saxophonic (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
saxophonic) wrote2021-08-05 06:46 pm
saxophonic) wrote2021-08-05 06:46 pm
Gunslinger AU Pt 2
In my drafts, I have a perfectly flowery title for this WIP but for now I think I'll just refer to it as gunslinger AU until I clean it up and start publishing it on AO3. Most of what I'm sharing here was written between December 2019 and March 2020 because [gestures vaguely at everything] y'know.
[Click here for previous chapter].
Very very rough draft. Unrated again, 4.6k words. Here ya go.
###
Having worked together to clear a suitable spot to make camp after another day’s travels, Caesar sends Joseph into the surrounding trees to find enough kindling to get a fire started. He hates to waste a light on something not guaranteed to catch the way a well-made, hand-rolled cigarette burns. “Enough wood to burn plenty long and make these cans taste damn near edible,” Caesar says as he unloads their camp supplies from the horses.
“How many days of food do you guess we got left?” Joseph asks. Always arguing, that one. Never able to just do as he’s told. Despite the years between them, Caesar still can’t decide if that’s a flaw or a feature. That mouth has saved them both plenty of times, and landed them chin-deep into messes plenty more. “I could try to hunt some small game. Add some meat to those canned beans. Either green or kidney, whichever we got on the menu tonight. Doesn’t matter much to me.”
Caesar covers his stomach with one hand, suppressing a grumble at the thought of roasted rabbit. Stringy or no, it’d be something. “Fire first,” Caesar says. Joseph mutters impatient curses as Caesar watches him grab his lasso and a hatchet off his horse before stomping off into the trees. It’s anyone’s guess as to what Joseph will bring back.
Returning to his task, Caesar pulls their bedrolls and tents from their horses. It’s a safe enough spot, well-hidden from the road to minimize the threat that someone might stumble upon their camp for the night and try to kill them in their sleep. They’re sheltered by a big old elm’s broad reach, offering some protection in the unlikely event of a passing shower. The lack of rain recently means the ground won’t squish up around them and make a mess of everything as Caesar drives the tent’s stakes into the ground. Considering the prospect of waking up without a nice layer of mud caked on everything makes tonight feel like a taste of fine living.
After he gets one tent set up and it’s bedroll shaken and laid out, Caesar works on the next using the same strong, efficient motions. He considers setting Joseph up over uneven ground, a scattering of sharp pebbles for a mattress and a gnarled knot of roots for a pillow, but decides against it. He can hear Joseph whining in his head already, complaining the next morning about how poorly he slept in excruciating detail. Or, worse still, waking up Caesar in the middle of the night as he drags his tent around the fire, hammering on with both his strong hands and his locomotive mouth.
A big baby, Joseph, but not so naive like back when they first struck out on their own after what happened. They were hopeful then, and the world was not so small as it is now. Seems to be the way of things, lately. Getting smaller and smaller, the sprawl of government oversight like a hangman’s noose closing in around everyone’s necks. Cutting off their air, their life, their freedom.
They haven’t talked about their exit strategy for a few weeks now. Joseph usually pulls out some unbelievable idea he cobbled together in his brain whenever they ruminate about getting out of the life. This business…either they find a way to live within the confines of the law, or they keep running from it.
But you can’t run forever. His father taught him that.
Stomping back toward camp, Joseph calls Caesar’s attention. He’s tied up two rabbits, his lasso looped around an ankle each, and slung the whole thing over his shoulder. The rabbits swing against the front and back of his knee with each step. “Give me a hand here, will you? I’m about to lose a log,” Joseph says from behind the stack of soon-to-be firewood clutched in his arms. Caesar can see his messy brown hair and a watchful blue-green eye from over top of the topmost log, which seems poised to slide right down to the ground and take half the others with it.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” Caesar says as he strides to meet Joseph at the edge of their small camp. He sweeps an armful of logs off the top and grunts when a heavy one hits hard against his chest. “Shit, these are heavier than they look.”
“You’re telling me,” Joseph agrees. “Got some rabbits, too.”
Caesar turns and walks the few paces to where he cleared an area for their campfire. “I saw.”
“Easy picking, for spring.”
They dump the wood beside the patch of dirt, Caesar stopping a few runaway logs from rolling too far with his boot. “You want to skin them while I get the fire going or should I?” He stacks them on the others.
“I can skin them, that’s fine,” Joseph says, hooking his thumb under the rope at his shoulder. He lifts them. “Not much meat here, but it’s something.”
They work without another word between them for a while, Joseph hitching one rabbit to his saddle while Caesar pulls the grill grate from the last of their camp supplies. Caesar turns his back toward him and works on the fire pit. By the time he finishes up, leaving the small blaze to grow in size as it feeds on the kindling, Joseph has both rabbits decently seasoned and ready for cooking. He holds one in each messy hand with a grin.
Caesar grins back. “Alright then, put them on.” He steps aside to let Joseph pass. “Isn’t there a river or something around here?”
“Yeah. Supposed to be, according to the map,” Joseph says. “Though, I didn’t have to go that far for these.” The meat doesn’t sizzle when he drops the quartered rabbits on the grate. “Why, you want a bath?”
“Not what I had in mind.” Caesar stretches his arms above his head. “It’ll be damn near freezing with snowmelt coming down from the mountains. We’re not so far away, you know.”
Cracking a smirk, Joseph says, “We can always head into a town tomorrow, or the next day, if you’re so eager to smell like women’s perfume for a week. Again.”
Landing a good-natured punch on Joseph’s shoulder, Caesar says, “A bath isn’t why I get perfume on me.” He pats where he hit. “I’ll be back. Don’t let the meat burn before you put the cans on."
