Hello all! Hope you're doing well! Josh is a bit of a cocky little shit in this chapter so hopefully he's not too OOC. Hope you all enjoy it!
The saloon is crowded and hot, dirt covering the floorboards and dust on the bar. It seems like everything and everyone in here is covered in a fine layer of dust. It took years for the soil to become fertile enough for anything to grow and just months for it to become so dry and arid it was unusable. He had a friend growing up who used to joke that they were all just dirt farmers, tending to their dirt crops in hopes of a bountiful dirt harvest. It wasn't too far from the truth.
He had no plans to be a farmer, though. He had no plans to be a merchant or a shopkeeper or any of the other boring, dusty jobs this town had to offer. He had no plans for tomorrow or next week or anytime in the near future. He had no plans past tonight and this dusty bottle and the dusty table he was sitting at.
He wanted to drink and drown himself in the noise and smoke and dust of this saloon. His mother had died a little over a week ago and he just wanted to block out everything for a while.
The bartender eyed him for a second when he first walked in. He knew Josh wasn't old enough to drink but that didn't stop him from passing a shot glass and a half empty bottle of whiskey to him when he came up to the bar. He knew the kid, he'd seen him in and out of town half a dozen times in the past few years, and he knew his mama. He also knew his mother had been laid to rest a couple of days ago and that sometimes the best way to numb the pain of grief was to blunt it with something stronger.
Josh pays in silver and takes the whiskey and shot glass with a silent nod to the bartender. He knows he's spending what little inheritance his mother had left him and that he shouldn't squander it on alcohol but at the moment he doesn't care. The grief is still raw and fresh and painful and right now all he wants to do was drink.
The whiskey is strong and harsh, burning all the way down past his chest when he swallows, but he knocks it back without a flinch. It fills the void of loneliness that's settled at his core and refused to budge for eight days. It makes him feel light and heavy at the same time, a cloud of lead stubbornly tethered to the earth. It would be ironically funny if he wasn't so miserable. He fills the glass again and drinks.
He doesn't remember who started the fight or why, only that one minute everything is fine and he's getting drunk in peace and the next someone is crashing through his table, shattering his glass and the whiskey bottle with it. Rage and grief, coupled with a healthy dose of alcohol and teenage ire, causes him to throw a punch at the person nearest to him and then suddenly he's tossed into the melee as well.
There's a flurry of punches and kicks, broken bottles and splintered tables, and the saloon descends into chaos. Josh holds his own well enough which is surprising considering his inebriated state. The fighting allows him to release some of the pent up emotions he's been pushing down over the past week and it feels great.
In the middle of all of it someone grabs him by the front of his shirt, lifting him up off his feet. Suddenly he's airborne, sailing over a table and crashing through a window. He lands flat on his back outside the bar, gasping and breathless as he stares up at the star-speckled sky. The view is beautiful and he might have appreciated it more if he wasn't drunk and in pain.
And also if the barrel of a gun hadn't been hovering above his face.
The man above him is tall and ugly, scars roping across his face and disappearing beneath his hat. Apparently he'd been involved in his fair share of bar fights before. His nose is bleeding and he's missing a tooth in the front, blood covering his lips and streaking through his beard. Josh recognizes him vaguely; he's pretty sure he hit him in the face with a barstool.
He grins lazily up at the man. "Evening."
The man growls and spits a mouthful of blood at him. "I'm gonna put a hole through that cocky smile'a yours, boy," he threatens, cocking the pistol for emphasis.
Josh thinks he should be afraid or at least take the threat seriously but he's so drunk right now he honestly doesn't care. It's funny almost, how it's all come to this. He grins again and lifts his chin. "Make sure you don't miss."
The man above him looks even more enraged and he reaches down, grabbing a large fistful of Josh shirt and lifting him off the ground. "You got a death wish, boy?" he growls, low and dangerous like a mountain lion.
"Kind of, yeah."
That earns him an ugly smile and the barrel of the gun presses right between his eyes. "Lucky for you I'm a generous man. I'll grant you your wish." The man grins again, twisted and ugly like a boar, and his grip on Josh's shirt is painfully tight. "Any last words?"
"Your face looks better this way," Josh mutters back, going slightly cross-eyed as he stares at the gun barrel. By the look on the man's face, that was the final straw. Josh is fully prepared to be shot in the face and die in the street like a dog.
The shot never comes though; a voice from the shadows does.
"Kid's got a point, Earl," the voice chimes in from behind them, a man stepping off the porch and into the street. "Your face does look better this way."
He's a bit shorter than the man with the gun, Earl, but he carries himself with more confidence. He has one thumb hooked in a belt loop and his other hand resting on the hem of his jacket. He's not threatening, not yet at least.
"Distracts from some'a the rest of this," he continues, making a circling gesture around his own face.
Earl snarls and looks at him. "Ain't no one askin' you, Tom Higgins," he growls, his gun still trained on Josh.
Tom stops and shrugs one shoulder loosely. "True," he says, hand still hovering close to his jacket. "But are you really gonna kill a teenage boy over something as trivial as a couple of bruises and busted tooth? I know you're a crook, Earl, but that's low even for you."
