Damon Blitz and The Treacherous Wolves traveled through the woods at a leisurely pace, the wolves played and sniffed around for prey while Damon reflected on recent events. He’d barely escaped with his life, and the wolves nearly turned on him. Weakness is for those who have a death wish, Damon thought. Especially when playing with creatures like The Treacherous Wolves. The moon shined bright in the sky and the bare trees swayed in the wind, the frigid air bit into his skin with a stinging sharpness. Only some of the stars were out, escaping the everlasting darkness of space to complement the moon’s radiant glory. The only sounds were Damon’s uneven footsteps as The Treacherous Wolves moved in otherworldly silence, prowling for prey and keeping a keen eye on their master, smelling for signs of weakness, waiting for a reason to devour him should he fail to remain strong. The Wolves walked in a V formation, the alpha in front. Damon looked into the distance and spotted a little town. Finally, Damon thought. A resting place. He picked up his pace and the Wolves did the same, assuming their master has found juicy prey for them to devour.
The town was empty and desolate upon Damon’s arrival, the wind blew and kicked up dust, the lights were out in nearly every place except one: The Saloon. Damon sighed and cut his hand through the air and The Treacherous Wolves disappeared, he walked toward The Saloon. When Damon walked in, the place was empty. Not a soul in sight except the barman. He walked to the bar and ordered a whiskey straight and scanned the room. Two floors, the first one with twenty brown, round tables with four chairs each, a jukebox in the corner and a piano that looked like a relic in back. The ashy brown floorboards looked like they could use a good waxing and the bar wasn’t any better, Damon lifted his arms and they were caked in light gray dirt. He dusted himself off and shook his head in annoyance when the bartender came with the whiskey.
“Yeah, sorry about that.” The Bartender said, “I meant to clean the place up, but got sidetracked at the town meeting.”
Damon raised a brow.
The bartender looked at him more closely, “Wait,” he said, “you ain’t from around here, is you?”
“Just passing through,” Damon replied.
“Well,” the bartender said, “welcome to Deadman’s County.”
“A fitting name,” Damon said, “it’s just about as quiet as a cemetery.”
“That’s only because the residents turn in before dark,” The bartender started, “thing about this town is, at night, The Saber comes out and goes on a killing spree.”
“The Saber?”
“Yeah,” the bartender continued, “The Saber is a legend that’s been told here for centuries. He was a big man with fiery orange hair and scarlet eyes, his scalding gaze intense enough to burn through steel. Some say he was 6’5” while others say he was 7’0”, but that’s neither here nor there, anyway, The Saber used to roll into town every night, at about midnight, and start devouring people like a savage. Rippin’ their throats out, tearing their beating hearts from their chests, and just slashing about like a madman.
“There was one night, especially, right here in this saloon I’ll never forget. This place used to have a lot of regulars but, after that night, well,” the bartender gesture to the place in it’s entirety, “you know. Anyway, folks were making a ruckus like they usually do: women standing on tables and river-dancin’, men clappin’ and stompin’ their feet, hootin’ n’ hollerin’ and carryin’ on. Ronny, one of the workmen in town, was playin’ like a man possessed, I mean, his fingers were runnin’ away on that thing!” The bartender looked at the piano, “every time he played it made me forget that thing hadn’t been tuned in about twenty-five years.” He looked back to Damon, “Anyway,
“It was just like any other night, live with debauchery, when this large, broad-shouldered fella walks in. Now, the music and festivities didn’t stop, no, everybody kept on having a good time. The fella comes to the bar and orders the same thing you just did, whiskey straight. He knocks back about five of those without breaking a sweat and the other guys are starting to respect this stranger. He sits there for about an hour, taking in the festivities and letting the whiskey do its thing. Then, one of our regulars, Billy Weissman, gets to messin’ with him, lays a bear paw on the man’s shoulder and gives him a firm shake.
“‘Hey there, fella,’ Billy says, ‘how ‘bout a game of drink?’
“The man says why not and the saloon grinds to a halt. The women get off the tables and the men stop their hootin’ n’ hollerin’ and everyone gets to moving all but one table, setting up the glasses and bringing out the strongest whiskey we have called Black Death,” The bartender leans closer to Damon, “one sip of that’ll knock ya out, drink a whole bottle and it’ll put ya in the grave.”
The bartender’s dark brown eyes stare into Damon’s light hazel ones, the wind lows outside and the saloon doors swing wildly back and forth. The air grew cold and the lights flickered, the silence ensued for a long time as the two tested each other’s mettle.
“Now,” the bartender spoke, “comes the scary part.
“The two fellas go to the table and sit down, Billy pours the fellas cup first and then his. One of the scallywag’s kisses Billy on the cheek and shakes his shoulders, Billy cracks his neck and gets ready to handle some business. The fella on the other side is ice cold and stock still, only difference between him and a dead man is the slight movement of his shoulders. Billy picks up the glass and gestures to the fella to take the first drink, no bother explaining the rules beforehand as everyone knows there’s one rule: first one to fall loses. The fella looks at Billy with devious eyes and picks up the glass, he looks at the bottle reflectively and smells the contents, just getting’ it all in his system and whatnot, then chugs the thing down without hesitation.
“The crowd is impressed, strike that, astonished! Never had they seen anyone chug a glass of Black Death and stay woke enough to tell about it. Billy tried to hide the fact he bit off more than he could chew but his face betrayed him, the fella looks at him with those devious and fiery red eyes, like a demon when you sell your soul, and motions Billy to drink. Billy’s face gets a little pale and his deep blue eyes lose a bit of their color, one of the scallywag’s shakes his shoulders and tells him he’s got it and Billy shakes himself and gets fired up. He picks up the glass and everybody cheers, he hesitates for a moment, imperceptibly, but he does hesitate, then chugs down the glass of Black Death.