Joseph opens his mouth to say something, but Caesar hits him again and all that comes out is a grunt. Caesar laughs as he pushes past Joseph to collect his hat and sling a canteen from each horse over his shoulders before heading out alone into the woods around them.
The further away from camp he gets, the quieter the air around him. Without the hum of insects to tickle his ear, he lets the sound of birds whistling and squirrels leaping from tree to tree keep him company. A woodpecker drills above him as he pauses beside a black walnut tree and breathes. The shadows stretch long before him, daylight weakening as the sun sets. The longer days will soon be noticeable. Winter nights never suited him much, but the weather’s pretty enough. No bugs.
He sets off again until the rustle of water and peeps from spring frogs lead him to the stream. Not deep enough nor wide enough to be a river, but too fast to be a brook, Caesar squats on the rocky bank and watches the water rush for a few seconds. He cups his hands together and hisses when the water is as icy as expected. Goosebumps raise the hair on his arms immediately. He splashes water on his face, gasping for the cold. “Christ,” he breathes. Caesar shakes his head and splashes again, this time dragging one hand down his features and sending excess water flying with a flick of his wrists. Unscrewing one of the canteens, he wades a few steps into the creek to fill it. He glances around him every so often out of nervous habit. That deputy nearly getting a hit on him shook him. Made him feel like he’s slipping in vigilance. Mistakes like that could have easily gotten him killed.
Good thing Joseph had been there, ready and able to watch his back. Keep him safe.
Caesar fits the top back on, then opens the other to fill it. Saving each other’s skins is nothing new. It’s the prospect that he’s getting sloppy that worries him. Getting comfortable. He’s a creature of habit, and he should know better.
He finishes filling their canteens with another scan of the area, and retraces his steps back to camp. Joseph looks up from the fire at his approach. He’s picked out a stick the length of his leg to use as a poker, one end buried in the flames. The lean-to of logs that Caesar lit earlier looks ready to crumble. He frowns at Joseph. “How’s it coming?”
“What?”
Rolling his eyes, Caesar packs their canteens in their saddles. “The food.” He pinches the back of his hat, tugging the brim closer to his neck. “The fire.”
“Oh.” Joseph looks down and pokes another log in the fire. “Fine. I put the cans in a few minutes ago.”
“You opened them?”
“Of course I opened them,” Joseph says. “How was your bath?”
“It wasn’t a bath.” Caesar unhitches horses to let them graze. He squats by the fire, opposite of Joseph, and peers at the rabbits on the grate. “You burned them.”
A vicious stab of the poker threatens to topple the wood. “No, I’m crisping the skin.”
Caesar pulls out his favorite knife, a blued steel blade he had customized with a feather engraving inlaid with nickel on one side of the spine, and stabs the tip into a hunk of meat. “This could double for coal.” He uses the knife to flip the pieces over. “At least this side is still recognizable as meat.”
“If you want to eat beans and beans only, be my guest.”
Frowning, Caesar wipes off his knife before he puts it away. “Didn’t say that.” He lifts his eyebrows and asks, “They almost done?”
Joseph grunts.
“Alright.” Caesar sits with his legs bent before him and rests his elbows on his knees. Joseph passes him some food and they spend the meal in companionable silence as they choke down overcooked meat between spoonfuls of canned beans warmed through by the fire.
By the time they finish eating, the logs have collapsed into a smaller heap. It’s enough to cast light around their camp, but doesn’t stretch much beyond their tents. Fine, for the time being.
Caesar cleans up their meal and fishes out an opened bottle of bourbon from one of their packs. He turns around at the tell-tale thump of their last log thrown on the fire. Joseph picks up his makeshift poker and pushes some of the sunburned kindling toward the flames. He hums to himself, the beginning of a song Caesar recognizes after a few bars.
“You never could carry a tune,” Caesar says with a laugh. He opens the bourbon and washes down their supper with a hearty swig.
“Yeah, well,” Joseph says. He lets the stick fall beside him and accepts Caesar’s offer of drink. “There’s hope for me yet. You recognized it, right? That counts for something. Besides, after enough liquor, who cares?” Joseph wipes the mouth of the bottle with a hand before tilting it back. “Hardly any left. Here, you finish it.”
Taking back the bourbon, Caesar wanders back to the opposite side of the fire as he drains it. He swirls it in his mouth before he swallows. Standing at the edge of the light, he looks out into the darkness, half-expecting an animal or an ambush, but all he hears is the crackling of the fire as the log catches alight. Peaceful, if a bit chilly, now that the sun has gone to sleep. They should be thinking of following suit. Caesar chucks the bottle into the trees and listens for the crash that never comes, but something takes flight. Another thing they should be considering.
Patting down his pockets, Caesar pulls out his smokes. He sticks one in the corner of his mouth. As he considers using a match or risking the campfire, a voice cuts across the camp, low and resonant, putting words to the muffled melody from earlier.
Caesar turns around to watch Joseph finish warbling through the first verse. Eyes closed, he screws his face up to hit some of the higher notes with middling success, but not altogether terrible.
Joseph opens his eyes at the start of the chorus. “See? Hope.”
Chuckling, Caesar shakes his head. He catches a light on the campfire and takes a drag. “Don’t run off on me for the stage just yet,” Caesar says, then exhales the smoke from his lungs. Joseph meets Caesar’s eyes through the smoke and repeats the jibe with a wrinkled nose. Caesar full-out laughs at that. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know,” Joseph admits with a shrug.
Caesar spreads his hand in an arc through the air to conjure the soundboard on a theater. “Now presenting for your entertainment: Joseph Joestar, the dueling diva,” he says, changing his voice to mimic the hawkers. “Can’t hit a note, but he’ll shoot you at fifty paces before you get a finger around your trigger.”
Joseph laughs. “Hey now, people might pay to see that.”
