Chapter 1: Devil Incarnate

A/N: I know. I know. Consider this an experiment. Now let me address a few things, the first being that this is the first time I've written that isn't modern or recent as I've chosen to set it in 1982. The events of No Country for Old Men take place in 1980. I don't know how to describe this fic other than it's a neo-Western drama with violence interlaced with porn. Which is crazy because I absolutely detest Westerns but Anton Chigurh was too good of a villain not to write about, bowl-cut aside. That being said, I know I'll be expecting some pretty interesting comments and reviews on the story. Enjoy!

A hundred and twelve degrees.

That's the record high temperature the weather anchor had reported on consecutively for days on end. The sweltering weather was described as a silent killer and you prayed for those who had to work and be out in such heat.

The heatwave in Texas was something to be abhorred and admired all the same. It was always plenty hot even at night and it had taken you some time to get used to it. For somebody to have to build up an immunity to manage soaring temperature was something only the lord himself could explain. And today was no different - it was hotter than fish grease outside and it was only after noon.

The diner smelled of freshly brewed coffee, cigarettes, and pancakes. The day had started slow but picked up around lunchtime as it always did.

Everyday promises to bring something new to the table, even in the small farming town of Frisco, Texas. It seemed to be just another normal day and that's what ultimately made you reflect.

From your point of view, your story didn't begin until you turned ten. Your father had died in a work accident early on in your life when you were around three and you unfortunately have no memory of him. For a period of time, you were raised solely by your mother and everything seemed all right. Your mother did her absolute best and she was known to be a kind, loving woman. One of your fondest memories of her was when she used to sit on the porch and brush your curly tresses into a neat braid before kissing your forehead and sending you off to play.

Though in retrospect, things weren't as fine as you assumed them to be back then. According to your grandmother, she had always been a frail sickly woman who'd barely even survived your birth and never quite recovered from it.

During her final few years, your mother ended up falling in love and marrying a railroad worker named Roy. Truth be told, from the first time you met him, you'd known that Roy was not a good man. He often drank heavily and was abusive to your mother in several ways. You couldn't count how many times you'd awaken in the night to hear his drunken screaming along with crashing sounds thereafter. Throughout all of it, your mother never spoke of the abuse nor did she show how it affected her. Even with fresh bruises marring her brown face, she still smiled warmly at you.

When the cancer finally took her, you were left lost, confused and stuck under a roof with her husband for a short while. You weren't aware of the very precarious threat he posed to you but it manifested itself in many ways. Things like standing in your doorway at night with a bottle in hand or prolonged unwanted touching while he mentioned how much you looked like your mother. It wasn't long before your grandmother eventually caught wind of the situation and was quick to take you out from under Roy and bring you back to Texas.

It had been twelve years since you moved to Frisco and while not everyday was a walk in green pastures but you were grateful for the life you've lived thus far. Most of your family is from Arkansas. Your grandmother had moved to Texas some twenty years ago with hopes of pursuing a better life.

Mr. Johnny owned the diner where you work. He's been good friends with the family for years, particularly with your grandmother since they were young. He was happy to give you a job when it came time for you to go looking. Although you think it's because he's always been sweet on your grandmother and just wanted to do her a favor.

You've built up a routine of waiting tables and it now comes as natural to you as breathing despite it being your first and only job.

Being a waitress at a diner wasn't all it was cracked up to be but you make it work. Along with being a morning person, it also helps that you're quick on your feet. Most of it was repetition; smile, greet, serve, and repeat. You can't help that you resemble a ball of energy bouncing around the restaurant. All the energy combined with a single-minded concentration was what gave you a solid work ethic. As a result, you don't have time to dwell on the negatives. You're always hopeful for a chance to meet new people. Typically, when business is slow, you tend to find yourself watching the door hoping to see a new face ; it rarely happens but when it does it brings you immense satisfaction. You love what you do.