“The crowd goes wild and Billy’s grown himself a sack, the fella is still cool, calm, and collected like a crime boss. A little smirk comes over his face and those fiery eyes light up, the demon inside dances with glee and excitement at the prospect of beating someone on their home turf. He fella pours another glass of Black Death and drinks without remorse then pushes the bottle over to Billy. The crowd ooh’s and aah’s as the fella sits comfortably without a care in the world. He tilts his head to the left and hunches his shoulders, Billy looks at him like he ain’t human ‘cause he ain’t never see nobody drink two glasses of Black Death like that. I have, but that’s another story,
The Saloon doors swung open and Damon’s and the bartender’s attention snapped toward it. The bartender instinctively went for the revolver he kept under the counter, but Damon was unfazed, anyone that wanted to try something funny would get a more than rude awakening leading to the most agonizing sleep. The two looked at the door for a moment then turned away, the bartender continued,
“‘seems I’da done it this time,’ Billy says, ‘I ain’t never see nobody drink like that,’
“The fella just smirks at him and motions him to drink. Billy shakes himself and beats his chest then goes to pour another glass with shaky hands. It takes all his concentration and focus to complete this basic task. With the glass full and the crowd waiting in anticipation, Billy had a look on hi face that said he was having second thoughts. Never, in all my days, had I seen or known Billy to have that expression. Honestly, I always thought only one thought a day went through his mind and that thought was either sex or drink but, seems that I was wrong. Billy was having second thoughts, and third thoughts, and fourth thoughts. I think that was the first time I ever saw Billy think about what he was doing.
“The fella sits there with a satisfied smirk on his face and the demon is dancin’ even wilder in his eyes, Billy’s breathin’ is heavy and laborious and a cold sweat breaks from his forehead and temples like soldiers charging to war. Billy clutches the glass with a trembling hand and a veiny forearm, he starts to wobble and sway like trees in the wind, the fella’s smirk becomes more pronounced and begins morphing into a smile. Just when Billy looks like he’s had it, he slams a fit on the table, wills the glass to his lips and chugs it with the ferociousness of ten thousand bloodthirsty men. The crowd cheers, the scallywags jump up and down and the other fellas hoot n’ holler n’ rave as they all put their money on Billy, and he was coming through once again. Billy’s face is cast downward as he pushes the bottle to the fella and the crowd grows quiet. The fella sits there with a devious smile and demons dancin’ in his eyes, he hunches his shoulders then relaxes’em and sighs. He looks at the bottle of Black Death whiskey and takes it up with a cool hand, not a tremor detected, and pours the devil’s drink just as casually as you’d pour tea from a kettle then pushes his glass over to Billy while he takes the bottle, chugging it like mad!”
The Saloon doors swung open and a portly man with a sheriff’s came in and scanned the place. The bartender smirks and chuckles as he threw his towel over his shoulders and went to fill the good sheriff’s usual Brandy on the rocks. Damon looked at the sheriff from the corner of his eye as he walked toward the bar, noting the gray hair and handlebar moustache, the beer belly, the gait that forced him to lean left when he walked, the cool, steel blue eyes that revealed experience and perception, and the laugh lines littered around his mouth. The sheriff sat next to Damon and minded his business, when the bartender came back the sheriff spoke.
“So,” the sheriff said, “how you gentlemen this here evenin’?”
“Workin’ hard and cuttin’ clean, Sheriff.” The bartender said, “this gentleman here’s just passing through, and I’m keepin’im entertained with a story.”
“Might I ask what story that’ll be, Ronnie?” The sheriff raises an inquisitive brow.
“Don’t worry sheriff,” Ronnie smiled, “nothing ‘bout you and the shenanigans.” Ronnie continued, “just that time that fella wit the red eyes rolled in and out-drank Billy Weissman.”
The sheriff nodded thoughtfully then raised his glass, “thank God we’ll never see that fella again,” the sheriff shivered, “you tell’im ‘bout the fight?”
“Actually,” Ronnie said, “I was just gettin’ to that.”
“Well,” the sheriff said, “gone tell it then.”
Ronnie nodded, “The crowd was dead silent, they never saw no one take on Black Death as that fella just did. A sea of open mouths filled the room and the only sound to be heard was the wind blowin’ in the night. The doors swung gently, the air grew cold, and the silence was deafening. Billy could barely hold ‘imself up as it was but he ain’t have no problem just then, he was just as shocked as everyone else. Even the sweat upon his brow stopped and gazed in astonishment. The fella cracked his neck, hunched and relaxed his shoulders as a self-satisfied smirk came across his face and he nodded at Billy toward the glass, knowing good n’ well Billy wasn’t gonna do it.
“The crowd remained silent and the tension filled the room like nothing else, felt like if a pin dropped the place would explode. The sea of mouths started closing slowly and a sea of eyes took its place, looking at each other for confirmation of what had just occurred; the sea of eyes was soon tinged with a sea of whispers permeatin’ throughout the room, people didn’t know what to make of this fella, but I did. I knew what he was . . .”
Ronnie paused a moment as the wind blew and the saloon door swung wildly back and forth. The three men didn’t stir as the pitter-patter of rain came down and drops of water sprinkled upon the windows. Ronnie looked outside meditatively for a moment then turned back the two men.
“He was a demon. No doubt about it.
