For disclaimer, see first chapter.
Right Side of Justice
Chapter 8 – Those For, Those Against
"They're thieves, bloody thieves."
Benito shut the door and waved his visitor toward a chair. "If thieves, then their thievery is condoned by the law makers of this fledgling state."
"Then they're all bloody thieves, and we're all blind and crippled cattle in the lion's paw."
Benito took the seat opposite of... "Say, what's your name lad?"
"John Peters; I don't live here in town – good ways out from here, east. But news travels fast. I thought they were only rumors first I heard, y'know the stuff. Then I hear that the Ghost is out and think, 'well, I can stop worrying about any horse killin', anytime you get the Ghost in the story, it's bound to be a tall tale'."
Benito's face shed any levity. "'The Ghost'," he interrupted sharply, "who do you mean by that?"
Peters leaned across the table, Benito thought he detected a slight twitch in his right hand, "Why, don't you know? He's that drifting phantom – words out he's not even human. Kills for pleasure, destroys peaceful towns, never to be caught! There's a reward out from him in some towns, they say." He shook his head, narrowing his eyes at Benito, "You must know of him, if you're the one Bryne told me about."
He was getting more and more uneasy. There were too many gaps that he couldn't fill. "What does all this matter if you say he doesn't exist? His only substance being rumors? One minute he's nothing but a child's nightmare, then the next, he's a thing to be feared by man and child alike."
Peters drew back into his chair and shook his head with a nervous laugh. "I'm doing this very badly."
"Why don't you start over."
"Well, it's simple really. Bryne comes to me about...oh, two and a half weeks ago, and busts through my door sayin', 'John, I've had it. Lawmen or no, they've got no right to take a man's property, to destroy a man's property!' I agreed, of course."
"Of course."
"Then he tells me that Harris is in a bad way, just like the rumors I'd been hearing." His elbows found themselves back on the table, "Bryne's always been a quiet man, not seein' much point in losing his head for a passing fancy, so when he looks at me with such anger, I knew something had to be brewing." Peters wagged his head, "Never seen him so riled, but says to me, 'John, what's a man supposed to do but take a stand?'"
"Then you tried to talk him out if it," Benito said, folding his arms.
Peters waved his hands, "No, no. Bryne's also the most sensible man I know. I've always trusted him."
"So what did you say?"
"I said, 'Bryne, old friend, I'm just a man of the earth, like you, what do I know about bravery?' Then I said, 'But I figure, one has to stand for somethin' – somethin' good mind you – and fighting for one's freedom seems as good a stand as any.'" Peters scratched his broad, bristled chin. "He looks at me, nods and then tells me he's goin' out hunting for the Ghost, or Phantom, or whatever you call him – or it. He says, 'He's the best 'round these parts, and with a big lot like them, I'll need someone like him.' But I thought, why would such a monster help a cause like this. Said as much to Bryne. He wouldn't hear it. Seemed to have his heart set on seekin' him out."
Benito bristled inwardly, 'A monster'? Mateo? If only this ignorant man knew how wrong he is. "Why'd this Bryne come to just tell you this?"
John Peters wagged his head again, "Darned if I know for sure. Bryne's like that, pops out of nowhere at the strangest times just to tell you the sky's blue. Probably hoping I might join him."
"Why didn't you?"
Peters went on the defensive, "Because I have a family,a wife, four children, responsibilities...I couldn't risk their safety at the time!"
Benito's leathery brow furrowed, "What do you mean, 'at the time'?"
"I mean..." Peters stammered, "I mean that was then, and this is now. I've thought it over, talked to Shila, the children, and we all believe that there's more at stake here than just our safety and comfort. Even little Henry – who's four with hair like a mop – told me to 'Go find Uncle Bryne'." There was a new glint in the working man's eyes, a spirit undefeated, "We're willin' to risk it. We're willin' to help any way we can."
There was a change of tone, a good change, if trustworthy. "What do you propose?"
"Shila and I thought you boys might need a place to get away – not many places to hide out here."
"You're offering us your home?"
Peters looked nervous, "Well, not our homebut the use of it."
