“The West was once a lawless place and I was the most lawless man around. I was feared, loved and myth all at once. Just the mention of my name was enough to make the hardest man piss his pants.”
Joe looked around, but nothing seemed familiar.
The hot desert wind blew sand against his face and he shielded his eyes
from the burning sun. He spun and looked
in all directions, but each was the same- nothing but flat stretches of dry,
cracked earth interrupted by the occasional patch of dying foliage. He didn’t know where he was or how he got
there, so he started to walk.
He still remembered who he was. “My
name is Joe,” he said through cracked lips.
“Bloodless Joe they call me.” But
couldn’t remember how he ended up in the middle of the desert. The last thing he remembered was… sitting
alone in a hotel room, waiting for Duke.
Duke was a legend in his own right, having gunned down over fifteen
lawmen among others. In his younger
years, he killed without mercy and had about as much honor as a dying
vulture. He was someone that Joe looked
up to. But as he got older, something in
him changed. Something Joe couldn’t
quite put his finger on.
The ground was hot beneath Joe’s feet.
He looked down. These aren’t my boots. He examined his pants and shirt. They weren’t his either. The shirt was in tatters as if a vulture had
been clawing at it and the pants were frayed nearly to the knees. I look
like a beggar. He felt his
face. His once thick beard had been reduced
to stubble. He yearned to see his
reflection. He tried again to remember
what happened, but couldn’t recall the events that led him to his current
situation.
Joe knew something was wrong. Maybe I’m dead, but thought it was way
too hot to be heaven. Hell, you fool. People like you don’t go to heaven. Joe nodded to himself and assumed that he
was dead. But how could he be so thirsty? Hell is
a place of torment, fool. The voice
in his head was strange. He never used
the word fool. He was fonder of dark
cuss words- Words that rang in someone’s head when they heard them. Fool?
That was for pussies. That’s more like it. Joe decided that this couldn’t be
hell. If it were, he’d probably be
haunted by all the people he killed.
There was something else Joe was feeling though. Something he hadn’t felt since he was
young. He knew what it was, but didn’t
want to admit it. It crawled over him
like a swarm of insects. He tried to
shake it, but there was no denying it.
“Fear,” Joe whispered. The word
stopped him in his tracks. He’d seen
people paralyzed with fear before, usually as they were staring down the barrel
of his gun, but he’d never really felt it himself. Bloodless Joe couldn’t be killed they said, and
he certainly had nothing to fear. Am I still Bloodless Joe?
Joe didn’t know what to make of his situation, so he kept walking. As the sun descended, his fear rose. The night was once his playground, but now,
stranded alone in the desert, Joe began to realize how terrifying the darkness
could be. He felt his pace slowing as
full dark approached, but knew he should keep moving and find a place to lay
low for the night. He wasn’t tired. He felt remarkably good considering he didn’t
know what had happened to him. But the
darkness… Something about it sent a
shiver up his spine.
The wind whistled as it blew through the night, carrying the sounds of
howling coyotes and swirling sand. The
desert at night was no place for a man, fearless or not. But it wasn’t the first time Joe was in this
situation, though it was the first time he was afraid. He sat quietly and crossed his legs.
What did I do last time I was alone
in the desert at night?
You had a gun then. You were safe.
Joe nodded to himself. I need a gun. What kind of man doesn’t have a gun? Joe’s spirit rose, the fear receding just a
little, but it wasn’t enough to get him to stand. What am
I afraid of? I’m Bloodless Joe, the man
who can’t bleed. The man who can’t be
killed and one of the most feared men in the west. This is bullshit. I’m not afraid of the dark. I’m not afraid of anything. He wanted to shout it to the world, but
his voice stuttered. The words wouldn’t
come out. Joe shook his head. I need
a gun… The cold steel and smooth
handle would drain his fear, he was sure of it.
But first things first, he had to get moving.
He stood and headed west- following the sun’s path- and hoped to soon
find a town or settlement nearby. Joe periodically
peered over his shoulder into the darkness.
The feeling of being watched itched at him, but he knew that was
impossible. There was no one around for
miles. He stopped and took a deep
breath, attempting to cleanse himself of the surging fear.
Having a gun will cleanse this
fear.
Joe thought about just giving up and lying in the darkness. Perhaps death would be a release. But the thought of it terrified him more than
anything. As an outlaw, he would seek
death every day, taunting her and daring her to come claim him. He used to think that Death was afraid of
him, not daring to even look in his direction.
But something had changed. Now he
felt her peering eyes watching him from every angle, ready to pounce at any
moment. He didn’t want to die, not yet,
but he couldn’t think why he’d want to go on living. Not if every sight and sound were going to
spook him.
He kept his legs moving.
The night air came alive with the sound of faint voices. At first he thought they were in his head,
but a glimmer of light shone in the distance.
A town. Joe had an urge to run,
but stopped himself. If he tripped and
twisted his ankle, he wouldn’t survive the night. So Joe walked slowly, scanning the dark ground
in front of him as best he could. The
moon was only a sliver, but bright enough to highlight dangerous weed patches
that could be easily tripped upon.
