Seeking Felicity

The bottles on the broken terracotta wall fell under the bullets like ballet dancers.

The small, familiar crowd behind me clapped with enthusiasm. They had seen it all before, but there wasn't much of else to do in this town.

NeoSky was an aggressively quiet town, and I was still a pretty big deal. I wasn't sure exactly how I had found my way here from April. When I woke up in the local hospital they made mention of heat stroke and infected wounds as if it would help. Or make me forget.

The guy who shared my hospital room owned a bar, which gave me two advantages. First, he was patient enough to listen as I told the whole sorry story, which was the truth except for a few strategic name changes. Second, it gave me a job, as soon as we both were well enough. The pay was much better than it should have been, and it helped to pay for the room I had over the bar.

After a while, they learned about my training and somehow the fact that I had training impressed them more than the fact that I hadn't finished. Out here all they really needed now and then was a little blessing, a little guidance. I was starting to see how things were different out in the desert.

The regulars at the bar tried to christen me as 'Padre', but after a passing salesman tried to insult me, the nickname of 'Preacher' stuck to me.

The people of this town knew me. I had a place here. It felt… good.

It wasn't enough.

A heavy hand fell on my shoulder, and I turned to see Rick, one of the regulars, smiling. "Hey, Preach, I think we're all funned out for the day. The suns are getting pretty high."

"Well, don't let me stop you, I said, pulling the lever that flung the empty shells up into the air. "Go home and cool down."

He made his way with the other guys back into town. "You coming?"

"Just going to clean up. I'll be in as soon as I'm done."

They waved and went off without me.

I looked down at the gun, unloaded, lying open in my hands. I jerked my wrist and the wheel snapped shut.

The local gunsmith didn't have the know-how to fix Vash's gun, and it took me a couple months of searching before I had found someone who could. The guy had the last name of Marlon. He mentioned it several times during our visit. He also mentioned a grandfather, and a gunfight won without firing a single shot. I wasn't charged anything by the time he was done, and the gun worked like the miracle it was supposed to be.

Today was the weekend, and on the weekends, I'd drive out to the deserts just beyond the town borders and do target practice. Despite the kick on the piece, I had been good from the start. Real good. And I only got better.

I hardly thought of Vash at all. At least, that's what I kept telling myself.

The man in the black suit in my dreams, Nicholas D Wolfwood, or what was left of him, was getting more and more disappointed with me. I finally asked what he thought I should do to fix this whole mess. He told me that I had to give back the gun. He was looking for me, and when he found me, all I had to do was give back the damn gun.

When I told him I would, he smiled.

He must have thought we still had a chance.

"You're a good shot."

The guy was behind me, about five paces away. The coat was a green, old-fashioned coat, cut to the waist with long square tails that violently flapped in the slight breeze. The boots he wore were made of pale, odd leather. His hair was short, cropped against the scalp. But with the gunmetal grey eyes you could see on a cloudy day, he looked too close to Sen for my comfort. This, like Sen, was a powerful man.

I wondered if shooting him could hurt him rather than just insult him.

"Am I?" I asked, carefully.

"Of course. Not that children like you should be play with such powerful toys. Especially ones that aren't yours."

"Maybe. But I'm not giving it up to anyone except its owner, if that's what you're saying."

"And here I was hoping I could take it off your hands." He said, casually walking over to me, "Can't say I have no claim on it, it does have a… family resemblance. In a strange manner of speaking"

I aimed at his head. "Forgive me if I'm jumpy about all the resemblance going around."

He held his hands up in mock surrender while his eyes laughed long and hard. "Don't worry about it. I know what my brother can be like. But you shouldn't wave that thing around without any power to back it up. There's only one other gun like it in the world, and they both attract… strange people. You might not be happy to see every one who gets drawn to it."

"You may be right."

"Of course I'm right. I know what kinds of powers you're toying with. You don't seem to have a clue."

"No, but I learn fast." I lowered the piece a few inches, "Ah…Is your… uncle nearby?"

"Uncle Vash, you mean?" The guy considered the horizon as his hands lowered themselves to his sides. "He's closer than you think. But not so close that you should act this careless. You're going to wait for him?"

"If you don't mind…Mr…."

"It's Nim. And no, not at all. I've got my hands full as it is. Things should get interesting very shortly."

"How… interesting is it going to get?"

"Interesting enough that if you are the man of the cloth you claim to be… you'll get out of town as soon as you return my uncle's plaything. Just because you are going to be destroyed, doesn't mean the town has to be."

"Good idea."

"Of course. I'm lousy with those."

I tucked the gun barrel into the waistband of my pants. "I suppose you want me to pay you back for all this good advice."

"Let's just say you owe me one."