“Yeah, right,” Caesar says sarcastically. “Maybe if there was a woman involved.” He ashes his cigarette. “Maybe.”
“I could wear a dress,” Joseph says.
Caesar takes another drag. “That’s your solution?”
Flopping on his back and crossing his hands behind his head, Joseph says, “It’s as good of an idea as any. On account of being short of con artists.” He sighs. “I miss that.”
Silence cloaks them and they pass a few wordless minutes waiting for the fire to die out enough to stomp it out for the night. Caesar finishes his cigarette thinking of nights like this one, with people full of food and gathered around the fire to count the embers or hatch another way to make money. That kind of camaraderie gets harder to find the longer he lives this life. There’s something to be said for picking a town and sticking around long enough to make a clean living. Building a life around a homestead. But some doors have already closed. Maybe for good, this time.
A family isn’t always a group of people related by blood. There are ties that can run deeper than that. Bonds that are richer than that. Loyalty comes in all shapes and sizes if you know how to look for it and what to listen for when people talk. Lisa Lisa had shown him that. Speedwagon, too.
It takes him until the second chorus to realize Joseph’s singing again. Better than before, better than Caesar’s ever heard. He watches Joseph through the haze of heat rising from the fire, flicking his cigarette into the embers as Joseph finishes the song. He really isn’t as terrible as Caesar says he is, but he won’t be selling out any theaters with endorsements like “not half-bad.”
Once the last note clears the air, Caesar stands and dusts himself off. “I’m turning in,” he says. “You gonna be long?”
“Sure,” Joseph says. He lifts his head to waggle his eyebrows at Caesar. “Got a few more songs to practice for my debut.”
“Uh-huh.” Gesturing to the fire, Caesar says, “Then I’ll leave this to you.” He gives their surroundings one last scan and ducks into his tent. Though he sets his hat on his face to sleep, he can’t seem to find a comfortable spot in his bedroll. Only after Caesar hears Joseph bank the fire and slip into his own tent does sleep come for him.
~~~
After they pack up and scuff out signs of their stay, Joseph leads him on a detour. “I saw we’re near that old waypost where we used to fence horses and things. Do you remember?”
Caesar tilts his head and lifts a shoulder. “More or less. Lonelyspeck Ranch, right?”
“Figure it’s worth checking out. Unload some of our stuff, if he’s still working, then resupply. You must be down to your last pack, and I think that bourbon was the last of our last.” He shoots Caesar a furtive look from his saddle.
“You said that I should finish it,” Caesar replies evenly. “So if you’re mad—”
“I’m not mad, I’m just saying—”
“Then it’s not me you should be fussing at, is it?” Caesar gives his gelding a gentle flick of the reins to pick up the pace of their trot.
Joseph sputters. “I just said I wasn’t! You’re the one who goes around angry all the time.” The mare pulls up alongside Caesar’s horse, and Joseph resumes his babble. “Do you remember where it is from here?”
“No,” Caesar says. “But I bet I could figure it out if it means leaving you behind for some peace this morning.”
“You’d miss me in the quiet,” Joseph says.
That might be true, but so is the reverse, and they both know it. “Only one way to find out.” Caesar changes the subject. “Is this the fence Loggins knew from his Navy days? Or is that the one further east?”
“That’s the one further east, yeah. This is the one who’d give you a better price when you brought Suzie or one of the other girls with you.”
“Ah,” Caesar nods. “So we’ll be underselling today, is that right?”
Joseph makes a face of displeasure and leads his horse closer to Caesar to make room for a solo rider coming up the other side of the road. “We don’t have much choice when it comes to, ah, business associates in these parts.”
“Business associate, sure, but you can’t remember his damn name.”
“I’ve got a few miles to remember.”
The rider spares them a look from under his top hat. He looks rich in the way old money does, with a focus on quality over flash. It’s something Caesar noticed early on in his delinquent career as an outlaw, though it never mattered much to him whether the money was old or new, so long as it got handed over without complaint when he and his revolver asked politely.
Still, the wrong sort of look means trouble. He keeps his eye on the man and puts one hand on his holster.
“Hey there, mister!” Joseph nods at the man.
A long, silent look as they approach one another sends Caesar’s fingers around the gun grip. His thumb unbuttons the latch, ready to draw on the stranger if needed.
But Joseph manages to coax a pleasantry with his disarming smile. “Morning,” the man grunts.
They pass without incident, but Caesar doesn’t lift his hand from his sidearm until they’ve continued on for several seconds. A safe distance away from each other. Joseph notices. “You can’t shoot everyone, you know.”
“I know,” Caesar says. “I don’t trust people not to shoot first.”
That cheerful, broad grin turns toward him. “Except me.”
Raising an eyebrow, Caesar says, “Oh, no. I trust you to shoot first, just not at me. You know damn well I’m not the only one lighting up a firefight.”
Joseph laughs. “You got me there.”
The rest of their ride passes without incident, and when they crest a rolling hill, Caesar squints at a cluster of houses and a barn or two in the distance. “Is that it? Looks familiar.”
“I think so.”
As they ride down the hill, the feeling he’d almost certainly been here before fills him, and a memory comes back to Caesar in a flash. Years ago, with Suzie, like Joseph said. They’d unloaded a sack full of candlesticks, necklaces, and other valuables that Suzie had obtained from another mansion where she’d been posing as a maid. She had beamed as bright as the stolen silver when she opened that bag and asked Caesar how much he thought they’d get for all that. He’d whistled and given her his best guess. And he hadn’t been far off.
They slow up as they ride into the settlement and hitch their horses around the back of the barn farthest from the main house, where the farmhands might receive any number of smelly shipments that could upset any of the society-minded folks, should they come calling.
It also makes for a believable meeting place for any number of personally enriching opportunities the farmhands might keep on the side.