Of course, there are some visitors and townsfolk that come in and see that you're their waiter and immediately feel threatened by your presence. The reasoning didn't have to be explained either. Not that you'd ever let it bother you. In some way, shape, or fashion, you always try to see the good in people.

If there's one thing you've learned it's that a genuine smile can go a long way. Simply smiling and laughing tends to make folks feel good in any situation. Your job allows you to send people on their way with full bellies and a smile. For that reason alone, you attracted people like bees to honey.

Most of the customers that came in were middle aged folk who wanted a freshly cooked meal or just needed to get out of the house. Older folks loved engaging you in conversation and they were always eager to talk about anything. How their age was bothering them, their grandchildren, the state of the world, the list went on and on - you didn't even mind the ones that overshared.

She made quite the name and reputation for herself even in a community full of southern white folks. The majority of those familiar with your grandmother are fully aware of her contributions within the community.

She spends her time sewing beautiful dresses and clothing for members of the community. She was all too happy to give you her old sewing machine when you showed the slightest interest in it. She often complained that her hands weren't what they used to be but you didn't know if you agreed with that sentiment. You've seen much of her work over the years and it remained just as impressive and flawless from the first day she sewed the ensembles together.

Things are much too monochromatic and bland in Texas. For a while, you'd been proposing ideas about adding some colorful changes and much needed reservations to Mr. Johnny in an effort to attract more customers to the establishment. Nothing ever happens in the small town of Frisco. It was just rolling hills, mountains, and seemingly endless deserts. You were dying for some type of change. You long to see the more colorful side of the world and what it had to offer.

As four o'clock rolled around the diner activity had died down to a minimum. You were wiping the counter when a familiar face scrolled through the door and you watched as she sashayed right up to the front counter and sat in her usual spot. "So we're thinking about going to the local fair this weekend. You comin with?"

While your heart leaps with excitement as the prospect of attending the fair, you have to remind yourself of your work responsibility.

"Jolene. You know how busy I am these days."

Jolene was one of your closest friends. She was also one the first people you befriended when you moved to Frisco. "I might have to work." You explained as you slid a coke bottle across the corner without her having to ask.

Truth be told, you weren't all that eager to go out anymore. Honestly, it felt strange to accept but it was the god honest truth.

"Come on now, when's the last time you went out with us? We always have a good time, I don't want you to miss out this time around." She reasoned.

The statement made you subconsciously lean closer over the corner. "I suppose Diane can cover my shift if I ask."

The other woman swiftly perked up at the suggestion, shifting her chair towards the exit. "Bless your heart. You know one of these days, I'm gonna get you to stop working at this diner all the time. Come hell or high water."

"That'll be the day." You stated, gesturing with the pencil watching as she went out the doors once more.

Upon noticing one of the regulars walking in behind her and taking his seat a few chairs down, you immediately moved to offer him service. "Morning Fred. The usual?"

"You know me like a book." The older man said, his smile barely visible underneath his thick, graying beard.

"You better know it." You smiled. "Joe's in the back cooking up a fresh batch of pancakes as we speak."

He was entirely right, you'd begun to know these people like the back of her hand. Fred was a crop farmer that harvested grain and sugar cane, some of the leading crops in midwest Texas. From what you already know and heard, he and the other farmers surely had their work cut out for them. And they made good money too.

You wrote the memorized order down on the notepad and hung it on the overhead wheel.

"How's Betty doin? She like the dress you had made for her?" You curiously inquired.

He fanned his napkin out and rubbed his hands together before going to the metal utensils.

"Oh yeah! She's been mighty appreciative, grinning like a possum for days. Making dinner with dessert every night. I'm worried I might have to let out every pair of pants I own now." He chuckled.

"Sounds like a happy wife." Hearing that your mouth instantly curved into a smile. "I'm glad to hear it."

"You been alright? Work been treating you good?"

"As good as it can. If the Lord be willing, the crops will keep growing with no issue. This heat ain't nothin nice."

"Don't I know it." You answered.

