Book The Code: Part 3: The Retribution

skipped a day for uploading but here you go! Didn’t have time to put this in google docs, sorry about that.

3. The Retribution

Moore dismounted the horse and tied the halter to a post in front of the shop. He then stepped off the road and continued on foot.

The meeting place was in an open square, but everybody who saw him coming avoided him. They’d heard about the saloon, then the gang’s party house. A man stepped out of a boot shop, and collided with Moore, dropping his bag. He stumbled backward, shouting, “Pardon me sir, my mistake sir!”

“Please, it was just an accident.” Moore said, kneeling and picking up the man’s bag. The man stood frozen with fear. He returned the bag and continued. He heard no footsteps as the man stared dumbfounded at him. For his politeness or his simple fear, he had no clue.

Then there was footsteps. “Sir, may I ask a question?”

Moore stopped. It was nearly noon, but politeness in a town he was in progress of forcing a crime ring out of never hurt anyone. “Go right ahead.”

“Are you the one who the man who everyone is calling the Grim Reaper himself reports to?”

Moore considered it. Mav was gaining fame. He was an incredible shot, and when the mood suited him he was walking death on legs. Completely untouchable.

But nobody was his boss.

“I’m simply a man in a business, looking to make my fortune.”

“But sir, you were seen with him outside the saloon that got burned down. And at the house that got torched. And I ain’t seen no business man carrying a cut down shotgun and six-shooter like you.”

“Like I said.” Moore said, tipping his hat and turning on his way. “A man in a business.”

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He reached the square right as the sun reached its peak in the sky.

The square was quite deserted, and Moore continued, hands in his pockets, sauntering forward.

There was a puff of dirt right in front of him, followed by the report of a rifle. Moore simply stopped.

A voice called out to him. “That’s far enough!”

A man stepped out holding a revolver pointed towards Moore. “I said no weapons.” He was wearing expensive white clothes, had a white hat, and a luxury black sleeveless vest over a white long sleeve button-up shirt that the local crime life seemed so fond of.

“If you were walking into a surprise meeting with no backup, would you go unarmed?” Moore called out. “I’ll drop them when we’re on even terms.”

The man cocked the hammer back. “I said drop em. Or my man in his hide drops you.”

Suddenly, a man fell out of a clock tower in a flash of red, followed by a report of a rifle shot behind Moore.

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Mav had sat in the barn loft, covered in hay, for the better part of an hour.

He had seen the man in white saunter into a shop, pistol blatantly on his hip. He had seen his man get into the attic of the shop, roughly six hundred meters away, with a scoped rifle. He had seen Moore, casually, walk into the meet. He had seen the man in the shop fire at Moore.

He cycled the bolt on the M-95, the straight pull action working smoothly. The scope was quite impressive. He set his sights on the man in white, but kept his finger off the trigger.

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The man in white stood like a child, his hand with the revolver in it shaking. “Is-is-is that him? Your war dog? The one they’re calling Death himself?”

“Maybe. Maybe he got into position quite prior to our meeting. Maybe he watched your man go into the clocktower. Maybe he watched you walk into the meet, with weapons. Maybe he saw your man shoot at me. Maybe he got annoyed and pulled the trigger on your man. Maybe, he’ll get upset that you don’t drop your piece right damn now, and put a bullet in you as well.”

The man stood, pistol hand still shaking. Moore reached across and unholstered his revolver, cocking the hammer back and holding it by his side. “I came into this meeting peacefully, and it’s already resulted in bloodshed. I’d prefer not to have any more lives lost today.”

The man screamed in response. “You’ve already violated the Bandit’s Code! You’ve already killed a quarter of my men! Why should I trust you?”

“I can’t say I’m an honorable man. But I have common sense.” Moore replied.

The man’s hand steadied. He aimed down the revolver at Moore.

Then he dropped, having been shot in the chest. There was another report of a rifle behind Moore.

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Mav cycled the M-95’s bolt again. There were two empty cases in the hay next to him. He kept his eye to the scope, but then Moore gave him the all clear signal. He put the rifle on safe and stood up, some of the hay clinging to him. He slung the German rifle across his back and retrieved his two cases, and pushed the hay back into position, doing his best to conceal that he was ever there, although a trained eye would be able to tell.