“The fella got up and took the glass he pushed toward Billy and chugged that too. He went into his pocket and took out a few Gold Ones and dropped’em on the table, he threw a gold one my way and I caught and, outta habit, checked to see if it was real. It was. The fella made his way out the bar just as cool as a bachelor with two fine women at his arms and strolled out as sober as the next man. The crowd remained quiet for some time after the fella left, Billy held his head down in shame as he’d just been out-drank by a stranger. Billy didn’t like to be out-drank, ‘specially when all he did was drink all day. One of the scallywags tried to cheer Billy up but he waved her away and shot up like a man with the world on his shoulders and made his way out the saloon, swaying back n’ forth and left to right like one o’ the village idiots at the theater, breathing heavily with a grim look on his face, the look of someone itchin’ for a fight.
“I thought the whole thing childish n’ ridiculous but, when you run a business like mine, its often those shenanigans that pay the bills. So, I went back to work and slowly but surely the crowd went back to havin’ a good time. Thirty minutes later, the whole incident was nothin’ but a memory as the debauchery regained its momentum.
“Now,” Ronnie said, “I know you’re askin’ when the fight comes in but gimme a minute, there’s something else you need to know before that.
The sheriff nodded imperceptibly, and Damon listened intently with cold, hard gaze.
“This here little tidbit’s ‘bout the Black Death Whiskey,” Ronnie went on, “see, the Black Death is the strongest stuff we’ve got around, and one glass o’ that stuff’ll knock you out a couple days.” Ronnie looked at Damon, “reason I say that fella was a demon was ‘cause there’s only one other I saw that drank Black Death like water and lived to tell the tale . . . his name was Devereaux, a tall, lean fella who wore all black, like you, stranger, and has the otherworldly ability to control animals. Thing ‘bout this guy was he looked like any other man of modest means and ordinary intelligence, but there was something in his eyes, something dark n’ sinister. When he came up to the bar and asked for the strongest whiskey, I tried to dissuade him and get’im to get something else, told him he didn’t seem the type that could handle Black Death. He took out a couple Gold Ones and slapped’em on the table, and that was all the argument I needed. I told him I wasn’t responsible for anything that happened after and he gave the ok.
“I got him the whiskey and he looked at it like man looks at a fine prostitute he wanna get a little piece of, souls of the damned played and ran amok in his eyes as they took on a dark quality, blacker than a night without stars. He picked up the glass and drank it as casually as you’d drink water after a hard day’s work. He slid the glass over and told me to get’im another, I asked was he sure and he nodded confidently, and so I did. He knocked back seven shots before he asked for the whole bottle and took out a small bag of Gold Ones and slapped it on the table; he slid it over and I slid’im the bottle and he chugged that thing like a madman! He stood up and leaned on the bar for a bit then said thanks and left just as quietly as he came in.”
“Now,” Ronnie said, “‘bout that fight,
“‘bout time you got to it,” the sheriff said, “I don’ already finished my Brandy.”
Ronnie went to the bar and grabbed the bottle then slid it over to the sheriff, “help yourself. On the house.”
“that’s more like it!” The sheriff grinned as he poured himself another glass.
“Now,” Ronnie went on, “the thing ‘bout that fight was no one seen it, but everyone knew it happened. Billy came in ‘bout an hour later all bloody and bruised, his eyes were black n’ blue, his right arm lay limp at its side, his bottom lip was busted, and he had a cut along his forehead the size of Texas. He hobbled into the bar a few steps then fell flat on the floor. I came from round the bar and went out get the sheriff here,”
The Sheriff lifted his glass at the mention of himself.
“and when I came back with him, Billy was gone!
“I whistled loudly, and everybody paused a moment, I asked if anyone see Billy Weissman and they all said no. I was bewildered, so I asked if anyone noticed the body that was just lying here, on the ground, damn near bleedin’ to death and hey all shook their heads like kids that just got in trouble for somethin’. Now, I knew it wasn’t my business what people did outside this here bar, but Billy’s one of my regulars, and I takes care o’ my regulars. Yeah, I know, the boy is a knuckle head but he ain’t so bad once you know’im a bit. In fact, Billy’s a funny guy. Anyway, I told ole sheriff here that I thought something happened to Billy and that we need to find him, the sheriff wasn’t surprised at the fact, we’d often found Billy sprawled out in the woods somewhere sleeping off a hard night o’ drinkin’. The man wasn’t homeless or nothin’, but if you drink like Billy drink, you ain’t makin’ it home ten times outta ten.
“I told my barback, Rusty, to look after things while the sheriff n’ I go find Billy and off we went. We looked in all the usual places: the woods behind Dr. Bennington’s office, the stables just outside of town, the woods by the theater, Madame Green’s porch, but we couldn’t find’im. We asked round town, and no one saw head nor tails of Billy Weissman and, after a whole day of searchin’, the sheriff and I called it quits. I went home that night and couldn’t sleep, Billy Weissman was still on my mind and something told me somethin’ happened to that boy, somethin’ bad. I got up and went out in search for’im again and ran into the sheriff,”
The sheriff raised his glass again.
“and he said the same thing, he couldn’t sleep, so we went and searched again. It took all night but eventually we found Billy sprawled out in the woods on the east side of town, he was all bloody and bruised like I first saw him but something was different, terribly different: his throat was ripped out as if by some wild animal!
The sheriff shivered and Damon listened intently.
“The sheriff and I recoiled in horror and the sheriff told me to go get Dr. Bennington n’ I did. When the doctor and I came back, the sheriff had moved Billy’s body from the woods and the doctor took a look at him. Now, we all knew Billy was dead, no doubt ‘bout that. Question was what killed him? His eyes were open and lifeless, you know, that opaque and spooky whiteness that marks the dead. Dr. Bennington saw a circle of blood soaked through Billy’s shirt and unbuttoned it to take a look, and what did we see, sheriff?”
“His heart was ripped out,” the sheriff said when he slammed his glass of Brandy on the bar, “chest punched through like he was hit by a small cannon!”