The bell rang behind you signifying that his food was done and wasted no time sitting his plate of food right next to the cowboy hat. "Enjoy. Mr. Fred."

By the time eight-thirty makes its round, you find yourself anxiously following the clock more than ever. You've got about three hours until closing and you can't wait to hang your apron up.

The bell attached to the door chimes loudly as a man stepped through it. It's then you realize that you haven't seen him around before. He takes a seat at one of the corner booths further away from the other customers.

In spite of this, you put on a genuine smile and venture over to offer him service just as you would with any other customer. "Hello. What can I get for you today?"

You ignore how he appeared slightly startled by your sudden presence. Breaking the ice was always important not just with customers but everyday people as well.

"You from around these parks?"

The answer is a short and clipped, "No."

Although you could barely see the man's eyes from underneath the cowboy hat he hadn't felt the need to remove, you didn't dare press him about it. The man was clearly anxious, eyes shifty and all nervous like. Almost like he didn't want to draw much attention to himself.

Admittedly, you've never been all that good at reading non-verbal cues but you sure picked up on his mighty quick. You wonder why that is.

He ordered a breakfast of hash browns, eggs, and bacon along with a cup of black coffee. Joe had it all cooked and served within ten minutes.

Admittedly, it doesn't take long for him to finish it all off and leave a crisp twenty on the table before you could bring him the tab. Immediately afterwards, the stranger was up and out the door before you had the chance to bid him a farewell.

The night air proved that it was still hotter than all hell and there wasn't even a light breeze to accommodate it. Daytime or not, just two minutes spent outside would have a person feeling like they were melting.

While your shift was essentially over at ten o'clock, you didn't leave the diner until about ten thirty or eleven. You needed to make a quick store run before you headed home.

The store was only a short drive from the restaurant and somewhat along the normal route you took home. The cashier's eyes are glued to the small tv sitting on the counter, only looking up from it to ring up your don't even bother with small talk.

You left the store shortly afterwards, bag of potatoes in hand. You've nearly got your hand on the door handle when you hear a loud pop and the sound of a distressed voice crying out. A starling shred of unease surged through your frame. Your body felt weighed down with dread that seemed to be rising with each passing second. As you frantically surveyed around the surrounding area, nothing caught your direct line of vision. There was only some light emanating from the store and a tall street light a little distance away at the edge of the parking lot.

Despite you not actually seeing anything, there was clearly someone else in the vicinity. You weren't the only one around. On that you needed no convincing. But having acknowledged that, what would be your next course of action?

While it shouldn't come as a given that you're never supposed to venture towards the sound of gunfire, you can't ignore a cry like that. Being who and what you are, you're not supposed to go looking for danger of any kind. It never ended well for pale folks and you automatically knew what that meant for you.

Most of the surrounding landscape was untouched by anything but dirt, rocks, and weeds. The vast majority of land was submerged in darkness as dim street lights could only illuminate so much.

You slowly venture closer and closer until you can faintly spot the shape of a person laying in the grass, presumably trying to crawl to safety. Although you can't make out any physical features of either, you can easily discern the downed man's voice and how it sounds awfully familiar when you think about it.

For a brief moment, you wondered how you could offer help, you weren't a nurse nor did you possess any medical knowledge on how to handle any potential wound he may have. You had no way of handling the situation at hand.

A few feet away, a large figure came into view slowly approached, completely obscured by darkness. The figure blended in with the surrounding darkness so well you almost didn't see it approaching the downed man. You immediately hunkered into a section of tall grass to avoid being seen but your attention remained fixed on the scene without much prompting.

"Please…I have…I have the stash. Just don't…" His rattling voice pleaded.

What was going on? The man's words didn't provide you enough context to fill you in completely just enough to know that money was involved somehow. Just what had you walked into?

Presently, you were beginning to think that the same man that was crawling on the ground, obviously hurt not of his own volition. Going by the loud popping noise you'd heard, you thought he might've accidentally shot himself and you were prepared to come to the man's aid before the hulking figure skulked into view.

