he lay dying, that he realised that he got in his own way. Everything that he rued and regretted he did so because of his own choices.
He felt his eyes starting to close as he looked at the door. It felt symbolic, like the white light calling him and telling him that his time had come. Those regrets could be left behind. There’s nothing that he could have done to change them now, anyway. There wasn’t a machine or contraption that he knew of that could take him back. With a heavy gulp and tears welling up in his eyes, he was ready to let go. This was going to be the end of Chris Peacock.
As his vision began to blur, a sure sign of the blood loss from the bullet wound in his leg, the door opened and a figure appeared. It must be the maker, Chris thought, welcoming him in. He tried to reach towards the man, who slowly stepped closer to him, but he couldn’t move his arms anymore… he closed his eyes…
ALLEN PRICE
Louisiana - 1870
Allen Price opened his eyes. The sound of claws scratching on a wooden surface woke Allen from his deep sleep. He folded his pillow over his head in an attempt to prevent the scratching from disturbing him further. It was when he heard his dog whimpering that he realised that he had to get out of bed. He needed to get up anyway, as the jobs that needed to be done around the farm weren’t going to do themselves.
It was with a loud groan that Allen swivelled his legs around from the bed onto the floor and he shuffled his feet into the loafers that had been left at the side of his bed the previous night. The dog’s whining continued, and he let out a frustrated sigh. “Calm down, boy! I’ll be there in a minute! Just hold your damn horses, alright?” The old farmer stood up and arched his back; it was hurting due to the way his body was positioned when he slept.
Price groaned as he exited the bedroom of the farmhouse that he occupied on his own, if one did not count the cattle dog that he allowed into the house overnight. It was a decision that he regretted each morning, but if he was being honest with himself, the dog probably did more work around the farm than he did, even in its older years. Seeing that he was about to be let out, the dog ceased the scratching and the whining, allowing himself to have his head stroked by his owner. As Allen patted the dog’s head, he rolled his eyes upon seeing the fresh claw marks on the door that had removed some of the fresh paint that he had applied to it just a few weeks earlier. “Go on, get out there!”
The dog bounded out of the door as soon as Allen opened it and he took a moment to look out across his land that opened out in front of the farmhouse. The cows in the field seemed peaceful enough and he heard the chickens going about their usual business in the coop around the side of the house. The barn stood proudly in the sun, and to this day Allen remained proud of having put it up by himself twenty years earlier. As he marvelled at his creation, he saw the dog sniffing around outside the barn.
Price waddled towards the dog and the barn in just his underwear and white vest, his legs not fully working yet as the day was still young, waving his hands around. “Away from that barn, boy! I don’t want you to give those horses a fright, ya hear?” The dog continued to sniff around and eventually the old farmer decided that he would have to physically remove the dog from the situation himself. It was as Price walked closer to the barn that he saw what was causing the ruckus; a trail of blood leading from the barn into the cornfield past the nearby fence. He gasped, and immediately turned on his heel, running back towards the farmhouse and reappearing seconds later with a loaded hunting rifle in his hands.
“Rick? Sonny? Are you two okay in there?” Price called out to his horses - not the smartest of moves considering an assailant could now be alerted to his presence and as horses, neither Sonny or Rick would be able to answer him. When the reply inevitably did not come, Allen gulped as he approached the barn door which rested ajar. The door creaked as he carefully opened it, and to his surprise he saw that his horses were fine as he left them, but a man lay dying on the floor of his barn.
Louisiana - 1871
Six months later, Allen Price found that his farm had become significantly more profitable. This was largely in part due to the fit young man that had recovered from near death and given Allen a valuable and capable additional pair of hands to assist him with his duties around his land. It was a simple arrangement that the two had entered into; as payment for saving his life and doting on him until he was healthy once again, the man agreed to stay with Allen and help him around the farm until he was ready to return to his previous life. He did not require payment other than food and board.
The man - Chris - kept his past and a lot of his personality well-guarded. Allen believed him to have been a bounty hunter that eventually went into business for himself and things went south. That decision resulted in Chris getting shot four times and hit by a moving wagon. Chris’s secretive behaviour caused Allen some concern and many questions; what if whoever did this to him came back to finish the job, and Allen got caught in the crossfire? Why did Chris not want to return to his former life? Was tedious farm work really what a man whose previous life brought so much adventure to, wanted?
Despite the insistence of Chris that he did not wish to talk about any such matters with Allen, it did not stop the old farmer from trying to break down the walls. Chris showed impressive resolve and patience to continually rebuff Price’s incessant lines of questioning. But, that all changed one day in the early months of 1871, when Chris Peacock was left without a choice,
Chris had not looked at the clothes that he was wearing when he arrived on Price’s farm, requesting that Allen burn them when he was presented with them initially, Allen had worked hard to scrub out a lot of the blood and dirt stains that scattered throughout the burgundy outfit. He sewed the bullet holes and pressed it as best as he could. Upon Chris’s rejection of the clothing - a reminder of a life left behind - Allen did not wish to burn them, instead he hung the outfit in his own dresser. Like his barn, it was his hard work and he wanted to remind himself of his effort and the fruits it had brought.
On the morning of that fateful day in the early months of 1871, Allen routed around through his dresser to find something to wear. He and Chris needed to head into the nearby town, as they were set to attend a livestock auction. Price realised that his usual combination of a white vest and loose trousers would not do. He wanted to appear as a man above his own station. Chris was already reluctant to leave the farm, but Allen knew that showing he had someone in his employ would raise his standing among the other bidders in the auction, which could give him an advantage. Not only did Allen have to find clothes for himself, but for Chris too. It was then that he cast his eye on the clothes that Chris had worn six months earlier, that he almost bled to death in.
Price grabbed the outfit from the dresser and a piece of paper fell from inside the shirt pocket. It fell to the floor and landed at Allen’s feet. He rested the outfit down on the bed next to him and then opened the folded paper and read its contents. His eyes widened. Immediately, he left the room and began searching for Chris.
Allen found Chris in the kitchen of the farmhouse, eating some eggs and sipping on a mug of whiskey. Chris’s attention was elsewhere as he looked out of the window. When Allen slapped the paper down on the surface of the table, Chris looked at it for a second. “Who on Earth is Devin Golden?” Chris didn’t answer, and he instead took a deep breath and turned back towards the window.
“He’s dead, Allen.” Chris said, plainly.
Nervously, Allen looked down at the paper again and studied the sketch of Devin Golden in the middle and examined the words ‘DEAD OR ALIVE’ on the header of the paper. “You killed him?” Allen became more unsettled as Chris slowly nodded his head.
“Him, and plenty of others.” Chris said as he put his mug down on the table next to him. He inhaled again and then motioned for Price to sit down at the table, which Allen did. “You’ve been asking me this whole time who I am? What I did before I got here? Well, this is it. I killed people, and I got paid for it.”
Price looked at the handbill again and his eyes widened when he read the monetary value placed on Devin Golden’s life. “Fifty thousand dollars? You got paid fifty thousand dollars for killing this guy?”