A familiar pockmarked face under a dry mess of straw-colored hair looks up at their approach from between the open barn doors. A blanket folded over one arm, both his hands bear a polished saddle, lightly used judging by the stiffness of the leather. “Well, well. Mr. Joseph Johnston, was it? And your friend, Mr. Charles Anthony,” the man says with a nod for each of them. “Been quite some time since I’ve seen either of you around.” Caesar sneaks a peek at Joseph, hopeful for some glimmer of recognition in his eyes at those old aliases.
“You know how it is,” Joseph says breezily. “Where the work goes, honest working men like us are sure to follow.”
The man snorts. “Honest working men.” With a jerk of his head, he gestures for them to follow.
Before they cross into the barn, Caesar looks up into the rafters for gunmen. Just in case. “Poco,” he whispers to Joseph.
“What?”
“The fence’s name,” Caesar explains, eyes still looking for metal or motion. “Poco.”
The inside of the building seems mostly empty of activity, save for a few stalls of old livestock animals. Joseph scans their surroundings as they pass. “Is that a first name or a surname?”
“Does it matter?” Caesar stops in the middle of the barn. They’re alone here. “It’s a start.”
After depositing the bit of horse tack out of sight, the fence returns to meet them. “I’m sure I don’t know why you’re here.”
Joseph lifts both his hands in a shrug. “No work around these parts, then? That’s a damn shame. I thought you’d still be in the business of discretion, Poco.”
“Discretion.”
Nodding, Joseph says, “Yessir, that’s what I remember. See, we found some things recently. And we think you might be able to take them off our hands.”
Poco crosses his arms. “What kinds of things? And how recently?”
“Some of this, some of that,” Caesar supplies casually, though he silences Joseph with a firm look. A bit of misdirection could only help their cause if Poco won’t fence for them anymore. “Maybe a few days ago we found some poor soul crushed beneath his wagon when his horses took a turn in the road too fast.”
“You know how it goes,” Joseph jumps in. “Helped ourselves to a few of his things, seeing as he wasn’t going to be needing them anymore, before we did right by him and alerted the law.”
The fence shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he looks down at his boots. “Oh, is that what happened? Because I heard a pair of fools shot some Pillar Men lackeys up in Samstown about a week ago. Kicked up a real hot fuss.” They were part of the Pillar Men? Caesar grits his teeth against the swell of an unsatisfied revenge boiling up his blood. “And now you two show up here. With your…wagon wares.”
The Pillar Men used to be a group of ten people, tops. By the way Poco’s face pinched shut when he mentioned them, those sons of bitches must have been busy since Caesar, Joseph, and all the rest had been here last. Making a name for themselves by killing and stealing from folks who are just trying to scrape together a living. Provoking a gang of old enemies sounds an awful lot like trouble they can’t afford, but he and Joseph aren’t strangers to haggling against the odds.
Joseph chuckles. To anyone else, he sounds carefree, but Caesar can hear the nerves in his laughter. “The Pillar Men!” He slaps Caesar’s back with an easy smile. “Well, we wouldn’t know anything about that, now would we?”
“Not us,” Caesar shakes his head. “Bad business getting mixed up with them, that’s for sure.”
Poco looks between them, unconvinced. So Caesar puts a hands up in silent request for a moment’s time as he sticks his hand in his satchel for the engraved watch he stole off a lackey. “Here,” he says when his fingers close around a fine chain. He pulls it into the light and offers it to Poco. “An example of what we’d like to sell you. For a fair price, of course.”
With the offer of real silver, the change in Poco’s demeanor is palpable. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in looking, is there?” He accepts the watch and turns it over in his fingers as he studies the carving from several angles. A particular shape in the design catches his attention, and he thumbs over it twice as he murmurs to himself. Poco unlatches the front of the case to examine the clock face and the inside of the lid. “No dedication makes it easier to move. And it still runs real smooth.” He snaps it shut as he makes a fist. His eyes gleam with greed when he looks at Caesar. “What else d’you got in those bags of yours?”
Half an hour later, they finish up the sales. “Pleasure doing business with you,” Joseph says, patting his bag. The exchange of several valuables for a mix of weapons, supplies, and cash buoys Caesar’s mood as he shakes Poco’s hand. He and Joseph take their leave with richer satchels and fatter money clips, just how Caesar likes it.
“Wait,” calls Poco.
Caesar takes a few more steps before he realizes Joseph isn’t beside him anymore. Joseph stands in the door threshold, his face turned back into the shelter of the barn. “What is it?” Joseph asks, resting a hand on his cocked hip.
The fence jogs up to meet them. “There’s something you ought to know, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Of course not,” Joseph says, so Caesar hooks his thumbs in his belt and saunters back to his side.
Poco looks left and right before he leans in. “I’d steer clear of the gulch out past Widowmaker Bluffs. If you remember where that is, a little ways north-easterly of here.” He lowers his voice even further. “Rumor has it that some mean folks have taken up in the land over there, a nasty group of degenerates who may or may not be friends of that…poor wagoner you boys found.” Poco purses his lips. “If you get my meaning.”
Joseph whistles. “Why, that’s awful kind of you to warn us. We wouldn’t want to cross paths with the wrong kind of people.”
“Dangerous times we live in,” Caesar says.
“You got that right,” Poco says, straightening. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I ought to get back to work before someone notices I’ve gone missing.”
Patting Poco on the arm, Joseph nods and turns on his heel with Caesar. They keep quiet until they’ve mounted their horses. “They were P-Men, huh? That makes a whole lot of sense.”
“Does it?” Caesar clicks his gelding into a trot and looks at Joseph from the corner of his eye. “So. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I’d bet my life on it,” Joseph says. He grins at Caesar, who finds himself grinning right back as they take the northern fork in the road, their horses kicking up a cloud of dust behind them.
