Lifting his face from a puddle of dark red blood and black mud, the old man rose to his feet, his back drenched through his shirt as rainwater spilled over him. Shielding his eyes from the downpour, he looked to the sky. He used his sleeve to wipe away the blood trickling from his nose, leaving a trail of dirt in its place, and he turned to face the younger man who was waiting to hit him again.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Inside the saloon, a crowd of at least 50 men and women gathered around a shaky table. Under their cheering and shouting, Richard Taylor could barely hear the rattling of the snake\u2019s tail. He stood outside the circle, peering over the shoulders of men who were waving dollar bills in the air. On the table, the rattlesnake was coiled tight in its cage. A thin man in a black coat took notes in a small ledger, looking up every few seconds to see whose wager he was writing down.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
In the alley, the young man swung his right fist forward, but the older man dodged. He raised his knee into the younger man\u2019s chest, then jabbed at the back of his head with his elbow. The young man stumbled but managed to regain his balance. The older man ran at him, driving them both down, mud splashing as they landed.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard watched the snake in its cage. A man in a tall hat stood over the table, his arms outstretched, a small red bird cupped in his hands. Another man lifted the top of the cage and the bird was slipped in. The man with the ledger counted the seconds to himself on his wristwatch. The snake eyed the bird as it fluttered above, trying to escape.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The older man hit the young man in the face several times. He then slammed his head into the wet ground. The younger man pushed him off and he reeled back, leaning against a wall. The older man coughed blood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The bird slipped to the bottom of the cage and the snake lunged at it, barely missing as it hopped out of the way. The crowd was cheering louder and applauding now. Richard watched the people more than the cage, disgusted that they would waste their money on a meaningless game.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The younger man pulled a knife from his pocket and the older man shuffled backwards. When the young man attempted to slash him, he arched back, the tip of the knife inches from his chest. He reached out and grabbed the young man\u2019s wrist. He twisted it and the knife dropped into a puddle between them.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The snake missed again. The bird scurried away as the snake whipped across the cage after it. Richard shook his head, thinking half of these people probably didn\u2019t even know how much they bet or how long they bet it would take the snake to catch the bird.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The older man pushed the young man into the wall. He hit him repeatedly in the chest and took a hard swing across his chin. He stepped back, reaching down to grip the wet, muddy knife. He rushed forward, stabbing the younger man in his gut. The young man slid down slowly, blood spilling out as he reached the ground. The older man kicked his head hard against the wall. He looked over his own clothes, his white shirt stained crimson. He stood in the rain a moment, then walked back into the saloon.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The snake finally got the bird into its mouth and most of the crowd stopped cheering and returned to their tables. The rest either won or thought they did. Richard figured they wouldn\u2019t know for sure until someone handed them money or took it away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard sat on a stool at the bar and sipped his beer from a green bottle with a thick neck and a fading star on the label, looking up at the top shelf filled with liquor he couldn\u2019t afford. He noticed the old man entering from the back of the saloon, soaked and bloody. Richard recognized him. He didn\u2019t know his name and had never spoken to him but he saw him there every night.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man was a cold, black spirit haunting the room. Silent, his eyes hidden in the shadow of his hat, he had at least two guns that Richard could see. The rifle leaning against his chair and the Colt on the table always primed and loaded only inches from his small, weathered hands. In a packed bar at midnight, full of commotion, music and thick clouds of cigar smoke, he would sit there like he didn\u2019t notice the world moving around him. A girl would come by every half hour or so to bring a fresh glass of whiskey and take away an empty one. He always sat with his back to the wall at the corner table under the stairs, the farthest from the creaking doors to the outside.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