“I haven’t been paid anything for it, Price. If you want the bounty then you’ve got to kill the mark, then take the body to the authorities. Do you see that piece of crap’s body here?” Chris sarcastically motions around the kitchen. “Bedsides, that was my last bounty, Allen. I’m not going back to that life anymore. I…”
Allen could tell that Chris was about to delve deeper into his psyche and perhaps explain what deterred him from that life in the first place. He thought about dropping it, but thought that this was too good of an opportunity to let go. “Chris, if you killed him… that money’s yours! Now, if no one has seen this guy since you killed him then surely that’s got to be enough?”
“Only if the judge says so.” Chris gritted his teeth after saying that and was frustrated that he had no liquor left in his mug to wash down the taste of immediate regret. He saw the wheels turning in Price’s head, and they were turning in a dangerous direction.
Price read the fine print on the handbill. “So this circuit court judge Rupert Watkins can resolve this? Chris… he’s not that far away!”
Chris stood up from his seat and held a hand out and snatched the paper from the clearly excited Price. “Allen, we’re not doing it. I understand, you’ve been on this farm for a long time and I know that a bit of adventure might seem fun to you. I’m not going on any adventures anymore. I wanted out of that life and I got it, my way. I want to focus on the farm, the chickens-”
“We could use the money on the farm! Think about it. Chris, with that kind of capital we could have the biggest damn farm in Louisiana!”
“We’ve got the livestock auction!”
“Livesto- LIVESTOCK AUCTION?! Are you out of your damn mind?” Price shot up from his seat as well and he snatches the paper from Chris once again. “You know how many livestock auctions we could go to with fifty grand? Now, I don’t like playing this card, but I saved your life! You owe me. So what we’re going to do is find this Rupert Watkins and get you your damn money and then we can go to every livestock auction in the damn country if you so please!”
Chris had never seen the old farmer be as authoritative as that before, and he took a deep breath. He looked out the window once again at the beautiful scenery which the farm opened out onto and sighed. It was this same allure that Price was exhibiting now which got him into the bounty hunting game in the first place. This life that he’d tried so hard to get away from had found a way to pull him back in. He decided that for one last time, he’d step into the world that brought the worst out of him. One last time, so he’d never have to return.
Without turning away from the view that he was going to miss whilst they were away, Chris spoke to an ecstatic Price. “I’ll get the horses ready. Get me my gun.”
RUPERT WATKINS
Louisiana - 1871
Rupert’s quill scratched into the paper as he quickly jotted down some specifics on the next bounty he was issuing. His hand slipped, causing a black streak to cover the face that had been drawn on the handbill. In frustration, the judge scrunched the paper up and threw it across his lavish office and it bounced off the closed door. The paper was brushed along the floor and pushed up against the wall as the door opened. Watkins didn’t even give his greeter a chance to talk, making a demand without looking up from the new handbill that he was drafting. “Send whoever it is in.”
His strong English accent demanded authority and seniority; it helped Rupert stand out in the sea of drawls and regional twangs that affected most’s pattern of speech in Louisiana. The servant did as he was told and stood aside to first allow a dishevelled man, not young but younger than Watkins himself, and then another man younger than the first. The door closed behind them and there was a few seconds that passed before the older guest attempted to initiate the conversation. “Good afternoo-”
“State your business or leave. I’m a terribly busy man and I will not waste what precious time I do have engaging in small talk.” Just the bluntness of Watkins caused Allen Price to stutter on his words out of intimidation. Watkins groaned and sighed heavily and placed his quill down and then finally looked up to see who was in his office. The scowl that had occupied his face faded almost instantly and he grinned whilst rising to his feet. The chance to torment another soul was enough to stir him from his grievances with the world at the moment. He held out his arms and walked towards the two men, ignoring the one that had attempted to speak to him moments ago. “Chris Peacock! I’d been led to believe that you were dead! But here you are!”
As happy as Rupert seemed to see him, Chris did not reciprocate the fondness being shown towards him. “My sources told me that those Nephews really did a number on you this time, Chris. It didn’t surprise me when I heard that you’d fallen to them once again. The thing about you is that you tend to go off the reservation from time to time, and when you do, things seem to take a turn for the worse. You suit having someone on your shoulder, telling you what you need to do to succeed in this life! Would you disagree?”
Chris remained silent. Immediately, he remembered why he was so reluctant to come here in the first place. Such degrading comments were commonplace for him in the presence of Watkins. Rupert picked up on the uneasiness of his guests. “Gentlemen, no need for any hostilities here. I’ve welcomed you into my home, after all. I may not be from around here originally but even I know it is rude to disrespect a host inside their own home. Come, sit down, let’s discuss whatever business it is that you have here.”
“Can I get either of you a drink, Chris and… I didn’t quite catch your name?” Watkins gestured towards Price as he led the other two men back towards his desk and motioned towards the two chairs opposite his own.
Chris sat down and got himself as comfortable as he could. “No drinks, and this is my fr… this is Allen Price. He helped me get back on my feet after what happened.” Allen went to shake Rupert’s hand, but Watkins ignored the gesture completely. Rupert would have to be totally tonedeaf to miss the disdain in Chris’s voice.
“Chris… I must say that I don’t like how you are addressing me. Like I said, I’ve welcomed you into my home. I don’t understand this hostility. I’ve always acted in your best intentions.” Rupert poured himself a glass of wine and then sipped it as he sat back and studied the men in front of him, waiting for a response from Chris.
“Rupert, I know that you are a man of action, so how about we get straight down to business?” Chris asserted, and Watkins reacted with indifference, which to him meant that he was happy to proceed as Chris had suggested. “Devin Golden. You wanted him gone, and he’s gone. I’m here for my payment. Fifty thousand dollars.”
Watkins laughed heartily, almost spilling his wine. After seeing that Chris was being serious as shown by Peacock’s unmoving expression, he stopped laughing. “You’re serious? I know that you’ve been out of the game for a while, Chris, but surely you must remember the fundamentals. You show me a body, and I pay you the bounty. Now, I don’t see Devin Golden’s corpse here in my office, do you?” Again, Chris stayed silent. “It wouldn’t matter, anyway, because the bounty has already been claimed.”
Chris stood up from his chair immediately and slammed his hands down on the table. Whilst Price was shocked, the judge did not back down a millimetre. “Claimed? How can that be then, Watkins? Who claimed it? I was the one that killed him!”
“Chris, when you disappeared shortly after Devin Golden’s death, I’m afraid that I had to take matters into my own hands. I couldn’t have just anyone being able to claim that much money.” Watkins paused for another sip of wine. “So, I engaged an outside party to retrieve Golden’s body, bring him here and then we’d split the fifty thousand between ourselves. Unfortunately, this outside party double crossed me and took the full amount for themselves. So, I have a proposition for you, Chris.”
“I’m not interested in playing any more of your games, Rupert.” Chris said as he turned his back to the man behind the desk.
“Do I seem like the kind to have time for games, Chris? What I am suggesting to you is a business transaction. You go and get my twenty-five thousand dollars, and you can keep the other half for yourself.”
“I’m still out of twenty-five grand, Rupert.”
“Aha!” Watkins said with enough excitement in his voice that caused Chris to turn back around. Watkins reached into one of the drawers on his desk and pulled out an envelope. “No, you will actually be gaining an extra one hundred and twenty-five thousand on top of what you would have been getting had you cashed in on the bounty on Devin Golden originally!”