Benito sunk deeper in his chair. John Peters just didn't look the sort to plot against them, but often, those were the ones that turned out to be the worst. But did they have a choice?
It was a very real issue that Legolas had discussed with him – they couldn't remain where they were. A little crevasse at the top of a hill was no place to hold their camp for any length of time, but where else would they go? The fear that Legolas had instilled in Godard was their only real defense, and that would soon dissipate with frustration.
After long deliberation, Benito nodded, "I will speak to him about it. How long will you be in town?"
"A few days, I'm staying with my brother, Matthew Peters."
"Ah, yes. Good lad. Raises some good stock." Benito rose, closing their informal meeting with his posture.
Chair legs scraped against the floor boards; Peters took his hat in both hands. "Thanks to your outlaws, I reckon. First thing I hear from him when I ride into town is a story about a group of riders that headed off some questionable sorts a number of nights ago. He woke up, heard gunshots, ran outside and saw six or so horsemen rounding up another group of horsemen like cattle and pushin' them back toward town."
"Does your brother know why you're here?" Benito asked sharply. Something sunk in his stomach.
"No, no," Peters assured, "but he'd probably offer you his home too if the idea crossed his mind."
Benito swallowed, relieved to some extent. He cleared the way to the door.
Peters took the hint, hesitated, suddenly looking more anxious than before. His hands clinched the brim of his hat and he shifted from foot to foot. A finger scratched at an eyebrow, "Uh, you said something about talking to 'him' earlier. Now, you meant Bryne when you said that...right?"
People like Peters were painfully predictable. "Nope, I meant our real, live, breathing ghost."
Peters complexion adopted a grey hue.
---
The man that walked into the building Marshall Godard occupied was not noticeably tall or imposing, nor was he any more distinguishable in appearance from the other men on the street. He walked as other men, he acted as other men, but only while in the company of other men.
Marshall Godard had the special privilege of not being another man. He was the man that this man had wasted a week to find. It was privilege that most men, if they had known who the stranger was, would attempt to avoid with zeal.
But very few ever succeeded.
Two slouching men casually blocked Godard's office. They talked of women and alcohol, sharing between them only a half a mind to their job – that being a generous estimate. They swiveled their grudging attention to the stranger as he approached. Shoulders detached from the wall as they placed their bodies between him and the door. "You got an appointment?"
"Yes."
One rapped on the door before slipping inside. Voices were indistinct through the thick wood.
The man was changed when he returned, suspicious, nervous, even afraid. "Go on in."
The stranger didn't spare a 'thank you' as he passed inside.
Godard stood stiffly behind his desk, tension straining his voice. "I wasn't informed of your coming."
The man took a seat preemptively, "I loath formalities."
Godard kept the desk between himself and the stranger. "You could have sent some word."
"What difference would it have made, I still would have come." He paused, stringing out the tension of his presence, "I do hope it wouldn't have made a difference; I'd hate to suspect that you would have to hide something."
"No," Godard snapped hastily, "But I run an ordered operation here, as you should well know." He shook a handful of papers, "I keep a schedule."
"As do I; you were next on my list."
The desk creaked as Godard suddenly planted his hands on it, leaning across menacingly – bold only while behind its bulwark. "Don't try and intimidate me Jerome! This is as much my project as it is that desk warming talking head's."
A toothy gap spread across Nathan Jerome's face, an unsettling rendition of a grin. "What is that your hiding behind, Godard?"
Godard subconsciously drew his hands away from the desk top.
"We haven't heard from you in a month. He needs to be kept informed." Jerome folded his arms, his unwelcome gaze was unrelenting.
"The messengers are lazy; you know the system. "
"Yes, I know the system I have put in place for you," Jerome countered coolly. "The messengers are not allowed to lag in their delivery."
With the empathy of a cat toying with its already snared prey, Jerome waited out Godard's excuses – excuses which would have taken in one with less information than Jerome. But Jerome had all information.
"Are you done, Godard?" Minutes had passed and Godard stood less confident behind his desk. "Now tell me what the cause of the delay is."
"Delay?" Godard repeated. "There was no exact date, only an estimate."