From your hiding place, you listen quietly and on edge as the man continues to plead with the other for his life. For an instant, you thought that the man was actually listening and taking the pleas into consideration until the chilling sound of a shotgun being cocked back refutes the assumption. Up close, you're not surprised to know that a shotgun blast sounds even more deafening when in close proximity.

The pained whimpers and pleas immediately stopped and it was deathly silent, the sound of the gunblast slowly faded out in the distance. The resulting silence and the glaring fact that the injured man was no longer moving told you everything. That man was dead.

As the final gunshot echoes in the distance, you back away from the corner, absolutely petrified at what you'd seen. It's an act of cruelty you've never witnessed before and the brutal sight causes your breath to catch in your throat. The sheer unexpectedness of it all made it that much more horrifying.

In your stunned retreat, your heel catches on a rock that has you stumbling before you ultimately hit the pavement hard. The bag falls out of your hand and the contents of your purse are soon scattered all over the ground. Throughout all of this, one thing was abundantly apparent. The sound of you falling, the rattling of the rocks and your surprised yelp would've been more than enough to alert the gunmen of your might've stilled and went completely silent but you're sure a person would want to check a noise of that caliber while in the vicinity while they were busy murdering another. This sends you directly into panic mode and you waste no time scurrying to pick everything up as best as you could.

You scrambled to regain your footing before taking off to the car as fast as you could. Thankfully, you didn't have the mind to lock the door and you leapt into the driver's seat and shoved the key into the ignition. Even with its minor engine trouble, you trusted your grandmother's old Chrysler to kick into gear to get you out of dodge.

Drama between men often turned deadly and dangerous while drama between women mostly cultivated in catty behavior and a longstanding dislike for one another. You've never even heard of anyone getting murdered in the town. You only ever saw men get shot down on the old westerns your grandmother favored so you already didn't have much to go on.

Frankly, you're at war with yourself over going to the sheriff and reporting what you witnessed. You don't even want to think of the potentially disastrous consequences such an action could carry. You grew up on the notion that you really shouldn't stick your nose in other people's business. Well, after you'd just seen…you'd already crossed that line entirely.

Gripping the steering wheel, your foot pressed on the gas harder, accelerating the drive home.

Ultimately, adrenaline and shot nerves was what got you home. You'd opened the car door before you even properly put the car in park. The gravel along the short driveway crunched beneath your shoes. Unsurprisingly the door wasn't locked when you turned the knob to go inside.

As you stepped inside, you easily spotted a familiar figure seated on the couch. "Grandma what you doing still up?"

"Waitin on your behind." She remarked

It should fill your heart with contentment that she would stay up well past her usual bedtime to wait for you. But after what you'd seen, it didn't have the desired effect of giving you comfort. At the moment, you're much too troubled to feel anything but unease.

"I got the sweet potatoes." You say, holding them up to show her.

"Good. Put 'em in the kitchen. I'm hoping to cook them tomorrow."

With a strained huff you flopped down on the sofa next to her.

The box television produced numerous colorful images but you couldn't pay it mind. Not when the jarring image of a man being shot down like a dog in the street was playing in your mind like a horror film.

"You alright baby?" Your grandmother questioned, concern coating her voice.

"Yes ma'am. Just tired is all. It's been a long day."

It wasn't a lie. Your body's natural equilibrium felt thrown off.

She kissed you softly on the forehead before she ambled off down the hall to her bedroom.

After a few moments spent gaining your bearings, you followed suit and trekked to your own room. You began your nightly routine on autopilot, not really having to pay attention to each task.

To say, you were shaken was an understatement. You can't quite ignore the out of body feeling that's clinging to you like a second skin. The scene haunted the depths of your subconscious like an awful spector that had taken a life of its own; eating at you like a parasite from the inside out.

Could it be that it was just a figment of your imagination after a long, hot day?

Worse still, you didn't get a good look at the assailant. What he looked like - what he was wearing. Nothing. You had nothing to go by except the image of a huge dark figure.