Chris leaned in as Watkins opened the envelope and pulled out four pieces of paper. Handbills. “You kill these people whilst bringing my money back, you’ll walk away with all of this, too. Kayden Knox, twenty-five thousand. Gabrielle Montgomery, twenty-five thousand. Michael Parr, twenty-five thousand. Last, but not least, Danny Toner, seventy-five thousand. That’s a total haul of one-hundred and fifty thousand dollars, Chris. Add on the twenty-five from your half of the Golden bounty… and you’re an incredibly rich man.”
Immediately, Allen Price was sold. He got to his feet and attempted another handshake which again Watkins ignored. Instead, Watkins was concentrating on the reaction of Peacock to his proposition. Chris considered it and stroked his chin, he had learned by now that with Rupert Watkins there was always a catch. Every time, without fail. “I know what you are thinking, Chris. You’re wondering what the catch is, aren’t you? There isn’t one… unless you want to see your own face on one of these.”
“Excuse me?”
“You killed Devin Golden, but you didn’t fulfil your duties as a servant of the court by delivering his body to me to claim your bounty. That means that unless you bring that body to me then I’ve got every caught to charge you with his murder…” A smile formed in the corner of Rupert’s mouth, it was a familiar sight for Peacock, who knew that he had been bested by Watkins once again and dragged kicking and screaming back into the world of bounty hunting at Rupert’s behest.
Without either saying a word, Watkins raised the bills from the table up along with the envelope and Peacock snatched them out of his hand and walked out the same door that he entered through. Allen Price considered going for the handshake for the third time but retracted his hand before following Chris out of the door. As the door closed behind Price, Watkins leaned back in his chair and chuckled to himself. “He’s going to get himself killed for real, this time.”
JEREMY BEST
Louisiana - 1871
Inside Randy’s Tavern, everyone was in good spirits. The drinks were flowing freely, the band was keeping everyone going with upbeat music to which some of the young dames were dancing along to whilst holding up their long, frilly dresses. Whilst there was a vibrant atmosphere throughout the tavern, the loudest of cheers and laughter came from the back right corner of the room where the blackjack table was located.
A group of men sat at the table, laughing whilst drinking their lagers, and talking among themselves. They were having a good time. Such a good time, in fact, that they didn’t even realise that they were losing more and more money with each hand that they played. Why? Well, that would be because the dealer was cheating. It was done in such a subtle way that no one as inebriated as the gamblers at the table could see what was happening before their very eyes.
The dealer’s natural charm endeared him to all that were playing at the table and made it almost impossible for anyone to suspect that there was any foul play. Everyone loved Jeremy Best. Jeremy’s openness and friendly demeanour welcomed all sorts of gamblers to his table in the back right corner of Randy’s Tavern. Whether it be those that were trying their best to get themselves out of a hole or high rollers that just gambled because they could and they thought it was fun. Whatever background or ability, they were welcome at Jeremy’s table. As long as they had money that he could swindle them out of.
It was Jeremy’s way to survive in Louisiana. Whilst he wasn’t a bad shot, although not naturally inclined to violence as a means to solving any problem that he had, he found that by keeping up the appearance of an unassuming blackjack dealer was his best way to get by. After all, no one was going to blame someone so sweet and kind for any of their problems.
The blackjack table was perfectly situated so Jeremy could see the door at all times over the cards in his hands. He knew who everyone who ever came to Randy’s Tavern was, and they all knew him. Whilst making money wasn’t a bad thing, it wasn’t all that Jeremy was interested in. Ever since his friend vanished seemingly from thin air at the beginning of 1871, he had been polling anyone he could for information on Jake’s disappearance. He knew he had probably exhausted all options in this town, but every now and then, someone new would come along. That meant new money, and it also meant the potential for new information.
So, Jeremy’s attention was grabbed when he witnessed Chris Peacock and Allen Price enter Randy’s Tavern one evening. He saw the older man remove his coat and hang it up on the door whilst the younger man went and ordered drinks. As Chris sat at the bar with his head resting on one hand, he saw Allen wading through the masses and the tables to take a seat at the blackjack table. Jeremy couldn’t believe his luck; a mark had literally just presented himself to him. There was no need for any spiel or preamble, and Jeremy wasted no time and dealt Allen a hand. The other gamblers seemed immediately frustrated by Allen’s over-exuberance.
“Got a good hand there, friend? It sure looks that way!” Jeremy asks down to the beaming Price. “You want to hit or you gonna stick with what you’ve got there?”
“HIT ME!”
Jeremy dealt the card and as he had manufactured it to be, Allen went bust. “Unlucky, friend. I’ll let you have a think about whether you want to go again after I’ve let these fine gentlemen have a go. Bryan?”
Chris arrived with the drinks as Jeremy turned to a burly man sitting at the opposite end of the table to Allen. “What are you doing, Allen? We said just the one drink to rest before we found Parr. This wasn’t part of the plan!”
To Chris’s frustration, Allen shushed him and held his hand up and Jeremy then turned away from Bryan and put his palms flat on the table in front of Allen. He spoke in a hushed tone. “You’re here for Parr? Michael Parr?”
Instantly, Chris was suspicious of Jeremy’s need to question their intentions for being there. “We might be. What’s it to you?”
“Well, Mike Parr happens to be the sheriff of this town, but I know that he’s involved with some other… ventures. He won’t be hard to find, but I don’t think he’d appreciate it if y’all came here to stir up some trouble. I can help you.”
“Why would you help us? You don’t even know us. We could be here to kill Parr for all you know.”
Despite Chris’s hint and the dark undertones to the comment, Jeremy remained upbeat. “Because that’s what friends do! I help you, and you help me!”
“We’re not friends.”
Despite Chris being rightfully suspicious and guarded with the stranger, Allen felt that he was being too harsh to someone who on the surface appeared like they wanted to do nothing else other than help them. “Chris! Calm down. This young man is very pleasant and I think any information he gives us on Parr could be quite helpful.”
“Yeah! How about when I finish up here, we talk? I’ll tell you everything you need to know about Parr and you tell me anything you know about my friend that went missing a while back.” Jeremy passed Allen another hand and Allen accepted it and considered his move whilst Bryan elected to hit and win his hand as a result. Chris watched Jeremy’s hand as he took Bryan’s cards in and fed him another hand… only to offer Bryan the same cards again.
He then watched as Allen played another two hands and lost, whilst Bryan won again. Jeremy’s eyes shifted towards Peacock occasionally, too. Chris couldn’t say exactly what but there was something off with this guy. In Chris’s line of work, he knew that it was always better to follow his gut.
The click of Chris’s pistol caused all of the rabble, music and chatter in the tavern to halt immediately. Those who followed the sound and saw that Chris’s gun was pointed directly at Jeremy on the other side of the blackjack table. “Umm… mister… w-why are you pointing a gun at me?”
“You think I didn’t see it?” Chris asked in an accusatory tone. “All of these people here might not be able to see what you’re doing but I see right through you, kid. You’re full of horse shit. You’re cheating all of these people out of their money and because you smile and you’re kind all of the time we’re supposed to just go along with it? You’re a fraud.”
Chris turns around to face the room, who are all looking at him. “You seriously expect me to believe that with everything that this country offers you, all you’re concerned about is your friend? Everything that you could achieve, you’re putting it all aside for someone who is either dead or running away from you. I know why, too. I do. You’re scared. You won’t focus on what really matters because you’re afraid of the failure that comes with it if things don’t work out. I do it, too. I pick fights I don’t need to to escape from the real fight. The ones that I know I might not come back from.”
