Justice, Montana

[Harold Alexander Truss]

The morning was crisp and lightly cool, and the sun was just spilling down the valley from over the mountains. Already, the town of Justice, Montana was bustling with activity. The hub of activity along main street was full of people on their morning strolls, with trade apprentices carrying heavy loads to and fro, and a few drovers stopping in town for sugar, coffee, tobacco, and other sundries before setting out to the ranches. The Sockeye Saloon disgorged half a dozen bleary-eyed denizens who rebelled against the daylight.

At J.B. Patterson's barber shop, H. Alexander Truss began his most coveted part of his morning routine - a proper shave.

"Mornin' J.B."

Mr. Truss removed his hat as he nodded in greeting to the rotund, older gentleman already servicing a client on his porch. Mr. Patterson's hands were sure and never wavered, and continued with the grain, working gently along the fresh-applied lather below his early patron's jawline.

"Fine one too, Alex."

J.B. had a peculiar understanding with the First Man in Justice, and was among a few men the mayor could count on a hand that could get away with calling him Alex. As the purveyor of his most coveted morning routine, he'd had Mr. Truss's ear for years. Catholics sometimes went to Priests for this sort of thing. Mr. Truss found this arrangement more utilitarian.

He took a seat adjacent to the other client on the porch, and J.B.'s apprentice was quick to the task, providing Mr. Truss with a fresh cup of coffee and a copy of the newspaper. As he took a first sip and flipped through the pamphlet, the young boy had his boots propped against a box and was working on a shine.

Mr. Truss eyed J.B.'s current client, and gave a faint and knowing smile. It wasn't an unfamiliar face.

"Good to see at least somebody else in this town can appreciate a clean shave to start the day."

[Emmett Colt]

The grey-green eyes of Emmett Colt flicked towards Truss in acknowledgement; he didn't dare nod while J.B was working. Once a week like clockwork the rancher sat down for a chat and a shave, got caught up on the less-salacious town news that he didn't hear in the saloon. It was a refreshing change of pace.

He was a tall man, broad in the shoulder, with early-greying hair and weathered skin that made him look ten years older than he was. There was a certain quietness about him that make some folk uneasy; wasn't anything natural about a man who could sit for hours in a crowded room without moving or saying a single word.

Emmett's clothes were nothing much to remark on - the same worn and faded duds of anyone who worked land - but they were clean and freshly pressed. He wore them as well as Harold did his fancy suit.

"Mornin' Mr. Truss." The low grind of his voice finally crossed the pleasant silence as J.B paused to wipe his blade clean. Emmett reached up to scratch an itch on the newly shorn patch of skin. "How's life treatin' you?"

[Harold Alexander Truss]

"Bout the same as yesterday."

Mr. Truss made pleasantries with that sort of artificial joviality that while polite, almost seemed aloof. He cracked a smile as he took another sip of coffee, rewarding the shine boy with a nickel for a good & quick job.

"Had a steer take a spill in a prarie dog hole, gotta put 'em down. Shame too, that was one hell of a stud."

Mr. Truss let the bad news roll off his shoulders that lesser men would be crushed by. Speaking of...

"How's the old Colt homestead, Emmett? Figure your fortunes are due to pick up and have a red letter year."

There was a lot unsaid here, especially since Mr. Truss had bailed the rancher out rather handsomely last season. The mayor might hold office in Justice, but he controlled the town with this vast and unofficial sort of robber baron patronage.

[Emmett Colt]

Emmett tch'd his sympathy for the loss - one which, had it been his own, would have put him in a hole too deep to recover from.

They entered sensitive territory then and the rancher was glad for the fact that his head was tipped back some so J.B could maneouver underneath his jawline, giving him a moment before he replied.

"Maybe so." He finally said. Colt disliked the wall his debt had put him up against but until things evened out, he had to bite the strap. "It's early yet but we're lookin' a sight better'n last year. Should be able to clear up the air some, things keep goin' the way they are."

He tilted more towards Truss. "Picked up a horse in Helena last week. Hard to sit right now but should fetch a fair price once I break him."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

The mayor nodded and gave a curt "mm" in approval.

"Been looking for a good stallion, incidentally. Figure that would go a ways to writing off your loan if you decide to put him up."

Some commotion down the street was beginning to catch his attention, and the mayor's voice trailed off slightly. He still had the mind to take another sip of coffee. He made a notably bitter face, but not on account of the coffee.

