Poem 8: Haikus

The blackest of hearts;
devoid of other colours
yet red blood flows through?

…

A man without peaks;
has no mountain to climb up
and nowhere to fall

Chapter 8: Be Free

I heard the noise of a rope bearing a heavy weight, slowly swinging from side to side. It sounded like a hanged man. I walked out into the street to investigate. Everything was silent. As I walked my footsteps made no noise. The sky was a dull white canvas. The town looked like it had been desaturated of all colours. The street was long and wide, the buildings seemed exaggerated, and everything had a slight slanted twist. I looked at my arms and my hands, slowly and purposefully moving my fingers. The sound of the rope distracted me from the intrigue of my digits. In the distance I could see someone hanging from the gallows outside of B. B. and Blair’s Law Firm. I sprinted in silence towards the person. The ground felt hollow beneath my feet.
When I got to the gallows I looked up. There was no body. I looked up and down the street. There was nobody.
“Smoke?” uttered a deep gravelly rasping voice.
I turned to see Blues leaning against the gallows lighting up a fat cigar. I shook my head declining his offer. He began to blow out smoke. The Sheriff’s office caught my eye. I was expecting Sheriff Putin to come out at any moment and tell us off for hanging around the gallows.
“There is no one here but us” Blues informed me.
“Where?” I questioned as I looked up at the dull white canvas of a sky.
Blues did not answer me. He continued to puff on his cigar. I had questions that needed answering.
“Blakheart?”
“Do not challenge him” he said slowly shaking his head.
“Who or what is he?” I demanded.
I had to know, but when Blues’ eyes met with mine, he just looked away and continued to smoke. It seemed that he did not much about the preacher. I was beginning to see that Blues had his limits. He was ultimately limited like everyone else, and that is why he needed me. But then again it was him who…
“Is this a dream?” I said out loud in realisation.
Blues approached me. He grabbed my head with one large dark hand and forced me to stare at the gallows. He felt real and the gallows looked real.
With slow deliberate movements he removed the cigar from his mouth with his other hand and then pressed it into my mouth forcing me to inhale. I began to cough out the pungent cigar smoke
“Wait” he said with a deep resonant rasp.

…

I woke up coughing. It was an early morning rise.
“Quack! Quack! Quack!” the duck quacked erratically.
“Quack down duck!” Michael John said as he flayed a limp arm in the air; it was a lazy gesture.
The duck stopped quacking, but all was not quiet. There was a sound of a commotion coming from the street.
“Does anyone else hear that?” Gan said with a yawn.
“Sounds like trouble” Michael John said as he shot up from his bed.
I was still coughing as Michael John and Gan got dressed and readied themselves. I could still taste the pungent cigar. Blues was not without his tricks. I occasionally wondered about the full extent of his power, it seemed vastly limited compared to the preacher Blakheart.
“Are you okay Whiskey?” Gan asked, amused at my coughing.
“I am fine” I coughed as I quickly readied myself.