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Moore approached the man where he lay.

“Why?” Moore asked him. The man tried to raise his revolver, but Moore kicked it out of his hand. “Why would you do something like this?”

“To...to....remove...you...” The man rasped.

Moore shot him.

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Mav sat in the corner of the pub, with his boots up on the table. He had a cup of coffee on the table in front of him, and one of his revolvers sat in his lap. He kept his eyes searching the faces of those sitting at the tables, looking for anyone nervous or staring.

Night had fallen, but that didn’t prevent Mav from enjoying a good hot cup of coffee. The building was still packed, regardless.

Moore entered the pub. People looked up at him before averting their eyes immediately and continuing their conversations. Moore navigated his way through the tables and slid into a seat across from Mav. “Being cautious?” He asked, nodding to the firearm in his lap.

“Considering the aftermath of the last place we tried to meet at, yeah, I am being cautious.”

Moore chuckled. Mav’s face was set in stone. “Well, the meet went completely sour. And that’s twice now these guys have mentioned some sort of code.”

“The Bandit’s Code, yes, I know what it is.”

“Mind explaining it to me?” Moore asked.

Mav lifted his feet and sat up, then took a sip of coffee. He sighed, and stared into the surface of his drink.

“When the first groups came to the West for their various reasons, backstabbing, mutiny, murder, theft, all sorts of acts were widespread. People died rapidly. Bodies weren’t recovered. The West was rapidly becoming every man for themselves.

“Then, one group created a code to live by. They applied it to every decision every day. The leader is the leader, nobody may challenge them. Treat your brothers as you would your own blood. Consorting with Indians and men of the law are unacceptable. Death by means of sabotage, trickery, or poison are cowardly and will not be tolerated. Interfering with another established group’s operations or territory is strictly against the Code. And, the one we have probably violated the most, never strike down a wounded enemy, but tend to them and return them to their family.”

Moore chewed on that information for a while. “How is it you know so much about the Code?”

Mav sat silently for a moment, then, he spoke. “I was part of the group that created the Code. I trusted my life to those words. I had a woman, a good life. Money. Any number of things I could have had upon request.”

“What happened?” Moore asked.

“Our camp was attacked. I had been in the bath, washing. I ran to my room and strapped on all three pistols, and grabbed my Bowie and thrower.

“As I stepped out the door of our place, I could just see the mass amount of fighting going on. Men with guns mixed with Indians, versus our men. There was melee, there was firefights. You name it, it was there.

“I threw my thrower immediately into the chest of the closest Indian and drew my Bowie and Mauser. I began shooting and cutting until the Mauser was empty, when I threw it at a man and stabbed him. I left the knife in his chest. Then I drew both revolvers and went to work.

“Before long I had to reload. Somebody had set fire to my house, and my wife came running out. An Indian went to shoot her with his bow, and I put a bullet in him.

“She ran to me and hugged me. I wrapped both my arms around her, pistols still in hand, before I heard a gunshot.

“The Indian I had shot had a revolver, and he was still kicking. He shot her through the abdomen, the bullet lodging itself in. I screamed, and emptied my revolvers at the body before retrieving his tomahawk and chopping him apart in a berserker rage.

“My girl bled out.” Mav finished. “She died because I held myself to the Code, and didn’t finish the wounded man. And I have never held myself to any standard since then except the basic rules of survival; kill or be killed.

“What happened to the group?” Moore inquired.

“Some had left, to create their own groups with the same rules. Some had come and stayed. None of the group I was with at the time are alive. They all died in the attack. In the midst of my berserker rage on the Indian, the fire in my house had spread to the wall and the meadow. It was a horrible inferno, and I retrieved my Mauser, pistols, and knives just in time. A horse was fleeing, and I stopped him, riding bareback for twenty miles to the nearest town. I wasn’t able to walk for a week after the ride, my legs were too torn up.”

Mav pauses his story telling, and went to continue, but then someone came into the saloon. He saw the man’s eyes sweep the patron’s, and they all averted them just as they had when Moore had entered. He wore black everything, even his holster and pistol were black.

