CHAPTER 15

Wyatt Reeves knew he wasn't a good man.

On his best day, he figured he was a righteous man. He was definitely on the good guys' side, but he was no Blaziken Man. He came from a long line of lawmen, men who had always stood in the light, the shield of the people they were sworn to protect. Wyatt had fallen out of that light, and he knew the blame for that fell squarely on his shoulders alone. He was doing everything he could to be worthy of his family name again. He wasn't a good man, but by Arceus, he was trying.

He cracked the butt of his revolver across the jaw of the bound Kuromori assassin and knocked the chair he was tied to off balance. When the ninja fell to the ground, he delivered a sharp kick to the Kuromori's abdomen with the tip of his steel-toed boot. "Tell me what you know, you son of a bitch."

He was willing to admit he could probably be trying a little harder.

Geronimo crouched silently in the shadows nearby, the Nuzleaf's eyes tracking each subtle movement of the bound Kuromori assassin. Everything about his partner was silent. Wyatt didn't think he'd ever heard Geronimo make so much as a peep. Other Nuzleaf did, from what he'd heard, but Geronimo preferred to keep his peace. What Wyatt did know was that if the Kuromori bastard so much as twitched the wrong way, Geronimo would cover him with a barrage of incendiary seeds.

The Kuromori glared up at Wyatt, as silent as Geronimo. Wyatt sank down to a crouch beside the assassin. "All right, partner. I've tried to be civilized with you. I know Saito is moving pieces 'round the board, and I'm getting real damn tired of being two steps behind, so tell me what your marching orders are before I start losing my temper."

The ninja spat. "I know nothing."

"Well that's too damn bad." Wyatt flicked open his revolver and slid six bullets into the chamber. "Last chance to try and think of something." When the Kuromori turned his head away, Wyatt shrugged. "Can't say I didn't warn you, partner." He fired five bullets into the floor around the assassin's body, before firing the sixth at the ninja's torso. The casing broke apart the instant the bullet left the gun's muzzle, sending the small needle into the man's chest. The tiny electrical device in the needle sent out a small shock that caught on the web of Galvantula threads the first five bullets had created around his body. The assassin convulsed as hundreds of volts of electricity coursed through his body.

Wyatt sighed as the man's eyes rolled back in his head. As he walked off the abandoned factory floor, Geronimo fell into step beside him. The Nuzleaf glanced up at his partner, and Wyatt shrugged. "I know it was overkill, but he was starting to piss me off." He tugged at his hat brim and slotted another bullet into his gun. He raised the revolver to the sky and fired. The bullet made a loud shrieking noise as it arced skywards, and Wyatt heard distant police sirens that would soon be heading to his location to pick up the (hopefully) unconscious Kuromori.

Geronimo jumped up into the bed of Wyatt's pickup truck, perching on the large toolbox full of locks, keys, drills and cylinders. Wyatt folded up the tarp that had covered the Kuromori on their drive out here and stuck it under his smaller toolbox before swinging into the driver's seat. The Reeves Locksmith truck started with a groan, and Wyatt guided it out of the abandoned industrial park and back towards the heart of Ridgewood.

Wyatt took off his stetson hat and put it on the passenger seat. The Gunslinger persona had come about after a series of unfortunate circumstances and a rather abrupt fall from grace. Like every Reeves man going back as long as anyone cared to remember, Wyatt had been a lawman. The titles had changed over the years, from sheriff to detective to investigator to policeman, but there was a storied tradition of his ancestors protecting and serving their community. Wyatt had been a sergeant in the Ninth Precinct of the CCPD, and had the dubious honor of being the only Reeves man to abuse his position of power.

Wyatt Reeves had been a dirty cop.

It had started small enough, turning a blind eye to drug runners in exchange for a small cut of the profits and the like. It had just been enough to cover his expenses. But then the drug runners kicked him higher up their chain of command, eventually all the way to Eva Muller, even before she became known as Gluttony. The takes had gotten bigger, but the things Muller was asking him to do became harder for his conscience to stomach. When Marcus Braun took control of the underworld and it was all the police could do to keep the city from devolving into total anarchy, Wyatt saw the way the wind was turning (and his comrades in arms dropping left and right) and cashed in his chips with Gluttony to became her obedient little Lilipup. Eventually, the CCPD wrestled back a measure of control, right about the time Wyatt was starting to overplay his hand.