"Time to sober up, get a move on!"

He barked at a listless group making their way from the Sockeye Saloon.

[Andy McCall]

Stumbling from the front doors of the Sockeye, Andy barely made it down the short stairs on her own two feet. It was a wonder she was even standing considering the previous night's shenanigans. But, regardless of the debauchery she'd partaken in, Andy was about as fresh as she ever was. At least she still had most of her clothes on, and her twin revolvers still in their holsters on her hips.

With a half-smoked cigarette clamped between her lips, she turned at the sound of the voice yelling across the way in her direction. It wasn't exactly an order being given to her, more like the group that'd gone out in front of her. A group that, along with their dulled senses, had had their wallets thinned throughout a night of cards.

Folding her winnings and shoving them down the front of her shirt, she couldn't help the sour face that distorted her features, and pulling on her smoke, she started off for the barber's post.

A morning shave did sound like a good idea, after all.

"Let 'em be, Truss," she shouted back, "Them poor souls just need to be left alone so's they can nurse their wounded pride."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Zeke "Crawfish" Mullins laboriously lifted his head from the table where it fell six hours ago. What he hadn't lost at the farrow table last night, he'd made sure to invest in whiskey, and he was reaping throbbing dividends now.

"Ooh...agh..."

He shuffled over to the bar, wiping a bit of saliva from the corner of his mouth where he'd drooled in his unconcious stupor.

"Bastards...sons a bitches..."

Crawfish growled as he made it to the bar. The barkeep was in the process of cleaning up from the night before.

"Need some chaw. Gimme mah rifle."

The barkeep gave him a funny look as he dutifully dispensed a pre-measured plug of compressed chewing tobacco. Crawfish slapped a penny onto the counter, and mooched an unclaimed shot of whiskey that somebody had abandoned down the bar for a bit of morning hair of the dog.

He glowered at the barkeep, tucked the tobacco into the corner of his fetid mouth, and unceremoniously took possession of his winchester repeater. The barkeep had the foresight to politely insist that patrons disarmed when imbibing certain liquid entertainments, which probably saved him a share of grief. But Crawfish Mullins was liable to cuss out a sunny day for being too pretty, so there was no pleasin'.

With his rifle tucked under his arm, Crawfish stumbled out of the bar, taking a moment to kneel at a horse trough and douse his head in some cool water.

[Emmett Colt]

The men from the bar had made their way down a ways and as Andy cut across the street, jawin', one of them grinned at Emmett. Lonnie Blatherwick was a hand a few ranches over, quicker on the pot than he was on the trail and twice as dumb. He was easy enough to like though and his waggling eyebrows were hopelessly comical. Emmett returned the grin.

J.B finished with him, wiping stray bits of lather from his face and then slapping on some lotion that stung a bit. Emmett ran an approving hand along his jaw and gave himself a quick once-over in the glass hanging on one of the porch posts. J.B was already moving on the the mayor.

"Got some business in town." Which meant he was going to pick up some supplies and idle until noon, before heading for a drink himself. Emmett replaced his battered hat onto his head, calloused hand brushing the length of the brim. "I'll find you 'fore I head out - make arrangements for you t'drop on by, take a look at that horse."

But as the woman made her way up the steps, Emmett's business seemed fit enough to wait. He leaned against the rail, tipping his hat in her direction. "Mornin'."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

"Be seein' ya then, Emmitt."

He watched the rancher and Andy's eyes meet, and couldn't surpress a smile. That woman, charm as she might be, took almost as many dollars out of this cow town as he did on a bad day. He wouldn't call her a whore and he wouldn't call her a cheat, but she was only a lady when formality demanded it.

He raised a hand to J.B., pausing him before he began his task.

"Miss McCall, even I can't afford to lose to you. Remind me again why I don't play farrow."

Beyond her, he saw a bit of unpleasantness. Crawfish Mullins was never up to any good, and he had his sheriff to keep an eye on him, to let him know not to slip up and do anything stupid. The man had a rap from here to Coeur d'Alene and even down into California. Bad news.

[Andy McCall]

Andy smiled sweetly at Truss. She'd never really felt the need to extend to him the courtesy of 'Mr.', unless situations absolutely demanded.