A part of you was still trying to rationalize everything. Terrible things happen. Men get hurt, men die. That's the way of the world and there wasn't anything anyone could do about it.

She also told you to stay prayed up in case a situation like the one you just witnessed takes place.

Even as you lay in bed for a time, sleep still didn't seem to want to find you.

The following day, your shift starts exactly at noon. The day continues on normally. Nothing interesting. You served a few of the regulars that came in at their usual times. Once again, this should've been what a typical day of work consisted of, instead you were uneasy practically the whole day.

Mr. Johnny asked if you could do him a solid and lock up the restaurant after closing. He would be leaving for a trip sometime in the evening and wouldn't be able to. You couldn't explain to him that you didn't feel comfortable locking up since it meant you'd be left by yourself for an indecipherable amount of time at night. It's the fact that he entrusted you to do this simple task and you didn't want to disappoint him. And it didn't certainly help that you had the hardest time telling people no. People say you're too nice for your own good but you've never heard of such a thing as being too nice. You place the blame entirely on the people-pleasing, caring heart you were born with.

The entire day was practically spent suspended in a state of hyperfocus and barely concealed paranoia. You were beyond relieved when closing time finally came around.

With Joe already gone, you wasted no time hanging your apron and beginning the lock up process. It was already late and you wanted to be at home as soon as humanly possible.

Just as you're about to walk through the backdoor, your right foot catches on an object that nearly trips you. There's a huge hole where the lock should've been.

How did an entire door lock manage to get pushed completely out of place? Did Joe accidentally loosen the screws when he went through it?

Seeing it already had you thinking about how upset Mr. Johnny would be when he found out about it. Keeping the diner up was very important to him and the slightest broken plate or fixture would cause him to have a stroke. Your mind instantly starts going over what could be the cause for the broken lock and your blood turns to ice when the thought of a robber suddenly comes to mind. A deep sense of unease began to take root inside you.

There wasn't much crime in the small town of Frisco as far as you knew. You were just in the back counting and securing the money from the register into the safe stored in the back. The logical thing for a thief to do would be to break in and wait for you to leave then steal the money.

There was a bat located behind the front counter for security reasons but you've never even attempted to do anyone any physical harm before. You can't see yourself actually hitting anyone with it. You could call the sheriff and wait for them to arrive but you didn't want it to be a false alarm because you didn't have the nerve to at least check around the place first.

The kitchen area was first, then you made your way to the bathroom. You looked around thoroughly, flicking on lights and making sure nothing was out of place. Your exploration proved to be fruitless as you didn't find anyone laying in wait but that general anxiety still clung to you for some reason. You couldn't see anything but you just felt that something was amiss.

As a last resort, you end up back in the main dining area and that's when you spot it - a massive shadowy figure seated at one of the booths, seemingly waiting to be discovered.

You promptly took in a sharp breath of alarm.

He doesn't utter a mumbling word but you immediately take notice of the modified shogun sitting across his lap aimed squarely on your person. It's not like any shotgun you've ever laid eyes on. Even while seated, the figure which you now can associate with a man, has an impressive build. He had a very unorthodox appearance - one you hadn't seen before. He had a very distinct face with even more distinct masculine features, a broad nose, defined chin, and heavy eyebrows.

"Excuse me sir, we're closed." You nervously uttered, trying and failing to remain calm.

"I know." He answered.

You eyed the locked front entrance and from the corner of your peripheral you watched his browline pinch. You knew immediately he was daring you to try.

Fleeing the threat would be a reasonable response but you know that any sudden could result in a quick shot blowing through your stomach. There was no way in hell you'd be able to evade him that way without dying.

He represented that fear of the unknown. Something about his presence just seemed otherwordly - so much so that it had you questioning whether the man was human at all.

"Listen Mr…I ain't see nothin."

"I didn't ask." Aside from the deep, resonant pitch, his accent was hauntingly flat and surprisingly foreign. He also lacked the thick Texan drawl most residents had, the kind that blends the vowels together.