That night, Richard watched him return to his table, dripping water onto the wood floor, pick up the vest that was hanging over his chair and put it on over his bloody shirt. He took his seat and dispassionately put his hat on, finishing off the near-full whiskey glass he had left behind when he stepped out. As a barmaid picked up another drink to take to the table, Richard turned to the bartender, a large man with a scar across his neck.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWho is that?\u201d Richard asked, jerking his thumb toward the man in the corner.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou don\u2019t want to know.\u201d the bartender said, wiping a dirty glass with a stained towel. He was silent for a moment. Then he looked around and signaled Richard to lean closer to him. He whispered, \u201cThe man claims he\u2019s Billy the Kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIs that so?\u201d Richard stood.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know if it is or not.\u201d The bartender poured bourbon in the glass and slid it down the bar to a waiting customer. \u201cBut, way I see it, he\u2019s either crazy or he\u2019s telling the truth, and either way he\u2019s liable to kill you if you cross him, so I don\u2019t ask questions.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard tossed some coins onto the bar to pay his bill for the night, then walked over to the man\u2019s table. When he got there, before he could think of something to say, the man asked, \u201cYou looking to get shot?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNot in particular,\u201d Richard said, talking a small step back.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMight want to keep walking then.\u201d He looked up at Richard now. There was an anger burning in his eyes and his face appeared to have been chiseled in granite long ago. His left hand gripped the handle of his gun. Richard stood over him for a moment, his attention darting back and forth between the gun and the man\u2019s eyes.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou have a good night now,\u201d Richard said. He turned and left the table. The man watched as he walked out of the saloon and into the darkness. Sitting alone, he smiled.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
*****<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard sat in his tent on the hill and looked out over the town of Beaumont. Starlit outlines of rooftops, the faint glow of candles in windows, billows of smoke wafting to the sky in the distance. Behind him, oil pumps rumbled in motion. The night shift at work in the fields. Money churning up from the ground beneath. A constant echo keeping him awake until dawn, reminding him of the mistakes he made.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Eighteen months ago, in early 1902, when word of oil and wealth gushing in Texas reached New York, Richard and his wife Anne made a decision. Neither of them was happy where they were, him scrubbing ash and soot in chimneys, always relying on her rich parents to help them stay above water. They heard stories of regular people getting flush on their own in Beaumont, making thousands of dollars just selling the land they lived on to people who wanted to dig holes in it. They talked about it on and off for a couple of weeks, and they ultimately decided there was a real opportunity here, a chance to make their own fortune. It was going to be an adventure, a foray into independence that Richard savored. Her parents disapproved, of course, calling the idea reckless and irresponsible, but Richard didn\u2019t think they ever liked him anyway or thought anything he could do was good enough for their girl to begin with.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Despite that, they packed up everything they had, including their 6-year-old daughter Elizabeth, and began the long journey south. Once they got to Texas, Richard learned how difficult it was just to get a job, let alone his own plot of land, even with the money his wife\u2019s father had quietly slipped to her before they left. He would manage to work a few days at a time in the bigger oil fields when the companies needed an extra hand. Most of the time, though, they sat in their tent on the hill surrounded by thousands of strangers and thieves, breathing in dark air tainted by black fumes from the nearby wells. He wasn\u2019t surprised when Anne left with Elizabeth five months later\u2014and he appreciated that she left most of their money behind\u2014but he was still angry.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Now, over a year after they disappeared in the night, Richard sat in his tent and watched the seconds tick past on his pocket watch. It had been a wedding gift from Anne\u2019s parents, gold with Richard and Anne\u2019s names and the date of the ceremony engraved on the casing. Tonight, like most nights, he would just lie down and stare at the face of it, hypnotized by the movement of its hands, until he drifted off to sleep.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
*****<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A few nights later, Richard sat at the bar, again watching the man. Occasionally, he would look up and Richard would turn away the instant they made eye contact.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
A woman walked into Richard\u2019s line of sight and he could have sworn she looked just like Anne. His eyes followed her across the room and up onto the stage. He heard a piano begin to play but he couldn\u2019t see it through the crowd. The music was fast-paced, complicated and irrelevant. Three other dancers joined the woman on stage but Richard\u2019s focus remained on her as their performance started. He didn\u2019t notice any of their carefully choreographed movements. He just studied her features. Her eyes, her smile, the sensitive spot on the back of her neck, that part of her lower leg she\u2019d giggle when he touched. She looked perfect. For a brief moment, he smiled. Then he reminded himself that she wasn\u2019t his wife, just a stranger. He turned back to the bar to drink whatever was left in his bottle.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When he did, he was shocked to see the man standing right next to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhy you keep staring at me like that?