He was caught, went to court, and was only spared a prison sentence thanks to a few connections on the force. He sank into an alcoholic haze for several months, until some of Muller's thugs came knocking at his door again. When he refused to answer to Muller's beck and call, the situation escalated, and Wyatt had been forced to use the pistol that he had (illegally) taken with him when he had been dishonorably discharged from the police.

The cops responded to a neighbor's panicked call, but the two thugs had rap sheets the length of Wyatt's arm, and the lead detective on the case had been a friend, so his gun had been confiscated and the whole thing was quietly swept under the rug. But the confrontation had changed something in Wyatt, and he was no longer content to drink himself into a stupor. He had failed in his charge to protect Clarus City, and it was time he made up for it.

He privately contacted the captain of the Sixth and arranged for special dispensation to carry his grandfather's old revolver. The captain had been hesitant at first, but Wyatt had always been the best shot on the force, and precautions were set that if Wyatt's work as a vigilante ever crossed the line, the police would be well within their rights to take him down.

Or at least, that was the story the captain was telling. The real story was that Wyatt happened to know a few times the captain had been on Eva Muller's payroll too, and he had threatened to go public unless the captain stayed out of his way and let Wyatt serve his penance. As far as Wyatt was concerned, sometimes it was more important to be righteous than to be good.

Once that had been settled, Wyatt took up his maternal grandfather's trade as a locksmith to pay the bills. He'd always been fascinated by locks, the elegant artistry of all the delicate pieces fitting together. It was for the same reason that he loved his paternal grandfather's revolver, with its sliding latch and spinning cylinder, the way each bullet slotted perfectly into the chamber, the satisfying click of the firing hammer when he feathered the trigger.

The police radio he wasn't supposed to have crackled to life on the dashboard. "Police pursuit on Twelfth towards Belfry. Subjects are in three black sedans and one SUV. Likely Kuromori, responding officers are urged to use caution."

Wyatt quickly calculated the distance in his head before reaching behind him and sliding open the rear window of the cab. "Hold on tight, Geronimo!" He floored the accelerator and wrenched the wheel of his truck around to take a side street. With his left hand he checked his bandolier, counting how many of each type of bullet he had left. Enough to stop a few more ninja assholes, probably. The old truck protested as Wyatt swung onto Belfry Street and double-parked on the wrong side of the road. He could only hope that no overzealous meter maid on the graveyard shift would brave the confusion and write him a ticket.

Wyatt settled his stetson on his head and rested his hand on the wooden butt of his revolver as he strode down the last hundred yards to the intersection of Belfry and Twelfth. The Gunslinger settled his stance as Geronimo bounded up a fire escape to perch atop the snarling stone Druddigon on Ridgewood Credit and Trust's façade. The distant police sirens were getting louder, and Wyatt could hear the squeal of tires coming down the street. He had figured the Kuromori would make for the Niji Kumo Temple, where the Johtonian monks were rumored to aid the assassin clan in exchange for generous contributions from Saito Kuromori.

But to get there, they'd have to go through the Gunslinger.

The black vehicles were coming into view now, and Wyatt counted at least four police cars in pursuit. He raised his gun, flicked the hammer back, and pulled the trigger.

The bullet skimmed across the ground and embedded itself in the pavement just in front of the first black sedan. A second later, as the car's fuel tank passed over it, the bullet exploded. The back of the car was flung into the air by the force of the blast, and the overturned vehicle skidded across the ground for several yards before coming to rest mere feet from where Wyatt stood.

The second car raced forward, only to have its windshield shattered by a barrage of seeds from Geronimo. The driver lost control, and Wyatt shot two more bullets into the car's tires, puncturing them and causing it to spin out and crash into a fire hydrant. The third car was accelerating now, trying to run the Gunslinger down before he could cause any more damage. Wyatt tutted and spun the cylinder of his revolver, shattering the windshield with two rapid fire shots to the same point of impact. With the glass out of the way, he fired his sixth bullet, one of his sleeping rounds, into the driver's neck and stepped out of the way as the car careened past him, clipped a light post, and finally collided with a stone stoop, cracking the masonry but stopping the car.

