Chapter Text
The sun beamed down, its heat a choke on anyone under its grasp. A slight breeze brushed past and kicked up dry dirt as Josh made his way into town. His horse below him chuffed in a plea for water.
"Be there soon, Jim," Josh hushed as he patted the horse's neck. Plumes of hair and dift puffed up into the air with his touch.
It had been two days since Josh completed the bounty, and now he found himself delivering some whiny, degenerate-of-a-man to his fate. The job was simple: some drunk blabbed over cards about a handsome sum of money if anyone could bring back the man who disgraced his daughter. Josh practically jumped for the job; others did too, but Josh had earned it, especially after beating the man at his own game of cards.
The sore criminal was south of the Colorado border - he had gone a long way to avoid the repercussions of his actions, but not far enough. He had been fast, making it to New Mexico before Josh had found him. It wasn't hard, the man acted like a damned idiot - asking far too many questions at each stop he made. There might as well have been a burning bush leading right to the damned idiot.
Even now, he still asked too many questions as Josh dragged him by his horse. The man protested the whole way, offering money Josh knew he didn't have. It wasn't worth it; the sum back home couldn't be beat. It was a pretty amount, enough to feed, dress, and drown himself for a month. If he spent it wisely, he could finally use some of it to get the hell out of this town.
Josh drained what was left of his waterskin and gave his horse a light kick. Jim exhaled sharply and picked up his pace. The sun beat down on them with a force. Josh adjusted his hat to protect his face better. His hands, however, were red and peeling; he always forgot to cover them.
"You don't have any more water, do ya?" The man behind Jim asked. Another question he already knew the answer to. It had been several days since the man, had asked Josh pointless questions. The same thing over and over again.
Do you have more water?
When will we get there?
If you leave me here, I'll go west, and I won't tell anyone.
Pathetic and useless, so Josh ignored him. At least he tried to, but the moaning and groaning coming from below still irked him. Josh never talked back; it was a rule he had with himself. Don't humanize his money; sympathy would only waste his time out here.
The saloon sat pretty on the horizon, and the growing heat distorted the land, making the scene beyond him blur. Ripples tore through the horizon, shimmering like pools of water.
The frontier town in Pueblo was small, just a stop for trade and passing travelers. Josh liked to call it his home - he had been for a while. Three years to be exact. He lived above the tavern in a room with just enough space for the clothes on his back and his waterskin. It wasn't enjoyable, but there were far worse places to be.
"Come on, boy, I can hear water in there. Give me just a sip?" Josh ignored the man below him; he just kicked a bit harder into Jim with his spurs, causing the horse to pick up his speed. The man let out a strangled grunt of pain. A week on foot was brutal, but Josh felt no sympathy for the man. He could drink water in his cell.
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By the time Josh tied Jim up to a water post, the criminal was trying to get anyone to free him. Each passerby got an earful about how he was in the wrong place and that Josh was crazy. But everyone knew Josh around here, or Spooky as they called him. The cries came off as what they were: a criminal trying to run from fate.
"You know I never got your name," Josh hummed as he tugged the rope bound around the man's wrists. It was extremely tight now that he looked at it; the poor guy's hands were wrapped in rope burn.
"Brendon," he wheezed, "took you long enough to ask, started thinking you didn't care."
"Oh, I don't." Josh laughed as Brendon tried to keep up pace. He was clearly tired and dehydrated, his face burnt and peeling with dead skin. His lips were cracked and white, which made his sunken red eyes look all the more horrifying. It was pathetic, really.
"Somebody's gotta write your name on your grave, might as well figure it out first."
Brendon stilled slightly, but Josh kept moving, shoving a poorly rolled cigarette into his mouth. He lit it when he got the chance, talking to the barkeep about Paul's whereabouts — the man who offered up the job. Smoke puffed around the two as Josh let Brendon's anxiety build. He deserved it. If Brendon only knew the kind of guy Paul was, he would likely wet himself where he stood.
"You're fast, Josh. I can't believe you caught him already. Paul's been rollin around lookin' a mess just waitin." The barkeep nodded; her black curls bobbed slightly with the movement. She reached out for Josh's cigarette and smiled when he let her take a drag, though it was quickly replaced with a frown.
"God, these taste like shit. I forgot you have cheap taste."
Josh grabbed the cigarette back from between her slender fingers. With a grin, he took a long, dramatic drag, "You've been serving me rotgut for years now, Andy. I'd have figured you'd have caught on by now."
Andy shook her head with a huff and looked back down at Brendon. He'd gone to picking at his nails and the rope around his hands.
"No use, sir, Spooky can sure tie a knot."