###
[Click here for next chapter].
[Click here for previous chapter].
Very very rough draft. Unrated again, 4.6k words. Here ya go.
###
Having worked together to clear a suitable spot to make camp after another day’s travels, Caesar sends Joseph into the surrounding trees to find enough kindling to get a fire started. He hates to waste a light on something not guaranteed to catch the way a well-made, hand-rolled cigarette burns. “Enough wood to burn plenty long and make these cans taste damn near edible,” Caesar says as he unloads their camp supplies from the horses.
“How many days of food do you guess we got left?” Joseph asks. Always arguing, that one. Never able to just do as he’s told. Despite the years between them, Caesar still can’t decide if that’s a flaw or a feature. That mouth has saved them both plenty of times, and landed them chin-deep into messes plenty more. “I could try to hunt some small game. Add some meat to those canned beans. Either green or kidney, whichever we got on the menu tonight. Doesn’t matter much to me.”
Caesar covers his stomach with one hand, suppressing a grumble at the thought of roasted rabbit. Stringy or no, it’d be something. “Fire first,” Caesar says. Joseph mutters impatient curses as Caesar watches him grab his lasso and a hatchet off his horse before stomping off into the trees. It’s anyone’s guess as to what Joseph will bring back.
Returning to his task, Caesar pulls their bedrolls and tents from their horses. It’s a safe enough spot, well-hidden from the road to minimize the threat that someone might stumble upon their camp for the night and try to kill them in their sleep. They’re sheltered by a big old elm’s broad reach, offering some protection in the unlikely event of a passing shower. The lack of rain recently means the ground won’t squish up around them and make a mess of everything as Caesar drives the tent’s stakes into the ground. Considering the prospect of waking up without a nice layer of mud caked on everything makes tonight feel like a taste of fine living.
After he gets one tent set up and it’s bedroll shaken and laid out, Caesar works on the next using the same strong, efficient motions. He considers setting Joseph up over uneven ground, a scattering of sharp pebbles for a mattress and a gnarled knot of roots for a pillow, but decides against it. He can hear Joseph whining in his head already, complaining the next morning about how poorly he slept in excruciating detail. Or, worse still, waking up Caesar in the middle of the night as he drags his tent around the fire, hammering on with both his strong hands and his locomotive mouth.
A big baby, Joseph, but not so naive like back when they first struck out on their own after what happened. They were hopeful then, and the world was not so small as it is now. Seems to be the way of things, lately. Getting smaller and smaller, the sprawl of government oversight like a hangman’s noose closing in around everyone’s necks. Cutting off their air, their life, their freedom.
They haven’t talked about their exit strategy for a few weeks now. Joseph usually pulls out some unbelievable idea he cobbled together in his brain whenever they ruminate about getting out of the life. This business…either they find a way to live within the confines of the law, or they keep running from it.
But you can’t run forever. His father taught him that.
Stomping back toward camp, Joseph calls Caesar’s attention. He’s tied up two rabbits, his lasso looped around an ankle each, and slung the whole thing over his shoulder. The rabbits swing against the front and back of his knee with each step. “Give me a hand here, will you? I’m about to lose a log,” Joseph says from behind the stack of soon-to-be firewood clutched in his arms. Caesar can see his messy brown hair and a watchful blue-green eye from over top of the topmost log, which seems poised to slide right down to the ground and take half the others with it.
“I’m coming. I’m coming,” Caesar says as he strides to meet Joseph at the edge of their small camp. He sweeps an armful of logs off the top and grunts when a heavy one hits hard against his chest. “Shit, these are heavier than they look.”
“You’re telling me,” Joseph agrees. “Got some rabbits, too.”
Caesar turns and walks the few paces to where he cleared an area for their campfire. “I saw.”
“Easy picking, for spring.”
They dump the wood beside the patch of dirt, Caesar stopping a few runaway logs from rolling too far with his boot. “You want to skin them while I get the fire going or should I?” He stacks them on the others.
“I can skin them, that’s fine,” Joseph says, hooking his thumb under the rope at his shoulder. He lifts them. “Not much meat here, but it’s something.”
They work without another word between them for a while, Joseph hitching one rabbit to his saddle while Caesar pulls the grill grate from the last of their camp supplies. Caesar turns his back toward him and works on the fire pit. By the time he finishes up, leaving the small blaze to grow in size as it feeds on the kindling, Joseph has both rabbits decently seasoned and ready for cooking. He holds one in each messy hand with a grin.
Caesar grins back. “Alright then, put them on.” He steps aside to let Joseph pass. “Isn’t there a river or something around here?”
“Yeah. Supposed to be, according to the map,” Joseph says. “Though, I didn’t have to go that far for these.” The meat doesn’t sizzle when he drops the quartered rabbits on the grate. “Why, you want a bath?”
“Not what I had in mind.” Caesar stretches his arms above his head. “It’ll be damn near freezing with snowmelt coming down from the mountains. We’re not so far away, you know.”
Cracking a smirk, Joseph says, “We can always head into a town tomorrow, or the next day, if you’re so eager to smell like women’s perfume for a week. Again.”
Landing a good-natured punch on Joseph’s shoulder, Caesar says, “A bath isn’t why I get perfume on me.” He pats where he hit. “I’ll be back. Don’t let the meat burn before you put the cans on."
Joseph opens his mouth to say something, but Caesar hits him again and all that comes out is a grunt. Caesar laughs as he pushes past Joseph to collect his hat and sling a canteen from each horse over his shoulders before heading out alone into the woods around them.