Ronnie continued, “yhup, just as the sheriff says,” Ronnie paused and shook his head, “Anyway, we picked up the body and took it to Dr. Bennington’s office, the doctor cleaned it up and conducted an autopsy to try n’ deduce what took Billy out. It lasted for hours, the doctor had a sweat coming from his forehead that’d fill a reservoir and a strained look on his face with a vein pulsing in his temple. He had the gaze of a man in deep concentration, like it was just on the tip of his tongue, right on the edge of his consciousness but not quite there. Finally, after about four hours, he said, ‘if I didn’t know any better, I’d say Billy was taken out by a tiger.’ The sheriff and I looked at’im like he’d gone mad, ‘what do you mean a tiger?’ the sheriff asked, ‘ain’t no tigers in Deadman’s County or anywhere in California!”
“Dr. Bennington took another look at Billy’s body and spotted a tooth lodged inside his chest and pulled it out. ‘Now,’ the doctor said, ‘if I really didn’t know any better, I’d say this’d be the tooth of a saber tooth tiger,’ the doctor added, ‘and they’re long extinct!’ ‘what?’ the sheriff asked, ‘what are you sayin’, doctor?’ ‘I’m saying,’ the good doctor replies as he shows us a tooth that was lodged in Billy’s chest, ‘exactly what I just said.’
“‘so, now what?’ the sheriff sighs and rubs his forehead, like he’s doing now.” Ronnie gestured to the sheriff, “‘we’ve got an extinct tiger on the loose? That what you expect me to believe, doctor?’ ‘I don’t expect you to believe anything,’ the doctor says, ‘except what is right in front of you, sheriff.’ The sheriff looks at the tooth closely, clearly recognizin’ it ain’t no human tooth, and rubs his forehead again. He flashes his brows and looks to me and says, ‘well, guess we gotta find us a tiger or whatever the hell took Billy out’ and I nod stiffly, not particularly thrilled to be deputized for such a task. ‘Alright, doctor,’ the sheriff says, ‘let us know if you find anything new and we’ll go out and hunt this thing.’ The doctor nods and we leave. We start off at the scene of the crime and work our way from there, we go around the town, not going no more than a mile, and search the woods all night and half the day only to find nothing. Only thing we saw was deer, squirrel and other wildlife natural to these here woods. We circle back and get into town at ‘bout high noon when we see the whole town gathered at the square and some fool spoutin’ a bun’cha nonsense, getting’ the people all riled up ‘bout nothing, or was it nothin’? The sheriff n’ I investigate and find out the town had found out ‘bout Billy’s death and wanted to form a mob to find the fella that did it.
“The sheriff makes his way through the crowd to the square and calms the people down like he always does, sayin’ he’ll find the son of a gun who killed Billy and bring’im to swift justice, but he can’t do that if a whole bun’cha people are in the way n’ killin’ each other. The crowd quiets and the sheriff looks at each and every one of’em dead in the eye n’ says, ‘it’s my job as the sheriff to protect the town n’ its people n’ by God that’s what I’ll do if it kills me!’ The crowd cheers and they go back to their affairs, the sheriff yolks up the fool that was spoutin’ junk by the collar and hauls ‘im over. ‘you mind tellin’ us what the hell you was thankin’, boy?’
“the poor fool only has that dumb look on his face, you know? The one ya used to have when ya momma caught ya doin’ sumptin’ you ain’t have no business? Yup, that one. Anyway, the sheriff hauls the fool over to the side and gives ‘im a good scolding then tells ‘im to go on home and he does. Sheriff comes back, rubbing his forehead, and we go on back to Dr. Bennington’s office. The doctor’s stone cold knocked out on his desk when sheriff slams the door like a ruffian and the doctor shoots up and nearly falls backward out of his chair. When he rights ‘imself, he looks ‘round and sees me n’ the sheriff then stands up n’ comes to his senses. ‘Hello, gentlemen,’ the doctor says, ‘have you found the fellow?’ ‘real question is,’ the sheriff says, ‘how long you been sleepin’, doctor?’ ‘not long,’ the doctor replies and looks at his pocket watch, ‘about half an hour.’ The sheriff takes off his hat and gets to rubbin’ his forehead n’ goes to take a seat. We all stand there in silence for a long time, the tension in the room so strong you’d think the fella that killed Billy were among us. Then, after some time, the doctor speaks, ‘well, gentlemen,’ he starts, ‘after careful examination and study in the town’s library, my hypothesis proves to be correct in that this tooth is the tooth of a saber tooth tiger. Now, the question is, if a saber tooth tiger is in out midst, how long had it survived? How did it get here? And where is it hiding? All these questions I’m not equipped to answer as I am not a biologist of any sort, I treat patients, not animals.’ The doctor continues, ‘however, I do know of a man who may be able to help us, his name is Marcellus Flint.
“‘I have a feelin’ I’ve heard that name before,’ the sheriff says, ‘ain’t he one o’ those fancy detective fellas that solve mysteries around the world?’ ‘the very same,’ the doctor replies, ‘I’ll send him a telegram and he should be here within a few days,’ the doctor adds, ‘until then, gentlemen, I’ll be here, prepping Billy Weissman’s body for burial before it starts to get the dead man’s smell about it.’ The sheriff n’ I bid the doctor farewell and take our leave—”
The Saloon doors swung open and a tall, broad-shouldered man walked in. Ronnie glanced over to get a look at him without seeming suspicious and recognized him as the fella that out-drank Billy Weissman, the sheriff looked back and an expression of surprised consumed his features. Damon Blitz merely shifted his eyes as the broad-shouldered man took a seat at the end of the bar and signaled for Ronnie. Ronnie went over to him and took his order then filled it, Black Death whiskey. When Ronnie went to put the bottle away, the fella signaled him to leave the bottle on the table and took out a few gold ones and slapped them on the table. Ronnie looked at him with an expression sayin, ‘are you sure?’ and the fella nodded just as casually as you’d please and knocked back the glass without compunction. The sheriff was all but astonished, Ronnie looked at the sheriff and nodded toward the fella to say that was the one who out-drank Billy, and the sheriff looked back at Ronnie with an expression that said, ‘I see.’ Damon’s face was expressionless, but his eyes were filled with an intense flame, he knew who that fella was, and from everything Ronnie told him so far, he knew who killed Billy Weissman. He was looking at him, Saber. That was his name.