His eyes met with Mav’s. Mav immediately placed a hand on his revolver. The man made his way over to where the pair sat, and pulled up a chair.

“I’d like to apologize for my colleague’s attitude earlier. He was a bit hotheaded, and wanted to make himself look good by eliminating you. It’s a shame he’s no longer with us. He would have made a good example.”

The man was well aged, with a gray mustache, weathered, sun-tanned face with plenty of wrinkles. His bright green eyes seemed to captivate you, like a snake.

“I’m afraid we haven’t been introduced.” Moore said politely.

“There’s no need to introduce me.” Mav said quietly, hand still on his revolver. “Victor here and I go quite well back.”

“I never was able to give you my condolences about your girlfriend, Roy.” Victor said carefully, using Mav’s first name. “You ran off after she passed.”

Mavs’ hand drew his revolver, cocked the hammer, and placed the barrel up against Victor’s forehead all in one smooth action. “You don’t have the right to-“

Underneath the table, another hammer clicked, and Mav felt the cold press of a pistol barrel being pressed against the surface of his leg, right above the femoral artery. Moore stiffened, and his hand twitched, but not before Victor said, “You reach for that and he’ll be bleeding through a .45 caliber hole.”

Moore stayed his hand. Mav just stared Victor down. “You’re pretty handy with a gun, kid,” Victor commented. “But you best not be forgettin’ who taught you. Who trained you. Who created you.”

“You better not forget that you’re the one that lead us to our deaths!” Mav hissed. “I told you we should have posted sentries. I told you we should have people circle back to see if we were being followed. It’s all your fault!”

There was hubbub as some of the people populating the pub were standing to leave. Some kept their heads down. Others simply stared in shock at the sight of a man holding a gun to another man’s head.

There was the sound of two more levers, and Peréz appeared, holding a rifle, followed by Hayde with Mav’s lever action shotgun. “Drop it.” Hayde muttered. Both guns were pointed at Victor.

Victor raised his off hand followed by pistol hand. Mav removed the revolver barrel from his forehead. Hayde snatched the revolver out of Victor’s hand. Mav kept the barrel of his revolver pointed at Victor, and leaned back, with his feet back up on the table.

The pub had emptied out.

“I came to talk peacefully.” Victor said quietly. “You’re interfering with my business, which is a direct violation of the Bandit’s Code, which I know you understand well Roy. You were, after all, one of the original drafters. And that means you know that I require payment in either material or blood.”

“And you’ll see not a dime nor drop of it from me.” Whispered Mav. “I would gut you like a trout and hang you from the tallest building in this dust bowl if you hadn’t pulled me out of the gutter all that time ago.”

Peréz and Hayde watched confused. They hadn’t been around for Mav’s explanation of his past, but they could see the ice in his eyes. It was the look of a man with nothing to lose, and that kind of man was dangerous when he could apply six pounds of pressure.

“So you choose violence.” Victor said. He chuckled the laugh of a resigned man. “I’d have figured that you would’ve become a more reasonable man after losing what you held dear to savages, Roy, not turn into one yourself.”

“I am my own man.” Mav said quietly. “And I’ll carry my choices to my grave. But not before I see those who wish me harm stand before God’s judgement well ahead of me.”

“As you wish.” Victor said. He stood, ignoring the barrels of several firearms pointed at him. “You have until sundown tomorrow to consider your payment. After that, I will assume it will be in blood.”

“Tread lightly, Victor.” Moore said. “You may find that I have resources of my own to bring to bear.”

Victor walked towards the door, slowly. But then, he stopped, turning and looking Mav directly in the eye. “You still owe me a debt, Roy. I’m aware you’re here of your own accord, paying another debt. You may have earned yourself the title of Death himself, but keep in mind that nobody is anything more than mortal in this world.”

He tipped his hat and left, the sound of the night breeze coming then fading abruptly as the saloon door shut.

Hayde and Peréz lowered their guns. Mav set his revolver down and interlaced his hands over his stomach. Moore relaxed and set his hand up on the table, away from his revolver.

Silence fell.

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