\u201d the man asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cStaring at you like how?\u201d Richard said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLike you\u2019re fixing to fuck my sister.\u201d The bartender placed a full glass of whiskey on the bar in front of him, then backed off, never saying a word.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know what that means,\u201d Richard responded. He watched the bartender walk away, wondering if he was getting another drink for him too.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt means you\u2019re going to start looking elsewhere if you value your eyes being attached to your head, son,\u201d the man said. He sipped from his glass and reached into his vest pocket. Richard tensed up, fearing he was going for a knife or a gun. Instead, he pulled out a cigar and rested it between his lips while he searched his other pockets for a match. The bartender reappeared, slipping a matchbook in front of him. The man lit a match and, through clenched teeth, said to Richard, \u201cYou\u2019re here every night.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAs are you,\u201d Richard replied.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cHere every morning and afternoon, too,\u201d the man said. He turned and looked out across the room. \u201cWhat I\u2019m asking is, what the hell are you doing here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMostly wishing I wasn\u2019t.\u201d Richard gazed absently into the mirror behind the bar.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou ain\u2019t alone in that, kid. Lot of folks around here trying to find a way out.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou one of them?\u201d Richard watched the reflection of smoke rise up over the man\u2019s head and dissipate in the air.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m just trying to get through the day without killing anyone.\u201d The man looked down at his wrist, though he wasn\u2019t wearing a watch. \u201cIt\u2019s early yet.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou find yourself having to kill people a lot, huh?\u201d Richard asked, nervous but polite–and more intrigued than he wanted to be.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cOnly as often as they try to kill me,\u201d the man said. He reached behind himself for his whiskey, swallowed it all in one gulp, slammed the glass down on the bar and began to walk back toward his table. He added, \u201cSo yes, a lot.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou ever wonder why it is so many people are out to get you?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNo, sir,\u201d the man said, not looking back. \u201cI know exactly why.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
*****<\/p>\n\n\n\n
It was late fall, but it was still hot in the sun. <\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard had found a job for the rest of the week. One of the men, not a friend\u2014Richard didn\u2019t have friends here\u2014but an acquaintance working for the Gulf Oil Corporation had to head back east for a few days for his mother\u2019s funeral and somebody needed to fill in. He recommended Richard. The work consisted mostly of moving heavy pieces of equipment from one part of Gulf\u2019s oil field to another up on Spindletop. It was exhausting, but it paid a decent wage, which was more than he could say for a lot of the other short-term jobs he\u2019d taken lately.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Sweat dripped from his shirt to the soil. He stood with his cart full of steel bars, catching his breath while basking in the shadow of one of the derricks, a skeleton that spired up from the land. He felt the ground shake and heard pieces of metal screeching against each other somewhere. He still didn\u2019t understand how all this equipment worked, but he knew what it sounded like when it broke. The earth cracked and oil suddenly gushed up, a steady vertical stream flowing through the top of the derrick. Before he had time to move, Richard found himself in the midst of a black storm pouring from the sky. He closed his eyes as oil ran down his face, gagging when a few drops slipped between his lips. He stumbled away, eventually getting clear and rolling into the dry dirt.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He looked himself over, painted black, and grudgingly accepted there was no way to avoid waiting in the long line to pay for a brief soak in a rusty tub in town later.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
*****<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Hooves dug into the mud. Lightning streaked across the sky miles away.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard stood outside, protected from the rain by the balcony hanging over the entrance to the saloon. He watched as the two horses pulled, straining against harnesses that were tied tight to the front side of a dirt-covered automobile. The vehicle\u2019s wheels spun furiously, slipping deeper into the puddles around them, spraying muck and water across the front windows of the town bank. Two men in fancy suits shouted at the horses, their voices drowned out by the thunder and the revving engine.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIn 25 years,\u201d a voice came from behind him, \u201ceverything\u2019s going to be done by these infernal machines.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The old man stepped out from inside the bar and joined Richard.