Poem 10: The Preacher

The Preacher named Blakheart
Sword is in his cane
He moved faster than any mortal
Yet he seemed lame
Who are you? What are you?
Killing those who kill in God’s name?
“Thou shalt not kill!”
He did proclaim
If seeing is believing
Then my eyes must be deceiving
Who are you? What are you?
It cannot be true…
It was his grin that gave him away
He is nothing more than a child at play

Chapter 10: Symphony of Chaos

Blakheart’s eyes burned like hot coals. It was like the burning flames of vengeance I had witnessed hidden in Gan’s eyes. But this fire was neither hidden nor alit with vengeance. This scorching inferno blazed white hot. There was nothing but calm in his eyes…
Everyone began to scream as the bandito fell onto the crowd covering everyone within range in blood. Where the arms had been sliced now served as two temporary gore fountains; red viscous fluid pumped from where his arms had been dismembered. The screams became louder reaching a crescendo as the two free flying arms awkwardly slapped off a woman. There was confusion, panic, and chaos as the crowd began to disperse.

Blakheart was standing on the stage with his cane-sword sheathed. The fat official and the bandito looked confused. They did not register the beyond humanly fast movements of the preacher. They had no idea what had just happened.
The preacher grinned as he walked forward unaided without the help of his cane. His posture was perfect. The preacher was neither lame nor crippled. It had all been an act.
“Stay back!” shouted the bandito as he went for his revolver.
The bandito’s head came off in a single slice. His head fell into the manic dispersing crowd creating more chaos. The headless body fell off the gallows; it was another gore fountain ready to spray its rose mucous onto anyone within close proximity. The preacher grinned at the fat official as he approached him.
“For God’s sake! Just hang him already!” shouted Little Boy Blair from the law firm’s balcony.
While literally shitting himself, the fat official followed Little Boy Blair’s final order. He pulled the lever releasing the trap door beneath Chief Kief.
“No!” shouted Gan who began to run through the chaotic crowd in the direction of the gallows.
I watched Chief Kief drop… and then continually drop until he landed on some hay.
Blakheart had sliced the rope without even looking. His sole focus and attention was on the fat official. The fat official’s chunky hands trembled as he tried to operate his revolver, but his hands were too fat, and too thick, and too sweaty to get a proper grip. Blakheart pressed the sword against the fat official’s obese stomach.
It slowly pierced him, like a hot knife plunging into lard…
Blakheart removed the sword with ease. The fat official’s chunky hands dropped the revolver as he began gargling blood. Fat blood droplets trickled down his meaty cheeks.
The preacher looked up at Little Boy Blair who was getting out his dual revolvers. Two of the banditos had made it through the swarming crowd and around the gore. That made no difference to the preacher.
Enticed and entranced by the peculiar situation that was unfolding I could do nothing but watch this impossibility unfold, all the while struggling to believe my very own eyes. The preacher hopped up the gallows and scaled the side of the law firm with superhuman ability. Within seconds he was standing next to Little Boy Blair who had just managed to draw his revolvers. There was a single slice. Little Boy Blair’s face went white as a sheet. The preacher calmly walked past him. The barrels of Little Boy Blair’s dual revolvers fell off making two dull but audible clunks as they hit the fine wooden flooring. Little Boy Blair slowly turned his head. On seeing that the preacher had entered into the law firm his fear momentarily subsided. He shouted down at the two deputy banditos near the gallows telling them to get inside and kill the preacher. They were Little Boy Blair’s dogs; he would only need to say the words and they would blindly follow orders. They ran into the law firm without a moment’s hesitation. Gan used this opportunity to usher Chief Kief (who was still praying to the sky) through the crowd away from the gallows and across the street. After several seconds the first bandito smashed through the front window on the top floor. His body split in half as he plummeted into the ground. The second bandito seemingly jumped through a closed window in a futile attempt to escape from inevitable end. His neck snapped as his cut up body failed to break his fall. Little Boy Blair watched on screaming at the remaining last two deputy banditos who were mixed in amongst the quickly dispersing crowd.