Joe didn’t know where these inane thoughts were coming from. Before today, he never noticed the amount of
potential danger the world held. It was
as if everything he took for granted had been offended and was now trying to
kill him.
Light filtered before Joe as the town slowly came into view. It wasn’t large by any standards, but it
wasn’t the smallest Joe had seen either.
He’d travelled all over the west coast, terrorizing towns and making a
name for himself, one he felt he no longer deserved.
As he drew closer, apprehension blossomed inside of him. It struck him out of nowhere, another feeling
he hadn’t felt since he was a child. Why are all these emotions attacking
now? What did I do to deserve this? Joe knew the answer, but still felt the
punishment was unfair. He’d robbed,
raped and killed without emotion, but this… this was too much. He didn’t deserve this.
Joe decided it would be best to camp outside the town for the night. He found a rock to use as a pillow, and lied
down on the dirty ground. It was cold
and his body shivered. He closed his
eyes, but they snapped back open. A
scenario of being murdered in his sleep by bandits played itself out in his
mind. He needed something to protect
himself, something that would make him feel safe, just for a while. He had been walking all day and knew he
deserved a little sleep, even if his conscious disagreed.
The silhouette of a small tree loomed nearby. Its branches were bare and it looked as
though it died years ago. Joe picked up
his rock pillow and approached the tree.
The limbs gently flailed in the wind as if to say ‘don’t hurt me’. Joe didn’t want to hurt the tree; he just
wanted to snap off a limb to use as protection.
What’s wrong with me? Now I’m worried about hurting a tree? It’s not even alive. I’ve taken countless lives and now a tree is
weighing on my conscious? Pathetic. Joe steeled his resolve and snapped free
a low branch. The crack echoed louder
than he anticipated, so he looked around to see if anyone had spotted him. It’s
not like I’m robbing a bank. It’s a tree
for shit sakes. Joe tried to recall
what had made him so moral. He needed to
find out what happened to him and why he was suddenly standing alone in the
desert. But first, some sleep…
He settled under the tree, using it to support his back. The rock he was using as a pillow was too
hard, and with his back against the tree, he could sleep sitting up and keep an
eye on the town. One by one the town’s
lights disappeared into the night, as did the voices. Soon, the town was just as dark as the desert
that surrounded it, everyone sleeping soundly in their beds. Joe stared into the darkness, unable to
sleep. His eyes felt heavy, but they
wouldn’t stay shut. So he sat there with
the branch clenched in his fist, waiting.
Fifteen Years Ago
*
Bloodless Joe checked his gun. The
revolver held six bullets and he had twelve more tucked into his belt. He knew six would be enough, but it never
hurt to have insurance. He used the
barrel of the gun to pull back the curtain.
From the second floor of the inn, he could see the entire eastern side
of the street. He watched two women chat
idly as they hung cloths on a line in a nearby ally. A horse strode by pulling a wagon. On the side it read: ‘Dr. Shaw’s All in One
Cure for What Ails You.’ Joe hated men
like that. They were scammers and
deserved to be shot. In fact, he felt
most people ought to be shot and he was doing his part to ensure that
happened. Joe knew that people were a
disease and he considered himself the antidote.
There was a knock at the door.
“Joe, it’s me. You ready?”
Joe released the curtain and holstered his gun before answering the
door.
On the other side stood a tall, thin man wearing a long black trench
coat. His graying moustache curled
around his upper lip, nearly covering his entire mouth. Duke nonchalantly leaned against the door
frame, chewing on his tobacco before spitting on the hallway floor.
Joe said nothing. He grabbed his
coat from the hook on the back of the door and put it on. It was similar to the one Duke wore, but with
a higher collar. He then put on his hat
and tied a black bandana around his neck.
Joe nodded and he and Duke strolled down the hallway.
Duke handpicked Joe for this job.
His reputation was enormous and with that came opportunity. He had garnered nearly celebrity status and a
nickname to go along with it… Bloodless Joe.
It was said that bullets couldn’t hit him and that he never bled. It had been so long since Joe had seen his
own blood that he almost started to believe the stories. He was tempted to cut himself with a razor
just to see if he could still bleed, but there was no point in spoiling a good
myth. He felt invincible.
He followed Duke down the stairs and through the saloon. It was midday, so the place was nearly empty
except for a few jobless lowlifes sitting at the bar with their heads in their
hands. Joe despised them as well. He sneered as he walked by, but none met his
gaze.
Duke pushed the swinging doors aside and lit a cigar as he stepped out
onto the porch. The sun was bright
overhead with only a few clouds roaming the sky. Joe lit a cigarette and took a long
drag. He loved smoking. He loved the way it tasted and the way it
made him look. Woman loved it as
well. He knew there was nothing more
attractive than a rugged man smoking a cigarette.
