Chapter Text
One thing for certain he hated completely about this town was the dust. It was everywhere, drying out your skin, your eyes, and your throat. When you took off your boots at the end of the day it would come pouring out like some kind of sand waterfall. There was simply no escaping the dust.
That, and the unbridled amount of corruption and lawlessness that was commonplace. He hated that, too.
Nothing in this town was free of it. Every citizen and business played their part in it. The most irritating part was that he was completely powerless to do anything about it.
“You keep on scowlin’ like that, Madej, and you’ll look damn near fifty by the time yer thirty-five,” Sheriff McClintock jeered, leaning back in his chair with his feet up on the desk in front of him. His large moustache was wrapped around a tobacco pipe, puffing out smoke while examining his deputy.
“I’ll stop scowling when we actually do our jobs, Banjo,” he snapped, gritting his teeth behind the clenched fist he pressed against his mouth. He was rapping his fingers on the desk that the sheriff was resting his feet on.
“God, not this again,” McClintock groaned whilst throwing his head back. “How many goddamn times d’ I have t’ say it before it gets inta that giant head a’ yers? This is our job now!”
As much as he hated it, the sheriff was right. Instead of being out in the town cracking down on the gratuitous amount of crime like a conventional sheriff and his deputy should, Banjo had been enticed by the hand of corruption. Instead of working to undo the intimate illegal system that pulled each townsfolk’s puppet strings, they were tasked to sit and wait until the guy in charge gave them orders.
The whole thing pissed Shane right the fuck off. He was as mad as a beaver in a drought over the whole thing, pissing him off even more that he was absolutely powerless against it. He’d been cursing the sheriff’s name ever since he’d allowed himself to be bought.
The thing about Banjo playing into this system was that, by damnable proxy, Shane also became a part of it. He had to, lest he lose his job and the only shot he had at the reform he so desperately craved.
So, there they rot, wasting away in the single cell station; nothing to do but watch the paint chip on the wall.
Shane was sweating through his clothes from the desert heat, the unforgiving sun beating down on the small station like it was trying to upstage hellfire. There was only one window in the entire single room building, a tiny 5” by 5” that did nothing but invite the flies in. Fanning himself with his stetson had long been ineffective, but he was allowing himself the illusion that it was working for his own sanity.
Both lawmen jumped at the sound of the telegram lurching to life under the window. The machine clicked away for a good thirty seconds after, punching out the message it was tasked to deliver. Shane didn’t bother going to retrieve it until it ceased, unwilling to move any more than was vital in this heat.
“What’s it say?” McClintock gazed expectantly at his deputy, refilling his pipe with tobacco. That’s something to note, Banjo couldn’t read Morse code. He depended on Shane to manage all his telegrams, incoming and outgoing. He was the brawn and Shane was the brains.
“Marchbank wants us up at the chapel within the hour,” he informed, his frown deepening as he scanned the code. The sheriff was right, Shane would have deep-set wrinkles within the next five years at this rate.
With a grunt, Banjo slid his feet off the desk and onto the floor. “Right, bell’s a ringin’.”
“Yeah, guess Pretty Boy needs us to go intimidate another defiant resident again,” Shane grumbled while crumpling up the telegram.
“Hey now, you know better than t’ use that name, Madej,” the sheriff warned, turning around from grabbing his hat on the coat rack behind him.
The deputy just rolled his eyes as he holstered his colt revolver. He knew it was “disrespectful” or the like, but he frankly had no respect for the man. If he’s being honest, Shane respected the rats more than that slimy sonovabitch.
He was still grumbling mutinous words under his breath as he secured the saddle on his horse, the animal watching him with assessment in his large brown eyes.
“Oh, don’t give me that look, Professor. I know you hate him just as much as I do,” he remarked, stopping his task in order to properly address the horse. “I know you despise Ghost, so you got no right judgin’ me like that.”
At the name, Professor let out an irritated whiny, craning his neck and shaking his head. His off-white colored mane lay on the left side of his neck, a lock of it wedged between his ears. Professor was the only palomino paint horse in Wolf River and Shane was eternally proud of that, spoiling the absolute hell out of that horse. Most of the time, Professor was the only one the deputy would talk to, too enraged by everyone else to want to converse with them.