Jeremy remained still as Chris spoke, his words resonating. Jeremy knew, as did Chris, that Chris was talking about himself and deflecting. “I haven’t mean you any offence, mister-”
“Shut up!” Chris said, pointing the gun at Jeremy’s face. “Just… shut up. I was like you once, kid. I was hopeful and optimistic… but then I found out about the real world. I realised that to get ahead here, you’ve got to do shit you don’t want to do and you’ve got to be prepared to have your hope shattered in an instant. Now, I don’t want to make your day any worse than it is going to get, but your friend is dead.”
A single tear fell down Jeremy’s face as Chris spoke, but it did not alter Chris’s disposition towards him. “So, take that as a lesson for yourself, kid. Always expect the worst of people. Your second lesson… is to not fuck with Chris Peacock… because I will get you. Outside, now.”
With that, the crowd parted so Chris could leave the tavern. Allen got up from his seat and bumbled out the door after him and Allen stood in front of Chris as the latter stared down the street. “Chris, what are you doing?! You don’t need to do this!”
“I’m not going to let someone cheat me, Allen.”
“He didn’t cheat you! He cheated me! He said he had information about Parr!”
“Doesn’t change anything. Plus, if I want Parr, I get him to come to me. Shooting some little bastard down in the street is something that the sheriff is going to want to know about, isn’t it?”
Chris watched as the tavern doors swung open again and a very scared Jeremy walked out with Bryan behind him and he took his place on the street opposite Chris. The two stared at each other in the eyes as their fingers hovered above their holstered weapons.
“You don’t have to do this, mister! I know about Parr… I know about Toner!”
That caused Chris to have a momentary pause as he was about to grab onto his gun. “Sorry kid, but you’re just in my way.”
In a flash, Chris reached for his gun and fired it before Jeremy could unholster his own. Jeremy fell to the floor, dead. A shot clean through the heart.
MIKE PARR
Louisiana - 1871
All indicators pointed to it being just another night for Michael Parr. Mike, as his friends knew him by, sat at his desk inside the sheriff’s office. He sat idly, with his back straight and he ensured that all of his belongings were organised at perfect right angles in line with the desk. Impressions were important to the sheriff. He accepted that not everything could be in his control, but there wasn’t a reason that he could think of why the things that he could control shouldn’t be.
The town was a happy one, with Randy’s Tavern being the main social hub and Jeremy the blackjack dealer doing his best to keep everyone’s spirits up. Mike was a smart man, though. He knew of Jeremy’s true nature as any respectable lawman would. However, he turned a blind eye to it, because the last thing he wanted to do is piss off an entire town by laying down the law on the most popular man that lived in it. In Mike’s mind, you’d have to be a fool to do such a thing.
Chris Peacock was that fool, as Mike was shortly going to find out. The last thing that Mike adjusted was the ring on his left index finger. It was solid gold with the letters ‘EE’ engraved on the top, and Mike ensured at all times the letters were facing directly upwards. Mike was of course part of the group that fell into a small fortune when they double crossed Rupert Watkins. Mike’s position of authority granted them the means to cash in the bounty in the first place.
After dealing with outlaws and sadistic criminals for the best part of a year, for those in the know it was a surprise that Mike decided to become corrupt and join forces with the others. It was therefore no surprise to Jeremy that he allowed his conning to go unchecked.
Mike’s attention was drawn away from his ring when he heard the sound of a single gunshot echo through the town, silencing all of the revelry from the tavern that had provided the background for the evening so far. He exited the sheriff’s office and was confronted by Bryan - Jeremy’s accomplice in his schemes - and was informed by the burly man that an out-of-towner had clocked onto what they were doing and he shot Jeremy down in the street like a sick dog.
After quickly assembling his deputies, Mike approached the scene of the incident and saw Chris Peacock standing over Jeremy Best’s dead body and he ordered his men to train their guns on Chris and Allen, who was still shocked about what happened. “Now, I’m going to ask you to lower your weapon… because we will not hesitate to take you jokers down. Am I being understood?”
Chris groaned and acquiesced to the sheriff’s demands and slowly placed his gun on the floor and he then raised his hands in the air, and Allen followed suit. “What’s going to happen here, sheriff? I’d be inclined to think that if you were going to shoot me for what happened here this evening that you’d have done it by now. So, I take it that you’re willing to listen to reason. I don’t think you’re an idiot. So, you knew what this sorry son of a bitch was getting up to in there, so you know why I shot him.”
“You’d be right there, skip. You did a dumb thing by taking out Jeremy, there. People in this town liked him. I’m not going to deny them a chance to watch the two of you swing. You’re gonna both come with me now.” Parr motioned for his deputies to grab both Chris and Allen from the street and together they were ushered away from the tavern. “Someone get Jeremy out of the street!”
Allen’s nervousness radiated off of him as he and Chris were shepherded towards the sheriff’s office, which also doubled as the town jail. “Allen, just stay calm. Nothing bad is going to happen, I’ll get us out of here.”
So Allen took Chris’s word for it, and he and Chris soon found themselves occupying two of the cells located inside of the sheriff’s office. Parr watched over them both all night, and rifled through their belongings whilst they slept. At least, Allen slept. Chris laid flat on his back with his eyes closed all night but remained awake. He knew that Parr would find the handbills sooner or later as he went through their things. Parr didn’t shoot him in at first sight, but if he had an inkling of their real reason for visiting the town, he wouldn’t hesitate to put a bullet in both of their skulls.
“What keeps you here, Parr?” Chris asked, startling the sheriff, who believed him to be sleeping. “I mean, you seem like a pretty capable guy. This all seems kind of small town for someone like you. Never wanted anything more?”
“I’ve never met a man who was happy with their fill, prisoner. Everyone always wants more… but to answer your question, I’d say I’m content with my lot.” Parr answered whilst abandoning his perusal through Chris’s belongings.
Chris scoffed. “So you think you’re different to everyone else, then? You’re something special or some shit like that? If that was true, if you were really special, you wouldn’t be here right now. You’d have accomplished so much more, Mike.”
“That’s Sheriff Parr to you, prisoner. That’s your problem, you don’t have any respect. You think you can come into my town and call the shots. You killed a man tonight, I think you’re forgetting. You’re in no place to judge someone like me. I am respected in these parts. You're nobody.” Parr was content with his answer and believed that it would put an end to the discussion, but to his frustration, Chris started chuckling. “What’s so fucking funny?”
“I know all about you, Parr. You act like you’re happy with your station to hide the fact that you know that you can’t achieve anything greater. Every man does want more, and you’re no exception to that rule, sheriff. Difference between guys like you and guys like me is that if I want something, I go for it. I know a thing or two about picking my battles and I’ll admit, I’ve made some wrong choices… but at least I had the fucking balls to make a choice… and that choice is never the easy option. Can you say the same for yourself?”
It was food for thought for Parr. Chris closed his eyes once again and he felt like he could hear the cogs turning in the head of the man that he was preparing to kill. He just had to get him alone and not whilst he was locked in a cell.
“How can I do it? How do I prove it?”
