Coin Toss

Sheriff Faber held his tongue until the silent henchman Gray drove two of Gruesome’s most prized possessions out of the crumbing mission gate. Getting the convertible out of the line of fire made sense, of course, but he was positive that the marshal Hall had taken a shine to Molly while a reluctant guest at Gruesome’s hacienda.

And that meant leverage; Faber had been in firefights with both Hall and Gruesome, but he still couldn’t say who was better, since both drew faster than his eyes could follow. He suspected that Hall, at least, would hesitate just a bit if he thought Molly was in danger. He had said as much to Gruesome inside the jail last night and watched his deputy get shot for it. So, in recognition of his new, disempowered state, he remained silent when the big man himself sauntered out of the jail and joined him by the dry well.

Gruesome was hiding his true nature at the moment, playing the affable general who would send riflemen to the bell tower, or dispatch shooters to man the windows of abandoned storefronts surrounding the courtyard. From his proximity, Faber could see the monster lurked just under the surface, waiting for his prey – Hall – to walk into the trap. As always, Gruesome rolled one of his rare buffalo head nickels up and down his knuckles, almost unconsciously, it seemed.

“Are you sure Gray won’t run into Hall out there?” Faber tentatively asked, lamenting that his fortunes had changed so radically that he was completely beholden to a band of criminals.

“Don’t you know Hall yet, Sheriff?” Gruesome sounded more amused than angry, but he had sounded that way last night, too. “He’s a law and order kind of guy like you, but without the flexible moral code. You might say that he’s what you pretend to be when you put on your badge and uniform.”

Gruesome flicked his thumb and sent the nickel flying on a course that would have taken it far over his head. But his other hand flashed and plucked it out of the air at eye level with two fingers. “For you, the only real thing you strap on in the morning is your gun. And it’s the same with all of these other sons of bitches here. But Hall and me are different; we’re at the end of a long line of firearm artists. One of us will paint a masterpiece today.”

A yellow van with a children’s charity emblazoned on the side pulled out of the garage and stopped by the well.  “‘Bout time.” Faber grumbled, although the knowledge of his anticipated cut did buoy his spirit. Gruesome was crazy, but not stupid, and he needed cover from law enforcement. Who could provide that as well as Sheriff Faber? Maybe once Faber had enough money he could actually find a way to take Gruesome by surprise, smother the beast, and do the world a big favor. Ultimately, he’d do more for the people than that hopeless, uncompromising sap Hall.

The driver’s posture seemed awkward to Faber, and he left Gruesome toying with the lock on the back to peer in the driver’s side window. It was Gray, bound, gagged, tied into place behind the wheel, positioned to look like he was driving. The actual driver appeared to be a black box on the dashboard with a red light on top and a thick antenna.

“Sheriff!” Gruesome roared, and Faber hurried to the back. The rear door was open, and the drugs had been piled aside to make room for two large drums sprouting wires that lead to a digital counter that read 3, 2, 1…

. . .

Molly remained silent until they pulled into the car line at the Mexico border. They’d made excellent time; there was only one car ahead of them in this direction. She leaned over and rubbed some of the lingering greasepaint from the stubble on his jaw.

“I still can’t believe they didn’t know it was you.” She let her fingers run down his arm and faintly rested them atop his fingers on the shifter. “They should have known you were much – fitter.”

“The men in the courtyard weren’t looking too closely at me,” Hall replied, and he briefly chatted with a polite Federale who extended the conversation purely to ogle Molly. When he finally did bide them to drive on, Molly tossed him one of the rarest of the late Gruesome’s buffalo head nickels.

“Keep it,” She cried out over the noise of the engine that took them parallel to the setting sun. “I don’t need it anymore.”