When the sheriff stepped into the blinding midday sun cursing the heat and intense light, Madej mounted his saddle. McClintock untethered his blood bay mare Brandy, leading her in the direction of the church. Brandy was notorious for being the most frightened horse in Wolf River, cautious and with the fear of god in the poor girl. And to Banjo’s disamy, Brandy would only ever calm by Shane’s efforts. He truly cared for that horse and it pained him that she didn’t trust him like she trusted Shane.
Both lawmen now atop their respective horses, they rode down the main roadway at a trot toward the church. The heat was radiating off the ground in seering waves, frying their skin from above, and scalding them at all possible angles. It was so blasted hot that the whole town had the illusion that it was submerged in water with how the heat was wafting off the sand. The ride wasn’t that long, but it was excruciating regardless.
They finally arrived at the chapel, dismounting their horses and walking them to the wooden tethers near the water troughs. Shane had to tie Professor to his own hitch on account that Ghost was already standing at the other one and he really didn’t want the two to get into a fight. Ghost was a dark dapple gray colt and just about as temperamental as his owner. In fact, he was staring down Shane and Professor as he stroked the white spot on Professor’s head.
“Hey, lookit me,” he commanded, making sure to block the horse’s view of his mortal enemy. “Behave yourself, you hear? Or else you ain’t gettin’ any sugar cubes later.”
Professor emitted a begrudging huff, leaning into Shane’s hand to drive home his innocence. The deputy chuckled at the act.
“Right. Now I just gotta practice what I preach and play nice with Pretty Boy,” Madej grumbled to his horse. Professor blinked his long eyelashes, his own form of encouragement for Shane.
Banjo was waiting at the door for him, arms crossed in impatience. Professor nudged the deputy’s hands in the direction of the church: Time to face the music, cowboy. They both knew he was stalling the inevitable.
Madej sighed, giving his horse one last pat on the forelock before steeling himself and walking towards McClintock.
The Sheriff pushed the doors open to the stuffy room. Every single set of eyes landed on the pair of officers. It wasn’t like they were interrupting Sunday service - it was only Friday - but the minister did stop in the middle of preaching to a crowd of about ten or so devout parishioners.
“They’re waiting fer you fellas in my office,” the minister informed them after clearing his throat. He motioned towards the aforementioned room with the hand that was holding his bible, just next to the altar.
The sheriff tipped his hat in acknowledgement to the minister, his footsteps echoing off the otherwise silent chapel walls. They were being watched meticulously, each move carefully observed by the churchgoers. It made a chill go up Shane’s spine despite the heat.
The minister went back to his preaching like nothing had happened: “Brothers and sisters! Remember that the Almighty smiles ‘pon those that abide by his rules, those He created in heaven and on Earth! He speaks through all of us! Follow in the footsteps of your neighbor, question not those in charge for He works through them!”
Snake oil, Shane thought. He’s sellin’ snake oil at the goddamn pulpit.
Banjo reached the office first, hand on the door knob while he turned to see if Shane was behind him. Instead of actually opening it, McClintock lightly knocked on the door to be let in.
It was barely five seconds before a stern-faced man ripped open the egress, Marchbank acting much like a door himself standing in the way of the entrance whilst staring at them. “Guns, boys. Hand ‘em on over.”
The sheriff placed his revolver into Marchbank’s outstretched hand near instantly, Shane taking his time unholstering his colt. Once the man had both weapons in his possession, he stepped out of the way to let them in.
Lounging in the chair, a smug smirk on his lips with hands locked behind his head and feet kicked up on the desk like he damned near owned the place, was none other than the very man who caused all of the unscrupulousness in Wolf River. He didn’t bother to have the decency to stand and greet them properly, instead watching the sheriff and the deputy as they entered.
“Gentlemen, so glad you made it here in such a timely fashion,” he purred, accentuating the drawl of his accent to up the charm just that extra bit. Shane had to keep from rolling his eyes at the attempt.