He'd not had the good luck to catch her in any of her more lawless activities, and more than once she enjoyed thumbing her nose at him. But, the old man still seemed to keep a good enough handle on his town, and Andy satisfied herself with not rocking his boat. Too much, at least. He, much like herself, had his ways of getting things done, and she was loathe to allow him any sort of hold on the proverbial rope with which he'd be able to hang her.

"I'll play you for the next shave, there," was her only answer to Truss.

A polite smile and nod was given to Emmett as she sauntered up the stairs, and she was quick to occupy the seat that Emmett had so recently vacated.

"Mornin', Emmett."

[Crawfish Mullins]

Letting the water cascade down his face and beard, Crawfish marched on ahead, his brow knit and eyes squinting defiantly against the sun. He dropped his winchester into the rifle sling on his horse's saddle, and untied the animal from the post, hopping up to mount. Trotting onward, he pulled up a little bit from the group assembled at J.B. Patterson's shop.

"Mayor, this'n here's a damn cheat. She hustled me outta fifteen dollars!"

Crawfish kept his eyes on Andy, and let the horse trot about lazily.

[Emmett Colt]

One thing Andy McCall didn't need help with was fightin' her own battles, but Emmett half-turned on the steps anyway, eyeing Crawfish with a level look - the man was all horns and rattles, despite the early hour.

"Don't seem like there'd be much point in cheatin', Mullins, when you can take it fair. From the looks of you, wouldn't have been much of a challenge." He said mildly.

[Harold Alexander Truss]

The mayor looked to J.B., who politely deferred for the moment, tucking the blade away. Still with a patina of lather on his face, Mr. Truss rose from his seat. He cast a look of disapproval to Emmett for kicking this hornet's nest. There just wasn't any need.

"Crawfish, you know how these things work. You go on down the main drag and make your case with the sheriff. Bring a witness if you got one and maybe he'll help you."

There wasn't any point in letting this thing cook off. Crawfish was probably still drunk and definitely armed, and Andy wasn't enough of a lady to not fight back if she had to. Of course, Mr. Truss wasn't armed, but it was a bit dumb for even a mule like Crawfish to think about skinning a smokewagon on him.

"Why don't you come on up for some coffee and have ol' J.B. get you cleaned up?"

He was pretty sure that Mullins would refuse. At least he hoped so. That man stank in close proximity, and he didn't want to offend his senses any longer than he had to.

Taking another sip of coffee, Mr. Truss glanced down the main drag, a little past the Sockeye going the other way. There was a man in a duster standing about, not attracting any attention to himself in any real way. Not the sheriff, but law enough at least.

[Andy McCall]

Andy already had her boots off, and her socks were soon to follow. She gave a disgusted snort to Crawfish before finally looking up at him.

"Go home and sober up, Mullins. I ain't cheated you outta nothin'; didn't have to. You lost fair n' square and you know it."

She was in the process of rolling up her right pantleg, and with one hand gestured for J.B. to come over. While Truss was busy with Crawfish, Andy had full intentions to take advantage of the barber's inactivity.

[Crawfish Mullins]

Crawfish eyeballed Emmett as he played white knight to Miss McCall. Who did this cowpoke think he was talking to?

"Was you there?"

Silence passed after his rhetorical question, which he ended with a long and syrupy spit of tobacco juice, aimed expertly at the toe of Emmett's boot.

[Emmett Colt]

The corner of his lip quirked and then smoothed over. Emmett slowly pushed himself upright from the rail of the porch, just enough to let Crawfish know he knew how to dance.

"Know a type well enough, don't have to be." He replied. His hands remained loosely tucked by the waistband of his trousers, above the line of his holster. After a moment he shook his head.

"Not lookin' to quarrel, Mullins." Well, not lookin' hard, at least. "Why'n't you come on up, like Mr. Truss done said?"

[Harold Alexander Truss]

The mayor's eyes narrowed as he looked Crawfish down. Mr. Truss fancied himself to be an excellent judge of character, and Crawfish's was about worthless. That said, he saw the resolution to this mess in the drunkard's eyes. There would be no fight. Not here, at least. Mullins wouldn't ever look for a fair fight, much less one stacked against him. No, he'd back down. It was a sort of pragmatic cowardice that you'd appreciate if you didn't get nauseated by it. He wasn't sure how handy Emmett was with steel, but reckoned he was at least average, but Andy he knew had at least one notch on her gun, even if it was "justifiable".