The preacher exited through the front of B. B. and Blair’s Law Firm. He stood tall like a god revelling in chaos; a demon in his element. The gallows and the front of the law firm were splattered in a coat of fresh red paint. The screams and shouts of chaos and confusion set the scene.
I watched on as the Banker foolishly walked out of his Bank to see what the commotion was. He met eyes with the preacher. Blakheart’s eyes burned like two souls trapped for an eternity inside of a marble convex, gripped in a never ending immortal combat. After meeting eyes with the devil the Banker immediately turned around and returned to the safety of his Bank. His Bank was his fortress, but I doubted it could stop Blakheart. The preacher had seemingly spared Little Boy Blair who was still on the balcony somewhat trembling, somewhat infuriated at the chaotic situation. The preacher began to casually walk across the street towards the stables. His cane-sword was unsheathed in his hand. The last of the two deputy banditos pushed through the last of the remaining dispersing crowd. The first bandito fired a single shot and then fell to the ground as the preacher sliced through his abdomen. The second bandito did not get a chance to fire a shot. His hand came clean off. As he screamed the preacher placed his sword into the banditos mouth and then sliced upwards. His face split open. Speckles of blood landed on my boots. I trembled with fear at the sight. The preacher would be walking past me in a matter of moments. I did not believe that he would strike me down, but all the same I made sure to take a few steps back. This would probably be my last time seeing the preacher.
Out of all the things I could have possibly said for some reason I asked “How do you know the duck?”
I guess it was the burning question on my mind. Perhaps the duck would have all the answers. I just needed to know their connection. On hearing the question the preacher stopped in his tracks. He turned and looked at me while sheathing his sword. His eyes no longer blazed like two hot white infernos. They were the eyes of someone who had been around for a long time searching for something… or someone.
“The duck?” the preacher questioned before continuing with a childlike grin “We used to be lovers…”
Even though he looked like he was jesting with the huge smirk on his face, the seeming seriousness of his statement was amplified by the fresh blood that covered his grinning face.
“I jest” he added as if to clarify what I was thinking.
I watched as the preacher entered into the stables. He then exited out on his bright black horse.
“Not so fast!” Sheriff Putin shouted.
I turned to see Sheriff Putin aiming a long barrelled rifle. He had a direct clear shot at the preacher.
BANG! BANG!
The preacher charged off down the street unscathed. Those that were left on the street made way for the preacher as he thundered off. Sheriff Putin had a clear shot at Blakheart, but for whatever reason he decided to aim high. I would not have noticed if I had not been watching him as he shot; the afterglow of the mescaline still seeped through my veins. I saw it all. I suspected that he wanted witnesses to see him pretending an attempt to apprehend the preacher. It was all for show.
“Do not shoot!” I heard someone scream.
I thought it was over, but as I turned I saw the bandito who had been sliced through his abdomen lying on the ground bleeding out. He was holding onto his revolver and taking aim at the preacher who was thundering off. The preacher was much too far for him to shoot at. Any shots would inevitably hit the group of people who stood between the bandito and the preacher.
“Do not shoot!” someone in the crowd pleaded once more.
Before the bandito had a chance to do anything I kicked the revolver out of his hand. He rolled over and instantly died. A chance at revenge was the only thing keeping him alive. Sheriff Putin gave me a nod of approval towards my actions.
I looked down the street and into the distance. The preacher was nothing but a trail dust now. He had stopped the high noon hanging.
“Why?” I questioned to myself.
I wanted to know his story, but I feared that the preacher named Blakheart was not of this world. There would be a good chance I would never see him again. He would become nothing more than a myth whispered in saloons like the wandering Diablo.