"Yee-haw!" the Gunslinger whooped. If he'd learned anything from those fancy uptown heroes, it was that you had to keep up the persona, no matter how hot the fight got.

The SUV was still barreling forward, and Wyatt was out of bullets. He had enough time to dive out of the way, but he steeled his nerve and held his ground. As the van hurtled towards a narrow cross street, something raced in front of it, and with a shriek of rending metal, the front of the SUV was cleaved in two. The engine sputtered and exploded, and the Cavalier's armor gleamed as they whirled their Rapidash around.

"Thought I heard you coming," the Gunslinger said.

"I AM NOT HERE FOR YOU," the Cavalier boomed. The police cars surrounded the mangled Kuromori vehicles, their guns drawn. Stunned and rattled Kuromori assassins were stumbling out of the less damaged cars, but the Cavalier paid them no heed. The cerulean tassel of the Cavalier's Honedge was wrapped around their unarmored right wrist and forearm, and they used that to point at a nearby rooftop. "I HAVE BEEN CHASING HER." A shape detached from the shadows of a nearby rooftop, melting from the gloom and disappearing into the next patch of darkness.

"Well hell," the Gunslinger drawled, slotting bullets into his revolver. "Vixen. We just walked into an ambush, didn't we?"

"IT WOULD SEEM WE'VE BEEN OUTFOXED."

"Please never make a pun again."

A broad-shouldered man stepped out from the open doors of the Kuromori van. He slowly raised his hands over his head as the police officers went for their guns. "Easy now," the man said with smirk. "Don't go getting excited. Gunshots make my cousin jumpy."

The Gunslinger gritted his teeth as his mind worked furiously. If Tarou Kuromori were here along with the Vixen, then the ninjas had banked hard on this operation. Saito Kuromori's son lacked his father's subtle mind and his uncle's conniving acumen, but what he lacked in brains he more than made up for in brawn. All Kuromori operatives were skilled in hand to hand combat, but most favored a limber acrobatic style that allowed them to stay in motion and keep their foes wrong-footed. Tarou, on the other hand, was a brawler, plain and simple.

"I'll focus on him," Wyatt murmured to the Cavalier. "You keep your eye on the Vixen." He saw the knight's helmet rise and fall slightly, though the Cavalier's eyes never left the rooftops.

"I'll admit, you took us by surprise," Tarou went on. His eyes flicked up Twelfth, but Wyatt didn't waste time tracking his gaze. Tarou wasn't famous for his poker face. He was stalling, waiting for reinforcements. Wyatt had stopped the convoy earlier than the Kuromori had hoped, and that meant that the jaws of the trap weren't completely closed yet.

He could use that.

Wyatt slowly reached up and tugged the brim of his stetson down over his eyes, drumming his fingers along the rim in a specific pattern. He saw Geronimo stiffen atop his perch, and the Nuzleaf crept back into the shadows. No one had paid the Gunslinger's silent partner any mind, and that gave them a chance to get out ahead of this. "It's a shame you all had to get involved," Tarou was saying. "Our only target was the Cavalier. But since you're here…" He flicked his wrist, and a slender throwing knife appeared from his sleeve. Tarou turned on his heel and hurled the knife through the eye of the nearest officer. The other surviving Kuromori had managed to gather their wits, and in the brief spell of confusion, they drew their weapons and fell on the assembled police officers.

Gunshots cracked and knives flashed as the ninjas struck. Wyatt whirled around, emptying his cylinder of the six sleeping bullets he had loaded. Six Kuromori dropped. The bullet casings were designed to break apart when leaving the muzzle, propelling the darts inside forward. The darts were laced with a fast-acting neurotoxin of refined Ariados venom that paralyzed the victim and rendered them catatonic. Unlike some of his other bullets, these weren't very lethal, but they did sting quite a bit.