"We've only received a handful of stock."
"You'll get them. Just like I said you would -- "
Jerome froze Godard's forthcoming excuse in his throat with an acutely hostile glare. "This was an easy assignment: Set up shop in some small, but growing township, wrangle some horses, then move on. I don't intend flattery when I say that you're overqualified for this job."
"Don't belittle my work, Nathan Jerome, you puppet hang-man," Godard seethed, "There have been...obstructions beyond my control."
"What obstructions?"
"Small ones."
"Then why aren't you overcoming them faster?"
"I'm handling it. Don't push me."
"What's, 'it", Godard? What's holding you up?"
Godard swallowed, deflating with a heavy breath as he sank back into his chair. What use was it to hide from Nathan Jerome? How long had Jerome been questioning men like him, politicians, delving for the truth amongst a swampy mess of rhetoric? "There has been a petty little group of scoundrels. They're foiling our...relations with the townspeople. Everywhere we go, they're there."
Jerome's pale eyes narrowed, "They are a resistance?"
"Yes," he ground out. The thought of them set his blood to the fire. "I believe they're led by some young, ranching fellow. Mateo, I think he's called. Something of an unknown in the town – lots of rumors though."
"What sort of rumors?"
"Oh, you know," Godard scoffed, "stuff about blood, gore and villainy."
"And you believe them?"
"Murderer, criminal, maybe – but some think he's a ghost. One little whelp even said she thought he was a fairy!" He gave a terse laugh, "A fairy!"
Jerome didn't find the humor, "Monster or fairy, he's in the way. He and his outlaws. Get rid of them, find enough horses, and then get back to the capitol. He'll be ready."
"It won't be that easy – "
"Make it that easy, Godard. It's your job. He needed the last of the horses 15 days ago." Nathan Jerome stood, looked down at Godard with contempt. "Don't tell me you didn't expect a little rebellion. Did you really expect them to just sit in their rockers and let you take their livelihood?"
Godard didn't answer.
"You really are a fool. His job is to keep the eyes in Austin blind, your job is to supply the goods, and my job, is to make sure you do your job. If you can't handle this responsibility, you will be relieved." Jerome left the door open behind him, brushing past the men outside. He left no bloody threats behind, only his word; and that was quite enough.
---
A/N: So will shorter chapter, and more frequent updates be acceptable? Or shall we still suffer through six month breaks? Grovel
Good new, though! LegolasMuse#(infinity) has informed me of "THE BIG PICTURE". A plot! I see the shreds of a plot!
Daw the Minstrel – Aye, the leaders that don't wish to lead, but to aid , are always the best. That's one of Legolas' strengths, though he doesn't know it. Soon we'll see some of Legolas' weakness, though he doesn't know those either. Nee! Spoilers!
JastaElf – Bah, mortals. Pathetic. :P Just can't win at a staring contest with an elf. I think you ought to start a new series, "Elf Lessons for a Dumbies" or "Elf Lessons for the Mortal". Please? I'll keep trying to fan the flame of the rabid plot bunnies. Thanks!
EverKitsune – Dance and sing! It's an update. :P Thankee kindly.
Kanaylle – Good good, balance I strive for. However, this one is a bit off balance. No main character! Oh well, just couldn't be helped. Thank you!
BalrogsBreath – Oo! Another dancing reader! Such happy people, these reviewers. Ah well, I suppose you may not be happy if I made them shorter with more updates, huh? Eck. Thanks for the support anyhooo!
Tinnuial – Aye, think of twin Qui-Gon lightsabers melting...stuff. No, wait, that just is a wrong mental image...lightsabers...for...eyeballs...
Cassia – List Mommy! Ah well, you and me both on the review badness. It's not that I don't like reviewing...it just never happens. I'm glad you approve of the twist of genres. :P It's the best of both worlds, I tell ye! Sometimes I feel like I'm cheating somehow. Thanks for the feedback!
Yavie Aelinel – Ha! I bet it could take longer. Want me to prove it? Teases Aw, thanks, so nice of you to say that. Stutters Ah shucks...