“It’s simple, amigo. You think about something you want done and you go out there and try to do it. It’s really not that hard at all.” Chris realised that creating a false sense of trust between himself and the sheriff would be a good way to get himself into a position where he could take him out. He sat on the bed and Parr turned to Peacock for some advice, Chris’s face half-illuminated by the lantern hanging up by the door to the office. “Come on, tell me something right now that you could do that would make your life easier. It can be anything.”
“There’s an old prospector, on the outskirts of town. He’s guarded himself from the entire community - even Jeremy couldn’t get through to him - but he’s causing a lot of trouble in town. Scaring people and turning away visitors. I could do without the headaches he’d been causing me if I’m being honest.”
“That’s a starting point, sheriff! How about this? Tomorrow morning, we set out, go find the old bastard and put a bullet in the back of his head. I’ll pull the trigger myself if you want to, but there’s one condition that I need to add onto all of this-”
“You want me to let you and your friend go. Don’t need to be a genius to figure that one out.” Chris slowly nodded and Parr weighed up his options once again. “Alright, you’ve got a deal. The old guy stays here though, for security in case you try to pull anything.”
Chris stood up and walked towards the bars and held his hand out through them. “You’ve got yourself a deal, sheriff.” Parr rose to his feet too and accepted the handshake. Chris felt safe enough to go to sleep, but was aware of the handbills in his jacket that would be very incriminating evidence were Parr to see them. “It’s getting a bit cold in here, you reckon I could have my jacket?”
Parr weighed up the pros and cons and decided to pass Chris his jacket, which he laid over himself on his bunk inside the cell. Chris closed his eyes, knowing that he was going to become twenty-five thousand dollars richer the next day.
CYRUS TRUTH
Louisiana - 1871
Cyrus groaned as he rose from his bed, his back immediately aching as it did every morning when it was time to get up. He reached for his walking cane and put as much weight on it as he could to pull himself out of the bed. He shuffled along the floor towards the window and looked outside.
It was a solitary existence for a man who had developed the nickname of ‘The Exile’ from those in the nearby town. They knew him as the crotchety old man that lived on the top of the hill not far outside of town. Normally a wealthy older man living an unusual life would be deemed eccentric or kooky and seen as a source of joyful discussion, but to the townspeople, Cyrus Truth was simply viewed as an arsehole.
A painfully proud man, Cyrus felt he was owed a great debt by society for his exploits during the war where he served as a general. By trade, he was a prospector, though. Every now and then, the old man would unearth something of great value and it was for that reason that he was known to be very good at what he did. It was his abrasiveness and holier-than-thou attitude towards others that caused most to wish for his downfall.
Cyrus had engaged in a prolonged discord with sheriff Parr over land boundaries, with Cyrus feeling that he was owed more and more territory for his service to the country. What Cyrus failed to appreciate was the power of the organisation that Parr belonged to, because unbeknownst to Cyrus, he was a marked man. This was because Mike Parr had just granted permission for Chris Peacock to take the old prospector down. It was not a lawful move, but the sheriff was above the law.
As he had done so dozens of times before, Cyrus saw a dust cloud emerging from further down the hill. He had even learned to recognise the sound of Parr’s horses hooves, so he knew that the sheriff was coming for the next chapter of their storied disagreement. This was different though, as Cyrus noted a second rider with Parr - one that he hadn’t seen before.
As quickly as he could, Cyrus staggered towards the front door of his cottage and grabbed the shotgun leant against the wall next to the door. He abandoned his cane and walked through the yard towards the two riders, as they halted their horses at his gate and jumped down.
“Who is he?” Cyrus barked before Parr could even feign a warm greeting to the old man. Cyrus pointed the shotgun at both of his visitors one at a time, but let it trained on Peacock until he learned who he was.
“Cyrus, this is Chris Peacock… he’s a troublemaker, much like yourself.” Parr said before spitting on the floor, showing the disrespect that he had for Truth.
“Never heard of him.”
“That’s probably a good thing for you, old man. Not many people hear about me and live to tell the tale soon after.” Chris smirked as he took a step closer towards the old man. “Luckily for you, you’re not the one that I’m here for.”
Within seconds, Chris unholstered his gun and put a bullet between Parr’s eyes, killing him instantly. Cyrus jumped back in shot, and the shotgun fired it’s two rounds into the air whilst Cyrus recoiled. The old man stared down at the body of his nemesis and then put the gun back on Peacock.
“I heard two shots, you’re out. So I suggest you put that down and help me load this piece of shit into that wagon you’ve got over there.” Chris pointed to his gun with his free hand and smirked again. “I’ve got another five in here. Get on with it.”
The shotgun was dropped to the floor and Cyrus begrudgingly and painfully bent down to grab Parr’s ankles and he started dragging Parr’s body through the gate and towards the wagon that was next to the house. “Why… did you do that?”
“The less you know about me, the better, old man.” Chris said as he supervised Cyrus hauling the body up and putting it in the back of the cart. “I’m just going about my business, and the sooner you put my horse onto that cart the sooner I’ll be out of your hair. You can even keep his horse.”
Cyrus stood still next to the cart and put his hands on his hips. Even after witnessing Chris gun Parr down after no real provocation, the old prospector did not hesitate to stand up to the invader, refusing to perform any more tasks for him despite being at gunpoint. Chris scratched his head and then motioned for Cyrus to continue. “What’s the hold up?”
“I’m not doing it. I don’t have to take orders from you on my own damn property! In fact, you can take this piece of crap and both those nags and get the hell out of here!” Cyrus stomped his foot to emphasise the last part.
A smirk formed on Chris’s face. “That’s not the way it works anymore, old man. Fact of the matter is, I don’t care if this is your property.” Chris kicked Parr’s body with his boot. “He might have been afraid to put you down to pasture - as many chances as he had - but I’m not. Just give me a reason, and you’ll be lying in the dirt next to him. Your stubbornness is going to get you killed, old man.”
Not willing to back down an inch, Cyrus stepped closer to Chris as Peacock had done himself a few minutes earlier. “You’re a coward, bullying an old man. I’ve taken down men twice your size and bigger, men who had more honour in their pinky finger than you do in your entire body!”
Those comments instantly rubbed Chris up the wrong way and without really thinking, he fired one of his bullets into Cyrus’s gut. The old man keeled over and fell to the floor. Enraged, Chris kicked the dirt and then stood over Cyrus, who was quickly bleeding out.
“WHO ARE YOU TO JUDGE ME? YOU DON’T KNOW A FUCKING THING ABOUT ME! HONOUR, TRUTH - RESPECT? What does that get you out here? NOTHING!” Chris cocked his gun and aimed it at Cyrus’s face. He hesitated from putting the old man out of his misery, though. “I’ve tried doing the right thing before and it hasn’t gotten me anywhere. I’ve tried living the life of a maniac and that didn’t work either. One thing I have learned though is that those who judge others often have issues of their own that they’d prefer stayed hidden. Things like being an out of touch old fuck who has to involve themselves in everyone’s business as they’re so desperate to stay relevant and they refuse to let go. You’re literally dying on a hill, you stupid bastard!”
Cyrus groaned in pain and Chris saw life begin to drain out of his eyes. He thought about how Allen found him in the same position and saved him… but what was the point here? Just like Jeremy Best… Cyrus Truth was just in the way and an obstacle that could be removed.