“if you’ll excuse me, gentlemen,” Damon said, “while I go have a word with that fella.”
“I wouldn’t if I were you,” Ronnie said, “‘specially if you plan on challengin’ him to a game of drink.”
“It’d be a tie,” Damon said, “besides, I know the guy.” Damon turns and calls out, “hey, Saber!”
Saber turned imperceptibly.
“It’s me, Damon Blitz.”
Saber turned back to his drink.
Damon got up and Ronnie grabbed his arm. Damon nodded and Ronnie’s grip subsided, and he went over to Saber. He sat down and grabbed the bottle of Black Death whiskey and poured himself a glass then passed it back to Saber, Saber took up the bottle and poured himself a glass as well and the two drank at the same time. Damon’s eyes shift and Saber’s eyes meet his, Damon could see the demon’s dancing with glee and excitement, anticipation and anxiousness to cause and create mischief. Saber saw the intense flame with the demon lurking, he saw the flames turn dark and transform into shadows. The tension between the two built gradually and pretty soon Ronnie and the sheriff started to get nervous. Both poured another glass of Black Death whiskey and drank without remorse, they were silent for a long time until Damon whispered,
“Why’d you kill him, Saber?”
Saber’s eyes shifted to Damon and he merely smirked.
“You know who I’m talking about,” Damon said.
“What makes you think I did it?” Saber asked in a low, grating voice.
“You’re the one that controls Saber-tooth tigers, you tell me.”
“He got what was coming to him,” Saber said, “I tried to leave town peacefully, but the fool wouldn’t stop following me,” Saber paused, “and you know how much I hate being followed. Especially by the likes of you, Blitz.”
“Well,” Damon said, “you are my quarry, after all.”
“Oh?”
“Yhup,” Damon said, “someone’s willing to pay a hefty price for your head on a pike.”
“And you think you’re the one that’s going to collect?”
“Of course, I am.” Damon’s eyes shifted to Saber as he smirked.
“Perhaps we should take this outside,” Saber said, “I’d love to see you try.”
“Let’s finish this bottle first,”
“Agreed.”
The two took turns consuming the Black Death whiskey and rose from the bar. Damon turned to Ronnie and the sheriff and bid them farewell as he and Saber walked out the bar. Damon gets just as far as the door—
“Oh yeah,” Damon took out a small bag containing a few gold ones and threw it to Ronnie, he caught it. “Thanks for the drink.”
“Don’t ya wanna hear how the res’ o’ the story plays out?” The sheriff asked, “before ya go?”
“Na,” Damon said, “I got what I came for, gentlemen, ‘night.”
Damon walked out.
Ronnie and the sheriff looked at each other quizzically and wondered what that was suddenly. Ronnie picked up the glasses and threw them in the wash and the bottle of Black Death whiskey and threw it away. The sheriff was still at the bar, drinking his Brandy.
“You notice anything suspicious about that fella?” the sheriff asked.
“Which one?”
“That broad-shouldered one,”
“Well,” Ronnie said, “all the strangers that pass through here look suspicious to me, so you gonna hafta be more specific, sheriff.”
“I mean, you ain’t notice sumptin’ off ‘bout him?” The sheriff asked. “Like a bad feelin’?”
Ronnie pondered this a moment and picked up what the sheriff was getting at, “you mean the possibility that fella killed Billy Weissman?”
The sheriff nodded stiffly.
“I can see how you’d come to that,” Ronnie said, “Now that I think ‘bout it, Billy sho’ ‘nough used to be a brawler. Never let ‘imself lose to nobody, an’ if he did lose, he’d scrap it out wit’em an’ win that.”
The sheriff nodded in agreement as he sipped his Brandy and slammed the glass on the table, “Well, I’ma head back to the office, thanks Ronnie.”
The sheriff got up, wobbling a bit, and headed toward the door.
“You alrigh’, sheriff?” Ronnie asked.
“Oh, don’t worry ‘bout me, boy.” The sheriff said, “I’ll be fine.”
The sheriff staggered to the door and made his way out the Saloon.
Damon Blitz and Saber walked through the wood heading out of town in silence, the tension building between them could light a forest on fire. The moon shined bright in the sky with its all-encompassing light as the nights’ creatures moved in the shadows. The air was still and cold, smoke came from their breath when they exhaled but they strolled as if it were a summer day. The bare branches of the trees took on a menacing and sinister look, like malignant hands waiting to snatch the soul from your body and devour it with sharp and unforgiving claws. The sounds of uneven footsteps and howls filled the night, tinged with a low growling. Damon and Saber shot glances at each other and evil smirks played about on their faces. Damon knew it was Saber that killed Billy Weissman, no doubt. He didn’t need to hear the end to figure out Ronnie and the sheriff never found the killer, and that Marcellus Flint never did either. Marcellus, sure, Damon knew him. In fact, Damon’s even worked with him on occasion, Marcellus doing all the detective work and Damon catching—mostly killing—the perpetrators since the bounties often said dead or alive. Saber looked into the night sky with an expression that indicated musing of some sort, Damon looked toward the end of the woods leading into the unknown, a perfect place to kill Saber and collect his bounty.
