DISCLAIMER: Trigun and its characters belong to Yasuhiro Nightow.
The blood-stained shirt lay crumpled in a corner, as far from sight as Vash could get it. Not out of mind.
Sunset had passed. By this time tomorrow, he would be on his own again. Alone, as was best for the safety of foe and friend alike.
Vash had sat on his bed since returning to his room, locking the door and leaving a flustered Meryl to her own worries as he tended to his.
If he had responded like that to just a verbal threat, what would have happened if Pierre had made it with kukri in hand? What would have happened if it had been Kurtz instead, pulling his gun? No doubt he would have used the gun in his left arm, but would he have really been aiming to disarm?
Damn it, he just wasn't sure. Not of that, or of what Rem would want him to do, or of anything anymore. He wasn't sure if leaving was the right thing to do, and it wasn't what he wanted to do; it was just the only option that removed any chance of his crossing the line that Rem had set so long ago.
Vash was angry and frustrated and mad most of all at himself for not seeing any other choice, and he sat there trying to contain it all. Didn't dare let any of it out, not after it had forced its way out earlier. Until he was on his own again, it was vital for the safety of all concerned that he keep these feelings locked down tight.
Somewhere on the fringe of all this was something else, a feeling somehow familiar but unrecognizable right now, like a song he couldn't remember the words to. But he was a little too busy staying in check to concentrate on anything else.
A noise. By the time he registered it as a knock on the door, his gun hand was already up and level of its own volition. That was troubling; not half so much, though, as the left hand, with its hidden gun, that had also started to travel up.
He had to take the out.
Took a long, slow breath, forcing his arms back to his side. One…two…three…
The knock came again. If ever there was a time he needed her not to be persistent –
"Open the door." Barkeep's voice, raised so Vash could hear him; the bartender either hadn't heard of Vash the Stampede's preternatural hearing or wasn't betting on it. Of course – Vash silently swore at himself for letting his attention be focused so much on his internal discord – that hearing was only effective if he used it. He should have been aware of someone outside before that knock ever had a chance to make his reflexes twitch so badly, damn it.
"Not for her. Not for you," Vash called back, his own voice raised.
"Open the door, La Mancha. If I'm right, the demand for windmills is about to go up!"
There were more than just him out there; now that he was paying attention, Vash's ears caught Milly saying, "Meryl, who is this La Mancha person? I thought this was Mr. Vash's room." Followed by the sound of what he assumed was Meryl's palm hitting her forehead.
He didn't move, opting instead to see if he could wait out the bartender.
The knocking resumed. "All night," Barkeep called, keeping up a steady drum beat of knuckles. "Don't care."
A sound that was half-sigh and half-snort emanated from Vash. He stood up and crossed to the door, not bothering to pull on a shirt. It felt like a lifetime ago that he had told Meryl and Milly he didn't like girls seeing his scars, fearing many of them would run. He actually didn't like anyone to see his scars; too often when people of either sex did, they recoiled. But if Barkeep wanted this, then damn well let him have it.
Stopped as he was reaching for the knob. Since he was leaving, this could be the last time Meryl saw him; did he want her last vision of him to be something so horrendous?
"Damn it." He blew out a full, frustrated sigh, returning to the bedside and fetching a fresh shirt. Ignoring the continuing knocking, he buttoned up and tucked in before returning to the door and opening it. Barkeep filled the space in front of the door, but Meryl and Milly were plain to see behind him, wearing concerned expressions. "What?"
"Hello to you, too," Barkeep said. "You need to come downstairs."
"Pretty sure I don't."
"Pretty sure you do; there's someone I want you to meet."
Vash held his eyes in a confrontation of wills. "Don't care to meet any more people here."
Barkeep didn't avert his gaze. "I know you're in rough territory right now, maybe rougher than you've ever been. I can guess your choice, and none of us can stop you from living it. But until you do, you're still in the middle. I want you to meet this man, if only to exchange information."
Eyes shifted from Barkeep to the short woman behind him. Meryl's own eyes were a mix of emotions. He looked back at Barkeep, mostly because he didn't like the way he saw himself in her eyes. "Fine. I'll do this one thing. You lead."
Barkeep wordlessly led the way downstairs. Vash paused as soon as he had a good view of the saloon, scanning. It looked like there were no O'Brien men here tonight. Wasn't a packed house by any means, but several tables held two or three people apiece. Everyone seemed at a certain level of ease, not completely relaxed but not on edge, either. He saw Joe and Nancy from the diner. An eyebrow raised as he noted Heck Hyde with his son Jeckle; perhaps the barber didn't mind the kid here if his father was around to rein him in.