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMachines,\u201d he continued, \u201cthese giant metal monstrosities lurching through the streets. They\u2019ll have to build smaller machines to operate the big ones cause people won\u2019t know how. Railroad tracks\u2019ll run through the middle of every town. Machines everywhere. A world like you ain\u2019t imagined in all your born days. They\u2019ll cover the landscape, trees in a big clanking forest, waves in a metal sea. They\u2019ll spread like syphilis in a whorehouse. It\u2019s already started. Ain\u2019t nothing a man like me can do to stop it now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The horses continued to pull. The men out in the rain were behind the vehicle, pushing against it with their backs, trying to maintain their steadiness as their boots constantly slipped on the wet road. The mud kicked up by the wheels splashed their clothes. Every time they raised a hand to protect their faces from the spatter, they would lose their grip with the other hand and nearly fall over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cShould we be helping them?\u201d Richard asked as they watched. The man said nothing. He just watched the two of them and their automobile, smiling and occasionally chuckling. Richard shook his head and looked down at the rainwater creeping toward them, beginning to gather around their feet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI have to\u2014I\u2019ve been wondering\u2014\u201dRichard paused, as if debating whether to continue his question. \u201cWhat I\u2019m trying to\u2014I can\u2019t figure why a man\u2019d go around playing at being Billy the Kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cGo ask a man who\u2019s playing at it then,\u201d the man said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
There was a moment of awkward silence between them before one of the men they were watching lost his footing and fell.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man laughed. \u201cLike watching a pack of dogs barking at a knot,\u201d he said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cPeople round here think you\u2019re crazy,\u201d Richard said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI reckon that\u2019s cause I want them to think I am.\u201d The man turned to him and grinned. \u201cAlso, because I am.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The wheels had stopped turning and a third man got out of the vehicle. The one who had slipped was standing now, trying to wipe himself clean but only managing to rub the dirt deeper into the fabric of his shirt. The horses weren\u2019t pulling anymore.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard looked over at the automobile, grime dotted across its sides, showered by falling rain. Despite all the effort, its back wheels had only sunken further.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis fella was telling me a story,\u201d Richard said. The man turned to listen. \u201cI was out in the oil fields the other day talking to this guy come from up around Buffalo. He was saying, he was at the exposition where the president was killed, or so he says. Could have been lying. Don\u2019t matter. He was telling me–You ever hear why McKinley died?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBecause he got shot twice, I\u2019d think,\u201d the man said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s not the\u2014What he was telling me, when the docs tried to operate on him, cut him open and get the bullets out, there wasn\u2019t enough light to see. This big old exposition to celebrate our country\u2019s industrial progress and they ain\u2019t got enough electricity to light the table where the president was bleeding to death.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cProgress, huh?\u201d the man said as he turned back toward the door. Richard looked out and saw that the engine had started again and the horses were pulling, the vehicle still failing to break loose from the growing muck that ensnared it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMachines,\u201d Richard heard the man say, the saloon doors swinging closed behind him. \u201cAs far as the eye can see.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
*****<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard sat at the bar, a half-empty beer bottle in front of him. In the mirror, he saw the reflection of the man walking calmly into the bar. The man stopped in front of him, facing forward, looking past Richard to the rifle sitting at his table in the back. Richard noticed the man\u2019s left hand move toward the Colt in his holster. The man was almost frozen, with an intense look on his face that Richard first mistook for fear.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cTake out your watch and show it to me,\u201d he said. Richard stared at him. \u201cPretend like I\u2019m asking you the time. Just do it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard pulled his watch from his pocket and held it out to him.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNice watch,\u201d the man said. \u201cYou can put it away now.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIt was a wedding gift from my wife\u2019s\u2014\u201d Richard realized he wasn\u2019t listening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cAct natural,\u201d the man said. \u201cLike there ain\u2019t two guys here aiming to kill me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhat are you going on about?\u201d Richard asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBy the door.\u201d He tried to nod subtly in that direction. \u201cBulldozer with the mustache on the right, short fella with a bit of a limp on the left. Both got their hands at their sides, close to their guns. So damn hell-fired not to be noticed that you can\u2019t help noticing them? Looking at me without looking, same way I\u2019m looking at them. You see?