The sun was rising over the horizon. Little Boy Blair was standing beneath the gallows outside of the law firm next to his crony, the fat official. Across the street Chief Kief was being dragged into the jail by six banditos. There were chains around his neck, hands, and feet. The banditos laughed, kicking and pushing Chief Kief as they dragged him. I could hear laughter in Little Boy Blair’s voice as he conversed with the fat official. I wanted to place my hands around his neck and crush his chortling throat.
“That bastard!” Gan said as she grabbed for her revolver.
Michael John managed to intercept her arm before she had a chance to do anything violent.
“Let go of me!” she said flashing eyes of rage at Michael John.
“Calm down Gan! We will find out the facts and we will proceed accordingly” I commanded
“They cannot lock him up for no reason!” Gan protested.
“I know, but you cannot start a gunfight on a street… at least not yet” I said attempting to make her see reason.
“Okay let us find out the facts then!” Gan said as she stormed towards Little Boy Blair.
Michael John and I followed. Little Boy Blair saw us coming. He smiled.
“Ah yes! The visitors to my town!” he proclaimed.
“What is going on? What is that man being jailed for?” Gan demanded.
“Oh that!?” Little Boy Blair said pointing his finger at the scene with not an ounce of compassion in his voice before continuing “That is justice being served. That so called ‘man’ was caught trespassing on my land, I mean the Bank’s land…”
Blair looked up pensively as if he was ruminating over his words.
Gan shouted “Lies! And even if that was true you cannot jail him for such a minor offence!”
Blair held out his palms as he waved his arms about. He was a true politician.
“Well first of all I am jailing no one. It is the deputies out there that are jailing him. And second of all, I assure you that he is not being jailed for his crimes. He is going to be hanged at noon. We will merely be detaining him in the cell until then.”
I could sense that violence was about to explode.
“You smug bastard!” Gan erupted.
Little Boy Blair looked at Gan with raised eyebrows. He slowly opened up his arms revealing dual revolvers under his jacket.
“Everything okay boss?!” shouted one of the banditos.
They had thrown Chief Kief in jail. Two of them had wandered off to the saloon but the other four were now approaching us from our flank. Four versus three I thought to myself. Then I noticed the fat official shaking; his chunky hand next to his holstered revolver. Five versus three I corrected myself, but then again there was also Little Boy Blair. He was the least talented gunfighter of the D-MOB, but he was known for using two revolvers at once. Little Boy Blair spraying bullets on the streets of this town would not be ideal. I would need to take care of him first. It was six versus three. We were outflanked and outnumbered. The tension was high. A single spark would ignite the TNT.
“Everything okay boss?!” the bandito repeated, keeping his hand close to his revolver.
Little Boy Blair lowered his arms and his jacket dropped, covering his dual revolvers.
He grinned as he said “Everything is fine over here. I was just informing these three visitors about the entertainment at noon!”
The fat official placed his chunky hand on his beefy heart relieved that nothing was going to happen. Or so he thought.
My heart dropped as I saw Gan slowly moving both of her hands towards her hidden revolvers. I had seen her do this before. She was going to go on a rampage. Michael John and I were too far away to do anything. I casually lowered my hand towards my revolver. There was no alternative…
“Quack!”
We all turned to look. It was the duck accompanied by Blakheart…
“You can have him. I owe you after Damas…” the preacher stopped mid sentence.
He turned and looked at me.
With a grin the preacher said to us “I hope you have been treating her well” referencing to the duck.
The preacher then gave a curtly wave towards Little Boy Blair.
“If you three will excuse me I will be having a word with the preacher now” Little Boy Blair said dismissing us.
The preacher grinned at us as he hobbled past with his cane. I saw him flash a genuine smile towards the duck.
“How did the duck get out?” Michael John questioned out loud.
We must have left the door open in our dash out of the building I supposed.
“I am going to see if the chief is okay” Gan said.
As we crossed the street towards the jail, the preacher disappeared out of sight into the law firm with Little Boy Blair and the fat official. The banditos gave us dirty looks as we crossed paths with them. They were deputies Little Boy Blair had said, but who had deputised them?
As we approached the jail Sheriff Putin stepped out of his office.
“One visitor at a time” he spoke.
We looked at each other and nodded. Gan entered the jail alone.
“We want to speak with you” Michael John demanded to Sheriff Putin.
“Step into my office” he said as he slowly led us into his office.
Sheriff Putin sat down and then purposefully raised his legs onto his desk. He placed both arms behind his head as he reclined.
“What do you want?” Sheriff Putin sluggishly questioned.
“Why are you allowing this to happen?” Michael John retorted.
“It is out of my hands. The law has found the chief guilty. I do not make the law but I do follow it. I can of course choose when to pursue justice, but it was Blair’s deputies that arrested the chief. I have nothing to do with this” Sheriff Putin admitted.
“Nothing to do with this?” Michael John asked before raising his voice “You are the sheriff! You are supposed to deal out justice!”
“I cannot…” Sheriff Putin sat up as he vented “You know what Blair wants to do? He wants to hang the chief to start a war with the Indians. He wants to wipe most of them out and then exploit the survivors for their land and resources. And what for? Another ranch? More profit? This world is a very messed up place I tell you. People used to be straight with each other. Now look at things. Smug weasels like him giving orders!”
Sheriff Putin was a man bound by law to protect society. But the law he followed had been corrupted. There was nothing he could do for Chief Kief.
“If you are busy venting your frustrations we will leave you to it” I said sharply.
“You said this is a law abiding town and that you welcome anyone who follows the law of the land. So is that your law or Little Boy Blair’s law?” Michael John added.
I saw a certain look in Sheriff Putin’s eye. Up until now he had looked like a defeated man with no choice. But now there was something going on beneath his stone cold exterior.
“Do not interfere with the proceedings at noon” Sheriff Putin said in a cold authoritative manner.
Do not interfere; the three words written in the letter we received last night. Michael John and I looked at each other. Sheriff Putin gave no hint of whether or not he knew of the existence of the letter. We left Sheriff Putin’s office without saying anything. There was nothing more to be said.