“You could have just let me ride on out of here and I’d have never troubled you again. You did this! I told you you’d get yourself killed. Well, you poked the bear… and you know what happens when you poke a bear? You fucking die.”
Cyrus’s long life flashed before his eyes in the split second that followed and shortly after Chris carted Mike Parr’s body away using one of Allen’s horses, picking pieces of brain matter from his jacket. Chris didn’t want to kill the old man, he didn’t even have to.
Chris Peacock is not a good man. Chris Peacock isn’t even a bad man as standards go, but he’s learned that to really succeed here, he has to be a ruthless man.
KAYDEN KNOX AND GABRIELLE
Louisiana - 1873
It would be easy to forget the initial reason for Chris’s journey deeper and deeper into Louisiana given the events that had transpired since his and Allen Price’s departure from the Watkins Manor over two years earlier. It was almost two years since Chris killed Jeremy Best, Mike Parr and Cyrus Truth within the space of twenty-four hours.
He reflected on those murders from time to time, reasoning with himself that Best and Truth - whilst not his official targets - were necessary kills. Both had insulted him by assuming him to be of a lower estimation than what he held himself at. They needed to go. How could he truly hope to prove himself worthy of the prize that was being offered if he was shown to take prisoners of those that would disrespect him?
Mike Parr was of course still in his company, although two years’ worth of decomposition did not leave the sheriff looking as well as he once did. Chris took advantage of the snow two winters ago by creating an ice box which he stored his bounty inside of. It was in the back of the station wagon that he had stolen from some bandits that he had killed moments before, and both of Allen’s horses - Rick and Sonny - pulled the wagon along the dirt road.
Chris referred to the note that was left on the door of the sheriff’s office when he returned from his trip to Cyrus’s cottage. Parr’s associates had already taken custody of Allen Price and took him away to their compound. Chris knew this as the logo on the letterhead matched that on the ring worn on Parr’s finger - ‘EE’. He saw the same insignia on the gate of the compound that he was approaching. After two years, he’d finally found them.
“He’s coming.” Kayden Knox said as he folded his telescope and placed it in the chest pocket of his waistcoat. He turned to the nameless and unimportant minions behind him, “Get the prisoner ready for the exchange.”
Knox walked out into the yard of the compound and motioned for the gates to be opened. The large wooden gates parted in the middle and after a few seconds, Chris Peacock’s station wagon pulled up and Chris stood up from his position on the driver’s seat and climbed down. He patted Rick’s head and took a few steps towards Knox, but Knox put his hands out in front of him.
“That’s far enough, slick. We don’t want any trouble… if we wanted you dead we’d have shot you down already…” The mention of such a thing caused Chris to reach for his gun, but he noticed that there were several rifles being pointed at him already. “No need for any sudden movements, okay? Look, we’ll let you keep your guns and we’ll tend to your horses. I just wanna talk, and work a way out of this thing, okay?”
Chris was confused. “How do you know why I’m here?”
“Well… you got our note, right? You took one of our guys, so we took one of yours. So how about you bring Mike out from back there and I’ll let you go on your way. Allen is totally fine.”
“Wait… Mike’s dead. I’ve got the proof in the wagon, but he’s pretty fucking dead.” Chris watched as Kayden’s face dropped, and he immediately had an idea. Already, he could tell that Kayden was extremely trusting, to a complete fault. Helplessly gullible, too. “I wanted to bring his body back to you so you could give him a proper burial! That old guy, Cyrus… he shot him and well, I dealt with that old bastard myself for what he did to the sheriff! Mike was a good man, he was considering giving me my freedom. When he died, I knew I had to do the right thing…”
“Oh. We thought that you’d kidnapped him…” Kayden motioned for the men to lower their rifles, and approached Chris. “Thank you for bringing Mike home. Come on in, and we’ll bring Allen out.”
Chris looked up at the sky and noted that it was starting to get dark. “I mean, that can all wait… I wouldn’t say no to a bed for the night if you’ve got one spare.”
“You can have mine.” Kayden kindly offered, and Chris followed him inside of the main building in the compound and then outside into the inner courtyard. Chris couldn’t believe his luck, and Kayden assumed that he had just made a new friend. “I think you’d fit in quite well into what we’ve got going on here.”
Stifling laughter, Chris nodded in Kayden’s direction and entered the room of the man who he planned to kill at some point after being invited in. The door closed behind him and he fell onto the bed in a fit of giggles. He couldn’t believe that they were actually welcoming him in here after he killed one of their ringleaders.
On the other side of the door, Kayden smiled to himself, proud of being what he considered to be a good person. See, whilst Chris Peacock knew he was a piece of shit, Kayden Knox lived under the lie that all of the bad things he did was for some sort of greater cause. He was very capable, no one was denying that, but he was horrendously impressionable. No one knew this more than Gabrielle Montgomery.
Gabrielle knew exactly how to compel Kayden to bow to her every whim. She was a master manipulator, and her enviable looks were just an aid for her to get men to do as she pleased. On this particular night, she had tricked two of the hands around the compound to clean her room, meaning that she was looking for a bed for the night. When she had no better options available to her, Kayden Knox was the easy fall back. Speaking of fallbacks, everyone knew that Gabrielle easily fell on her back.
Therefore it came as a great surprise to Gabrielle when she opened Kayden’s door and found Chris Peacock sitting on the end of the bed, still laughing to himself about the fortuitous situation that he had found himself in, and it was clearly only about to get better. “Wow, they really know how to make a man feel welcome around here! Who are you, sweetheart?”
Of course, Chris knew exactly who Gabrielle was. There was only one woman that was as beautiful as the one in front of him, and it was the same one that was going to pocket him twenty-five thousand dollars after he killed her. These idiots are literally serving themselves up to him.
Gabrielle walked into the room and closed the door behind her and she immediately pushed Chris down onto his back and straddled him on the bed. “You must be new around here if you don’t know who I am. I was going to ask you the same question, though. You first.”
Whilst Kayden Knox lacked the ability to understand who Chris Peacock was and what his true intentions were, Gabrielle knew who she was dealing with very well. She’d learned all about Peacock and what he was trying to do from Allen Price during a romp with him not long after Price was brought to the compound. Knox and all of the other goons could not be trusted with the truth in fear that they’d ruin her own cunning plan.
It was Gabrielle’s intention to be the one to take Chris Peacock down. On her own. It would settle all doubts those could have over her abilities and her uses for them. It would make her feel valuable, which is what she wanted more than anything. It would get her the attention that she craved but surrendered in part when she became a part of the ‘EE’ group. She could be the standout if she killed the man who killed Mike Parr.
“Well, my name is Chris… I’m here to pick up a friend of mine.”
Gabrielle grinned and unbuttoned Chris’s top button. “You don’t want me to be your friend?”
Rapid nods of Chris’s head followed. “I think I’d like that very much.”
“Well, how about I rid myself of some of these heavy clothes? I’ll be right back, stud.” Gabrielle shuffled backwards onto the floor, but bent over to get her head as close to Chris’s crotch as she could before she walked seductively back out of the door.
She walked into her own room, which was next door to Kayden’s and paid little attention to the two hands that were tidying up all of her mess. She entered her own bathroom and opened the cabinet to pull out a hair grip that was actually a deadly weapon. The sharp points scratched her scalp as she used it to pull her hair back; its true intended use was to slice Peacock’s throat when he was at his most vulnerable.