Casually, Truss looked back past the Sockeye, and gently shook his head at the man in the duster, who dutifully disappeared.

"And get some coffee in you too. That'll cut your hangover a bit, I reckon."

[Andy McCall]

A sweet smile was given to Mullins as J.B. started lathering up her bared leg. It was something that he'd done enough before for her, and as such wasn't nervous about his task. Oddly enough, she honestly hadn't cheated him the night before; he'd been so drunk that she'd not needed to.

Pulling her handrolled cigarette from her lips, she exhaled a cloud of smoke lazily.

As much as she would have detested sharing the morning with Crawfish, she knew that nothing would happen with the cards so completely south of his favor.

"Clean yourself up," she cooed, "then you can spend the afternoon down at the whorehouse 'round the way."

She knew that Truss suffered no whoring in his town, but that didn't stop the working women from setting up shop outside of his reach. She herself was never one to tie herself to a brothel; no, Andy went where she pleased and chose her clients discretely. Of course, whenever she herself felt such urges, it was usually more an issue of satisfying herself. And if she was paid for it, all the better for her.

[Crawfish Mullins]

"I ain't gon' go to no sheriff. Ain't gon' sit here an act like things is right."

The horse continued on a lazy loop, and Mullins pulled up to angle back to the main drag.

"I see you 'round."

He pointed at Andy.

"We got ways of sortin' out cheats, don't give a damn what's 'tween yer legs."

He also had parting words for Emmett.

"Don't talk cross at me hayseed, you ain't in my league. That hussy ain't fit for gettin' yer neck wrung."

Spitting again for effect, Crawfish brought his horse up to a slow gallop, heading down main street.

[Emmett Colt]

Emmett watched the man leave and then turned to quirk an eyebrow at Andy. He managed to avoid gawking at her exposed leg.

"You always attract the most interestin' conversation, darlin'." He said wryly as one foot steppeddown onto the uppermost stair. He accepted a refill on his coffee, stopping J.B's boy when the tin cup was half-full. "And it's not even close to lunch yet."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

The mayor brushed a hand against his neck, and frowned. The lather had dried up, and gone tacky to the touch. He'd have to get wedged in after Andy, but that was the least of his concerns.

"Having snakes like that in town's bad enough without people pokin' 'em with sticks."

He cast a somewhat withering glance at Miss McCall.

"I don't ask how honest your game is, and I don't care. There's bigger fish to fry. Don't make this become a problem. We've got a good arrangement. Somebody winds up with broke heads in the street, and I have to ask questions I ain't got the time to deal with."

Mr. Truss gladly accepted a coffee refill, looking to change the subject from current events.

"So, angry drunk saps aside, how's this morning treatin everyone?"

He asked to nobody in particular, venting his annoyance at having to deal with the shenanigans just prior.

[Andy McCall]

Andy leaned back as J.B. continued to work, and she rested one hand behind her head. Truss' warning was heard well enough, and she licked her lips. Whether the game had been honest or not - and it had - she knew well enough that when it came to iron bein' pulled out, order tended to flee. And when that happened, Truss was as ugly as any angry drunkard. In some ways he topped Mullins in that regard. She'd already felt the brunt of such anger once, and barely managed to slink by with the argument of justifiable self-defense.

"Mornin' is great."

A sultry wink to Emmett, and Andy leaned forward slightly to check on J.B.'s handiwork.

[Emmett Colt]

"Mm." Emmett nodded his agreement with Andy's succinct appraisal of the day. He felt no need to elaborate further - Truss already knew his business and Andy didn't much care - particularly not when McCall angled forward, affording him a view down her blouse.

Emmett turned back to his coffee just before it became unacceptably obvious he'd had a peek, swirling the hot liquid around his mouth some before swallowing. "Heard talk 'bout a load of folk headin' up this way. Got gold fever. Emmaline's expectin' to book the hotel full up."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

"Gold?"

The mayor paused in the middle of a sip of coffee, setting his cup down.

"Still folks chasin' that brass ring, huh?"

There'd been claims before, but nothing recent, at least on this side of the Bighorn river. Most high rollers pushed to Virginia City or farther.

"Well, far from me to say otherwise. As long as they can pay for those hotel rooms and have enough left over to lose in the Sockeye. Nothin' sadder than a carpetbagger with a gold pan and a head full of daydreams tryin' to hock his boots for some hard tack."

