The Wake

[Seamus Mullins]

Carson City, Nevada

Seamus Mullins was a rare type of criminal. He'd lived a life of success in his sordid trade, and was so successful that he could manage to wrap himself in a veneer of respectability. The money he swindled, stole, and robbed was propped up into buying stakes into silver mines and casinos. He was one of the few villains in the old west that could reach the summit of success without firing a shot from a gun. That was a notion that he'd developed some amount of pride with. In the halcyon days of Carson City, he used his ill-gotten loot to pull the mining down up by its bootstraps and to become a proper city, further giving his legacy the legitimacy that so few of his type ever gained. In his twilight years, he was almost a respectable man, with a large house, a big family, and a healthy bank roll. If Seamus wished it, he could have abandoned his ilicit ways entirely, but there was still some allure to it.

One late spring day, the elder of the Mullins family took to playing a mandolin on his expansive front porch, smoking the finest cross-cut tobacco from a walnut pipe when a uniformed telegram boy briskly approached his step.

"Pardon me, Mr. Mullins, you got a wire out of Virginia City."

Seamus knew who it was by the name of the town. His brother Roy rarely took time to write. By that very acknowledgment, this was a serious matter. An aged hand reached to his pocket to remove bifocals, while the other put the mandolin away, and reached for the paper the boy held. Unwrapping it with ginger care, Seamus adjusted the glasses on his nose and read the print.

MY BROTHER SEAMUS STOP

I REGRET TO INFORM YOU THAT YOUR SON EZEKIEL WAS IN AN ALTERCATION IN JUSTICE MONTANA STOP

HE WAS MURDERED BY THE TOWN MAYOR STOP

WE ARE HOLDING A WAKE IN TOWN WITHIN THE WEEK AND ARE HOPEFUL OF YOUR ATTENDANCE STOP

SINCERELY ELROY MULLINS STOP

Seamus carefully folded the letter again with a shaking hand, and with another retrieved a dollar coin from his pocket to give the telegraph boy.

"Thank you, my son."

His eyes were miles away and his face looked ashen.

[Shoney Mullins]

There was no need to ride for Carson City. That much she knew. With Zeke's death, Shoney had to but wait. Their father would come; Roy would tell him, and he would come. It was an eventuality that was certain.

How many years had it been since she'd last seen her father? Five? Ten? So much time had passed that she couldn't put a number to the distance that seperated them. After being run out of Justice, Shoney dared not set foot towards Carson City. That would be like walking back to a life that she'd spent so long trying to escape, and despite being abandoned by the one she'd come to trust, it was just not worth it to fall back into the abuse she took growing up. News always filtered in to where she'd holed herself up, and so she was able to at least keep a vague eye on the comings and goings of her immediate family. The thing that surprised her the most was how legitimate her father had become; or at least, the coating of lawfulness that he'd come to paint himself with.

Shoney knew better. She knew that he was a cruel man who stood for nothing but his own wants and desires. Least, to her he always was.

And then there was Frank. She wondered briefly if she'd even be able to put a bullet in him. Zeke'd been easy; he wasn't nothing but an idiot. But Frank - Frank was another person entirely. Both older, leaving her to be the youngest.

Seamus Mullins would be coming to Justice for his eldest son's wake, and Shoney would be waiting for him.

* * *

Outside of Justice, by about a mile or two, Shoney sat atop a tall grey. Her father and whoever else he felt to bring would no doubt be coming by train, inbound to Virginia City before taking to horseback for the rest of the trip into Justice.

And so she waited. She'd not draw iron at the sight of him, but felt it best to get some sort of feeling as to how he'd play the game. Also, whether or not he'd bring Frank.

Like some sentry, Shoney Mullins waited.

[Frank Mullins]

Frank sat beside his father, who was weakened by his immense grief. For all that Zeke was, he was still his son, and his first born. Seamus wept, his frail frame stooped over in his chair adjacent to the fireplace. Frank dared not interrupt his father's solace. He stared at the fire, his steely eyes reflecting its flickering light. He knew his father's mind. This slight would have to be accounted for. Frank had no doubt he would become his father's right hand of vengeance. It wouldn't be Roy, for all of his big talk. Frank's face held no joy, he only looked into the fire and thought about the crystalline edict of revenge. It was a demand that was as old as history itself. Frank's only thought and his only comfort was that he would be the instrument of retribution.

[Andy McCall]

Justice, Montana

It wasn't often that Andy set her sights on the Mayor's office. In fact, the last time she'd tried going in, she'd been forcefully ejected. It was one of those comedies of errors that had simply become something far more than it was originally, and over the years had even become a thing that the town laughed at.

Not quite banned from Truss' office after that, she certainly knew better than to come calling on him while in the throes of drunken happiness at having won a card game with his sheriff.

But now, she started up the steps with a much more sombre feeling in the pit of her stomach.

She'd not seen him at all since they parted ways at Doc Lenard's, and had made sure to not cause him any undo trouble.

But, she was still in possession of his gun, and knew that it would be wise to return it. He was right about trouble coming; she'd gotten word from a friend in Virginia City that Roy'd sent a message to Seamus Mullins. It was only a matter of time before he'd come callin'.

Andy slowly opened the door and stepped inside. Immediately it seemed like every eye looked up at her, and hooking a thumb into a jean pocket, she started through the rows of desks towards the door on the far wall.

[Harold Alexander Truss]

Mayor Truss stared at the document on his desk for what seemed to be an eternity. It was the most heavy piece of correspondance that he'd penned in years.

A resignation letter.

He closed his eyes to avert the onset of a headache. How could he, in good concience, remain the leader of this town on the tails of what had transpired. That the Sheriff had reviewed the incident between him, Shoney, and Crawfish was of little consolation. His verdict was that he had acted in lawful self defense. That summation was almost mocking. He couldn't come close to absolving himself in his deeds.