Satisfied there was nothing he couldn't turn his back to, he continued to follow Barkeep. In the bartender's absence, someone else was behind the bar. His back was to them, but it was Vash's guess he had some sort of reflective surface, probably liquor bottles, arranged in such a way as to give him an idea of what was going on, because as they came down the stairs the man's head inclined slightly in the way of a person glancing at something. It could be entirely coincidental, but the small movement of the man's hand toward his holstered gun at the same time as his head movement, then the relaxation as he returned to what he was doing, indicated otherwise. The man's once-green shirt was sunbleached and dusty, as were his jeans. A wide-brimmed hat with the right side curled up covered his head.
Vash filed all of this away in a glance, noting it and otherwise withholding any further thoughts on the man.
Stopped as he passed by the table with the Hydes. Barkeep and the insurance girls stopped, too, when he spoke. "Apologies for earlier. If you want me to pay for the damage, I will."
The barber grinned broadly and shook his head as he held up a stein of beer and took a swallow as big as the hand that made the stein look small; he certainly was no lightweight when it came to beer. "No need for apologies, something was bound to happen sooner or later. I'll get a replacement somewhere along the line, chief, no worry." Saluted the blond man with a raise of his stein.
"Maybe he's near his cutoff," Vash suggested as Barkeep continued on, wondering who in their right mind would turn down offered recompense for damage.
"No. Heck's a proud man, he won't take what he thinks is free money. He was close to doing the same thing himself; might even think you did less damage than he would have, saved him some money this way." Barkeep took them to the bar, close to the wall. "Here's the one I wanted you to meet."
The man behind the bar turned fully toward them. Took off his hat and set it on the bar when he saw Meryl and Milly. "Ma'am. Ma'am." Acknowledged each woman separately, nodding at both. Waiting to see what was so important about this man, they just nodded back.
With his hat off, Vash could get a good look. His hair was in need of a cut, dark brown and curly and as dusty as his clothes. Face unshaven, covered with the beard of someone who had been away from town for a while. 5'6", but of all people, the long-lived Stampede knew damn well that height was no gauge of skill. His body was lean, scarred knuckles speaking of hard experience with his fists. Hard eyes sized up Vash as well. Most notable was the tarnished metal star pinned over his heart.
"The man with the badge," Vash said quietly.
"Ranger," the man informed him. "They call me Ranger."
"They call you anything close to a real name?"
"In another life. Not in this one."
Vash looked at Barkeep. "I'm here. He's here. Get it over with."
Barkeep nodded at Ranger, who took it from there.
His first address was to Meryl and Milly. "Do you ladies have a handle on the situation here?"
The two women exchanged looks. "We got a quick rundown earlier from Mr. Heckle over there," Meryl stated. "I believe we have an adequate grasp."
Ranger nodded. "Good. Let's expand on that for you and your friend – what do I call you?"
"I'm Milly Thompson. Hello."
"Meryl Stryfe, I repre–" Meryl quieted quickly at Vash's disapproving glare, but not without giving him her own defiant glare in return.
Ranger observed the cut-off and exchange of glares. There was something going on between these two; for the time being, he marked that as none of his concern. "And you?"
Vash's gaze returned to him. "Let's go with Passing Through."
Ranger's eyes probed Vash's, challenging what he saw. "Sure about that?"
"Absolutely."
Barkeep cut in. "Our guest here had a meeting with O'Brien earlier."
"You met her?" Ranger asked the "guest".
Curt nod.
"What impression did you walk away with?"
A moment of silence as Vash thought it over. "You met her, too?"
"I did," Ranger affirmed.
"Tall for a woman. Beyond pale, going on chalk. No conscience at all. She intends to have this town, and I think she'll burn it down before she ever takes no for an answer."
"That was my takeaway. Now for my side. I got this badge stuck on me because one of ours was murdered –"
"Murdered?" Milly interjected. "Meryl, that could explain the hand we found!"
"Hand?" Ranger queried.
Vash groaned, loathing the thought of having to get dragged into this any further. "We found a hand in the desert, looked like someone cut it off. Best guess, someone cut up a body and spread it out, counting on animals to get rid of it."
"Was it the hand of someone married?"
"Yeah."
"Was there an inscription on the ring?"
A glimmer of hope that maybe this wasn't the same person; whatever else that might mean, it meant Vash could continue to keep his distance, making good his departure tomorrow without risking another explosion. "No."
"Likely it's our man, then. He was happy he could afford any rings at all for him and his wife, never mind having them inscribed."
Damn!
"All right, so it looks like your guy." Vash tried to keep in mind this was a man just looking to do his job, not purposely trying to provoke him or keep him from leaving; he couldn't know how important it was that Vash leave this town as soon as he was equipped to. "That means what?"
"After the murder, they pinned this hunk of metal on me. I went to visit O'Brien, ask some questions. Incidentally, my money's on that man Friday of hers, that Pierre. Man doesn't wear a knife like that unless he knows how to use it."