The further away from camp he gets, the quieter the air around him. Without the hum of insects to tickle his ear, he lets the sound of birds whistling and squirrels leaping from tree to tree keep him company. A woodpecker drills above him as he pauses beside a black walnut tree and breathes. The shadows stretch long before him, daylight weakening as the sun sets. The longer days will soon be noticeable. Winter nights never suited him much, but the weather’s pretty enough. No bugs.
He sets off again until the rustle of water and peeps from spring frogs lead him to the stream. Not deep enough nor wide enough to be a river, but too fast to be a brook, Caesar squats on the rocky bank and watches the water rush for a few seconds. He cups his hands together and hisses when the water is as icy as expected. Goosebumps raise the hair on his arms immediately. He splashes water on his face, gasping for the cold. “Christ,” he breathes. Caesar shakes his head and splashes again, this time dragging one hand down his features and sending excess water flying with a flick of his wrists. Unscrewing one of the canteens, he wades a few steps into the creek to fill it. He glances around him every so often out of nervous habit. That deputy nearly getting a hit on him shook him. Made him feel like he’s slipping in vigilance. Mistakes like that could have easily gotten him killed.
Good thing Joseph had been there, ready and able to watch his back. Keep him safe.
Caesar fits the top back on, then opens the other to fill it. Saving each other’s skins is nothing new. It’s the prospect that he’s getting sloppy that worries him. Getting comfortable. He’s a creature of habit, and he should know better.
He finishes filling their canteens with another scan of the area, and retraces his steps back to camp. Joseph looks up from the fire at his approach. He’s picked out a stick the length of his leg to use as a poker, one end buried in the flames. The lean-to of logs that Caesar lit earlier looks ready to crumble. He frowns at Joseph. “How’s it coming?”
“What?”
Rolling his eyes, Caesar packs their canteens in their saddles. “The food.” He pinches the back of his hat, tugging the brim closer to his neck. “The fire.”
“Oh.” Joseph looks down and pokes another log in the fire. “Fine. I put the cans in a few minutes ago.”
“You opened them?”
“Of course I opened them,” Joseph says. “How was your bath?”
“It wasn’t a bath.” Caesar unhitches horses to let them graze. He squats by the fire, opposite of Joseph, and peers at the rabbits on the grate. “You burned them.”
A vicious stab of the poker threatens to topple the wood. “No, I’m crisping the skin.”
Caesar pulls out his favorite knife, a blued steel blade he had customized with a feather engraving inlaid with nickel on one side of the spine, and stabs the tip into a hunk of meat. “This could double for coal.” He uses the knife to flip the pieces over. “At least this side is still recognizable as meat.”
“If you want to eat beans and beans only, be my guest.”
Frowning, Caesar wipes off his knife before he puts it away. “Didn’t say that.” He lifts his eyebrows and asks, “They almost done?”
Joseph grunts.
“Alright.” Caesar sits with his legs bent before him and rests his elbows on his knees. Joseph passes him some food and they spend the meal in companionable silence as they choke down overcooked meat between spoonfuls of canned beans warmed through by the fire.
By the time they finish eating, the logs have collapsed into a smaller heap. It’s enough to cast light around their camp, but doesn’t stretch much beyond their tents. Fine, for the time being.
Caesar cleans up their meal and fishes out an opened bottle of bourbon from one of their packs. He turns around at the tell-tale thump of their last log thrown on the fire. Joseph picks up his makeshift poker and pushes some of the sunburned kindling toward the flames. He hums to himself, the beginning of a song Caesar recognizes after a few bars.
“You never could carry a tune,” Caesar says with a laugh. He opens the bourbon and washes down their supper with a hearty swig.
“Yeah, well,” Joseph says. He lets the stick fall beside him and accepts Caesar’s offer of drink. “There’s hope for me yet. You recognized it, right? That counts for something. Besides, after enough liquor, who cares?” Joseph wipes the mouth of the bottle with a hand before tilting it back. “Hardly any left. Here, you finish it.”
Taking back the bourbon, Caesar wanders back to the opposite side of the fire as he drains it. He swirls it in his mouth before he swallows. Standing at the edge of the light, he looks out into the darkness, half-expecting an animal or an ambush, but all he hears is the crackling of the fire as the log catches alight. Peaceful, if a bit chilly, now that the sun has gone to sleep. They should be thinking of following suit. Caesar chucks the bottle into the trees and listens for the crash that never comes, but something takes flight. Another thing they should be considering.
Patting down his pockets, Caesar pulls out his smokes. He sticks one in the corner of his mouth. As he considers using a match or risking the campfire, a voice cuts across the camp, low and resonant, putting words to the muffled melody from earlier.
Caesar turns around to watch Joseph finish warbling through the first verse. Eyes closed, he screws his face up to hit some of the higher notes with middling success, but not altogether terrible.
Joseph opens his eyes at the start of the chorus. “See? Hope.”
Chuckling, Caesar shakes his head. He catches a light on the campfire and takes a drag. “Don’t run off on me for the stage just yet,” Caesar says, then exhales the smoke from his lungs. Joseph meets Caesar’s eyes through the smoke and repeats the jibe with a wrinkled nose. Caesar full-out laughs at that. “What did you expect?”
“I don’t know,” Joseph admits with a shrug.
Caesar spreads his hand in an arc through the air to conjure the soundboard on a theater. “Now presenting for your entertainment: Joseph Joestar, the dueling diva,” he says, changing his voice to mimic the hawkers. “Can’t hit a note, but he’ll shoot you at fifty paces before you get a finger around your trigger.”
Joseph laughs. “Hey now, people might pay to see that.”
“Yeah, right,” Caesar says sarcastically. “Maybe if there was a woman involved.” He ashes his cigarette. “Maybe.”
“I could wear a dress,” Joseph says.
Caesar takes another drag. “That’s your solution?”