“Mornin’, Bergara,” the sheriff answered, taking one of the seats in front of the desk. He wasn’t acknowledged by Bergara, instead the man had his gaze locked onto Madej with a challenging gleam in his eye. It was well known to everybody in that 1,500 resident town that Deputy Madej harbored a great resentment for Bergara, but since he wasn’t too vocal about it and - very begrudgingly - followed orders, he was allowed to live.
“Deputy, please, sit,” the lounging man ordered, gesturing at the available chair directly in his line of sight. Quickly, Shane was very aware of all the eyes of Bergara’s pose on him, the lack of weight in his holster apparent as well. A brief scan of the room revealed that Marchbank was by the door, Joralmon was perched by the window, Ruggirello leaned against the wall next to her, Impicciche sentry to the left of Banjo, and Velasquez on her right.
Feeling incredibly outnumbered, Shane did as he was told. Bergara’s satisfied smile was hard to miss.
“Now then, business. I don’t want to keep you gentlemen here all day, I’m sure y’all’re awful busy keeping the town in line,” Bergara taunted, speaking primarily at Shane as he positioned himself into a more authoritarian pose and sitting in the chair properly. Madej clenched his hands in his lap in order to stop himself from screaming.
The knowing, smug smile was a perfect indication to Shane that Bergara knew exactly what he was doing.
“You see, boys, we’ve got ourselves an opportunity to earn a real quick dollar here, and it just ‘bout fell inta our laps. Y’all familiar with Cornelius Vanderbilt?” He tented his fingers in front of his mouth, a lift to his eyebrow. It was a stupid question, of course they knew who Commodore Vanderbilt was; he was the richest railroad tycoon in the states.
“What about him, Songbird?” The deputy prompted, his patience running increasingly low for the criminal.
“Glad you asked, Deputy. I was just gettin’ to that part.” Shane’s teeth were on the verge of shattering with how hard he was clenching his jaw. “The Commodore is movin’ several thousands of his funds to California. The train that’s loaded with this cash is gonna be travelin’ right outside Wolf River. Word is, the guards to dollar ratio is damn near one to one. Normally, my team and I’d be able to handle somethin’ like this, but this is gonna end in a lotta blood and I’d like to keep it as one sided as possible.”
“When’s this train passin’ by?” Banjo asked, wiping his forehead with a worn handkerchief.
“Tonight ‘round nine. So what’ll happen is that I’ll send Kelsey out there an hour or so beforehand to set up some dynamite on the tracks” - Songbird pointed to Impicciche - “then we’ll meet her at the tracks and blast that sucker to kingdom come. Now, there’ll be a hell of a shootout, so I’m gonna supply you gents with some rifles. Jen’ll teach y’all the basics on ‘em when we’re done here-”
“Hold up now,” Madej interrupted, hands up like he’s trying to calm Brandy. He wasn’t looking at anyone in the room, rather his focus was on a knife mark in the desk with an overwhelmed look on his face. Once he’d gotten the attention of the room, the deputy made eye contact with Bergara. “You’re wantin’ us to help you rob a train, am I gettin’ that right here?”
If Bergara was irritated by being interrupted, his face didn’t show it. “That you are, Deputy. Is that gon’ be a problem? Or did I just say it too fast for you to understand?” Songbird’s accomplices chuckled at the jab.
“It’s one thing to be complicit in your whole system here, but it’s an entirely different matter to commit a felony,” Shane continued, not giving the insult the time of day. This did manage to change Songbird’s expression: his smile dimmed and a hardness steeled in his eyes.
“Really? You draw the line here?” the boss asked with a dangerous edge to his words. He continued when Shane nodded. “That’s strange. I thought Have Mercy Madej didn’t do morals.”
The deputy’s blood ran cold at the name while his chest simultaneously burned with rage. “He died a long time ago,” he growled, clenching his fists.
“Well, you better hope you're some kinda messiah ‘cause we need ‘em resurrected for this job,” Songbird replied, his smirk growing at Madej’s anger.
“No chance in hell am I helpin’ you!”
“Sorry, partner. I’m afraid you are.”
Shane slammed his hands down on the desk as he rose to his feet, not afraid to use his height to intimidate Bergara. “Fuck you! I’m done dancin’ for your cowardly ass! I ain’t gonna do shit for you anymore, Pretty Boy!”