He pressed his fountain pen on the document, and the ink began to bleed.

"Damn it."

He held the paper up, and with a resigned sigh, crumpled it up. Even the seemingly noble act of resignation felt like he was abandoning the town to the consequences of his actions. How did he find absolution in this? Was he even worthy of it?

The door opened to his office slightly.

[Andy McCall]

Andy was used to havin' folks watch her, but for some reason these particular ones made her nervous, and she closed the distance to the Mayor's office door quickly, opening it as quietly possible. She didn't open it wide, just enough to slide through before closing it again. The frosted glass didn't seem to help, and she gave a nervous glance behind her as if she could make out the turned heads.

A muttered curse, and she looked back to Truss.

He was behind his desk, a crumpled piece of paper in hand, and Andy moved to sit in one of the chairs that sat across from him, setting a wrapped bundle in her lap as she did so.

For a minute she didn't say a word, instead looking off to the side as if in some sorta deep thought.

Eventually she turned her eyes to his. He didn't look well, and she gestured to the balled paper he held.

"What's that."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

He curled his lower lip over his teeth, tucking the crumpled paper away like a crime he'd committed.

"It's my resignation, Andy."

[Andy McCall]

"A-haa."

It was a long, drawn out sound. Andy bit her lip, a finger flicking at the bundle in her lap.

"Might wanna wait 'fore you put that in."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

His eyes stole a glance at the parcel she carried.

"What's that?"

He should've figured that she'd cross his path before he could put his notice in. Anything she would say would trouble his notion to cash his chips in, he figured.

[Andy McCall]

"Not now."

Andy waved his question away with a dismissive hand.

"You can't quit right now. Least not for a while at least."

Wondering how he'd take the news, Andy tossed any sort of diplomatic wording to the side. Never was any good at that sorta stuff anyways.

"Got word from a gal back in Virginia City. Said that Roy sent word to Seamus Mullins."

She waved a finger at the Mayor.

"So's you can't quit. Not with Seamus Mullins comin' to town."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

He hated to be told what he could and couldn't do.

"I can quit and I will. Way I figure it, the Mullins clan's got it out for me, and they can deal with me as they may."

He took a right stormy expression in his eyes. The ever-present pain in his arm acted up again, but he stared at Andy squarely.

"What I did out there, that was me. That wasn't Justice, or any of you. If anybody ought to answer to it, it ought to be me."

[Andy McCall]

Andy made a face at him, leaning back in her seat.

"You? Right. There was two bullets in Mullins' body. Ain't no one knows which was yors an' which was Shoney's.

"An even if it was hers, her kin would come an' make hell for this town. Don't matter if it was the town behind it or just one person. They'd make sure alla us suffered."

She blinked. For as much of a stubborn heel she could be at times, he was just as bad, and she took to callin' him the same name he'd called her back at the jail.

"Can't quit, you stubborn mule."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

Truss closed his eyes. He abhored having Andy near him to draw his hypocrisy into account. At the same time, he couldn't escape the truth in her words.

"Easy to say that now."

It was a stalling tactic. He knew the die was cast. What could his resignation do in the face of this?

"A lot of people are in harms way on account of what I've done."

[Andy McCall]

"What you done? Aw hell, you ain't done nothin' but protect yourself. How d'you know it weren't Shoney that killed 'im?"

Her stern tone held the undertones of a plea. He couldn't just up an' leave the town; the Mullins clan would run wild in his absence, and even she knew that Truss' presence was needed. For all of her bad habits and trickery, Andy knew that the Mayor was Justice's rock.

"You been here a long time, Longer'n me. Folks here need you. You can't just leave after somethin' like this happens. Hell, I coulda run off three years ago after shootin' Jake dead, but I stayed. Course, no one here really needed me, but I still stayed 'round."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

Again, the Mayor took to gazing at his hands. Not the hands of a shootist, but here they were after the deed was done.

"What do you think?"

It was an earnest appraisal of not only himself, but the town he'd built up.

"Can we beat 'em?"

[Andy McCall]

"Whether we do or not, it's a shade better'n runnin' away."

Andy's voice wasn't mean, it was just honest. She took the parcel from her lap then, setting it on the desk in front of his hands. It was a familiar shape.

"Cleaned it up an' got the blood off."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

The mayor closed his eyes.

"It was a mistake to even carry that thing. I don't want it near me."

A blatant paradox, as it seems that the deeds that sprang from that death's head had brought him to the verge of dependency upon it. A strange destiny for a person who was never to be a shootist.

[Andy McCall]

Andy considered herself a patient person, but in the face of the Mayor's attitude, she was beginning to feel as though that patience was coming to an end.

She unfolded the wrapped cloth, exposing the revolver, and gave it a shove, sending it closer to him.

"Better get used to havin' it near you."

[Harold Alexander Truss]

He felt its dreadful weight, and pulled the hammer back, listening for the click with trepidation. He flipped the cover open to see live cartridges inside. Lives that might have been taken. He carefully worked the ejector spring, emptying the gun of the remaining bullets. At least for now.

He set the dread weapon back on the desk.

"Justice needs a Mayor, not a shootist. Whatever I do, it's not to repeat that once more."

He hated her for goading him, even if it was in the right direction. Despite its irrationality, he wished to turn back the hands of time itself.

"You came to give me my gun back? Or was there something else?"

With Andy, there usually was.

[Andy McCall]

She coulda stood up an' left, been done with him for the morning. He was just so morose and his mood so sour that she'da probably been better off for it too.

Then again, Andy McCall was not often known for bein' tactful.

"That, and t'make sure you weren't gonna do nothin' stupid like quittin'."