Tarou and his Machamp fought side by side, lashing out at the remaining officers. The Cavalier swung their Rapidash around, battering away a leaping Sableye with their shield and lashing out at a Weavile with their Honedge. The Gunslinger reloaded and fired five bullets into the darkness behind the melee, taking cover behind one of the wrecked vehicles as he waited. A moment later, several shapes passed under the distant streetlights. Wyatt inhaled, held his breath, and then fired.

The electric web his bullets had woven flared briefly as several of the Kuromori reinforcements dropped, their bodies convulsing. Several more fell to their knees, but a few had managed to make it through. Before they reached the rest of their comrades, a barrage of seeds struck down the first two and the Mienshao racing along with them, and a pulsing indigo orb collided with a leaping Toxicroak. By the time Geronimo had landed, Wyatt had reloaded his gun with sleeping darts to pick off any other stragglers.

The Cavalier had rallied the surviving police. The sergeant who had led them had fallen in the first counterattack, and no one was bold enough to try and countermand the Cavalier's booming authority. Their Rapidash darted up and down the street, and their Honedge hummed as they lashed out. The Cavalier's armor and shield were pitted with marks from the Kuromori's bullets, but they gave no quarter. More of the assassins jumped from the rooftop, and Wyatt emptied his gun before they could interfere. As he hastened to reload, another figure jumped out over the street. Unlike the black cloth hoods most of the Kuromori wore, this one wore a carved wooden mask made to look like a snarling canine.

"Look out!" Wyatt shouted as the Vixen leapt towards the Cavalier. The Cavalier's Honedge tightened its grip on their forearm and whipped the knight's arm around in time to parry the Vixen's daggers. The Vixen slid across the pavement, and a burst of light shot from her belt. Her Ninetales appeared in a flash and pounced at the Cavalier's Rapidash. Though the warhorse was well-trained, it shied away from the fox even as Tarou closed in. The muzzle of his gun flashed, the bullets pinging off the Cavalier's shield.

The remaining Kuromori had closed ranks on the Ridgewood police, cutting them off from the Cavalier. Wyatt saw the knight turn the dark eye slits of their helmet to regard him, and the armored hero gave a brusque nod. They kicked their Rapidash into a trot, curving away from Tarou as the Vixen sprinted after them. Several of the other Kuromori took off after her. Tarou reloaded and took aim, but Wyatt shot the gun from his hand. The mangled piece of metal fell to the ground, and Tarou clutched at his fingers. "What the…?"

The Gunslinger smirked. "Yippie-ki-yay, bitch."

Tarou snarled in impotent rage and fumbled for his second sidearm. The heir apparent of the Kuromori clan fired off a shot as soon as he had freed the gun from the holster. Wyatt heard the bullet ping off a railing some ways down the street. He clicked his tongue and shot Tarou's hand again. "Didn't anyone ever tell you shooting from the hip only works in the pictures?" Wyatt spun his gun around his index finger and fired off three shots from the hip, a Galvantula thread bullet to each of Tarou's shoulders and the trigger bullet to the center of his chest. The Gunslinger emptied the spent casings and slotted six more bullets into his revolver as the electric current coursed through Tarou's body. "You best be gettin' on home, boy," Wyatt drawled. "Your father's going to want to know just how badly you fucked this up."

"You'll pay for this," Tarou snarled through clenched teeth.

Wyatt scoffed and shot the ground at Tarou's feet. A small explosion cracked the pavement, making Tarou flinch back. "Well, ain't I just quaking in my boots," Wyatt replied.

"Kill him!" Tarou barked, and tossed a smoke bomb at his feet.

The remaining Kuromori broke off from their fight with the surviving police officers and raced towards Wyatt. He settled his stance and fired, but the Kuromori and their pokemon were wise to his game now. They zigzagged across the remaining distance, making themselves a harder target. His gun clicked as it cycled back to an empty chamber, and Wyatt swore. He was useless in hand to hand combat, and there was no time to reload.

It was a damn stupid way to die.