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard whipped his head unsubtly to the entrance and saw the doors wavering behind two men who had just walked in. One was taller and had a mustache. The shorter one wasn\u2019t moving so Richard couldn\u2019t be sure about the limp. They wore long coats, but he could see two pistols around both their waists underneath.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI said, act natural,\u201d the man repeated. \u201cI reckon this mess is about to get bloody. You best get out of here. Go someplace there\u2019s not so much dying going on.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard thought of his cold, empty tent up on the hill and didn\u2019t move.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The taller man by the door took a few steps forward. That\u2019s when the old man quietly said \u201cFuck it,\u201d grabbed his gun, spun around and started firing. One shot hit the shorter man directly in the middle of his forehead and he dropped to the ground. Bullets missed the tall man and lodged in the wall behind him as he pulled out his two guns and dove to the left, rolling behind the far end of the bar. Customers ran in all directions screaming. The old man pushed Richard aside and sprinted to the nearest table, kicking it over on its side to shield him just as the tall man rose and fired. Wood splinters blew off the table with every impact. He stood up and fired back, grazing the tall man\u2019s neck and hitting him in the stomach. The tall man fell to the ground and dropped both of his guns. Richard peeked out from behind the side of the bar just in time to see the old man walk across the room, stand over the tall man\u2019s bleeding, barely-conscious body and shoot him in the head. Then he walked past the bar and reached for Richard\u2019s beer. He drank what was left in one long sip as he walked back to his table, then tossed the empty bottle over his shoulder, sitting as glass scattered in shards on the floor.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard looked at the bodies and then over at the old man. He looked around the room, reconstructing what happened as other customers returned to their seats.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou really are him, huh?\u201d Richard said. \u201cYou\u2019re Billy the Kid.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cDon\u2019t look so surprised,\u201d he said, his gun still in his hand on the table.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
*****<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The next night, Richard approached the table and stood over it until the old man noticed him. After about a minute, the man lifted his head.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cJust so as we\u2019re clear,\u201d he said, sitting up, \u201cyou wouldn\u2019t be the first mail-order cowboy I cashed in for no better reason than he was pissing me off.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI always wanted to know what the old west was like,\u201d Richard said, either ignoring the threat or not entirely understanding it.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cLike this,\u201d the man said, \u201cbut older.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard remained standing for a moment, then grabbed a chair from a nearby table, slid it over and sat down. The old man stared at him in silence.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI don\u2019t know why you\u2019re yammering at me here, son,\u201d the man said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou\u2019re Billy the Kid,\u201d Richard said. \u201cYou\u2019re a legend.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019m a fucking horse thief,\u201d the man said. \u201cThe legend is just something Garrett created to sell books. Half of what he says about me ain\u2019t even close to true.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThen what is true? How\u2019d you end up here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI died 22 years ago,\u201d the man said, a barmaid placing a glass of whiskey in front of him. \u201cThat complicates life a bit. All the shit I done to get by. Living on the dodge, always ready to pull foot without warning. Making sure all the right folk know who I am and the wrong folk never do. Trying to stop the world leaving me behind. It used to be, stealing horses was all I needed to know. Now, you take a look outside. I tell you, it is a bad time to be a horse thief in America and I reckon I\u2019m too old to learn to steal anything else. How about you? What\u2019s your sad story?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard didn\u2019t speak at first. He hesitated, considering how much he should say.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Then he reached into the pocket of his pants and pulled out a small, 3-inch square photograph. An attractive young woman holding a little girl, the angle slightly tilted.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cMy wife Anne, my daughter Elizabeth,\u201d Richard said. \u201cTook that picture myself almost two years ago with one of those one dollar Brownie cameras. Hell of a thing to try to hold steady, that box. But that\u2019s them and I don\u2019t know where they are. They came down here with me\u2014we were going to get rich and I was going to get to be a cowboy. It\u2019s dumb. We were going to\u2014I don\u2019t even know how we expected to do it. But it was what people were doing and we wanted to do it too. Then I wake up one morning and they ain\u2019t there. We been through the mill together, me and her, and after all that, she just leaves me drifting at sea. Been here most nights since, drinking away what little money I been able to make on my own.