56. It’s been a while since my last entry, but…

I heard gunshots earlier, and tried to turn and walk the other way. But you know how things echo? Instead I found myself approaching a rather sorry scene: at the rear of the Galeras Cafe, there was a short blood trail leading to two bundles of clothes that turned out to be the corpses of two men. The carpet was slick and sticky with the stuff of them. Both were Bailey’s men – one was Henry Rawlings, his hook nose and sour features immediately recognisable. I didn’t know the name of the other – a younger man. There was a smell of gunpowder and scorched fabric. It would seem that Henry was the source of the shots – the revolver he used to kill the younger man still clutched in his right hand, now collapsed in his lap, the barrel having burned a slight, charred hole in his purple troose.

The younger man must have surprised Henry there, as Henry walked towards the other door, and the young man stabbed him in the side with his hunting knife – a wicked blade. Henry was able to shoot and kill his assassin, but afterwards, had attempted to tend to his horrible stab wound, pressing a scratch of shirt fabric to his side – now red and overflowing the palm of his left hand.  On losing consciousness, the wound bled free…

I paused staring at them, consumed with suspicion – perhaps fearing this tableau would suddenly spring alive – and then tweaked the gun from Henry’s clawed hand. My, the gun felt heavy, the nose of it dipping even as I tried to hoist it. Quite unsure what I was doing, I did find I could fumble the round bit open, pull back the little hammer, and I knew the finger thing I was supposed to pull to make it work (remembering those ridiculous western movies). The gun only had three bullets left, but was a welcome addition to my now unsettlingly experienced arsenal.

Revolver

The hunting knife I left to keep watch over the corpses…

I only want winners on my team.

Leave a Reply

Your email address will not be published. Required fields are marked *