The Way of the Gun
The Red, the Green, and the Blues
Prologue: Anything's Possible
Kim Possible, Shego, and the rest of the cast of Kim Possible are owned by Walt Disney Corporation. The other minor characters are mine.
Shout Out: Heaps of praise and a raised beer glass to DragoLord19D for being an all-round great guy, beta-reader, and full of ideas for this project. Thanks buddy!
"The Way of the Gun is the Gunslinger's Way. It is a set of principles that guide a gunslinger down the path of fame and fortune but ultimately death."
Words attributed to James Possible, Marshal, to his daughter Kim Possible
Somewhere in the Western Territories….
They call her 'Red'. At least, that is what is written on her Wanted Poster. She had to admit, the artist did a fair job on her portrait, even if he got her eye color wrong, and made her snarl, which she rarely does. Still, the likeness was there. She throws the poster to the wind in disgust. She pushes the brim of her brown fedora up enough so she can see the words of the establishment: The Broken Pony. A den of inequity and vice that made the frontier town of Goldston famous for its reputation of gunslingers and cutthroats, and those were the friendly ones! The Bro' Po' was a known haven for the vilest of the vile to lay low without interference from the Law. It was said that anything could be bought and sold there from slaves to the latest carbines 'liberated' from the Army of Northern Aggression. She ties her brown and white Clydesdale, Henrietta, to the railing and takes a deep breath.
Cling-Clang-Cling-Clang. The spurs of her black boots jingle as they hit the wooden steps leading to her objective. She pushes on the swinging doors and steps inside.
The place is packed. A score of card tables are occupied by professional gamblers and cheaters to the left of her. To the right is the bar manned by a portly, balding man with a bushy mustache too large for his small face. He pours a beer for a customer and goes back to cleaning an empty mug. Her eyes train to the second floor, noting the stairs that lead to the second level toward the back where a piano player is stationed. Further up, the pointed ceiling holds a large, circular, candlelit chandelier. Her eyes follow the rope to where it is tethered to the ceiling and the wall on the second level. Her eyes move back down, focusing on a specific card table directly under the chandelier.
She chews on a reed in her mouth as she walks further into The Broken Pony. A barmaid in racy, but appropriate attire walks past her with a tray full of mugs of beer. Another walks up to her, greeting the new customer with a pleasant smile. The woman is older, past her prime, and wearing too much makeup.
"Welcome to the Broken Pony! Can I get you anything?"
She lowers her head, shaking it. The barmaid leaves her for more amiable company. She lowers the brim of her fedora and walks to the occupied card table with purpose. The conversations of the occupants join together in a cacophony of noise that she blots out as her stride increases.
Four rough looking men sit at the card table heavily engaged in a poker game. The man she is after has the largest stack of poker chips; his back is turned toward her as she walks up to him. All four are wearing the same typical cowboy garb save for their black hats and well-oiled pistols at their holsters. They smell like they have not bathed in days, which was the likely case, and each sported a rough, uneven patch of hair on their chins. The man she focuses on is larger and broader than the rest. She taps him on the shoulder to get his attention.
"Brian 'Black Dog' McCready?"
"Who wants to know?"
She backs away several steps before answering, "You got a bounty on your head that's worth three hundred dollars, an' I'm takin' you and your crew in."
"Really?"
He turns to his accoster with a look of mirth on his face. The mirth turns to pleasant surprise when he gets a look.
"An' who might you be, pretty darlin'?"
"Whoo-wee! She's a looker, ain't she," a thin man sitting across from Black Dog exclaims.
She knows him. Twig O'Reilly, wanted for cattle rustling and theft, worth seventy dollars.
"I'll say! Why don't ya pull up a chair an' we can get introduced, all proper like," asks the man to Black Dog's left.
He is the ugliest of the crew; a nasty scar splits his left cheek from the corner of his mouth clear up to his scalp. Most of his teeth are missing or have rotted away. Buck Johnson, wanted for theft, arson, an' being too damn ugly. He is worth one hundred dollars.
"Or we could go upstairs an' skip the introductions," the man to Black Dog's right exclaims as he leers at her.
He is dangerous, second only to Black Dog. An accomplished duelist, he has killed three men, two he shot in the back, and the last was in a duel at high noon. He looks completely average. A known rapist and slaver, Mike 'One-Shot' Gills was worth two hundred dollars.
"I don't think so," she replies harshly.
"Well I ain't goin' nowhere, girly. Why don't you scamper off to yer daddy before ya git hurt," Black Dog says, a hard edge in his voice.
"I'm not goin' anywhere," she says evenly.
"I'd hate to mar that pretty face o' yours, darlin'. Go on now an' let the big boys play."
Black Dog McCready. Slaver. Destroyer of families. Card cheat and stone cold killer. Six men and two women are taking dirt naps thanks to this monster. He is quick with a blade, even quicker with the pistols at his hip.
"You got somethin' I want," she declares.
He turns back around smiling wickedly. "An' what might that be?" He looks her up and down appreciatively, making her skin crawl. "I might hazard a guess…"
"The Blues. Where are they?"
The piano player stops abruptly and the other conversations die in the Bro' Po' as people back away and train their faces onto the conversation. Black Dog's smile disappears. "Last chance, darlin'. Step away 'fore ya git hurt."
"You once rode with Drakken. You will tell me what I want to know."
He shrugs and turns around, "Yer funeral, girly."
Her eyes spy Black Dog glancing at 'One-Shot' who nods slightly. The others do as well. As one they leap from the chairs, drawing their pistols quickly.
Red is quicker.