"He'd kill, all right," Barkeep put in. "But it would be on command, and it's a long way from 'accidents' to pressure people to a hard example like killing someone. I still figure Kurtz for it; Harrington was pretty good with that forty-five, remember, and Kurtz just goes nuts anytime he meets someone good with a gun."
"I remember all of that well enough. He kept trying to goad me, right up 'til I left."
"He's moved on to – what is it?" Barkeep asked Vash. "Passing Through?"
"Yeah. And yeah, he's got an itch and is begging for it to be scratched."
"Sooner or later, someone will," Ranger noted. "Ask long enough, you'll get the answer you want. But to continue – I got the same impression you did, she wants the town no matter what. That got me wondering why. What's she want with a little place like this without even a plant, way out here away from everywhere? If she wanted a staging area, there's easier ways to get one. I could either stay here and try to keep a lid on things until it blew, or I could go looking for answers."
"Did you find any?" Meryl asked.
"I found some, ma'am. Not enough, but some."
"So get on with it," Vash told him irritably.
The impatient words didn't ruffle Ranger any. He continued at his own pace. "She wants the land. Not the town, not the people…the land."
"Why?" Barkeeper asked. "Do you think she's found more water?"
"Don't know what she's found. All I've dug up is she's gone to a lot of trouble to pay for satellite imaging of this area, and more trouble to keep it quiet. That tells me she's found something, and the kind of imaging she was using tells me it's underground. She might know just where it is, might not; but she knows she has to dig for it, and she knows no one here would let an inch of our land be dug up. So she's been getting the land rights, bit by bit, because even if we don't acknowledge Federal law here, it still applies in a court. The founders of Kirk created a charter and deeds, and Federal law will recognize them as valid, so whoever has the deeds will be seen as the rightful owner. Get all the land deeds, you can do whatever the hell you want."
"Sounds about par for the Feds," Barkeep said. "Pay more attention to the paper than the people."
"Comes in handy sometimes. Like if you need to be dead." Ranger and Barkeep shared a chuckle at something Vash and the insurance girls weren't privy to. "But that's about the sum of it. She wants the deeds so if the Feds poke around she's solid, wants the town so she can go digging. Might be water, might be something else, but she's damn sure after something.
"Be good if it is water, though. We all could use a break here."
"That's why I'm only telling you and these others. Last thing we need is everyone getting riled up; they didn't stick this thing on me to let them all get killed."
"What do you intend to do?" Meryl wanted to know.
"Don't know yet, ma'am. Keep my mouth shut and figure something out, mainly. If y'all think you can help any, I appreciate it. Appreciate more you keeping quiet about this." He blinked and then smiled slightly as Milly mimed locking her mouth and throwing away the key.
"Heads up," Barkeep said when the swinging doors opened. Heads turned to look at the newcomer. Vash recognized him as one of the men he had seen before his meeting with O'Brien. John, she had called him.
"Long John Silver." From his tone and the way his gun hand dipped below the bar, Ranger's opinion was clear: this man warranted caution. Other people in the saloon went back to their business, but the subtle change in atmosphere told Vash everyone was keeping one eye on Silver as he sighted Ranger and made his way over.
Vash pegged Silver as being around halfway between the heights of Barkeep and Ranger, call it 5'7-1/2" maybe. The O'Brien man took his hat in his off hand when he saw the insurance girls, revealing hair the same shade as Meryl's, curly and loose. Smooth face, clean clothes…looked nice, except for the hardness in his eyes and the calluses on his gun hand that were one of the marks of a gunman. Vash couldn't help but note the gun he wore.
"Why are you called 'Long John'?" Milly wanted to know.
Silver looked at her, mouth quirking in a momentary smile. "Because of this." Slowly pulled out his revolver, holding it with its very long barrel pointed up for all to see, index finger well away from the trigger. "This revolver has a twelve-inch barrel, longer than you'll find on most any gun around."
"Why is it so long?" Meryl asked. "Isn't it harder to draw like that?"
"Propellant doesn't burn all at once; in shorter barrels, the bullet leaves before all the propellant has burned, resulting in lost velocity. This barrel allows it all to burn, giving a greater boost out the door. Plus, the longer barrel introduces more spin, giving better accuracy. I shoot this, the bullet goes exactly where I want it." Clearly, he was well-versed in his chosen weapon. "As for how well I can draw with it–" An inquiring look at Ranger. "May I?"
"Shells on the bar."
"Right." The gun was emptied and re-holstered. Silver stepped back a few paces for room. Then he drew. Meryl was left feeling that if she had blinked, she would have come away with the impression of seeing his gun holstered when her eyes closed, and seeing it gripped in one hand, steadied on the other, aimed head-level at the wall when they opened again.
Silver looked around for a moment to make sure everyone in their cluster had gotten a good look. Slowly and deliberately, making sure it was obvious it index finger was nowhere near the trigger, took shells from the bar and re-loaded.