It suddenly became apparent to the deputy that he had five guns trained on him. He quickly ran the possibilities through his head, each attempt on Bergara’s life cost him his own no matter what he did. He might’ve had a chance if he had his gun with him, but it was impossible otherwise.
“Oh, darlin’. You’re awful adorable thinkin’ you’ve got a choice,” Songbird drawled. He hadn’t even flinched at Madej’s outburst. “Now, if you don’t fancy leavin’ this church as a ghost, you’ll sit down and listen to the plan.”
The deputy found himself really considering whether or not this was worth his life. It was very tempting just to take a bullet to spite the tiny bastard.
“C’mon, now! I really don’t wanna have to shoot you, Deputy. Have Mercy Madej would be an invaluable asset to this mission.”
Shane finally raised his hands up in surrender, ultimately deciding it wasn’t worth it. He couldn’t do that to Professor. As instructed, he sat back down in his chair.
The outlaw’s smile grew again. “I knew you’d see sense. See how much easier it is when you cooperate?”
On second thought, maybe it was worth it. McClintock sensed his decision had changed again and stamped a broad and calloused hand atop Shane’s left in order to hold him back. With this resistance - no matter how minimal - Shane forced himself to bar his rage; even the wink Bergara threw at him wouldn’t affect him.
“You gonna call off your friends?” the deputy questioned, his nerves fraying with all the weapons pointed at him.
“Stand down, y’all. He ain’t gonna hurt me, inn’t that right?” Songbird prompted with a raised eyebrow.
“Course not. I don’t wanna make a widower outta Professor,” he joked, adjusting his hat and shifting in his chair.
To the surprise of everyone in the room, Bergara wheezed out a laugh. “Well, fuck me three ways to Sunday! The stories never said you were a funny bastard!”
“He’s a real wise ass, this feller. Nearly gets inta a brawl every time he’s in the saloon. One time he nearly got the botha us stabbed by some jailbird that’d escaped; kept proddin’ the bastard about how the strips suited ‘em,” the sheriff recounted, chuckling at the memory. The two kept laughing at Shane, causing his grip to tighten on the creaking armrest.
“Weren’t we discussin’ a train heist here?” Madej prompted. At this, both men began to calm their chortling.
“Right, right.” Songbird cleared his throat. “Ruggirello’s gonna teach you on those Winchesters. Once the train’s been blown up, we’re gonna pair off and swarm the thing. There shouldn’t be any passengers or anythin’, but if there are I don’t want any of ‘em dead unless you gotta kill ‘em. Safe’s supposed to be in the car behind the engine, so expect a lotta resistance ‘round there. Kill as many of those poor bastards that you’ve gotta until they give up, but that don’t mean to get yourself killed tryin’ to get to the money. It ain’t gonna be worth it at that point, alright? That includes you, Teej. I don’t wanna deal with whatever wrath your wife’ll unleash.”
“That was one time, Boss. And it was five years ago!” Marchbank protested.
“Yeah, well it was one time too fuckin’ many. I gotta keep remindin’ you cause I know that stupid streak in you is as strong as that stubborn streak.” For the first time Shane had ever seen, Bergara’s smile was truly genuine.
Before Marchbank could retort, the cries of two horses cut him off. They sounded rightfully angry, too. Songbird’s lips pressed into a thin line at the sound just as Shane’s did. They both recognized the enraged neighs.
Songbird let out a weary sigh. “Are we clear on the plan?” He scanned the faces of everyone in the room quickly, not seeing anything but affirmations. “Great. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I got a murder to prevent.”
Songbird got up from behind the desk like a bat out of hell, throwing the door open and nearly running down the aisle of the chapel. Shane was at his heels, cursing the man’s shorter legs preventing him from walking at the pace he wanted to.
The both of them burst out of the church doors at the same time, scanning the dirt road for any signs of slaughter. It was Madej who made for the horse hitch first, practically shoving the shorter man out of the way to do so.
“Professor!” he yelled in a stern voice. It didn’t do anything. The horse was too hellbent on trying to pull free from his tether so he could get to Ghost who was also struggling with his reins tied to the hitch. The two animals were glaring at each other with unabashed murderous intent, neighing aggressively from their different posts.
