McBean was just taking a stroll through the town, on his way out. The moon had come through, it was a nice night now.
He'd been hearing all the shooting and ruckus, had to step over some bodies, even seen some folks die, but he'd managed to avoid all that gunfighting nonsense so far.
Sure, he'd got the invite like everyone else; received The Challenge. And accepted. He was here wasn't he?
But he wasn't heeled. Carried no gun, no knife.
He was just going to walk out of town. Should take him no more than five minutes.
On the main street two of the opposing gang, pistols drawn, blocked his way. They saw he was unarmed before noting anything else about him. They came in close, smirking, piggish eyes gleaming in the moonlight.
"No gun, boy. Biiiig mistake," the big one on the left said.
They came closer.
"You not right in the haid, friend?" said the not quite as big one on the right.
And closer they came.
Bullies, they wanted to get in for some battering work before the bullets.
Smiling he came forward a few more feet before stopping.
The two gunmen briefly looked at each other, puzzled, a little uneasy?
McBean held his empty hands up, submissive, placatory.
They were close enough to touch now.
So he did.
First the man on the left, quick tapped his arm, then, spat at the one on the right.
He always wanted to see if that'd work.
It did.
He'd suspected so; he'd pissed on some Big C earlier from a roof awning. Dropped five of 'em like that.
Both men dropped in front of him without a sound. Dead in the street.
Unwanted recall flashed painful in his mind - Lily, beneath him, face in brief ecstasy as they shared sweet release. Then, her beautiful face losing all expression, as death settled inside it -
No. No.
She was killed by his poison -
No!
McBean walked on.
He heard shots ahead, took a side lane then entered an alley to avoid that.
In the alleyway was a dead man. Heart shot. He was one of the Gun Crows posse. McBean bent down, picked up one of the dead man's pistols from the ground nearby. He noted the animal prints on that ground before he recognized the man as 'Howling' Harland.
Squatting on his haunches he gently touched the man's forehead.
After he opened his eyes the man looked at him, a little dazed. McBean handed him the .45 Remington with an easy smile. "This is yours, I think." The man took the gun, looked at his chest - holed shirt, blood, no wound.
"You can use your hands empty now too," McBean said quietly. "You recognize me, you know me?"
Harland nodded.
"Don't touch anyone or anything you don't want to be dead tonight. By full mornin' you'll be back to normal." He smiled again. "If you can term what you 'Callers' do 'normal'."
McBean stood up.
"And remember," he said. "Guns don't kill people. People kill people."
Unless, maybe, you were the Dedman, he thought.
Then Brett 'McDeath' McBean walked out of town.
Touching everyone he could on the way.
http://www.youtube.com/watch?v=qeNrre_7bYw&feature=related
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