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI take it you\u2019re not liking our town much, then?\u201d the man asked, raising his glass to his lips. Richard was surprised to see he was still listening.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI reckon it\u2019s what hell\u2019d look like if hell was in Texas. And it might be.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis isn\u2019t nothing like hell,\u201d the man said. He signaled to the bartender to pour him another drink. \u201cHell\u2019s likely much nicer than this. Probably nicer than heaven, even. You think about it, that\u2019s the only way it makes sense. Devil wants you to do something bad, why would he want to punish you for it eternally after? Where\u2019s the incentive? Just be bad business on his part. No, seems to me, hell\u2019s a candy land. Suppose we\u2019ll all find out eventually, right?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Richard considered the idea for a moment. He opened his mouth to respond, but the man raised his finger to him to be quiet.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThis music,\u201d the man said. Richard could hear some ragtime tune coming from the piano up by the stage. The man listened for a minute or so, humming along softly. \u201cI love this music. That\u2019s why I keep coming here. Best piano in town. Nothing else in these parts holds a candle to it. Last couple of months, I got my own melody in my head, you know. I been wanting to write it down but I\u2019m all balled up. Don\u2019t have a damn clue how. This right here, though, there\u2019s a magic to it.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
They listened to the rest of the song. Thinking about Beaumont, Richard added, \u201cI miss baseball. Had a pretty good team up in Brooklyn. You all got nothing down here.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNever did understand that game,\u201d the man said. He put down his drink. \u201cLook, you don\u2019t like it here? Leave. Your woman\u2019s gone? Find another. Ain\u2019t no one any less annoying than the rest. So you got the muddy end of the stick. So what? Quit pining for what used to be and do something about what ought to. Get your sorry ass a train ticket and go. Right here, right now. Time to fish or cut bait, boy.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI got no place else to go,\u201d Richard said.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThere\u2019s always someplace else to go. You just ain\u2019t looking hard enough.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cIf that\u2019s a fact, why are you always sitting here?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNobody given me no reason to leave,\u201d the man said, leaning back in his chair. \u201cAnd I\u2019ll stay here, at this table in this corner against this wall, until somebody gives me cause to do otherwise. From here, I\u2019ll be able to see \u2018em coming. And ain\u2019t nobody ever going to shoot me in the back when I ain\u2019t looking.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
*****<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The first thing Richard noticed walking to the saloon the following night was that the man was gone and so was his rifle. Richard looked around the room, scanned the crowd for any sign of him. When he sat down at the bar, the bartender walked over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhere\u2019s your crazy friend tonight?\u201d he asked.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cNothing crazy about him,\u201d Richard said. \u201cAnd I don\u2019t got a clue where he is.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cBilly the Kid or not,\u201d the bartender said, placing a beer bottle in front of Richard, \u201cthe man needs his head examined.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat may be so,\u201d Richard said, beer in hand.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
Seconds later, the man entered. He approached Richard and called to the bartender to give him a full bottle of whiskey.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ll handle my own refills tonight.\u201d Then he turned to Richard. \u201cCome with me.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man grabbed the bottle with one hand and Richard\u2019s arm with the other.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThe hell\u2019s going on, Billy?\u201d Richard asked, following him out the back door.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
When they stepped out into the alley, the man popped the top off the whiskey bottle and drank straight from it. He offered it to Richard, who took a small sip. It was only now that Richard noticed he had a rather large bag slung over his shoulder.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou going somewhere?\u201d Richard asked, nodding toward the bag.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI\u2019ve gotten sloppy here,\u201d the man said. \u201cToo many people know who I really am. That reason to leave I spoke of yesterday, I got one now. A bounty hunter out of Appalachia. Big and tough. People too scared to even tell me his name. And he\u2019s getting close. I don\u2019t want to be here when he catches up.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou could stay and fight,\u201d Richard said. \u201cYou got your guns. Won\u2019t be the first time somebody come to town with a mind to clean your plow.