A spray of seeds flashed across the street in front of Wyatt, and then Geronimo was in front of him. The Nuzleaf slid across the pavement and pivoted, leaping towards the Kuromori. A white glow radiated off his body, and a smell like burning chestnuts filled the air. "Geronimo, no!" Wyatt screamed.

There was a flash, a concussive bang, and a rush of air. The few Kuromori still on their feet reeled in the aftermath of the explosion, and Geronimo crashed to the ground, his small body smoldering. Before the Kuromori could gather their wits, the thunder of hooves echoed up and down the street. The Cavalier barreled by, their Honedge glowing with spectral light and their armor stained with blood. The ghostly blade rose and fell in the flat light of the streetlights, and the Kuromori dropped. The Cavalier reined in their Rapidash, and the warhorse's sides heaved with exertion. The Honedge steamed as it drank in the blood along its blade.

Wyatt ran to Geronimo and cupped the grass type's head beneath his hand. The Nuzleaf's eyelids fluttered weakly, and Wyatt let out a relieved sigh. "I thought we agreed we weren't gonna to use that technique anymore, partner." Geronimo shrugged and managed to smirk. "Yeah, yeah," Wyatt said. "You saved my ass again. You can gloat about it later. You going to be okay?" Geronimo nodded, and sank back into unconsciousness. Wyatt returned him to his pokeball, turned to the surviving police officers, and gestured up and down the street. "Can y'all handle this?"

One of the officers nodded. "We've radioed for backup already." The officer carefully checked a knife wound on his arm. "Gunslinger… thanks for the help. If you hadn't been here, things could have been a lot worse."

Wyatt privately thought that if he was more like one of those uptown heroes and not just some righteous vigilante, things could have gone a lot better. There would certainly be fewer bodies.

Still, he nodded to the officer and walked over to the Cavalier. They hadn't dismounted, and Wyatt wondered if their legs got sore sitting like that all night. The Cavalier regarded him silently for a moment before disentangling their hand from the Honedge's tassel. "I THOUGHT IT BEST TO DRAW SOME OF THEM OFF."

"It gave us some room to breathe," Wyatt replied. "But if you hadn't come back when you did, Geronimo and I…"

"WOULD BE DEAD, YES."

"Right. Well. Thanks for coming back, partner."

"WE ARE NOT PARTNERS. MY PURSUERS WERE DEALT WITH," the Cavalier said. "I HAD UNFINISHED BUSINESS WITH THE REST OF THEM." Wyatt looked at the blood staining the Rapidash's coat and the Cavalier's greaves. The fire type didn't seem injured. The Cavalier let the silence hang in the air for a moment. "THEY ARE CRIMINALS AND KILLERS. NO ONE WILL MOURN THEM." They paused again. "THE VIXEN GOT AWAY. HER KNIVES WERE POISONED. WITHOUT ARMOR TO STOP HER BLOWS, YOU ALL WOULD HAVE PERISHED."

"Tarou escaped too." Wyatt holstered his gun and sighed. "They're getting bolder. Tarou said he laid the ambush for you. You worried about that?"

"I HAVE NO REASON TO FEAR VERMIN LIKE THE KUROMORI. IF THEY FOCUS ON ME, THEY CANNOT PREY ON THE WEAK."

"Well, I admire your confidence, par—I mean, Cavalier. But they're going to be gunning for us hard now. We need to be ready for them."

"SO LONG AS THEY RISE, I SHALL BEAT THEM BACK." Easy for the Cavalier to say, Wyatt thought. With a suit of armor like that and a warhorse to parade around on, of course the Cavalier was brash. But he was just a crack shot with an antique gun and a partner who always had his back. The Cavalier saw his glance down at Geronimo's pokeball. "SEE TO YOUR PARTNER. I WILL CARRY ON ALONE TONIGHT."

Wyatt nodded and started to walk away. "GUNSLINGER," the Cavalier boomed again. Wyatt turned. "WHEN THEY COME AGAIN, I SHALL BE READY. I HAVE FAITH THAT YOU WILL TOO." They thumped their right fist over their heart in salute. Wyatt reached up and tipped his stetson before limping back to where he had parked.

Sometimes, the path of the righteous man could be a real pain in the ass.