"Wow!" Milly exclaimed as he did so. "That was almost as fast as –"
"As fast as a couple of guys in a quick-draw contest we saw a while ago," Meryl interrupted her.
Over at the Hydes' table, Jeckle Hyde gawked at the display of speed he had seen. His father hauled him up by the ear, whispering some harsh words that boiled down to they needed to finish closing up shop and go home.
"Fast, all right," Vash said. "I remember you not having that when I saw you earlier."
"I remember the same about you," Silver said casually. "And you still don't."
"No. Why are you here?"
"Talk to Ranger. Maybe to you, too."
"Nobody's stopping you. Get to it."
"Ms. O'Brien's going to make a play for old man Dodd's coops."
"That won't end well," said Barkeep. "Dodd was a rifleman in his time," he explained for the benefit of Vash and the insurance girls. "He's got a hair-trigger temper, more likely to shoot one of hers than the rest of us are."
"And that could touch everything off," Ranger concluded.
"That's why she's sending more than one," Silver resumed. "Almost every man she has in town is going. She thinks the old man won't shoot if his death is guaranteed in return."
"When is this?"
"Sometime tomorrow. Don't know any more than that; I know what I told you only because I heard her talking to Pierre about it."
"Ok. Tomorrow. Why come to me? Or him?" Ranger jerked his head at Vash.
"Let's say she's playing for bigger stakes than I'm comfortable with."
"Let's say you cut the crap," Vash interjected with a flare of temper. "You're no different than her; you're here because you've got an angle, so knock off the bullshit!"
"Let's say you watch your mouth, tall man! The last thing you want to do is–" His words were cut off as Vash's right hand wrapped around his throat, the blond man turning him and slamming him against the wall. Vash released his grip, but slid his forearm across Silver's chest, holding him still as he leaned in.
"I'm getting more and more pissed off," he seethed. "I don't like your boss, I don't like you, and I do not like being told what to do by people who play games with other people's lives!"
"And you'll do what about it?" Silver demanded. "Hit me? You don't have a gun."
Vash's left hand reached down, coming up with Silver's own long-barreled piece. "I do now." Cold metal pressed against the side of Silver's head. "And maybe I'll use it." Anger blazed in his eyes, straining to get loose.
"We're trying to avoid starting anything," Ranger barked at him.
Vash barely heard the man with the badge. He was so tired, so damn tired of fighting to keep himself in check, of fighting for a race that insisted on surrendering its better nature to this dry, harsh world. Was running out of control over this thing that wanted its own freedom to kill…
Help me, Rem.
He felt a hand upon his. A small hand. A woman's hand. Opened his eyes to look at Meryl. She wordlessly shook her head at him, and the anger that burned in him was denied the permission it sought.
Her hand guided his down, placing the gun back in Silver's holster, returning to his side. Only then did she let go.
Vash turned his attention back to Silver, removing his arm from its pinning grip.
"Get out of here," he managed to grit out.
Silver calmly smoothed out his shirt where it had been wrinkled. Stepped over to the hat he had dropped in his quick-draw demonstration and picked it up. "Just think about what I said," he directed to Ranger. "Dodd's coops. Tomorrow." Nodded at Milly and Meryl. "Ladies." Placed his hat on his head, adjusted it, walked out.
"Cool customer," Barkeep observed of Silver.
"Cooler than some I can think of." Ranger wasn't happy with Vash's slip of temper.
"It happened," Meryl intervened on the blond man's behalf. "It's over. Let's move on."
"Right," Barkeep said. "Ranger, is there anything we can do with this information?"
Shrug. "Ask people to keep their eyes open, let us know what's up over at the coops so we can bust it up. That's about it. There's no actual evidence yet O'Brien's done anything; nothing we can actually tie to her or hers is a crime."
"What about that satellite imaging you found?" Meryl wanted to know.
"Nothing illegal about looking around for something with satellites. She probably wouldn't even care if she knew what I've found out, because she knows I don't want a war any more than she does."
"If she's this bad, why doesn't she want a war? It seems like she could raze this town if she wanted."
"Deeds," Ranger reminded her. "Remember, the Feds reserve the right to poke their nose in even out here, which they will if a war sparks. Federal courts get involved, all that matters is who has the deeds, and she doesn't have them all yet. Long as she can avoid the shit – pardon, ma'ams, the manure hitting the fan, she will. Thing is, people have wised up to her, so she has to push harder and harder, and they dig their heels in further. I thought digging around might give me more than I got, but no cigar."
"Hey, where did everyone go?" Milly suddenly asked.
They looked around. Aside from their cluster, the saloon was empty.
"Looks like the scene with Passin' and Long John convinced everyone it was time to leave," Ranger stated. "Just as well. Long as things remain the way they are, anything can pop off –"
He was interrupted by the sound of gunshots from up the street.