Flopping on his back and crossing his hands behind his head, Joseph says, “It’s as good of an idea as any. On account of being short of con artists.” He sighs. “I miss that.”
Silence cloaks them and they pass a few wordless minutes waiting for the fire to die out enough to stomp it out for the night. Caesar finishes his cigarette thinking of nights like this one, with people full of food and gathered around the fire to count the embers or hatch another way to make money. That kind of camaraderie gets harder to find the longer he lives this life. There’s something to be said for picking a town and sticking around long enough to make a clean living. Building a life around a homestead. But some doors have already closed. Maybe for good, this time.
A family isn’t always a group of people related by blood. There are ties that can run deeper than that. Bonds that are richer than that. Loyalty comes in all shapes and sizes if you know how to look for it and what to listen for when people talk. Lisa Lisa had shown him that. Speedwagon, too.
It takes him until the second chorus to realize Joseph’s singing again. Better than before, better than Caesar’s ever heard. He watches Joseph through the haze of heat rising from the fire, flicking his cigarette into the embers as Joseph finishes the song. He really isn’t as terrible as Caesar says he is, but he won’t be selling out any theaters with endorsements like “not half-bad.”
Once the last note clears the air, Caesar stands and dusts himself off. “I’m turning in,” he says. “You gonna be long?”
“Sure,” Joseph says. He lifts his head to waggle his eyebrows at Caesar. “Got a few more songs to practice for my debut.”
“Uh-huh.” Gesturing to the fire, Caesar says, “Then I’ll leave this to you.” He gives their surroundings one last scan and ducks into his tent. Though he sets his hat on his face to sleep, he can’t seem to find a comfortable spot in his bedroll. Only after Caesar hears Joseph bank the fire and slip into his own tent does sleep come for him.
~~~
After they pack up and scuff out signs of their stay, Joseph leads him on a detour. “I saw we’re near that old waypost where we used to fence horses and things. Do you remember?”
Caesar tilts his head and lifts a shoulder. “More or less. Lonelyspeck Ranch, right?”
“Figure it’s worth checking out. Unload some of our stuff, if he’s still working, then resupply. You must be down to your last pack, and I think that bourbon was the last of our last.” He shoots Caesar a furtive look from his saddle.
“You said that I should finish it,” Caesar replies evenly. “So if you’re mad—”
“I’m not mad, I’m just saying—”
“Then it’s not me you should be fussing at, is it?” Caesar gives his gelding a gentle flick of the reins to pick up the pace of their trot.
Joseph sputters. “I just said I wasn’t! You’re the one who goes around angry all the time.” The mare pulls up alongside Caesar’s horse, and Joseph resumes his babble. “Do you remember where it is from here?”
“No,” Caesar says. “But I bet I could figure it out if it means leaving you behind for some peace this morning.”
“You’d miss me in the quiet,” Joseph says.
That might be true, but so is the reverse, and they both know it. “Only one way to find out.” Caesar changes the subject. “Is this the fence Loggins knew from his Navy days? Or is that the one further east?”
“That’s the one further east, yeah. This is the one who’d give you a better price when you brought Suzie or one of the other girls with you.”
“Ah,” Caesar nods. “So we’ll be underselling today, is that right?”
Joseph makes a face of displeasure and leads his horse closer to Caesar to make room for a solo rider coming up the other side of the road. “We don’t have much choice when it comes to, ah, business associates in these parts.”
“Business associate, sure, but you can’t remember his damn name.”
“I’ve got a few miles to remember.”
The rider spares them a look from under his top hat. He looks rich in the way old money does, with a focus on quality over flash. It’s something Caesar noticed early on in his delinquent career as an outlaw, though it never mattered much to him whether the money was old or new, so long as it got handed over without complaint when he and his revolver asked politely.
Still, the wrong sort of look means trouble. He keeps his eye on the man and puts one hand on his holster.
“Hey there, mister!” Joseph nods at the man.
A long, silent look as they approach one another sends Caesar’s fingers around the gun grip. His thumb unbuttons the latch, ready to draw on the stranger if needed.
But Joseph manages to coax a pleasantry with his disarming smile. “Morning,” the man grunts.
They pass without incident, but Caesar doesn’t lift his hand from his sidearm until they’ve continued on for several seconds. A safe distance away from each other. Joseph notices. “You can’t shoot everyone, you know.”
“I know,” Caesar says. “I don’t trust people not to shoot first.”
That cheerful, broad grin turns toward him. “Except me.”
Raising an eyebrow, Caesar says, “Oh, no. I trust you to shoot first, just not at me. You know damn well I’m not the only one lighting up a firefight.”
Joseph laughs. “You got me there.”
The rest of their ride passes without incident, and when they crest a rolling hill, Caesar squints at a cluster of houses and a barn or two in the distance. “Is that it? Looks familiar.”
“I think so.”
As they ride down the hill, the feeling he’d almost certainly been here before fills him, and a memory comes back to Caesar in a flash. Years ago, with Suzie, like Joseph said. They’d unloaded a sack full of candlesticks, necklaces, and other valuables that Suzie had obtained from another mansion where she’d been posing as a maid. She had beamed as bright as the stolen silver when she opened that bag and asked Caesar how much he thought they’d get for all that. He’d whistled and given her his best guess. And he hadn’t been far off.
They slow up as they ride into the settlement and hitch their horses around the back of the barn farthest from the main house, where the farmhands might receive any number of smelly shipments that could upset any of the society-minded folks, should they come calling.
It also makes for a believable meeting place for any number of personally enriching opportunities the farmhands might keep on the side.
A familiar pockmarked face under a dry mess of straw-colored hair looks up at their approach from between the open barn doors. A blanket folded over one arm, both his hands bear a polished saddle, lightly used judging by the stiffness of the leather. “Well, well. Mr. Joseph Johnston, was it? And your friend, Mr. Charles Anthony,” the man says with a nod for each of them. “Been quite some time since I’ve seen either of you around.” Caesar sneaks a peek at Joseph, hopeful for some glimmer of recognition in his eyes at those old aliases.