Joe leaned against a pole and scanned the street. The man in the wagon had setup shop and was
engaging a small crowd. He perpetuated
his lies to anyone incompetent enough to listen. Joe thought about pulling out his gun and
picking the man off, but that would draw too much attention. Maybe
later, Joe thought as he took another drag of his smoke. He waited for Duke to make the first
move. On his signal, things would get
started. Joe knew there were others
involved, but he hadn’t been able to spot them yet. This was different from the jobs Joe usually
took. He wasn’t used to working with a
crew, but could not turn down an invitation from the legendary Duke Stonesoul.
Joe watched Duke. The man was
supposedly one of the most stone cold killers around, but from what Joe saw, he
looked quite ordinary. He didn’t talk
much, which was fine by Joe, because he didn’t have much to say. So they stood together silently, watching and
waiting.
Joe finished his smoke and was about to light another when Duke perked
up. Joe turned to see what he was
looking it. Their target had finally
arrived. Joe gripped his revolver
lightly. He’d been in a ton of
shootouts, so this was nothing new for him.
Duke warned that the men on the wagon were well armed, but that didn’t
bother Joe. He was invincible after all.
The wagon stopped outside the bank.
It was pulled by two black horses and was made of thick steel. Two men sat on the coach with shotguns across
their lap. Two more climbed from the
back of the wagon and took up sentry positions on either side. Each held a shotgun and scanned the area with
darting eyes. The man on the western
side was Joe’s responsibility. A further
two men hopped from the back of the wagon each carrying two large sacks. Joe watched as they entered the bank and
began to wonder when they would move on the guards. His finger itched with the anticipation of
squeezing the trigger of his revolver and ending a man’s life. Nothing got him more excited. Joe kept an eye on his man and the man did
likewise, almost sensing that Joe was about to cause trouble. He wanted to shoot him now, but knew he should
wait for Duke’s signal. He’d never
really been good at waiting.
Two shots sounded from inside the bank.
This is it. Duke drew his gun and Joe did
likewise. It all happened in the blink
of an eye. The drivers of the coach
slapped the reigns and the cart started to pull away. Duke shot his man- the coach driver nearest-
in the head while Joe took care of the guard who had been eyeing him. At the same time, Shaw’s trailer housing the
miracle cure rolled out into the street directly into the path of the charging
horses. Two more shots sounded and Joe
was surprised to see two women standing with shotguns raised. Just a few moments ago they had been hanging
laundry. One killed the sentry that
stood on their side of the steel wagon and the other blew the head off the
second coach driver. The horses then
crashed into Shaw’s trailer as it rolled out into the street. They fell with a whine and the steel trailer
toppled with them. The crowd that had
gathered around Shaw’s wagon stood in stunned silence and Shaw himself acted as
if it were some gigantic mishap.
Joe covered his face with his bandanna and ran to the downed
trailer. He quickly jumped inside and
was followed by Duke. It was an odd
sensation as the floor of the trailer was on his right and he walked on what
had been the side wall. He grabbed one
of the sacks and was surprised by its weight.
He tossed it to Duke who promptly tossed it out the back of the wagon
into the arms of another waiting man. Where did he come from? Joe thought, but figured it must be the
guy who took care of the two guards entering the bank. There had been more shots from that direction
during the fight in the street and Joe assumed that the man inside was dealing
with further resistance.
The ground rumbled as another coach arrived. After tossing Duke the last sack, Joe stepped
outside just as the second coach pulled away.
The two women jumped on, each holding the side of the wagon as it sped
down the dirt road and out of town. That
left Duke, Joe and the guy who killed the men in the bank. Shaw stood stunned, playing his part. Joe figured that he was crowd control. Anyone that was around his peddled goods that
decided to be a hero would have to answer to him. Luckily, the mob stood and watched in
silence. Decent folk were too smart to
get in the middle of a robbery.
Now it was a mad dash to their horses that were tied to the hitching post
in front of the inn.
A shot rang out and Joe turned to the man who had cleared the bank just
as half of his head exploded. Duke
immediately took cover behind the steel trailer, but Joe simply walked towards
the man with the gun. He wasn’t
afraid. He believed in the myths that
surrounded him.
The man used the doorframe of the bank to hold himself up. He’d already been shot and blood streamed
down his left arm. He could barely hold
the shotgun steady and was attempting to reload it, but was having
difficulty. Soon, Joe was upon him. The man slumped to the ground, sitting with
his back against the door to the bank.
Joe looked the man in the eyes.
Those eyes seemed to beg for mercy, but that was something Joe didn’t
understand. The man’s lip quivered as
Joe pointed the gun at his face. Joe
pulled the trigger. The satisfying
explosion of gunpowder sounded and the man slumped over dead, a dripping wound
in the middle of his forehead.
Joe turned and ran back to the steel trailer were Duke was waiting.
“You’re one crazy bastard.” Duke
said and patted Joe on the back.
Joe untied his horse and jumped on.
He and Duke sped from the town, Joe not once looking back.
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