Earl seems to hesitate for a second, considering the other man's words. He's thinking about it, coming to a decision, and it seems like it takes an awful lot of effort on his part. Finally, he looks back down at Josh and gives him another crooked, bloody smile. "Maybe you're right. Maybe I should just break a couple'a his bones instead. Knock out a few of teeth so we're even." He moves the gun down and taps it, painfully, to Josh's front teeth. "You can get by without these four in the front."
If he wasn't still reeling from the alcohol, Josh is pretty sure he'd be trying to escape or at least talk his way out of this situation. Getting shot wasn't part of his plan tonight but neither was getting his teeth knocked out. He thinks he should probably do something to prevent this. Instead he just lays there, flat on his back and lets the hot, dusty wind brush over him.
Tom isn't impressed with the suggestion and shakes his head slightly. "Let the boy go, Earl. He was just leaving." He turns his attention to the sprawled young man on the ground and gives him a stern look. "Weren't you?"
"Sure," Josh mumbles back, his words slurred and heavy.
"He's not goin' anywhere," Earl growls, leveling his gun on Josh again. "Not til' I'm finished with 'im."
"Earl," Tom says, his voice a warning and the name a threat.
Earl hears it and, because he has all the sense God gave a brick, decides to turn the gun on Tom. The other man is faster though, snatching his own pistol from the holster beneath his jacket and firing two quick shots. One bullet hits Earl in the wrist, shattering the bones and causing him to drop the gun. The other hits him in the knee and he goes down like a sack of rocks. He screams and curses and froths in the middle of the street, blood pooling from his wounds into thick, muddy puddles in the street.
"Tried to warn you," Tom says almost apologetically, walking over and plucking the discarded gun from the ground. He opens the chamber and empties the bullets into the pocket of his jacket. "But you're stupider than a mule and just as stubborn."
He drops the now empty gun back onto the ground beside the wounded, writhing man. "I'll send a doctor for you."
For a few seconds the streets are silent save for the moaning and cursing of Earl. The fight is still raging on inside the bar and it won't be long before the sheriff and his deputies come to break it up but for the moment everything outside is mostly still.
Tom steps forward and looks down at the young man still laid out in the street. "You alright, boy?"
Josh manages a nod, his head bobbing in the dirt. "Yup."
"Good. Get up." The words are accompanied by a kick in the shoulder. "Sheriff'll be here any minute and I'd rather not have to explain this," he says, nodding toward the wounded man in the street next to him.
Josh complies and sits up slowly, wincing a bit as he straightens. The window and the street had not been kind to him and he won't be surprised if he's not riddled with bruises tomorrow.
He dusts himself off and stands slowly, holding out a hand to Tom. "Thanks for the help."
Tom looks at his hand but doesn't shake it. "Don't thank me," he tells him shortly, turning and walking away from the saloon. "I didn't do nothin' for you."
Josh stands there for a few seconds, watching him walk away. He glances at his would-be murderer still twisting and cursing on the ground and then back at the other man's retreating form. He has no idea who this man is or what he's doing here, he's never seen him before, but for some reason he follows him.
"Wait," he calls out, jogging to catch up with him and regretting it immediately when the bouncing motion causes him to wince. "Where'd you learn to shoot like that?"
Tom doesn't stop walking but he glances back at Josh as the boy comes up behind him. "My daddy taught me," he says, never slowing down even as Josh struggles to keep up. "Yours never taught you?"
"Never had one to teach," Josh replies, finally catching up with him and panting just slightly. Alcohol and injuries are a bad combination. "He died before I met 'im."
Tom glances at him and then looks back ahead. "Shame," he says, turning down a side street toward the stables. He walks fast and purposefully, ducking through one alley and stepping out into another street. It's almost like he's trying to lose the young man he has trailing along behind him.
Josh keeps following him and he finally stops, scowling. "Listen, kid, I'm not the kinda person you wanna follow around like a lost puppy. Go home."
"Don't have one to go back to," Josh says, swallowing tightly as he does. It's true; his mother is gone, their property will be sold to the highest bidder at the end of the month, and he doesn't have anything tying him to this town. The dust on his boots in the only thing he plans to take with him when he leaves.
"Let me come with you," he says suddenly, the words tight and excited. "Teach me to shoot."
Tom looks at him and shakes his head. "No."
Josh frowns and digs into his pocket, pulling out the last few pieces of silver to his name and holding them out. "Please," he says, struggling to keep his voice from cracking when he speaks. "I'll pay you."
This causes Tom to pause, stopping in the middle of the dusty street and regarding the boy in front of him. He's tall for his age, just out of puberty and gangly, nothing but long legs and arms. He's probably not a day over sixteen but he has sharp eyes and squared shoulders; a good fighter's stance. He might make a decent gunman with the right instruction.
Tom sighs and shakes his head. "Put your money away, kid," he says, nodding for the boy to follow him to the stables. "I'll teach you to shoot for free but that's it. You get yourself killed because you're too stupid to back down from a fight then that's on you." He leads him over the stables and unties a black mare toward the back. "And if you slow me down I'll leave you in the desert. Got it?"
Josh nods once in understanding and slips the silver back into his pocket.
"Good," Tom mutters, leading the horse out of the stable and adjusting the saddle. "What's your name, boy?"
"Josh," he tells him, straightening a little as he speaks to bring himself up to his full height. "Josh Faraday."
Tom gives him another once over and nods. "Nice to meet ya, Josh Faraday. Get on the horse."
Thanks for reading guys! More to come soon! :D