Saber, on the other hand, knew Damon’s intentions. In fact, he recognized Damon as soon as he walked into the bar. That stiff back, the black overcoat, the jet-black hair and the pale skin, that casual and friendly voice he always used when talking to civilians. Yeah, Saber knew it was Damon, he wasn’t stupid. The two walked on in silence for some time until Damon broke the tension.
“So, Saber,” Damon said, “why’d you really kill that sap, Billy Weissman?”
“I told you,” Saber said in that low, grating voice, “I don’t like being followed.”
“Yeah, yeah,” Damon said, “I know that, but seriously, all you had to do was knock him out and be on your way.”
“You know good and well that’s not my style,” Saber said, “I fight to kill, not for fun or bragging rights. The fool should’ve known better than try to fight me.”
“Well, you should’ve known better than to engage in a game of drink.” Damon glanced at Saber with inquisitive eyes, “especially one you know you’re going to win.”
“I suppose you have a point, Blitz.” Saber said reflectively, “But, the past is the past, cannot be undone.”
“How right you are,” Damon said, “Well, we’re coming up on the edge of the woods,” Damon paused, “seems like a good place for you to die.”
“Quite the confident one, aren’t we?” Saber said, his voice tinged with a low growl.
“Well,” Damon said, “if prey runs every time it sees the predator, especially if the prey is itself a predator, wouldn’t the hunter of the hunter be confident.”
“You have a terrible way with words, Blitz.”
“And you have a terrible way of covering your tracks, but I’m not complaining,” Damon said, “makes my job easier.”
The two came upon an area where the trees formed a circle and the ground filled with scars of previous battles. The cool, soft wind blew, and their coats flapped in the breeze. The footsteps of nocturnal creatures were all that was heard in the distance as the residents of Deadman’s County turned in for the night. The two turned from each other and walked about one hundred paces then turned around. A fog slowly consumed the woods and the air developed a misty and mildew quality, Damon’s Treacherous Wolves emerged one by one until all nine of them surrounded him, growling and salivating at their newest quarry. On Saber’s side, one large Saber-tooth tiger emerged from the fog with intense gold eyes and a scowl that could melt steel. The tiger was calmer than a summer breeze as its shoulders alternated while it stretched out it’s jaws and legs, preparing to rip apart its new prey.
“Ah,” Saber chuckled, “The Treacherous Wolves,” he started, “haven’t seen them in a while.”
“I could say the same for your Saber-tooth,” Damon replied, “too bad its about to become wolf food.”
“Still the confident one,” Saber said as two more saber-tooth’s emerged, both bigger than the first one.
“Oh?” Damon said, “I’ll admit I didn’t see that coming.”
“I thought you might like it,” Saber flashed a sinister smile, “a little trick I developed to even the field if I ever came across you and your wolves.”
Damon shrugged, “I appreciate the gesture, really I do, but three against nine isn’t even last time I checked.”
“Trust me, Blitz,” Saber said, “you’ll find these aren’t the saber-tooth’s you faced last time around. These come with . . . special abilities, so to speak.”
“I’m sure,” Damon said, “Alright, enough banter. Let’s get this over with.”
“My thoughts, exactly.”
The Treacherous Wolves spread themselves out and the saber-tooth’s remained still, their eyes keeping track of the wolves. The sabers walked to the center and let the wolves surround them as they went back to back, Damon and Saber watched expectantly. The growls and howls of the wolves and sabers filled the air with terrible fright as the nocturnal creatures flew and scurried into the night. The smell of mist and mildew permeated throughout the battleground along with that of murder and savagery. The wolves stared down the saber-tooth’s with pale and unforgiving blue eyes as the sabers stared with demons dancing in their deep gold ones. The tension began to build to staggering heights as each group waited for the moment to strike, the moment anyone’s resolve faltered for a split second, the moment confidence wavered at the fault of a wrong thought. Damon knew he had to be careful when dealing with his Treacherous Wolves, one moment of weakness and they’d turn on him without compunction. Saber, on the other hand, had no such problem. His saber-tooth’s were extremely loyal to him and would follow him wherever he went and protect him from all danger, which was probably one of the reasons Damon persisted in killing Saber. Why should that scum get animals that were loyal to him while I have double-crossers for protection? Damon thought but quickly pushed it out of his mind. He couldn’t afford a negative thought, even if it was true. He stared Saber down with merciless eyes and Saber stared back with eyes equally as merciless and twice as cold-blooded, the demons were not dancing but having a ball and an arrogant smirk played about Saber’s face. Damon kept his composure and took a deep, meditative breath, thick smoke coming from his mouth as he exhaled.
The wolves circled the saber-tooth’s but they seemed unfazed by the impending danger. In fact, the creatures seemed to carry a non-chalant attitude to the whole affair. Damon watched the sabers and felt something regal about them, a haughtiness, a certain holier-than-thou-ness about their presence. Damon looked to Saber and saw that his facial expression had adopted the same air. The wolves closed in on the sabers and crouched low, ready to pounce. The saber crouched slightly and spread their legs to secure some ground. The tension on the battleground was suffocating. The air became still, and the woods were dead silent, each creature waiting in anticipation. The atmosphere was so intense it felt like being crushed under a mountain. The tension rose to a peak and one of the wolves moved too early. The sabers struck first. The wolves lunged at them. Claws ascended and bore down on unsuspecting fur, ripping through skin. The sounds of growling, snarling, and yelping filled the air. The sabers took down three wolves and the other six piled on them. The sabers sunk their long, sharp teeth into the wolves’ backs and flung them across the ground. Three wolves were down, another three wounded. Only three healthy ones remained. The sabers stared down the wolves with menacing and merciless eyes, the wolves stared back with gazes just as unforgiving. The animals lunged each other, and the sabers came out on top. Damon watched all this with a stoicism only a sociopath could match and called his wolves to regroup. The sabers stood in the middle of the battleground, waiting expectantly.