“You know how it is,” Joseph says breezily. “Where the work goes, honest working men like us are sure to follow.”
The man snorts. “Honest working men.” With a jerk of his head, he gestures for them to follow.
Before they cross into the barn, Caesar looks up into the rafters for gunmen. Just in case. “Poco,” he whispers to Joseph.
“What?”
“The fence’s name,” Caesar explains, eyes still looking for metal or motion. “Poco.”
The inside of the building seems mostly empty of activity, save for a few stalls of old livestock animals. Joseph scans their surroundings as they pass. “Is that a first name or a surname?”
“Does it matter?” Caesar stops in the middle of the barn. They’re alone here. “It’s a start.”
After depositing the bit of horse tack out of sight, the fence returns to meet them. “I’m sure I don’t know why you’re here.”
Joseph lifts both his hands in a shrug. “No work around these parts, then? That’s a damn shame. I thought you’d still be in the business of discretion, Poco.”
“Discretion.”
Nodding, Joseph says, “Yessir, that’s what I remember. See, we found some things recently. And we think you might be able to take them off our hands.”
Poco crosses his arms. “What kinds of things? And how recently?”
“Some of this, some of that,” Caesar supplies casually, though he silences Joseph with a firm look. A bit of misdirection could only help their cause if Poco won’t fence for them anymore. “Maybe a few days ago we found some poor soul crushed beneath his wagon when his horses took a turn in the road too fast.”
“You know how it goes,” Joseph jumps in. “Helped ourselves to a few of his things, seeing as he wasn’t going to be needing them anymore, before we did right by him and alerted the law.”
The fence shifts his weight from one foot to the other as he looks down at his boots. “Oh, is that what happened? Because I heard a pair of fools shot some Pillar Men lackeys up in Samstown about a week ago. Kicked up a real hot fuss.” They were part of the Pillar Men? Caesar grits his teeth against the swell of an unsatisfied revenge boiling up his blood. “And now you two show up here. With your…wagon wares.”
The Pillar Men used to be a group of ten people, tops. By the way Poco’s face pinched shut when he mentioned them, those sons of bitches must have been busy since Caesar, Joseph, and all the rest had been here last. Making a name for themselves by killing and stealing from folks who are just trying to scrape together a living. Provoking a gang of old enemies sounds an awful lot like trouble they can’t afford, but he and Joseph aren’t strangers to haggling against the odds.
Joseph chuckles. To anyone else, he sounds carefree, but Caesar can hear the nerves in his laughter. “The Pillar Men!” He slaps Caesar’s back with an easy smile. “Well, we wouldn’t know anything about that, now would we?”
“Not us,” Caesar shakes his head. “Bad business getting mixed up with them, that’s for sure.”
Poco looks between them, unconvinced. So Caesar puts a hands up in silent request for a moment’s time as he sticks his hand in his satchel for the engraved watch he stole off a lackey. “Here,” he says when his fingers close around a fine chain. He pulls it into the light and offers it to Poco. “An example of what we’d like to sell you. For a fair price, of course.”
With the offer of real silver, the change in Poco’s demeanor is palpable. “Well, I suppose there’s no harm in looking, is there?” He accepts the watch and turns it over in his fingers as he studies the carving from several angles. A particular shape in the design catches his attention, and he thumbs over it twice as he murmurs to himself. Poco unlatches the front of the case to examine the clock face and the inside of the lid. “No dedication makes it easier to move. And it still runs real smooth.” He snaps it shut as he makes a fist. His eyes gleam with greed when he looks at Caesar. “What else d’you got in those bags of yours?”
Half an hour later, they finish up the sales. “Pleasure doing business with you,” Joseph says, patting his bag. The exchange of several valuables for a mix of weapons, supplies, and cash buoys Caesar’s mood as he shakes Poco’s hand. He and Joseph take their leave with richer satchels and fatter money clips, just how Caesar likes it.
“Wait,” calls Poco.
Caesar takes a few more steps before he realizes Joseph isn’t beside him anymore. Joseph stands in the door threshold, his face turned back into the shelter of the barn. “What is it?” Joseph asks, resting a hand on his cocked hip.
The fence jogs up to meet them. “There’s something you ought to know, but you didn’t hear it from me.”
“Of course not,” Joseph says, so Caesar hooks his thumbs in his belt and saunters back to his side.
Poco looks left and right before he leans in. “I’d steer clear of the gulch out past Widowmaker Bluffs. If you remember where that is, a little ways north-easterly of here.” He lowers his voice even further. “Rumor has it that some mean folks have taken up in the land over there, a nasty group of degenerates who may or may not be friends of that…poor wagoner you boys found.” Poco purses his lips. “If you get my meaning.”
Joseph whistles. “Why, that’s awful kind of you to warn us. We wouldn’t want to cross paths with the wrong kind of people.”
“Dangerous times we live in,” Caesar says.
“You got that right,” Poco says, straightening. “Now if you’ll excuse me, I ought to get back to work before someone notices I’ve gone missing.”
Patting Poco on the arm, Joseph nods and turns on his heel with Caesar. They keep quiet until they’ve mounted their horses. “They were P-Men, huh? That makes a whole lot of sense.”
“Does it?” Caesar clicks his gelding into a trot and looks at Joseph from the corner of his eye. “So. You thinking what I’m thinking?”
“I’d bet my life on it,” Joseph says. He grins at Caesar, who finds himself grinning right back as they take the northern fork in the road, their horses kicking up a cloud of dust behind them.
###
[Click here for next chapter].