"But you were gonna…"

"I wasn't." He assured with a detached, monotonous voice.

You swallowed, irritating your dry throat. "How did you find me?"

Your heart leapt in your throat as the man pulled out what looked to be your drivers license and carefully placed it on the table's surface. All of a sudden, it felt like you'd just walked into the den of a lion.

"I don't want any trouble. I ain't tryna mind nobody's business but my own." You explained, your voice barely above a whisper.

The noise he made was probably meant to be a laugh but it came out as a huff.

"Apparently not. That's why I'm here." He verbalized with veiled malicious intent.

The conversation was eerily stilted. The way in which he spoke was penetrating and you visually faulted upon hearing it. Through unfortunate circumstances, you ended up witnessing him gun a man down. What was stopping him from shooting you in the same exact manner? There wasn't any point of lying about it so you'd rather cut to the chase. "I don't want to die."

"They never do."

Men like him aren't aren't meant to be toyed with. He wouldn't be for any games no matter how harmless they seemed. You've never met anyone without a sense of humor or enthusiasm. He's all business. No bullshitting.

"Sit." He orders softly, the barrel of the gun being pointed in your direction of your midsection.

Slowly, you back into one of the high stools at the counter.

He had his lips pressed tightly together and his jaw firmly set looking very much like the devil incarnate wearing human skin. He reminded you of a robot that possessed the ability to function of its own accord. How could a man with seemingly no discernable emotion evoke so many emotions in you?

The ambiguous accent and mechanical movements had you questioning whether or not he was even human or not. The dark clothing and haircut was certainly off-putting enough. Something told you that he likely wasn't from around the area. "Sir, you're scaring me."

The man's head slightly tilted to one side. "How so?"

"I meet different kinds of people all the time. I just never met anyone like you."

"Hn. Do you know what led you to that field behind the store? You don't know what you've stumbled upon do you?"

You tensed uncomfortably, shaking your head no. Honestly, you deserved a medal for who calm you've managed to remain thus far, despite a certain part of you being more afraid than you could ever remember being.

"People make their own decisions based on their idea of morality or right or wrong. You made the decision to go towards a scream in the dead of night. That is the choice you made. And now this is the repercussion for that action. And I…am the consequence for that poorly made choice. The way I see it, it was fate for our paths to meet."

In a way, he was right - for you and him to cross paths in such a manner, had to be the work of some unwitting circumstance. It's just that the way in which he spoke was so chilling and detached. Which meant that this confrontation probably wouldn't bode well for you. Your life was literally hanging in the balance and you don't think he can be reasoned with at all.

Nothing - not even a seemingly amiable conversation could lull you into a false sense of security.

"I don't make bargains."

You knew what the look signified. It meant that the man didn't see the benefit of your little arrangement.

"Let's discuss the terms of this deal you've proposed. I get the impression that you are not fully aware of what you're offering to me." He articulated.

"Of what use would I have for your skills?"

"Well. I'm good at a lot of things most people aren't."

"Most of those skills are expected of women. What makes you the exception? What value do you bring that will prevent me from killing you on the spot?"

You nibbled your bottom lip in contemplation. "I'm not like most women." You muttered.

Right now, you're walking a tight-rope between life and death - standing in the space of an empty restaurant attempting to make a deal with a murder for the preservation your life.

While you should feel shame for throwing yourself at the mercy of an individual like him, self-preservation won out over pride. At the moment, it was best for your self-interest. You were too enthusiastic over life to allow yourself to be snuffed out before you had a chance to truly experience all there was to be had in the world.

"I can be anything you want me to be." You affirmed.

"Anything I want you to be…" He repeated, his tone cryptically dissonant.

Anything entailed anything.

"For how long do you expect this arrangement to last?"

"However long it needs to."

"I've encountered many individuals like you before. Those who'd rather bargain for their lives than be shot dead where they stood. The want to continue living can be a powerful motivator."