Gabrielle confidently strode through out of her room and back through the door to Kayden’s… but she stopped in her tracks when she saw the rifle that Kayden usually stored under his bed being pointed directly at her.
“Bye, bitch.” Chris said as he pulled the trigger, and the impact of the bullets penetrating Gabrielle’s chest sent her flying backwards into the courtyard, where she landed at the feet of Kayden Knox.
Kayden, immediately distraught, reached for his pistol but he just simply was not good enough to hang with Chris in a gunfight. Another blast from the rifle caught Kayden in the neck, and he fell to the ground next to Gabrielle.
Their hands touched each other in death, but this embrace was stamped on by Peacock as he dropped the rifle and went about shooting as many of the goons as he could when they emerged from all angles into the courtyard.
DANNY TONER
Louisiana - 1873
“What’s happening out there?” Allen Price asked from the chair that he was tied to, his appearance extremely unkempt.
The man that Price was addressing was none other than Danny Toner, the man with the seventy-five thousand dollar bounty on his head courtesy of his jilted business partner, Rupert Watkins. “Well, Allen, it looks like Gabrielle couldn’t get the job done and your boy is currently massacring my entire organisation.”
Despite the dire straits he found himself in, Allen laughed. “I told you that he was going to come for me… I knew it!”
To Allen’s surprise, Toner was now the one laughing. “He’s not here for you. He doesn’t care about you. All men like Chris Peacock care about are themselves. If he cared about you, he wouldn’t have put your life in danger by coming here and shooting everyone. He’d have played it smart. All that man saw when he laid eyes on Knox and Gabrielle - Parr, too - was dollar signs.”
“Well, you’re one pretty big dollar sign, Toner.”
“Fuckin’-A I am!” Danny said, with a look of anger in his eyes as he rounded on Price, gunshots still ringing out in the distance to signal the death of swathes of Toner’s employ. “I am this world, and if someone like that goofy-looking piece of shit wants to be on top of this world, then they’ve got to take me down! You know how many people have tried? That are still trying? Chris Peacock is nothing fucking special, believe me.”
“He is! I don’t know who else has tried to kill you but he will be the one to do it! Then we’re going to be laughing all the way to the bank!” Allen said, defiantly.
Danny grabbed Price by the cuff of his shirt and tipped the chair forward to drag him towards the door of the room that he’s in. The gunshots outside had stopped. “Yeah, let’s see about that. Let’s see what Peacock thinks about all of what you just said, Allen! Come on!”
Toner kicked the door open and a bullet flew straight into it from the gun of Chris Peacock, who was covered almost head to toe in the blood of the ‘EE’ henchmen. Another bullet almost followed, but Allen Price being tipped onto the floor outside the door caused Chris to drop the gun. “Don’t move, Peacock! You’re going to let me come out there otherwise I’ll blow this idiot’s brains out. You got that?”
Toner confidently walked through the door and dragged Price further into view.
“You’re Danny Toner.” Chris said, recognising the handsome man from the handbill that he carried in his breast pocket. “Well, the game is up, Toner. Everyone who followed you is dead. I killed them. This thing says ‘Dead or Alive’, so we can do this the easy way or the hard way. It’s up to you!”
Despite his life being threatened by the very capable gunslinger in front of him, Toner shook his head and smirked. “You’re good, Peacock. I’ve got to give you that. But just as I was telling Allen here, you’re not good enough. Not if you want to beat me. I can sacrifice pawns at will, because I’m always thinking three steps ahead. I’m the fucking Chessmaster! That’s what I do! I saw you coming a mile off. Of course Watkins was going to send someone after us after the shit we pulled on him. We conned that bastard out of fifty grand and it felt good. We didn’t need him calling our shots. You clearly do.”
Chris shook his head. “That’s not true.”
“Why are you here, then? Why do all of this? This isn’t your bidding, you were happy being away on a farm or some shit with this guy. No, I know you’re type. The scent of gold is always enough to bring out the likes of you. Chancers, jokers… losers.” Danny could tell that his words were getting under Peacock’s skin, and he noticed Peacock’s fingers wiggling over his holster. “Hey! You keep that hand right fucking there! I don’t make idle threats, I will paint the walls brown with the shit this guy has for brains!”
Allen was terrified and Chris was faced with a dilemma to try and take the shot but risk Allen’s life. “Now you’ve got a conscience? How long are you going to try and convince yourself that you’re not rotten to the core? I bet you’ve had doubts about whether you’re a good person and whether you deserved what you got from that gang. Let me clear things up for you, it doesn’t fucking matter. You don’t fucking matter.”
Toner continued, “You think killing me will make you special? If it isn’t you, it’ll just be some other guy. I live my life knowing that I’m going to have people coming for me, I fucking thrive on it. It's putting them down that I enjoy. Watching them realise that they’re in over their heads before I put a bullet in between their fucking eyes. That’s what happened to Golden, and that’s what’s going to happen to you if you take another step.”
The confusion on Peacock’s face caused Toner to laugh some more. “Oh, you thought you killed Golden? That’s just more of Rupert’s bullshit to get you doing his dirty work. Nah, you didn’t get the job done properly. I killed that motherfucker myself after he came for my spot, and I cashed in big. So Golden played you, Rupert played you and now I’m playing you.”
“What do you me-” Before Chris could react properly, Toner pulled the trigger. Not at Price, but at Peacock himself and Chris felt the bullet strike him in the chest, just above his heart. The impact caused him to fall to the ground instantly onto his front. He was still alive, and he looked up to see the fearful and pained eyes of Allen Price looking at him… before Toner shot Price in the back of the head, killing him instantly.
Chris tried to scream or shout, but he couldn’t. No words or noise could come out and it was as his vision started to blur that he saw the smirking Danny Toner tip his hat in his direction before leaving through the door. Chris tried to reach for Allen, but he did not have the strength. He rolled onto his back and saw blood on his hands, not sure if it was his own or not… and he closed his eyes…
“I deserve this…”
CHRIS PEACOCK
??? - ???
It was dark. Chris did not know where he was, but he felt trapped. He was standing up to his surprise, and he checked his chest to see that there was no entry wound, no blood and no bullet. In fact, his clothes were in pristine condition. He could not see anything around him, just a vast blackness… until he heard a voice behind him.
“You killed me.”
Chris looked over his shoulder and saw Allen Price standing in front of him. His face was white, devoid of life and he wore an exit wound in the centre of his forehead. He was just as Chris had seen him before arriving in this dark place. Chris ran forward and attempted to embrace Allen, but he passed right through him. It was as if Allen was a visage.
“Where are we, Allen? What is this place?” Chris said, his panic levels rising rapidly.
“You killed me.” Allen repeated.
“I didn’t, it was Toner…”
“YOU KILLED ME!” This time, Allen’s voice boomed and echoed through whatever chasm the two of them found themselves in.
“Allen, I could have saved you, but I didn’t. I’m sorry!” Chris stuttered as he went to speak again after apologising. He was unsure whether he was actually sorry about Allen’s death and the part that he played in it, or whether he was actually sorry for himself about the fact that he had joined him in this presumed death as well. “I should have done better. I did things that I didn’t need to do, all in hope of chasing something that someone like me has no right to.”