Brendon snapped his head up with a frown. He moved to speak, but the doors to the saloon slammed open. The sound reverberated through the room and even sent a startle up Josh's spine.
"WHERE IS HE?" Paul boomed as he stood, seething like a bull at the door. His breaths were coming out in deep huffs as he frantically scanned the room, his gaze quickly landing on Josh and Brendon. The fear radiating from Brendon was palpable, and Josh would be lying if he said it didn't give him that familiar rush.
"YOU," Paul seethed and stomped over to the man. A pool of wet puddled near Josh's feet, and he jumped back quickly. These boots were far too new for some degenerate to ruin them already.
Brendon was a goner, mumbling apologies and prayers as Paul boomed closer.
Curses, threats, and promises poured out of Paul, and he moved to grab Brendon once he made himself close enough, but Josh stopped him.
"Payment first, friend." Josh stepped closer with an open hand on Paul's chest. Josh could feel the pounding of his heart below his touch. He knew it wasn't fair to stop him like this, but Josh had been swindled one too many times.
A breeze pushed in through the open doors ahead of him as Paul looked up to meet Josh's gaze. The wind snaked through flickering candle flames and the piles of dirt on the chipped wooden floor.
"You're killin' me, Spooky," Paul grumbled and dug around in his coat pocket. Out came a small black pouch filled with coins. He dropped it into Josh's hands with a small clink. Josh opened the bag with a grin and took a step back towards the bar.
"Pleasure, sir."
With a nod to Andy, Josh walked up the chipped white stairs that wrapped around the bar and up into the loft. He ignored the yells downstairs as he walked the hallway, long and lined with doors, girls in frilly dresses pushing in and out with hushed giggles. They stuffed coins in their pockets as they left and always gave a nod to Josh. They were good company sometimes, though it was never enough most of the time.
It could be lonely out here. The town was growing, but not quickly enough. The people stayed the same, and the only thing Josh really had to look forward to was the jobs he was offered.
He'd loved traveling the west; the mountains offered a comfort in his most desperate times, and he always found himself situated between rocks and rivers whenever he could. The land called to him, the gentle expanse of the prairie soothed his aching thoughts whenever he needed it most. And if he could, he would run. He would pack up everything he owned and shove it on his back, and he would leave. He'd go deeper into the mountains, up where the elk, bobcats, and old ghosts dwelled.
Something tethered him down; maybe it was the steady jobs and steady routine here, but part of Josh knew that he would never leave this place, not really.
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"Did you hear?" Andy whispered, "Fresh new killer up north. Massacred a whole town last month." Andy nodded with a smirk as she polished the last of her whiskey glasses. Her jet black eyes looked carefully for any spots left over; she'd stare at these glasses forever if she could, trying to perfect them every time.
"Haven't heard nothin'," Josh shrugged and took another swig of his drink, the brown liquor burning its way down. "Unfortunate, really."
"You're tellin me." Andy set the glass down with a soft clink and threw her rag over her shoulder. She brushed down her red skirt and then rested on the bar, leaning on her elbows, "everybody's been wonderin' when you're gonna head out and catch 'em."
Josh scoffed with a roll of his eyes as he stared Andy down, her grin turning toothy, like she knew something that Josh didn't. She knew about the pull that he had for adventure, and even if Josh wouldn't agree to the job, Andy already knew that by next week, Josh would be miles up north on the back of his horse.
"You need to stop signin' me up for things I don't even know about."
Andy let out a bark of a laugh and pushed herself back up. She adjusted bottles of liquor on the shelf behind her as she ran facts and ideas off to Josh.
"I know someone who'd pay handsomely, y'know. He's not one to mess around with, though, so keep your wits about you."
"Andy, I'd never said I'd go. Maybe I'd like to retire," Josh lied, and Andy knew. She barked a laugh so loudly at the idea that others looked to see what the noise was.
"You're funny, Josh. Listen," Andy turned back around to face Josh, a light blush had crept over her dark brown skin. "I know a buyer, I know him quite well. He frequents here often, and I think you'd like what he has to offer."
Josh shrugged and mumbled a short we'll see under his breath before turning around and watching the sun set behind the saloon doors.
People were slowly filing into the saloon, musicians pooled in corners, and soon fiddles accompanied the banging piano keys in the corner joined in. Each Friday night was like this: the seemingly desolate town turned lively, and Josh enjoyed every second of it. He danced with strangers, flirted with pretty women and handsome men, and sometimes even took them back to his room.