[Andy McCall]

More folks comin' in for gold, eh? Andy thought on that, curious as to how this next batch of fortune-goers would fare. She'd made a decent enough haul offa the last bunch

"That's a fare bit of interesting news," she remarked idly while flicking her cigarette out into the dusty street.

With both hands now free, she tucked them behind her head as J.B. went to work on her left leg.

"Any news 'bout when they're supposed to start showin' up?"

She could already see their money in her hands and the rowdy nights to be had.

[Emmett Colt]

"First batch was settin' to leave the city earlier'n the week. Figure that puts 'em here soon." Emmett wasn't especially keen on a bunch of opportunists pouring into Justice, although he figured he could let a room or two at the ranch out to the hotel overspill.

There had been a time when he'd taken an interest in gold himself. Even gone so far as to plan a trip down to Colorado - but then the incident with Ruth had happened and everything had gone to hell. Emmett hadn't cared much for anything for a long time after that. Burying two children had a funny way of changing a man's view on things.

He drained the rest of his coffee, tapped the tin against his thigh. "There's rumour that it's real - sayin' Montana's the new California."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

"Sometimes it is, sometimes it isn't."

The three shared a moment cracking wise at prospectors, but Colt was right. As long as the odds were, sometimes they paid. The trick is to be where you needed to be to be a winner. That's how the Sawtooth silver mine had panned out at least. It always starts with some poor sap getting lucky, but they either lack the means to get rich off it, or they sell their stake for too little. In either case, all Mr. Truss had to do was to wait for the Sawtooth prospector to sell. Luck's got nothing to do with it.

"Either way, looks like we've got a busy run ahead of us. Hell, you just might get to keep that Stallion if you make some money off these folk."

[Andy McCall]

Andy's eyes were closed as she basked in the morning and the feeling of freshly shaved legs. There really was nothing quite like it, to be honest. For as rowdy as she was, cleanliness had always been a bit of a must-have for her; least she knew that she was cleaner than any of the whores over at the Bareback.

Cracking one eye open, she looked to Emmett.

"Whether there's gold or not, still means we make a fair amount o' money from 'em."

J.B. wiped the last remaining streaks of lather from her legs, and Andy bent forward once more to run a hand over their smoothness. Perfect.

"I'd say we come out ahead no matter what."

[Immanuel Gaultier]

Cleaned up and proper, Rebekah Bennett was to most every eye the good preacher's wife. The daughter of the town schoolteacher, and the soft-spoken Farmer Barnes, she generally exuded a fair spirit and was smart to boot - the beauty, her father would say, she came by honestly. This morning, however, Becca was feeling slightly vexed. Preacher Elijah Bennett hadn't been seen by her eye since before the light of day, and it put a bee in her bonnet - so to speak - when he did such.

"Morning, Mister Truss...J.B..."

Stepping up to the porch, she had her hands folded in front of herself, greeting them with a half-warmed smile. A flash of her eyes off to the side for a brief second was probably all the greeting the likes of Andy McCall would get and for obvious known and not-so-known reasons, Emmett Colt as well. Long story, that one.

"Another fine day upon us, wouldn't you say?"

[Emmett Colt]

Hungover ruffians were one thing, Rebekah Bennett another entirely. Emmett's posture immediately stiffened as she trounced up to the steps and he nodded curtly towards the woman, before setting his cup of coffee down.

"We were just remarkin' on it." Emmett said, easing himself down the stairs. He was hoping to make a graceful exit because where the preacher's wife was concerned, he didn't trust himself to maintain civility for long.

Preacher's wife. Huh; since when had he ever thought of Rebekah as just 'the preacher's wife'? They'd been family once.

"I'd best not waste any more time." He gave a passable smile and nodded to the group. "Be seein' you soon, Mr. Truss."

[Immanuel Gaultier]

Without looking at him, she could register his mood. Things had been, for a long while now, more than strained when it came to Emmett Colt. What he held against her she couldn't figure, but of all people he was the most difficult one in her mind and heart to forgive. She shook her curly-haired head and sighed.

"I don't imagine I will, Emmett. The Lord's likely to have taken us all home before you show that face of yours in a pew. A darn shame, really. And you speak of wastin' time."

She turned and pinned him with a look, one of mingled pity and borderline damnation.

"A good day to you, Mr. Colt."

