Chapter 2:
You Don't Know Jack (Pleasance)
Jack Pleasance, teacher, traveled to West Elizabeth from Mexico, on horseback, in the month of August. Before reaching the region, he found himself at gloomy swamplands, ones a town had formed amidst: Thieves Landing. He might have known from it's very name, but it saw fit to reaffirm for him as he entered, that it was not a calming place. At the very first horse's hoof to enter town, a very young man burst from the general store, holding a pistol, and was promptly gunned down, a bullet lodging between his shoulder blades. Jack simply carried on to the saloon.
Inside were all manner of ill mannered, with which he was not concerned. He sat at one of the bar stools and ordered, "Water."
The bartender looked sideways at him, "Do you know where you are mister? - You look like the type that can read to me."
"Call it Thieves Landing." he said calmly.
"Oh, that's right." the Bartender poured him his drink. "You know why they call it that dont'cha'?"
"Imagine it has something to do with all the thieves here." he took a sip.
Off to one corner, a group of men, played poker, a particular, young jokester, leading them on, jovially.
"Well - Don't get me wrong now, I ain't sayin' you look - soft-er nothin', but man you look like a schoolteacher."
"I am a schoolteacher."
The bartender poured him some more water. "If that's all you is, then you might wanna' get the hell outta here, 'cause these rowdy boys in here'll eat you alive."
"I'm looking for a place to bed down for the night."
"Well..." he thought, with a sinister grin. "Real nice girls next door... real, real nice."
"I'm not gonna' - "
"Jeeeezus Christ!"; the now annoyingly familiar voice of the young and belligerent. The dark haired, blue eyed jokester broke from his poker game, to approach Pleasance, drunk; of course. As he did, he exaggerated the shock he felt at seeing Pleasance at the bar; leaning forward, squinting. "Who the fuck is this!" he said pointing, as his buddies laughed. "Well how do you do gentle-man?" he asked in mock regality.
He sat down on the stool next to Jack. "Hey man, I'm just messin' about'cho know." he said, patting him on the back. He quickly grabbed Jack's drink and emptied it into his mouth. The sudden movement, coupled with disrespect forced Pleasance from his seat, he wrapped a hand around the man's jacket, who promptly pivoted over the bar, spraying mist across it. "WATER!" The man exclaimed with laughter, wiping his mouth "Damn you must be real hard, huh?" he joked. His demeanor instantly became cross, like that of a different person, "You better take yer hands off me city man or you got somethin' comin'."
Jack removed his hand, and the man became simply giddy again, "Hey would ya look at that, now, ain't that somethin'?" Jack, sat back down, and the man pulled a knife, pointing it right at his face, Jack's head turned slightly, eye falling right at the tip of the blade. "Now, give me yer money... NOW!" Jack only glared at him through the blade, "Now come on now! What you deaf all of a sudden!"
"You sure you want to do this?"
"Do I look confused!"
"Why don't you pull the pistol?" Jack beckoned. In the direction he was facing, and the way the man leaned his pistol was against the bar.
"I don't need iron for you. - Empty your pockets before I make mincemeat a yer face!"
Jack shifted in his seat. With his foot, he struck his would-be attacker just below the kneecap, and with his left hand, he grabbed the arm holding the knife, at the wrist, and with the right, he beat the side of the man's face with the palmed side of his closed fist repeatedly. When the man grabbed for his gun, awkwardly, and with his left hand. Pleasance drew his own knife, stabbing him between his neck and clavicle, shifting their combined weight forward, as well; to throw him off balance. When it seemed obvious the man wasn't ready to go down, Jack struck him two more times with the blade, once in the right side of the chest, and once in the center. The man gasped for air, which didn't come, falling into the stools behind him, pushing them apart, as the weight of his body sagged between them. Eventually they gave way, and he struck the floor, alongside one of the stools. He was unable to use either of his weapons, but he was clearly alive for a minute or two. It sounded like he was drowning.
The Bartender looked at Jack, "What kinda' teacher are you?"
"You sure taught him a lesson..." came an anonymous voice.
"I was just thirsty." Jack said quietly, looking at the knife. He whipped a handkerchief out to clean off the man's blood, before putting the knife away.
He looked around the bar and saw that everyone was watching him, but they didn't appear to be otherwise bothered. So he left. Unbeknownst to him, three men followed. He got past the steps before sensing them there, at the top, where they fanned out, in a line, shoulder to shoulder, half an arms length.
The man in the middle, grizzled and bearded, spoke. "Gus weren't nobody. He just some kid, and you slaughtered him like a steer."
Jack didn't turn his body halfway toward them, "He was enough of somebody to get what he had comin'."
"He's dead now."
"That's right." Jack said, "That's his fault, you want to make your own?"
"Was that a threat?" The man sizzled.
"You got a problem, you take it up with the law."
"Ain't no law 'round here, city man. We handle our business."
Jack turned back away. "You want to handle it here?" The thought jaded him.
"Gus was drunk, and stupid. Nobody here wanna die for him. But he had family. You come through here again, city man, you watch your back. We ain't all drunk and stupid - get me?"