We did not have time for several social visits. Noon was approaching and so Gan relayed to us all the information she could get from Chief Kief. He was apparently taken at gunpoint from his settlement after refusing once more to sell the land. He was beaten and then brought here. Gan told us how Chief Kief seemed more worried with the fate of his people than his own imminent fate. It saddened me.
“We will not allow this to happen. Even if it interferes with our bounty” I resolved.
I did not know what the best course of action would be.
“Let us get some breakfast. We will need to be ready for noon” I sullenly spoke.
“I am not sure if breakfast can help us this time Whiskey” Michael John said dryly.
“I am not hungry” Gan frowned.
We headed back to the hotel anyway. A plan of action was needed. Olaf had been watching everything unfold. He was stood outside the hotel looking perturbed, disgruntled, but more so powerless to do anything against the greed whores. Olaf wanted to say something. He wanted to do something. I could see it in his eyes… but what can one person do against the minority of corrupt cretins that rule?
I want to be free from them. I want to be free. I want to exist in a world where everyone is free, but that will not happen until everyone decides to be free. But of course that sounds simpler than it is. As I have walked, lived, and breathed this town all I have seen is people in chains; chains that they have made for themselves. Was there any resistance or outrage when the Bank began to interfere with the ranches? Did anyone make a noise when the Bank began to control legislation? Or when the Bank deputised banditos? The Bank will not stop with the natives. The Bank will never stop until we purge it of the parasites and the leeches. Little Boy Blair was a weasel vainly claiming ownership of his position. The weasels above him would merely need to say the word and Little Boy Blair would bend over in a flash. Greed whores! All of them!
My negative thoughts were shattered by the sound of arguing.
Little Boy Blair shouted as he led the preacher out of the law firm “Corruption? I assure you everything we do here is within the legal definitions of the law!”
“Just because it is legal does not mean that it is not corrupt” the preacher righteously replied.
“Hobble along old man! I know where I stand with God” Little Boy Blair smugly said.
The preacher gave Little Boy Blair an intense stare. I did not know what the preacher was capable of…
“Quack!” the duck quacked.
The duck had been roaming the street. We had forgotten about her. We left her to her own devices and surprisingly no one had ended up dead or wishing they were so… yet.
“God will strike down the wicked and the unjust” the preacher said with a grin.
Little Boy Blair ignored him as he retreated back into his lair. The fat official briefly crept out telling the preacher to shoo and not to come back before creeping back into the law firm.
I was curious as to the hand Blakheart was playing, and for some reason I felt familiar with him. He seemed to know a lot about us, but we knew nothing of him. It was a one sided relationship, but I doubted there was much to fear from an old lame crippled preacher.
“What did you say to him?” I inquired.
“Thou shalt not kill” the preacher slowly spoke flashing his usual grin.
“What if we have to kill?” I asked.
“There is always an alternative” he responded.
“And when there is not?” I demanded an answer.
“…” he grinned.
The preacher limped off, beyond the dry well and down the street seemingly towards the church.
As he crossed paths with the duck I was sure that I heard him mumble to the duck “Interesting companions…”
I waited, watching him limp all the way to the church. He stopped short and instead entered the coffin makers. What was he doing?
“Come on Whiskey!” Michael John implored me.
We entered the hotel with the duck. Olaf was silent apart from letting us know that breakfast would be ready soon. Tension filled the town. I could feel each second passing as noon approached.

…

Michael John and I ate breakfast like it was our last meal. Gan barely touched her food. Olaf walked in on us at one point as if to say something, but then he left as if realising what he was going to say did not matter, or more so, could not matter.
He was wrong… everything matters.

TO BE CONTINUED...

Previously...

@RiskDebonair
Irish Writer, Poet, & Lover

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