Dark Reflection

Chapter 38

"Counterattack"

by Lilyjack

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Matt crouched, every muscle tensed as he watched. And waited. He'd been concealed amid a rickety stack of wooden crates behind the Dodge House for quite some time. He remained still and silent while around him in Dodge City myriad noises accompanied his vigil—the clop of horse hooves down Front Street, rowdy voices and raucous music from the Long Branch across the street, a family of coyotes howling and yipping eerily in the distance. He strained his ears and his good eye for any sound or sight that could possibly be Blackthorne's men, making good their threat to collect money from Jim Dobie. It was a warm night, and the dark, heavy overcoat he wore to help disguise his appearance made him uncomfortable and sticky. As sweat trickled down the back of his neck, Dillon felt a little light-headed. He mutely shifted his weight so he could breathe easier, his side aching with each movement.

Dillon flinched when a dog barked nearby. Frowning at his own jitteriness, he swiped the bandanna tied around his neck over his perspiring face. Patience, he reminded himself.

He was certain they'd come, but just what time or which entrance they'd use was yet to be seen. Deke was covering the main door, sitting in the deepest shadows on the front porch of the Dodge House, casually rolling a cigarette with his hat pulled over his eyes, while Chester laid low in the alley across the street with a clear view of nearly the entire building.

Earlier that day, Doc had checked in with Dobie in addition to desk clerk Howie, relaying to Matt that they'd both been worked over pretty badly. Doc said Mr. Dobie was in bed with a concussion, but Howie remained vigilant at his post at the front desk as always, although nervous as a cat. Matt seethed inside at the havoc this band of thugs was wreaking in Dodge, and he was going to do his damnedest to see it stopped.

A second barking dog raised Matt's hackles, but this time it was much nearer. The barking soon turned to growling, low and menacing, and Matt felt his skin prickle in anticipation. Someone was close by. He placed a hand on his holster, slowly craning his neck to look in every direction. He heard them before he saw them, low voices engaged in whispered conversation. Then he spotted the two men cautiously approaching the rear entrance, signaling each other silently. He watched them rattling the locked door and softly cursing. Finally, the tinkling of breaking glass echoed through the alleyway.

Matt realized it was now or never. He pulled the bandanna in place over his face. Ignoring the pain in his injured leg, he rose from his hiding place and moved with lightning speed. He drew his gun, levelling it at the two intruders. "Hold it right there," he commanded.

Both men froze.

Voice muffled by the cloth hiding his appearance, Matt ordered, "Put your hands up where I can see 'em."

Slowly, they complied. "Who the hell are you, mister?" the taller of the two demanded. "Do you know who we are?"

"Yeah, I know exactly who you are. Now turn around," Matt directed. "Don't drop those hands."

The men rotated towards him, and even in the dark alleyway, Matt recognized them both. Their faces were seared into his memory from his first day back in Dodge, the day the two of them had helped beat Matt to a pulp, nearly killing him.

The shorter man taunted Matt, "Judas, that feller appears t' be a desperado to me. You think he was plannin' on robbin' this here hotel? Maybe he's afraid we was hornin' in on his territory, ya' think?" The man menacingly advanced a pace further.

"Shut up and don't move another step." Matt gritted his teeth, remembering these two vicious men, throwing punches, kicking him when he was down, brutally beating him until he fell unconscious. Matt instructed, "Now take your guns and throw 'em down, both of you."

"Alright, alright…Johnny, you hear that? The man wants us to put down our weapons," the taller one called Judas retorted mockingly. "Don't get riled, mister. Just give us a…"

Judas' hand darted for his gun, but Matt's draw was faster. While Matt was forced to take the time to aim carefully, Judas' shot went wild in the dark. Matt pulled his trigger. His aim was true, and Judas crumpled to the ground, a bullet hole in his chest. Taking advantage of the diversion, Johnny swiftly dove for the shadows and ran.

Matt felt rather than saw a presence behind him. He heard a gun hammer cock, the muzzle pointed directly at his head.

An eerily familiar voice commanded, "Don't move, mister. Your brains'll be splattered all over creation."

Matt raised his hands. He sucked in a breath when he felt a slicing pain in his left arm. He felt a wet trickling from the crease wound.

"Drop that pistol." The voice irately accused, "You shot Judas, you son-of-a bitch. Sheriff ain't gonna like that."

Matt carefully dropped his weapon to the ground, wondering where the hell Deke and Chester were. They must've heard shots fired.

"Mister, you best turn around, nice and slow."