“I told you my sabers were improved since you saw them last,” Saber chuckled, “care to try again?”
Damon took a deep breath and called forth The Treacherous Wolves and they came back with a vengeance. This time, only three wolves lunged at the sabers. They were taken down almost instantly but retreated before incurring further damage. The wolves took turns, picking their spots and attacking when they saw an opening. The sabers were methodical and quick, taking the wolves down and trying to go in for the kill. The fight seemed to go on forever, the sabers proved difficult to take down. Every time the wolves saw a potential opening, it was either closed by another saber having its partner’s back or the saber’s quickness in taking down one wolf and pivoting toward the other. Damon analyzed the sabers movements and realizes they’ve been trained. The sabers movements were too coordinated, too organized, and too flawless for them to be wild. So that’s where he’s been all this time, Damon thought. Training. He compared the sabers movements to that of his wolves and saw why they were having trouble . . . his wolves were too weak. Period. It hit him like a critical blow to the gut and tasted like burned meat. Saber had put in time and dedication training his animals while Damon had been walking around as if he owned the world, relying on numbers and viciousness to get the job done. It was then Damon got an idea, a cheap one but an idea, nonetheless. He ordered one of his wolves to attack Saber directly and one snuck from the pile and lunged. The wolf was just within striking distance, Saber had a blank expression and seemed unfazed. Just when the wolf was about to maim him, a fourth saber emerged and took the wolf down, its long, sharp teeth sinking into the wolf’s spine. A sickening snap filled the air followed by the wolf yelp as the saber flung the wolf back into the battleground and vanished as quickly as it came.
Saber looked at Damon with an arrogant smirk that said, ‘try again’ and Damon turned his attention to the battle. The wolves were losing miserably, and the sabers never seemed to tire. The wolves’ attacks were getting sloppy and careless, the sabers remained in top form, taking them down as if they were swatting at flies rather than full grown wolves. Damon sighed and recalled his wolves. The sabers stood in the middle of the battleground with an expression that seemed to say, ‘we can do this all day if you like, the result will be the same’.
“You’re oddly quiet, Blitz.” Saber chuckled, “Saber got your tongue?”
“Seems you’ve been training all this time,” Damon says in his most casual tone, “I must say, I commend your efforts. You’ve actually made this a challenge.”
“Don’t talk like you have this under control,” Saber smiled deviously, “we both know who the better man is.”
“I don’t think we do,” Damon said, “because you seem to think you’ve won this battle.”
“You’re either blind or deluded, Blitz.” The smile went away, “we were both witnessing the same battle.”
“Were we?” Damon asked as one of his wolves appeared from thin air and bit into one of the sabers’ hind quarters. The saber roared in pain and the as soon as the other turned their backs, the rest of the pack came with a bloodthirsty vengeance only evil could fuel. The wolves ripped and tore into the sabers with a relentlessness the devil would be proud of, growls and roars of pain filled the air with a terrible harmony as the orchestra of death reached its crescendo. When the wolves were done, the sabers were lacerated beyond recognition and the color drained from Saber’s face. Damon stood proud, trying to suppress laughter at the priceless look Saber had at the fac he thought he’d beaten him, him? Damon Blitz? Tamer of The Treacherous Wolves? Ha! Never in a billion years.
“You, treacherous bastard,” Saber breathed.
“Well, they are The Treacherous Wolves, after all.” Damon chuckled, “it’s kind of their thing.”
Saber recalled his sabers and they turned to mist and regrouped within him. Damon’s wolves gathered in the middle of the battleground, waiting expectantly.
“Well?” Damon said, “They’re waiting.”
“Shut up!” Saber said simply.
Damon feigned surrender with a smile on his face, trying to suppress the urge to laugh. Saber racked his brain for a plan, but nothing came to him, his confidence wavered and his conviction in his abilities faltered. He snapped to his senses quickly and thrashed the thoughts of self-doubt aside and unleashed his sabers again, this time with fury. This time four instead of three.
“So, you had four this whole time.” Damon said, “I see you’ve been holding out on me.”
“The master never shows all his tricks,” Saber replied.
“I’m surprised you had tricks in the first place,”
The sabers spread out and the wolves did the same, the animals circled each other with malevolence. Murderous intent filled their eyes as they looked upon each other like helpless prey. The wolves’ eyes shone pale blue in the night. The sabers’ eyes shone a furious gold. The sounds of uneven footsteps and rustling branches filled the night as the stars danced in the skies, the tension between the animals built to a climax too high to sustain. The animals crouched low, their shoulders alternating with each stride, ready to lunge. Damon and Saber stared each other down, looking past the flesh and addressing the demons that lie beneath. The air seemed to hold its breath in anticipation, eyes emerged from the shadows to watch how the battle would play out. Saber had an expression of utmost serious. Damon had a laid-back and serene look on his face as if musing about something unrelated to the battle at hand. The Treacherous Wolves shifted their gaze to Damon, and he sensed it, snapping back to reality and tightening his grip on their will. The wolves fell back in line. The incident happened in less than a second, imperceptible to the human eye but not Saber, he caught it. ‘Well, they are The Treacherous Wolves, after all,’ was what Blitz said, Saber remembered. That’s when it came to him.
“It must be difficult,” Saber said, “handling wolves such as those.”