She immediately falls onto her back as she draws both of her ivory handled 1860 Colt .44s and fires. Her bullets hit their mark, cutting the chandelier from the ceiling. It falls to the ground crashing onto the table where Black Dog and company were playing. Black Dog is quicker than the rest of his crew and leaps away as the chandelier crashes down on the others. Red rolls backward onto her feet, pistols out at Black Dog.
Black Dog's pistols are trained on her.
"I didn't figger sum'un as pretty as you could be so stupid," he snarls.
She remains silent as Twig twitches underneath the heavy chandelier and groans. Black Dog's eyes turn to his friend for a split second. It is all the time that Red needs. She fires.
The bullets hit their mark and Black Dog howls in pain as his bloody hands drop his pistols. She is on her feet in an instant. She runs at him and connects with a stiff kick of her steel-toed boot across his face sending him sprawling to the floor, unconscious. Her guns move to the others underneath the chandelier, but they are in no position to fight. In a quick display of skill she flips her guns back into their holsters. It does not take her long to rope up her quarry and drag them into line. She walks over to the bartender, who gives her a look of fear. She reaches into her brown duster and pulls out a wad of bills and places them on the bar in front of him.
"Sorry for the mess."
Her finger creases the tip of her fedora to him, walks back to her quarry and kicks their behinds until they start moving. She stops them when they get to Henrietta and she unties her then mounts.
Black Dog spits out a broken tooth and blood. "Where are you takin' us?"
"Coal Town," she replies nodding to the west, "It's a 'ways to the west, but we should get there by nightfall."
"Wait! What about our hosses? Ya don't expect us ta walk, do ya?"
"Yep, start walkin'."
They grumble and groan and she has to tug on the rope to get them to move, but left with no other choice, they follow.
Coal Town after nightfall
Black Dog's cell is the last to close and Red does the honors.
"I ain't stupid, ya know. He'll find out 'bout this an' spring me 'fore anythin' happens."
"The only thing that'll spring is your neck once the rope goes taut," Red states flatly.
"I'll make sure o' that," a man's voice declares from behind her.
"Can you give us a moment?"
"Sure, but don' take too long, his rope is twitchin' in anticipation."
"Thanks."
The man leaves.
She stares at Black Dog in silence. He looks like a caged animal, threatening to rage against his cage. Instead he sits down on the makeshift cot of hay and sighs.
"Where is he, Black Dog?"
"I told ya once already, I ain't stupid."
"Tell me where he is."
He is silent for a moment then he turns to her with a wicked grin. "You know where he is, but you can't git to him! He's protected, unlike you."
She leaves in disgust.
She enters the Sheriff's Office and sighs. The man who spoke up earlier sits on the top of the desk, his arms crossed across his shoulders. He is a man in his early fifties, older than her father if he was still alive. His hair was grey and thin on top with a well trimmed mustache. His grey eyes were piercing and serious. He pulls a large cigar from a box on the desk, lights it and his arms go back to the position they were in before. He takes a long drag on the cigar and puffs out the smoke from the side of his mouth.
"You git anythin'?"
"Nope."
"I didn't figger ye would."
"Me neither, but I had to try. He didn't tell me anything I didn't know already."
The man inhales again and stands up from the desk. He sighs and rubs the balding spot on his head in irritation. "Ye don' have ta do this, ye know?"
"If I don't then who will?"
"He'll screw up somewhere, don' worry 'bout that. There's a bullet with his name on it."
"I know. Mine."
"You sound more an' more like your da' every time I talk to ye."
"Thanks for the compliment."
"I mean it Kim-er…Red. I knew him back East. He was…a good man. I know fer a fact that what they say 'bout ye ain't true. But that's another problem."
"I know."
He hands her a cigarillo which she takes and lights. She puffs a ring of smoke from her lips.
"I'd be more worried about Senior Senior than The Blues. He's got almost every Magistrate 'round these parts in his pocket."
"That why I come here. I know you can't be bought, Markus."
He smiles, "Don' be too sure o' that. Ye can't git to Drakken while he's under Senior's shadow an' that shadow is gettin' longer an' longer as the days pass."
"I know, but I'll find a way."
"Hell, with this money ye kin head back East an' leave all this death and bad memories behind. Start over, get ye a rich husband and while the cares away in a life o' leisure."
She sighs, sounding far older than her sixteen years. "I can't do that, Markus. What about all of the innocents Drakken will hurt in the future? He must be stopped, an' I'll be the one to do it! I'll take what money I can use and send the rest to the survivors of the families Drakken has killed."
"Yes, Ma'am, as per our usual arrangement."
They smoke in silence each knowing what the other is thinking and what they would say to the other. In fact, they have had this conversation several times before.
"What else ya got for me?"
He turns to his desk and pulls out a stack of papers. Incident reports, arrest warrants and bounties are at the top of the stack. He rummages through the stack until he finds what he is looking for.
"Ah! Here it is! Take a gander at this one!"
He hands her a wanted poster and she studies it intently.
"That's some bounty! An Indian? What's the name there...Shego?"
"That's it. Bring her in if ye can, she's been causin' a whole heap o' trouble down south."
"Sounds good to me, with the money I get from this job we could help a lot of people."
"Aye, that ye could. Jus' be careful on this one. She be dangerous an' then some!"
"Right, I'll be careful."
She turns to leave, taking one last drag on the cigarillo and puts it out. She opens the door to the outside and the town beyond.
"One last thing, Red."
"Yeah."
"Do ya think ye kin do it? I mean, do ye really think ye can bring Drakken down?"
She is silent for a moment as she mulls over the question. She shrugs then turns to him with an answer, tips her fedora to him and leaves into the night.
"Anything's possible."