This man's familiar voice was making the hair on the back of Matt's neck stand on end. Matt slowly pivoted, his hands still lifted in the air, his injured arm pulsing with his racing heartbeat, his shirt feeling sticky and wet. In the moonlight, Matt instantly recognized the man's ugly, bearded face with a sickening feeling. It was Linwood Chaney, the man he'd battled at the Long Branch after breaking into Kitty's room. She had lain helpless in bed, drugged senseless, and this filthy bastard had been calmly dressing, callously dropping coins on Kitty's dresser. Goddam son-of-a-bitch.

Matt was swallowed by a fit of rage. He charged at Linwood Chaney like a bull. As Matt's body slammed into Chaney's, the outlaw's gun dropped to the ground. Matt relentlessly pounded the man over and over until he felt the satisfying sensation of bone crunching beneath his fists. Blood dripped from Chaney's nose, splattering Matt's knuckles.

Chaney's hand splayed blindly on the ground, desperately searching for his gun until his fingers finally closed around cold steel. Matt froze, breathing shallowly when he felt a pistol pointed between his eyes. Matt slowly backed off. Chaney rose to his full gangly height, the gun shaking in his dirty hands. The man's eyes narrowed hatefully with sudden recognition. He spat blood on the ground and accused, "I know you, mister."

Too late Matt realized his bandanna had fallen from his face. His hat lay on the ground, lost in the violent struggle.

Chaney repeated with an astonished expression, "I sure do know you, stranger." He snickered, "You're the one what took offense I poked your lady friend, ain't ya'?"

Matt narrowed his steely gaze at the man, struggled for breath. "I know you, too, Chaney," he rasped.

"Jack? Jack Mathias, ain't it?" Chaney swiped a dirty sleeve over his bloody face and squinted at Matt in the moonlight. "Yeah, it was you tried t' kill me when I bedded that Russell whore."

Matt flexed his fingers, rising up to his full height. He heard a strange buzzing in his ears.

"But you're supposed to be dead. Least that's what the Doc said anyways. Wait'll Sheriff hears this…"

Matt roared with fury, punching a fist with whirlwind fast precision into the man's eye. Chaney went down hard again, the gun dropping once more into the dust. Matt leaped on him, his right fist hammering Chaney's jaw, but Chaney countered with an uppercut to Matt's chin and a sickening blow to Matt's stomach. Groaning in pain, Matt dropped to his knees.

Chaney slipped a knife from his belt, the blade shining softly in the moonlight. He lurched forward, jabbing the deadly weapon at Matt's chest. But Matt managed to seize Chaney's wrist, gritting his teeth with the effort. The knife fell from Chaney's grip, and they both grabbed for it. Matt was the first to wrap his hand around the hilt. Chaney clutched at Matt's fingers, groaning as he attempted to pry them loose. Nose to nose, Matt hissed, "You never should've hurt her, you bastard." With an infuriated cry, Matt jerked free of Chaney's grasp, plunging the knife into Linwood Chaney's heart. Chaney collapsed on top of Matt, a final breath hissing from his lungs. Matt, his head swimming, struggled to push the dead man off him, but he finally gave up and fell back, his vision fading to black.

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"Mister Dillon?"

Matt came to with a start. Someone was shaking his shoulder.

"Mister Dillon? You okay? You gotta wake up. We gotta get outta here purdy quick."

Matt opened his eyes. Chester stood over him, a shotgun in his hand.

"Deke, come help. Let's see if we kin git 'im up. He's awful heavy. Mister Dillon, put yer arms around our necks."

Deke whispered, "Ready, Chester? One…two…THREE."

Matt stumbled to his feet. He shook his senseless head, shallowly breathing, "Alright, let's go."

Chester reassured him, "We gotcha, Mister Dillon. We're almost to the tunnel. I kin already see Charlie with the light. Deke, do you hear voices? I think somebody's found Johnny layin' back there."

Deke asked, "Did you kill 'im, Chester?"

"No, I buffaloed 'im with the butt of my shotgun. He'll be asleep fer awhile, I guarantee."

Matt's head was slowly clearing. He stood taller but leaned heavily on the smaller men. He gruffly offered, "I shot one at the back door."

"We saw 'im, Matt. He was dead." Deke instructed, "Quick, shut the door. Thanks, Charlie."

"You killed Chaney, too, Mister Dillon," Chester added with grim relish. "That was one feller who sure enough needed killin'."

Matt slowed his urgent pace now that they were safely in the tunnel. He steadied himself. "Did anyone see either of you?" he questioned worriedly.

"Nossir," they both responded as they all headed down the tunnel, guided by Charlie Fitz's lantern.

Chester replied in return, "Did anybody see you, Mister Dillon?"

Matt replied blackly, "Nobody that's gonna talk. Come on, men, Kitty'll be worried about us."

tbc

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