“You’re full of it, Saber.” Damon said, “I know you saw it, and think you can turn my wolves against me.”
Saber kept his expression even, “I’m not as treacherous as that,” he said, “I prefer to kill my opponent with my own might.”
“Sure, you do,” Damon said, “which was why you had that devious smile a moment ago. You can’t fool me, Saber. I’m always ten steps ahead.”
“Are you?”
Damon flashed a devious smile of his own, “but of course, they don’t call me the best hunter in the world for nothing, you know.”
“We’ll just have to see about that, won’t we?”
“So, we shall,”
The wolves lunged and drew first blood. The sabers were disoriented but soon found their footing and reestablished dominance. The battle went the same as it did in the first round, the sabers sinking their long, sharp, ivory teeth into the wolves’ spines and crushing them, a sickening snap filling the air each time it happened. The wolves were in complete chaos, attacking with reckless abandon without regard for their safety or numbers. Each time a saber took down a wolf, Damon recalled it and brought it back with force. The sabers’ coordinated attacks lasted a good while before they eventually faltered. Damon analyzed the sabers’ movements and started seeing cracks in the formation. Seizing the opportunity, he snuck wolves between those cracks one by one, slowly breaking down the saber’s coordination. Saber saw this development and ran through his brain, searching for a plan, any plan. Anything to stop the madness occurring on the battlefield. His sabers were in disarray, being flanked on all sides with no room to breathe. Damon’s Treacherous Wolves living up to their name, using any sneaky and underhanded means to gain the slight advantage, swiping at the sabers’ hindlegs, biting on their tails, kicking up dust with theirs so the sabers couldn’t see. Saber looked to Damon with a fury that could draw blood, a malice that could cut through steel. Damon’s icy blue eyes were colder than the arctic in the dead of winter, his gaze shifting imperceptibly, analyzing the animal movements on the field. There was a distant look in his eyes, like he didn’t know Saber was there, like everything fell out of existence and there was only the fight. Saber knew this look and he knew it well, he also knew that whoever saw that look in Damon’s eyes often didn’t live to tell the tale.
Seems he’s serious this time, Saber thought with a grimace.
Saber withdrew his sabers and re-released them with a vengeance, each one baring its long, ivory teeth. The wolves attacked with equal vengeance and the snarls, growls, and howls filled the night as carnage ensued. Damon still had that cold, distant gaze while Saber had an expression of desperation. The sound of ripping flesh and snapping bones, the metallic, copper smell of blood suffocated the other animals and caused some to retreat into the shadows, fear drilling its way down their spines. It wasn’t long before the sabers were in disarray again as the wolves had a different demeanor, a more keen and focused ferocity. Their eyes shined a pale blue in the night, illuminating the battlefield. Blood was caked on their snouts and streaked through their fur and they were hungry for more, the sabers stood battered and bruised and bleeding, a look of fear playing among their expressions. The sabers formed a coordinated stance, each one covering the other’s back as the wolves circled them. Damon retained that distant look with expectation, his mind focused solely on the fight; Saber, on the other hand, was fighting with desperation and losing miserably. The fear that at first trickled through his heart had blossomed into an ocean, encompassing his entire body. He tried to fight it, to push it down and suppress it, turn to rage, fury, anything he could use to fuel his sabers, to no avail. He saw the look in one of his sabers’ eyes and it matched how he felt inside, afraid. Saber’s natural instincts rose and took over with irresistible force as he withdrew his sabers and ran off. Damon stood silent with that cold and distant look in his eyes, his gaze shifting toward Saber as he watched him, running like the bounty he truly is. A self-satisfied smirk played along Damon’s lips, but he forced it down and ordered his wolves to give chase. Their heads snap in Saber’s direction and in a flash they’re on his trail. The sounds of footsteps, howls, and wings flapping filling the night.
Ronnie was in the Saloon the next morning, going through his routine in setting up the bar: cleaning the bar, washing the glasses he didn’t get to the other night, making sure the tables and chairs were tidy and working—as the regulars often got rowdy and broke a couple—and sweeping up. He looked to the windows of the Saloon and reckoned they too needed a good cleaning, so he went down to the cellar and came back up with a bucket. He was just about to go out to the well and fill it with water until the doors swung open and the sheriff rushed it, panting and sweating like a hog in the middle of summer. He rested his hands on his knees and shivered as he tried to catch his breath, Ronnie was all but bewildered because he’d never seen the sheriff with that expression until he saw something totally gross or utterly heinous, and if the sheriff is coming to Ronnie to deliver the news, it was probably the latter. The Sheriff caught his breath and stood erect.
“Ronnie,” he said, “you ain’t gonna believe this, boy,” the sheriff had a look of horror unlike anything Ronnie’s ever seen in his eyes, “I was takin’ m’daily walk outside town like I usually do, wh-when I got to the middle of the woods, ‘bout the point I usually turn back, I saw something in the distance that looked like a body. At least, I thought it was a body at first, looked more like a lump than anything. Anyway, I walk up to the lump and discover that it is a body, but that ain’t the strange part. Remember those two fellas that were here the other night?”
Ronnie nodded.
“Yeah well,” The sheriff shudders at the thought of it, “the body in the woods was the fella that outdrank Billy Weissman!”
“What?” Ronnie’s eyes grew wide, “You mean someone took’im out?”
“Yup,” the sheriff said, “an’ that ain’t the worst of it, boy,” the sheriff’s face went pale at the thought, “his head was missin’”
Ronnie dropped his bucket, “Good God.” He breathed.
After a long silence Ronnie asked, “What about that other fella? The one with the icy stare?”
“That fella long gone.” The sheriff said, shaking his head, “That fella long gone.”
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