I looked around to see what had become of Chief Kief. During the symphony of chaos Gan had ushered the chief across the street. His hands were no longer bound by rope. Michael John and Gan were now helping the chief up onto a horse of one of the dead banditos. I saw that the chief was still praying to the sky, oblivious to the chaotic rampage that had just happened. Gan and Michael John were about to send the chief on his way when Sheriff Putin intervened.
“Stop!” the stone cold sheriff shouted.
He ran past them and into his office and came out presenting the chief’s headdress.
“Thanks” Michael John thanked with a half smile, half grin.
They placed the headdress back where it belonged, onto Chief Kief’s head. I looked up at the chief smiling. He looked down at me.
“What happened? I was praying to the gods. Did they answer?” Chief Kief questioned to me.
“Maybe…” I replied.
“Get out of here!” Sheriff Putin shouted as he slapped the back of the horse sending Chief Kief on his way.
As Chief Kief rode off we heard the sound of a spoiled child screaming.
“What are you doing?!” Little Boy Blair screamed.
Sheriff Putin gave Little Boy Blair a stone cold stare.
“Stop him sheriff!” Little Boy Blair squealed.
Sheriff Putin took a deep breath and then responded “I told you before. You are not the boss of me. You can get your deputies to do your leg work.”
Little Boy Blair looked around for any of his remaining deputy banditos. They were all for the most part scattered across the street in bloody pieces.
“It seems that you will have to find some new banditos to deputise” Sheriff Putin added.
Little Boy Blair’s face went red and he began to walk off infuriated with rage.
He made several steps before turning and shouting back with vehement venom “You are history tomorrow when the rest of the D-MOB arrives!”
The threat washed over Sheriff Putin who remained as stone cold resolved as ever.
“Your D-MOB better not be planning on breaking any laws in my town” Sheriff Putin declared as he casually walked over to his office.
Little Boy Blair stormed off in a huff back to his legal sanctum.
Sheriff Putin stopped at the entrance to his office and said “And I will be seeing you three later…”
Michael John, Gan, and I shared a look. People are always at their most transparent when fuelled with emotions. We did not know what Sheriff Putin meant, but Little Boy Blair had let the cat out of the bag. The D-MOB would be here tomorrow. The rest of our bounty was finally in sight.

The D-MOB rides around the west, funded by our very own government. They rob from the banks; stealing money from the people. Then they launder this money to their corporate corrupt cronies, who in turn then donate a small percentage of the stolen public’s money back to the government, making the rich richer, and giving more power to the powerful, all at the cost of the common person. They are the most dangerous criminals. They operate within the law that they themselves control and create. The D-MOB represents corruption at its finest. Little Boy Blair is a member of the D-MOB. His job is to run this town into the ground gaining as much profit as possible, before moving onto the next town. This will be the last town that Little Boy Blair attempts to rape…

So much had happened in the last few minutes that we had failed to notice the intriguing display down the street.
Gan shouted “Look!”
The coffin maker had already laid out six coffins of varying sizes. He was pulling out the last coffin he would need from his workshop. It was an obese coffin which had probably been made especially for the fat official. The other six wooden boxes were most likely premade for the deputy banditos. Michael John, Gan, and I looked at each other. We knew the coffin maker would not have premade coffins unless he knew something was going to happen. There was no way he had just made them in the minutes of chaos that just happened.
“When he was meant to be measuring Chief Kief I noticed he was more interested in the deputy banditos” I spoke.
“You think he knew?” Gan asked.
“I did see the preacher entering the coffin makers. Maybe they talked. Maybe he told him” I supposed.
“Well we have until tomorrow…” Michael John stated.
“Yes” I replied.
The streets were now relatively empty. Most of the crowd had ran to safety and were now hiding from the gore that covered the gallows. Only a few groups including ourselves stood on the streets taking in the chaotic residue.
“So what now?” Gan questioned.
“Saloon?” Michael John suggested.
“I could do with a drink” I replied.

As we walked to the saloon we saw the coffin maker taking his barrow towards the fresh corpses. He smiled at us flashing his crooked wobbly teeth. There was something malevolent about the smile. It seemed like an invitation into coffins he had perhaps already prepared for us in his workshop. We had met a lot of strange characters since arriving but I was certain that this town was evenly mixed with the good, the bad, and the evil. I had to know what the coffin maker was.
As we walked past him I asked “How did you know to have seven coffins prepared?”
He could have lied and said he always has coffins prepared, but instead he told us the truth.
“The preacher told me to prepare seven coffins; six of them for the deputies and one for fatty! He said I will need to prepare five more for tomorrow.”
“Is that so?” I questioned.
“Yes siree! Do you mind if I…?” he said as he took out a tape measure and began measuring me.
I gave him a solid stare.
“Oh ho ho! I am just kidding you!” he reassured me as he eyed me up and down before finally saying “Five foot ten? Right?”
“Do you not want to measure us also?” Michael John asked half joking, half serious.
“Six foot four and five foot three” he said grinning as he looked Michael John and Gan up and down.
“Now if you will excuse me. Ain’t nobody else going to collect those bodies. I gotta get ‘em while they are fresh! HEH! HEH!! HEH!!!” he guffawed at us as he got back to his barrow.
His grin reminded me of Blakheart apart from the crookedness of it. Michael John, Gan, and I shared a look. We were sharing too many looks for my liking.