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cI got nothing to fight for here,\u201d the man said. \u201cAnyways, I doubt there\u2019s much left for me in Beaumont. Fact is, there never was. Just, well, any port in a storm and all.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cSo what do you do now?\u201d Richard leaned against the wall.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cRun three ways from Sunday.\u201d He put the bag on the ground. \u201cRun like the dickens and hope I can run faster than he can.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWhere will you go?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cWest,\u201d the man said. He looked to the train station down the street. \u201cAs far west as the money in my pocket\u2019ll take me. I hear it\u2019s cold in Denver. Might not be so bad.\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cYou taking the train in the morning then?\u201d<\/p>\n\n\n\n
\u201cThat\u2019s the plan,\u201d the man said. Richard saw his hand reach for his holster.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
The man raised his gun and fired before Richard had time to move. He shot Richard twice in the head and then several times in the chest as he slumped over.<\/p>\n\n\n\n
He walked over to the body and rummaged through the pockets. He took out the picture of Richard\u2019s family. My name is Richard Taylor<\/em>, he thought. My wife is Anne. My daughter is Elizabeth. We\u2019re from New York City. <\/em> He repeated the names to himself a few times. He looked at the engraved side of Richard\u2019s watch, noted the wedding date and then put it in the pocket of his own pants. He counted Richard\u2019s money and took that too. The plan wasn\u2019t perfect, but time was running short and Taylor was an easy target. He\u2019d have to change some details of the backstory when he told it in Denver, account for the obvious age difference from the new wife and daughter he missed so dearly. But he knew how to improvise and he could be very convincing. After all, he sold half of Beaumont on the tale that he was Billy the Kid.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My name is Richard Taylor. <\/em>He dragged the body through the alley to the side of the building. He noticed the trail of blood in the darkness, but it didn\u2019t concern him. He looked around for any witnesses, then poured the remaining whiskey over the body. He took a matchbook out of his pocket, lit a match and dropped it. He stepped back and watched the body burn.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Anne. Elizabeth. <\/em>After a few minutes, he walked back through the alley, careful not to step in the dead man\u2019s blood. He looked up at the wide river of tents spread across the hill and the men above them in distance, scurrying around in a maze of oil derricks. He looked at the schedule posted out in front of the train station. He took out Richard\u2019s watch and checked the time. In just a few hours, the first train of the morning would arrive, heading west.<\/p>\n\n\n\n My name is Richard Taylor<\/em>. He sat on a bench outside the station and closed his eyes, waiting for the ticket office to open.<\/p>\n\n\n\n Lifting his face from a puddle of dark red blood and black mud, the old man rose to his feet, his back drenched through his shirt as rainwater spilled over him. Shielding his eyes from the downpour, he looked to the sky. He used his sleeve to wipe away the blood trickling from his nose, … Read More<\/a><\/p>\n","protected":false},"author":1,"featured_media":833,"comment_status":"closed","ping_status":"closed","sticky":false,"template":"","format":"standard","meta":{"nf_dc_page":"","om_disable_all_campaigns":false,"_monsterinsights_skip_tracking":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_active":false,"_monsterinsights_sitenote_note":"","_monsterinsights_sitenote_category":0,"_jetpack_memberships_contains_paid_content":false,"footnotes":""},"categories":[5],"tags":[],"class_list":["post-784","post","type-post","status-publish","format-standard","has-post-thumbnail","hentry","category-fiction"],"jetpack_featured_media_url":"https:\/\/i0.wp.com\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-content\/uploads\/2021\/01\/stefan-pasch-FNxI3GWQGqI-unsplash.jpg?fit=640%2C512&ssl=1","jetpack_sharing_enabled":true,"_links":{"self":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/784","targetHints":{"allow":["GET"]}}],"collection":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts"}],"about":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/types\/post"}],"author":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/users\/1"}],"replies":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/comments?post=784"}],"version-history":[{"count":1,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/784\/revisions"}],"predecessor-version":[{"id":785,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/posts\/784\/revisions\/785"}],"wp:featuredmedia":[{"embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media\/833"}],"wp:attachment":[{"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/media?parent=784"}],"wp:term":[{"taxonomy":"category","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/categories?post=784"},{"taxonomy":"post_tag","embeddable":true,"href":"https:\/\/underwoodpress.com\/truechili\/wp-json\/wp\/v2\/tags?post=784"}],"curies":[{"name":"wp","href":"https:\/\/api.w.org\/{rel}","templated":true}]}}
Steve Loiaconi is a journalist in Washington, DC, a father, and a graduate of George Mason University’s MFA program.<\/em><\/p>\n","protected":false},"excerpt":{"rendered":"