[Emmett Colt]

Emmett's expression twitched so subtly someone else might have missed it entirely, or mistaken it for a hidden smile. Rebekah didn't. She knew better.

"Ms. McCall. J.B." Emmett bid his goodbyes with a friendly smile and then turned to Rebekah. Very deliberately he tipped his hat. "You make sure'n give Elijah my regards."

Then, mouth set in a grim line, he turned tail and made directly for the general store.

[Harold Alexander Truss]

Mr. Truss was wise to keep out from between Emmett and the preacher's wife. He had enough of an imagination to make sure that he didn't need to wet his whistle at the gossip well.

In the meantime, J.B. had extricated himself from Andy's scandalous lower regions, and was again attending to the mayor's stubble. With a hot and damp cloth, he removed the dried lather, and was soon quick to apply a fresh coat.

"Mrs. Bennett, what do you think of the news? An unwashed heathen scourge full of gold lust and avarice is about to descend on our fair town like a swarm of biblical locusts."

J.B. eased him back into the seat as he ran his razor along a leather strip to sharpen it up.

"Figure that Rev' will be workin' overtime packin' em in the chapel."

The unsaid was that this was sort of a progression. Outsiders come to town, maybe find some gold, then blow their meager finds on booze and whores. Gold dries up, and men find religion. The mayor wondered if Mrs. Bennett and her husband knew how they fit into this peculiar circle of life.

[Immanuel Gaultier]

Mrs. Elijah Bennett watched the man with whom she shared a rather touchy history stalk off. A sigh, an utterance of 'Lord, forgive me' that soon followed after most of these confrontations gave any bystanders the idea that she regretted her inability to keep her mouth sown shut around Mr. Colt, and for the bare moments afterwards, they would be right - then she simply put it behind her in most cases, and continued on with her day. Turning back to the remainder present, Rebekah cleared her features of the notations of displeasure, trading it for a slight lick of frustration that her husband's work habits gave her.

"Oh, Mr. Truss, Elijah's been awake since long before dawn polishin' up his armor for the 'battle'. He ain't eaten a thing so far today, and it's still a week yet 'til we're all due in chapel again. He's got dedication, bless his heart, but honest to goodness, that man's gonna starve himself right to the grave one of these days..."

She leaned against the banister that accompanied the steps down the porch, and crossed her arms, lowering her glance downward a moment or two.

"...he may well put the fear of the Lord into 'em, or strike some right dead altogether."

There was a twinge of amusement in the pitying tone of her voice. Elijah sometimes didn't have the reins pulled tight on his passion, and had actually once managed to plant fear deep enough in a man (weak already as that man was) that it likely made his heart explode in his chest. Only once, though. Doc said the guy woulda probably been good as dead by the end of the coming week, anyhow.

"In any case, I think we're gonna have some rather interesting times ahead of us. You just never know what folks from the outside will bring our way."

[Andy McCall]

Throughout it all Andy sat in silence. She was wise enough to stay away from what went on between Emmett and Rebekah Bennett, and knew when to keep her mouth shut in such situations. Or well, at least until one or the other left.

She watched Emmett walk off, slowly rolling down her pantlegs and pulling on her socks and boots while keeping an ear on the conversation at hand.

Rebekah Bennett was one of those kinds of women that Andy took a particular delight in nagging, and with one last look at Emmett's backside, she leaned back in her chair, pulling an unlit cigarette from behind her ear.

"Oh I think we know what folks from the outside'll bring our way."

Andy struck a match, holding it to the tip of her smoke. Satisfied that the tobacco within was sufficiently lit, she tossed the match out over the rail before reaching down the front of her shirt for the roll of dollars she'd stashed.

J.B. had done a fine job as always, and deserved an ample tip.

She held her hand between her breasts, pausing before pulling her money out, giving Rebekah a decidedly lewd expression.

[Harold Alexander Truss]

Mr. Truss was content to let Andy play the rake - he had the exact thing in mind. J.B. took the recent lull in the mayor's verbosity to begin his work, carefully running his blade along the contours of his neck, jawline, and face. The mayor chose his moments to speak strategically, when J.B. turned to clean his blade of stubble and lather.

"If that's the case, they'll stay out of town."

Mr. Truss finally said, with some degree of finality. He eyed Mrs. Bennett knowingly.

"We don't track mud indoors in Justice."