On that they could agree. Who in their right mind would want to die before their time? A person that didn't see much value in their life.

"Can I ask you something? Why did you kill that man in the park?"

"I was hired to do so." He grimly answered.

"But why?" You questioned.

"He borrowed money from some very powerful men."

"Did he spend all the money?"

"No. He had every cent in his possession. He just had no intention of giving it back."

"Why didn't you just ask for it all back?"

"Ask?"

"Yes. Maybe he would've handed it over."

"Regardless of whether he had it or not. It was my job to kill him and retrieve it. Not to ask for it back." He answered with a cold fatality.

Your mouth goes dry at the answer. It's harsh but you get what he's saying. It's merely the principle.

"So you killed him?"

"He killed himself with his choices." The man answered with unquestionable resolve. It's a twisted way of thinking and it was difficult to believe that some people's thought process consisted of it. He's a man that simply operated on twisted morals and not just because fate compelled him to do so.

"So you…just kill people for money?"

The question was rhetorical at this juncture but you needed to ask.

"I do."

What a peculiar sort of man.

You believed him - he had already made it crystal clear that he had no qualms about taking another life. It wasn't that hard to believe that he could've quite possibly taken other lives as well.

"What would you call that? A man who kills for money?"

"A contract killer. A hitman. A hired gun. It doesn't matter, it's all the same."

You know that. There's a dead man probably still laid out in a field as sufficient evidence of it.

"Do you travel a lot? For your work I mean…" You don't know what made you ask. He seemed slightly put off by the question but he dipped his head forward in a nod.

"If you accept my proposal, I can travel with you on the road while you work. That way I can be of use to you in any way you need me to."

You've always been good at making the best of an unfavorable situation. The greatest gift you were blessed with was adaptability. You could make this work, you had to.

"Well, some of the worst deals can turn out to bear the best fruit. Or so some people say." You add.

"You don't much sound like you're interested."

"If I wasn't interested we would not be having this conversation."

He pulls a coin from his pocket. "Alright." He flips the coin. "Call it."

At first, you didn't understand the significance. It seemed that he was leaving your fate entirely up to chance.

There's still a chance of you calling it incorrectly and him blasting you away for it. Still you take the chance anyway. "Heads." You said confidently.

His eyes bore into yours for a minute longer before they slid down to the coin in the palm of his hand. A coin that was revealed to be heads.

Straight away you breathed a loud sigh of relief. "So we have a deal then. What now?"

"There's a job. We leave for El Paso in two days. Be ready by then."

"Two days?! Don't you think that's too soon?"

"It is more than enough." He replied unflinchingly.

"No that's not it. I've built up a whole life here and that's not nearly enough time."

"A life you were so willing to bargain away under the threat of death."

He finally stood and you got a true view of his height. If he was enormous sitting down then you had to know he'd be two times as big standing.

"Have you changed your mind then?" The shotgun still situated firmly into both his hands.

"No. It's just…what am I gonna tell my grandma?"

How in God's name were you supposed to tell her on such short notice that you'll be leaving to travel god knows where with a man you just met?

"That is of no consequence to me." He said regarding you with as much interest as an inanimate object.

His coldly spoken words don't surprise you in the slightest. There was no way he was the type to take your feelings into consideration.

"We leave in two days."

"Or…"

"Or you die."

You'd made a deal with him that you had to uphold no matter what, clearly he wasn't concerned about the specifics, only that you kept to the deal. He's fully entitled to that you reckon.

The issue you were most concerned about was how your grandmother would take it - you deciding to leave town abruptly. You know she'll feel completely blindsided by the sudden choice but some on level you expected her to show support for you. She had always said that experience in life was the best teacher. She's also spent a lot of time encouraging you to go out and experience life to the fullest.

"It ain't for you to stay in this little town all your life."

"-motel after dark. Eight o'clock. Two days from now. Don't be late."

Through all of this, you're heavily wondering what you've just gotten yourself into and you're incapable of coming up with a valid answer. Only the lord himself truly knew.

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