"Yeah..." Pleasance said, "I do."
Once arrived in West Elizabeth, he began his intended task. Passing out fliers to locals, denouncing corrupt business practices. Particularly the mistreatment of workers, both local and foreign. He felt a little like a preacher. Not something he was comfortable with, but it was for a greater cause. Most would spit, spite, or split, very few of the whites made an effort to understand the hardships of Chinese laborers, and ironically negroes seemed just as disinterested in their plight. Everyone was out for themselves - true Americans.
On the seventh day, outside the Blackwater saloon he met Dutch van der Linde's gang, stumbling out the front door.
"Excuse me gentleman." he approached Javier Escuella who gave him an irritated and disbelieved look.
"Sorry, gringo, no God for me today. Okay?"
"Wait a minute Javier," van der Linde interrupted. "You're no Bible thumper, are ya'?"
"No sir."
"Yeah, I've heard about you..." he turned to the entire gang, "This boy's on our side." he put a hand on Jack's shoulder, "Good for you - you keep stickin' up for those workers."
Dutch was ready to carry on when Jack asked: "Care to take a flier."
Dutch wrapped an arm around him casually. "I got somethin' to tell you now..."
"I'm listening..." Jack said as the flier wilted.
"You'll get nowhere, with these... papers. People are too apathetic, you gotta' go right for the jugular" he pantomimed as he spoke, " - you know - like a lion..." Dutch was wobbly and drunk. He tried to make sense of his own words, but he certainly wasn't as charismatic as usual. "You understand the concept of Revolution?"
"I spent nearly half my life in Mexico." Jack answered.
Dutch appeared surprised and impressed, "Know how to use a gun?"
"Better than any man I know."
"Is that a fact?" Dutch came back, with a little bit of disbelief, it subsides slowly "I get the sense, that you and me are on the same page..." he waved one of the fliers around "this page." He shook Jack lightly, "You meet me here tomorra', I'll tell you a thing or two."
At dusk, an hour after they had left, Jack packed his remaining fliers into a satchel, and rose to sling them over his shoulder. What he saw in that instant was the barrel of a rifle, a beautiful young blond woman at the other end of it, with - as yet - unrequited murder in her eyes - she was clearly capable, her voice came horse and irritating; "You killed my brother, you son of a bitch!"
As he held up his hands defensively, he looked out into the streets, and saw not a soul. "Listen miss - I"
Smoke burst from the rifle, and he felt the hard ball pierce his chest, he felt his back, and the back of his head, hit the hard ground once beneath him. Then what he felt; was nothing.
He awoke in a bland, empty, white hospital room, he saw no nurses and it appeared empty, until he came to his right side, where he was greeted by a stubbled outlaw. "How you feelin'?" The man asked.
"Like a pretty lady just shot me."
"You look like a pretty smart guy. Think you'd know better than to piss off a pretty lady."
"I shot her b - ... I think she said it was her brother. - Or I stabbed him... in a bar. Could've been anybody I guess."
"Don't look like the type." the man said with a bit of a laugh.
Jack scraped his tongue across the roof of his mouth; dry as snakeskin. "Looks can be deceiving." he responded.
"I guess so." his guest said. He then grabbed at the top of his hat, titling it up a bit.
A feeling of skeptical wonder washed over Jack, as it occured to him how oblivious he was, "Who are you?"
"My name is John Marston. Dutch asked me to take care of you."
"Who?"
"Dutch, the guy you met outside the Saloon the other day."
"Right - Revolution." he said nodding.
"I heard more about you since you been shot. People been talkin'."
"Anything good?"
"Nothin' too particular. I heard some call you 'Pleasant Jack...'"
The look on Jack's face was coarse, "I don't know who told you that friend, but I fuckin' hate that name."
John only smiled, "That's not so bad..."
Jack was calm again quickly, "Hear anything else?"
"That you're pretty good with a gun. Except at the mercy of a lady... He - Dutch - he wants you to ride with us. It's an honor to accept you into our company."
"Why'd they send you?"
He lifted his head up one side and his eyes pointed toward the sky like there was something up there, "I was the only one who was sober." They were both amused, "So what is your name anyway?"
Jack tried as best he could to sit up "Oooh." He moaned in pain, "It's Jack, Pleasance."
"Really? I have a son name Jack - well John Jr. really, I call'm Jack..."
"Family man?"
John took his hat off "That reminds me; you got someplace you can stay?" he twirled the brim between his fingers.
"Ough... Hospital looks just fine from here."
He laughed "I'm sure it does. Tell you what. When you start feelin' better you come stay at my place, with my family. It's not a big place, but I'm sure Abigail and the Children would very much like to meet you, now that you're a member of our extended family."
"Just like that?"
He put his hat back on. "Don't know if you were expectin' somethin' different - that's just the way we do things. And all expenses are taken care of, by the way."
"You don't even know me."
"You're a good man, who needs help, Jack Pleasance." He stood, "I think I know enough... You take care now."
Jack looked off into his lonely room as John left, as if he wasn't quite so sure.