Dystopia Chapter 21: What Were the Odds?

A voice from behind, both unsteady and unexpected, stammered, “Tu… turn around slowly… and keep… your hands in view.”

I froze, took a second to catch my breath, speculating what the hell have I gotten myself into? Minding my own business, a stranger. I felt my head spinning, my shoulders tightening, and my jaw clenching. Gotta keep breathing, stay steady.

Could see the server headed to my table, food in hand, stopped, now watching the scenario play out. Her eyes fixed on the weapon aimed at my back. Puzzled, she tilted her head to the right, observing the weapon, unsure what to do… as was I.

“Turn around slowly,” he repeated boastfully, “I heard bout you. You’re famous around these parts. You’ve got a reputation. Shot Doc in the back, how you outdrew three and were a ladies’ man. Been hoping you’d crawl out of your country club on the hill. Bingo, today is my lucky day.”

Turning, squinting, focusing on the form before me, “I don’t recognize you. Have we met?” I said.

“Interlock your fingers and place your hands behind your head, and shut up,” he demanded, his weapon hanging at his side, twitching, ready to fire.

The room had maybe five or six others, but I was not sure who was here with whom. But, of course, my dinner was ready and smelled edible. Watching the server, I suggested to her, “Just set it on the table, please.”

My voice wavering, centering my attention, trying to determine who, what, still clueless, I said, “It seems you have misidentified me. I’ve been on the road, saw some lights, hungry, stopped hoping for a meal, a little peace-and-quiet. And your name?”

“Just call me lucky.”

“Take the food back to the kitchen. He won’t be eating. Don’t wanta waste it,” he added, confidence now peaking.

“Mitch, check his back to see if he has that S.O.B. holster. If yes, he is the one; remove it with care.”

“He does,” Mitch said, placing it on the table to my left.

“Is there a sheriff, maybe a magistrate around who might intervene?” I asked hopefully.

“Got a ‘governor’ but doubt she’d be much interested in you, maybe a reward, don’t really give a… sorry, ladies present,” he continued.

“They say you never gave my brother a chance, just shot him dead where he stood, never touching or even reaching for his gun.”

“They say they buried him with his saddle, and you stole his horse.”

“They say you just walked out, stepping over his body.”

“I don’t know this they, and I know not of what you speak,” I lied, thinking what were the odds.

“I say,” Mitch announced, now standing next to his friend, “I watched, saw the whole thing, in cold blood, it was.” A fabrication; he was never there.

I closed my eyes, trying to relax, to think. “Okay, so you seem convinced I’m the one, and there’s not much I can say to convince you otherwise. So… is your goal to shoot me where I stand?”

“Shoot you where you stand. That’s ironic, no, we’ll vote, then I’ll shoot you. We’re not executioners, we’re law-abiding citizens.” Lucky snorted, laughing at his own diversion. “Everyone in here that heard his BS and thinks he’s innocent, raise your right hand.”

Looking around, I said, “Seems they all think you're a liar.”

Hmm, thinking, do I reach for the pistol on the table or my sidearm, maybe talk him down, faint, beg? A familiar voice from the entrance broke the silence.

“I’d like to hear more. Heard a different version. Can I vote?” a familiar voice interjected.

“What the… sorry miss, you’re fine but still outvoted.”

Addressing me, she smiled, “Sorry friend, apparently my vote — nullified,” while turning away.

Hesitating, she pointed toward the kitchen doorway. “But I brought friends.” Cord and Joshua stepped through it.

“Listen, you need to butt out, none of your…” big brother, distracted, shifting focus, bellowed.

Unable to complete his sentence before Addison drew, cocked, and finished the sentence, ‘business,’ suggesting he stand down.

Meanwhile, both Cord and Joshua joined the confrontation, suggesting everyone relax, eat, drink, and not get involved, and “keep your hands on the table.”

“So, having a bad day?” Silence filled the air. I know that voice. Again saved by her.

“It’s your lucky day. Now get your pistol and slip it back into your back holster. Tip the server. Then exit through the front door where Frank awaits with horses readied for our exit,” Addison directed. “And if someone should stick their head out the door before we’re gone, our other friend will greet you with a scattergun. Clear? Oh, and dude, be sure to limp. As I recall, it was the other leg.”

“Oh, not so lucky, Lucky; holster your weapon,” Addison cautioned. “If you think I won’t drop you where you stand and then Mitch before you hit the ground, you’re absolutely mistaken.”

Addison, now slipping back, said, “Good day, gentlemen.”

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