But tonight, Josh just watched. He sat at the bar and accompanied Andy as she made large sums of money. She would hit him with her dirty rag every once in a while, encouraging him to go out and dance. She'd point out men and women staring him down, but Josh stayed, drink in hand, just watching, listening.
The sky was black by the time the stranger approached him. A tall man with dark features sat down with a heavy sigh next to Josh. He threw up two fingers at Andy, and soon a whiskey with an orange peel was placed in front of him.
"They call you Spooky," he said quite matter-of-factly, never once looking at Josh.
"They do."
"Hm," he grumbled.
Josh glanced a look at him, stubble lined his face as well as a plethora of small white scars. His lip was packed with chewing tobacco; it seemed to bulge out of his face, though it fit. It matched the stark whites of his eyes and the permanent furrow in his brows. The candlelight was enough to keep the room bright, but he sat solemnly, forever darkened by something.
"My wife and son were murdered." He sipped on his whiskey; it slid down his throat in a quick motion. He cleared his throat and then spat some of his tobacco out in another cup next to him.
Josh saw Andy grimace in horror from the corner of his eye.
"Sorry to hear that, sir." Josh nodded at Andy for a refill. She came over quickly as the man spoke again.
"Heard you'd help, I tried catching the son of a bitch, but he's slippery. Boy's a cracked pot too."
Josh nodded, "I'm not sure, sir. See, I just got back home from a job in the south."
"I'll pay," he interruputed, "a lot."
Josh sighed and moved to speak again, but the stranger pulled out a bag of coins larger than Josh had ever seen. "This is half, the rest you get when it's done."
Andy stilled from behind the bar, eyes fixed wide on the money. "By Ginger," she whispered.
Josh looked up at her, and she nodded her head quickly, silently begging him to take the job.
"I'm not sure, sir, that's a huge amount," Josh trailed off, swirling the drink around in his glass. "But there are others that might be better suited." Josh brushed off the offer, trying to not to let the weight of the money in front of him bother him. He'd never seen that much money before, and it was only half.
"Josh, you'd be a damned fool!" Andy snapped behind the bar. She shoved a clean glass that she'd been cleaning down on the bar; it landed with a soft thud. "He'll do it." Andy nodded toward the man and shoved the bag closer to Josh; her soft, dark curls bounced with each movement. "Don't go pissin' me off again."
Josh sighed and chose not to argue with Andy; she could be a flame if she needed to, and Josh didn't want to push her any further.
Through simple conversation, Josh found out the man's name was Fox; he had moved down south to escape sickness, but his family's killer caught him first. He told Josh that the job was past the mountains, up north, near the plains. The massacre happened in a small town during a bank robbery gone wrong. Multiple people died, including Fox's family.
Fox didn't talk much; he mostly grumbled and answered with huffs and nods. He had downed four glasses by the time their conversation had ended, but Josh had gathered enough. A young man with no name ran from the attack; his people were left behind. They called him Blurryface; he was quick and violent, and Fox advised Josh to stay away until he could capture him. This wasn't his first attack, and Fox was sure that it wouldn't be his last.
"I saw 'im'" Fox grumbled and spat out more tobacco. "His face was covered in black, like he rolled around in the mines," Fox emphasized his words with his hands, drawing a sloppy circle in front of his face. "Terrifyin' and quick as hell too." Fox finished the last of his drink and waved Andy down for another.
Fox had handed him a wanted poster, a rough sketch of a man etched on the page. There wasn't much to gather; nobody truly knew what he looked like. Josh ingrained the image of the small scar across his nose and the wide eyes into his mind before he rolled it up and put it into his bag.
Josh nodded to Fox when he left. His bag was heavy with the money, and his shoulders with grief.
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Josh would leave in a week; it was enough time to get a new coat tailored for him and to gather more supplies. Jim needed new horseshoes and a better saddle. The money Fox gave him would be enough to cover his expenses and then some, though he insisted on paying for it himself.
Fox found a way to get Jim's saddle fixed and Josh's coat tailored by Monday afternoon. The coat was nice, a long poncho lined with some kind of leather; it would be more than helpful in keeping the cold in the mountains out. It was expensive, much more than Josh could have afforded on his own.
Fox was taking care of him, good care of him, and Josh would work each day to be able to repay this debt between them. For now, his mind was set on the job and the preparation before him. Fox had been checking in daily, making sure Josh had everything he needed and then some.
The support he had from Fox was nice; it offered a gentle reassurance to the idea of this job. Though Josh knew that something about this job was different, the winds were shifting into autumn, and soon the life around him would start to die off. The murderous chill that loomed over Josh grew colder each day that he waited.
So he kept reassuring himself.
One day, he would leave. One day, he would never go back.