“Ghost, you sonofabitch! What the hell are you doin’?!” Bergara shouted from behind the deputy.
Madej got to his horse first, stepping right in front of his line of sight. “I thought I told you to behave yourself,” he strictly reminded through gritted teeth as he got a grip on the horse’s reins. Shane had managed to stop Professor from wildly thrashing himself around, but the bastard was still attempting to glare at Ghost over the deputy’s shoulder.
“Just couldn’t help yourself, could ya??” Shane heard Songbird demand over Ghost’s wails. The dapple grey colt had abruptly stopped braying as his rider also took hold of his reins.
With both colts silenced, there was still the sound of neighing permeating the sweltering air. A terrified whinnying was originating from behind Shane, another sound he was far too familiar with. Turning his head, he could see Brandy practically shivering in fear while frantically casting her gaze back and forth between the two enemies. There was an almost crazed look in her from how frightened she was, one that Madej knew would take a lot of time to soothe out.
The deputy groaned and turned to look Professor in the eyes. “You’ve gone and terrified Brandy, hope you’re fuckin proud of yourself.”
Shane slowly approached the mare, palms level with his chest. “Hey there, pretty girl. It’s alright, honey,” he coaxed, taking very controlled steps.
Brandy was staring into his soul with her beady eyes, fear making them about as wide as dinner plates. She was planted in her spot, legs trembling as he made his tepid advance. At least she wasn’t frantically scanning anymore.
“Yeah, that’s it. Nothin’s gonna hurt ya, sugar, I promise ya.” He’d managed to get up to her without her startling again, in some kind of miracle. Shane could feel Bergara’s gaze observing him, but he didn’t pay it any attention. He had to keep his focus on Brandy or else she’d try and bolt and hurt herself.
Very, very cautiously, Shane reached out his hand to pat her nose, but she pulled away. “C’mon, darlin’, it’s me. You know I ain’t gonna hurt ya. It’s ok, sugar.”
He tried to touch her again once her eyes dimmed of fear slightly. This time, she accepted his comfort and let him pet her head. “That’s it, sweetheart. Everythin’s alright, angel, it’s alright.”
“Did those mean ol’ boys starle ya?” He lowered his head to look her directly in the eyes, cupping her nose in his hands as a form of protection. She let out a nearly inaudible murmur of affirmation, just a little snort.
“Well, don’t you go worryin’ ’bout them no more. They ain’t gonna do nothin’ to ya, alright darlin’?”
Brandy leaned into his hands while closing her eyes, trying her best to calm herself. He stayed in his position, willing to wait out this fear and be there for however long she needed him to be.
While he was stuck comforting the mare, Madej figured he’d kill two birds with one stone and talk with Songbird.
“I think it’s best for everyone involved if we went our separate ways, Bergara.” Though his voice was low and smooth to not startle Brandy, the glare he was shooting Bergara was deadly enough to kill a man.
For some undetermined reason, Songbird smirked back at the deputy. It was playfully dangerous and it made the deputy’s blood boil.
“Whatever you want, sweetheart. I’ll send Jen over to the Sheriff’s office in ‘bout another half hour,” he placated, knowing full well Shane couldn’t react without startling Brandy.
Shane growled as Songbird tipped his hat, passing him to go back into the church. Shane stood in front of the church stroking Brandy’s head for about two minutes before Banjo emerged from the building, fitting his hat onto his head to fight the sun. “Alright, back to the start.”
Shane shot McClintok a dirty look when he walked too fast up to Brandy and made her lurch back. He immediately froze as he realized his mistake. “Aww, sorry, Brandy. I didn’t mean t’...”
“You’ve gotta be more aware, Banjo. How many times do I have to say it?”
“I’m awful sorry, Madej. I just… forget…”
Shane sighed and gave the mare one last pet before he stepped away. “Be more considerate.”
The deputy made his way over to Professor, who was still glaring at Ghost despite his scolding from earlier. “Cut it out, you stubborn bastard.”
The two lawmen rode back to the station, Shane even more irritated than he was not two hours ago. He couldn’t have possibly known what was in store for him that night.