…

The saloon was full of people talking about what had just happened. Not many people seemed to be drinking. We headed straight to the bartender.
“I ain’t ever seen a high noon hanging like that” he said as he poured our whiskeys.
I wanted to respond and say something, but my mind was still racing with what had happened. We sat down and began to drink.
“About what happened…” I began to speak.
“It was… unbelievable” Michael John interrupted.
“I am just glad the chief is safe” Gan added.
I confessed “I just cannot believe it. How he moved was beyond humanly possible. The way he moved that blade was almost too fast for me to see.”
Michael John intrigued by my supposing questioned “So you doubt he was a man?”
“Well what else could he have been?” I asked back.
“A demon, a Diablo” Michael John answered.
“God…” Gan whispered.
“What?” I questioned pretending not to have heard her, but in fact just not wanting to believe what I already believed.
Gan whispered more loudly “Perhaps he was God. I heard what Chief Kief said to you. That he was praying for the gods to intervene. Perhaps Blakheart was a physical manifestation of God.”
“Perchance he was” I said before continuing “Or perchance he was just an old man with a death wish.”
“Well he knew about Manchuria…” Michael John added.
We sat drinking quietly listening in on the gossip. Most of the townsfolk were praising the preacher for killing the deputy banditos. Someone cheered for the preacher claiming that four of the deputy banditos were the same banditos who had robbed him two seasons ago.
“A shame he spared Blair” someone said quietly.
It seemed that the townsfolk wanted Little Boy Blair gone. They were too afraid to say or do anything themselves for fear of ending up on the gallows. Little Boy Blair had lost his deputy banditos but he could always recruit more. His abuse of power made him untouchable to the average person.
“Why did he spare Little Boy Blair?” I questioned to Michael John and Gan.
Gan shrugged while extending her hands out to convey that she did not know.
Michael John did the same but then added “Well he must have known about our plans somehow. It was him who told us not to interfere? And he knew to tell the coffin maker to prepare five coffins for tomorrow.”
“But the D-MOB is a gang of four including Little Boy Blair” Gan stated.
I felt a little sick in my stomach. Perhaps it was from the display of gore we had just witnessed, or perhaps it was because I felt uneasy about what was to happen tomorrow.
“It could be for the Banker. The fourth coffin” I explained.
“I doubt we will have to gun him down” Michael John contested.
“Do you think the preacher knows the future?” Gan questioned.
“Let us just forget the preacher for now. With him gone he is now irrelevant to our bounty” I declared.
Michael John and Gan concurred, although I knew we would not be able to get him off our minds so easily. Especially with him now being the talk of the town. The entire saloon and no doubt the entire town was talking about nothing but the preacher.

A woman had been quietly sobbing in the corner of the saloon when we arrived. I had thought nothing of it assuming that she was upset by what she had witnessed. Eventually she got up and began to scream at those in the saloon who were lauding the preacher. She screamed at them explaining how her son was dead. Her son was one of the deputy banditos. He was a ranch hand who had gotten in with the wrong crowd in the last few months. He was just a young man looking to make a name for himself in the Wild of the West. The sobbing woman said that her son had never robbed from anyone in his life. Someone countered her mentioning the drinks the deputies did not pay for. My heart dropped when the bartender spoke up saying how the sobbing woman’s son had paid the bartender for all the drinks after the other deputies had left. Her son was the deputy bandito who had his hand sliced off and then his face sliced open in a most horrific fashion. It did not sound like he deserved such an end. The woman asked the crowd who were praising the preacher why her son had to die. The crowd went silent for a few seconds until someone spoke up and told her that her son should not have been hanging around with the banditos. Hanging around with the wrong crowd is no reason to deserve death, yet the crowd ate the reason up. It was a classic example of victim blaming. Something bad happens to someone and so those not affected choose to attribute the misfortune as the person’s fault. This allows the victim blamer to continue believing in a just and fair world. It also protects them from knowing that something equally bad and chaotic could happen to them through no fault of their own. The woman was escorted out of the saloon as she sobbed, and the crowd went back to praising the preacher.
“Blakheart…” I mouthed as I clenched my fist under the table.
I know what he is. The preacher is not a God, or a Diablo. The preacher is a killer, just like me…

# TO BE CONTINUED...

Previously...

@RiskDebonair
Irish Writer, Poet, & Lover

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