“I… like to dance. I like to drink. I like to fuck women… I could have chosen a simple life for myself, one where someone like me could just get by and where I didn’t need to worry about moving up in the world. I just couldn’t do it. That normal life isn’t for me, and I dragged you into this world of mine because you were like me once. You wanted to see what it was like for someone on the other side! I used to want that, too! Now I’ve lived this life and it has still gotten me nowhere. At least if I chose that normal life I’d have probably been happy.”
“I wouldn’t have had to deal with failure after failure and near chance after near chance. That desperation brought me to do some fucked up shit. I became a version of myself that I couldn’t live with anymore. That’s why I was ready to let go when you found me. I took what happened to me as a sign that this wasn’t for me anymore. I thought I’d killed Devin Golden, I beat that asshole within an inch of his life but he survived in that one inch. Again, I was just not good enough.”
“It didn’t take much for you to encourage me to get back into this and take up Watkins on his offer. I knew it was all bullshit but I went along with it anyway. For as fucked up as he is, when he sics me on someone it feels like I have a purpose. I feel useful, and validated. That man made me do some bad things… and I wish I was strong enough to say no. I wish that whatever it is in this fucked up head of mine had the power to tell me that I didn’t have to do it. I wish I was stronger, Allen.”
“So I took things into my own hands this time around. I killed a lot of fucking people in pursuit of this one, and some I didn’t have to. I told myself that they deserved it for what they did to me, but rationalising doing a bad thing for some bullshit reason or a perceived slight makes me no worse than Watkins. Toner was right, I am rotten. Right down to my core. I’ve turned off everything inside of me that cares about how someone else feels. I don’t care if they’re happy, or if they’re in pain… I don’t feel anything. People are now obstacles to get over. I don’t want to be like this… ”
Chris dropped to his knees at the feet of Allen’s ghost. “But I have to be! What else can I do? NOTHING ELSE HAS WORKED! I’ve tried caring about people and it just made me feel worse about myself when I couldn’t protect them. I tried not caring about people and it made me feel worse about myself because I felt guilty over what I did to them. Well, WHO CARED ABOUT ME?! WHO GAVE A SHIT HOW I FEEL? Why am I always judged based on my actions towards others?”
“I was treated like a fucking JOKE! Well, not anymore! I want someone to turn around and see what I’ve done to Parr, Knox, Gabrielle and all of the others and tell me that I’m a fucking joke! None of them were good enough to stop me! They weren’t nice enough, they weren’t mean enough and they weren’t smart enough! So fuck them! Fuck them all, Allen!”
Chris looked up at Allen’s ghost to see the still blank expression on his face, and he then rose to his feet and wiped some of the tears from his eyes. “And fuck you for judging me for it! I’ve got to make a decision, and go out like a little bitch bleeding out or I can go back and finish what I started. Toner might think that he’s fucking untouchable, but he’s not. Him and this darkness - this Black - that’s trying to take me, can rot in hell with all of those other pieces of shit that I killed. Fuck that. Get me the fuck back up there. I’m not ready to go.”
“I spent MONTHS wondering who was looking out for me or why no one cared, but I don’t need that anymore. You know who cares now? Me! I DO! That’s all that matters! I don’t care if people like me for it, or if they hate me for it. I am DONE letting other people control me. From now on, I’m playing by my own rules. The Chessmaster? Please! I’ll take that fucking board and shove it up his ass! I don’t fucking care what anyone thinks anymore. I’m DONE with feeling like shit about myself and I am DONE acting how people tell me I should act. I am ready to get the fuck out of here.”
Chris was breathing heavily in the void and Allen’s ghost slowly dissipated from view and the darkness became a glowing light. Chris felt a force pushing him upwards from below.
Louisiana - 1873
Chris opened his eyes with a heavy gasp of air. His breathing was laboured, but he was able to sit up from the floor and he surveyed the courtyard of the EE compound and the dead bodies strewn across the floor that was barely visible due to the massive pools of blood around each one.
He checked his chest where he felt the bullet impact him when Danny Toner shot him and realised that the blood on his hands was not his own. Chris reached into his pocket and found that the bullet had failed to make it through the envelope containing each of the handbills. Chris laughed to himself and then stood up from the floor and walked towards Allen Price’s dead body and paused to look at it for a moment… and then he walked away.
Chris walked into the room where Danny and Allen had emerged from and there was no sign of Toner anywhere. All that occupied the room was a now-open safe, clearly emptied by Toner prior to making his escape. Chris examined the contents of the safe and reached inside… picking up several bundles of dynamite. A smile crossed his face. If people still wanted some encouragement to take him seriously, he thought that he would spell it out for them.
Outside the compound, Chris whistled as he unreeled the dynamite to the edge of the gate and then carried out the bodies of Kayden Knox and Gabrielle Montgomery, throwing them into the back of the station wagon next to the box containing the frozen corpse of Mike Parr. He bent over and lit the fuse before using the same spark for the cigar in his mouth… and he jumped onto the front of the wagon and started to guide Rick and Sonny away as the resulting explosion of the compound lit up the night’s sky behind him.
“He’s the guy who’s the talk of the town, with the restless gun!
Don’t you bother to fool him around. Keeps the varmints on the run, keeps the varmints on the run!”
Don’t you bother to fool him around. Keeps the varmints on the run, keeps the varmints on the run!”
So Chris Peacock was ready to send his message to the whole of Louisiana, and the rest of the planet (those discovered or not), that he wasn’t prepared to be fucked with anymore.
“You may think he’s a sleepy-type guy, always takes his time.
Soon I know you’ll be changing your mind when you’ve seen him use a gun, boy, when you’ve seen him use a gun!”
Soon I know you’ll be changing your mind when you’ve seen him use a gun, boy, when you’ve seen him use a gun!”
There may be others who decide to go after Danny Toner, or those that would go out of their own way to protect him. Their fates will be the same as Toner’s eventual fate himself. Them flat on their back with Chris Peacock looking over them, victorious.
“He’s the top of the West, always cool he’s the best!
He keeps alive with his Colt. 45!”
He keeps alive with his Colt. 45!”
People may have their opinions on Chris Peacock, but they might as well just keep them to themselves. Whether you liked him or not, to get in his way would be your fucking funeral.
“He’s the top of the West, always cool, he's the best!
He keeps alive with his Colt 45!”
He keeps alive with his Colt 45!”
The time for being passed over has passed. Now? Chris Peacock takes whatever he wants, and he isn’t going to feel bad about who he has to take it from.
“He’s the top of the West, always cool he’s the best!
He keeps alive with his Colt 45!
You won’t bother to fool him around, when you’ve seen him use a gun, boy, when you’ve seen him use a gun.”
He keeps alive with his Colt 45!
You won’t bother to fool him around, when you’ve seen him use a gun, boy, when you’ve seen him use a gun.”
Danny Toner? A mysterious man in black? Doesn’t fucking matter.
“He’s the top of the West, always cool he’s the best!
He keeps alive with his Colt 45!”
He keeps alive with his Colt 45!”
He’s going to get them.
“Who’s the guy riding to town? In the prairie sun?
You won’t bother to fool him around, when you’ve seen him use a gun, boy, when you’ve seen him use his gun!”
You won’t bother to fool him around, when you’ve seen him use a gun, boy, when you’ve seen him use his gun!”
This is HIS Golden Opportunity.
