We buried Josie right next to her parents, little more than six weeks after they went into the ground.
Really hammers home how I failed Mr. Ramirez, who should never have left his daughter’s safety in my hands. It’s all I can think about throughout the funeral procession, which passes in a blur, as I’m present, but not there, not really. Don’t pay any mind to who shows up or what the Padre says, or even what I gotta do until someone tells me what it is. Spared no expense though, and settled on an open casket, which gives me one last chance to see her again. Can’t tear my eyes away from her lovely face, as she lays so still on her white silk cushions, wearing a pretty yellow sundress with her big red ribbons. Looks so peaceful, like she’s taking a nap and will wake soon enough to ask what in tarnation’s going on. I know it can’t happen, because I watched her die, saw her breathe her last as the light faded from her eyes. Only real consolation is that she didn’t suffer, because the internal trauma was so complete that her body shut down in an instant.
Doesn’t stop me from reaching into her coffin to stroke her cheek when it comes time to say our final farewells, and I even give her hand a squeeze wishing, hoping, and praying, that she’ll somehow squeeze back.
She doesn’t of course. It’s only expected, but it still hurts all the more when it comes time to let go so the Padre can get on with the funeral. From there, the next thing I remember is standing out front of the headstone and watching them lower the love of my life into the ground. Couldn’t give her a beautiful wedding, a wonderful home, a happy family, or a long and fruitful life. All I could give her was a coffin, the ring on her finger, and the headstone overtop her grave, one which reads, ‘Here lies Josie Ramirez. May the music never end so that she might dance with the angels, until such a time when we can dance together again.’
I didn’t come up with the epitaph. Noora did, and I think Josie would have loved it if she knew.
Following the funeral is a wake, one packed full of people, because Josie had countless friends and no enemies to speak of. No one stops to talk to me as I linger in the corner, and I can’t really blame them, nor do I encourage anyone to even try. Ain’t nothing to say, nothing besides the truth that no one wants to hear. I’m the reason she’s dead, killed because it’s dangerous to be around me. Carter had it right to keep Elodie away, though I know she’s still around here somewhere. With Chrissy I think, who isn’t taking it well, because even though she grew up on the Frontier same as me and Tina, this is the first time Chrissy has really been directly exposed to any loss or even violence. Usually, she’s at least one step removed from it all, taking shelter in a shop or hidden away in a saferoom while all the fighting and killing is going on. Last night though? She was standing front and centre, arm in arm with Josie as she died and in plain view of everything that happened next.
I regret that. Letting her see me work. Should’ve told her to close her eyes or look away, focus on her sister and nothing else. She might’ve even listened, but it’s too late to change things now. All Chrissy’s life, I’ve been her kind and protective brother, but now she’s seen the Yellow Devil I been hiding inside, and all I can do is hope that I didn’t scare her so much that she never sees me the same way again.
“How you holdin’ up?” Caught completely by surprise, I blink and come to my senses to see Aunty Ray standing right in front of me all teary eyed and full of concern. She doesn’t know what to say, just wants to make all my pain go away, but there ain’t nothing she can do to help.
“Asked Josie to marry me last night,” I say, because I don’t think I’ve told her yet. Guess she knows, and nods to convey as much, but she still needs to hear it from me. Not sure why, except that it feels right, so I do my best to explain. “Didn’t plan on it, or things getting that far. Neither of us did, I don’t think. We was just hanging out at the gun range, and one thing led to another. Figured she knew Contraception, but then a few weeks back, she tells me she’s late and that schools only teach abstinence first. Noora said it’s normal to be late, and that we don’t have to really worry until after six weeks. Well, six weeks late was last Saturday, but she wanted to wait a little longer before we said anything, because I think she wanted to enjoy the Fourth of July celebrations without any of that hanging over her head.”
Aunty Ray reaches out to stroke my cheek, but I keep right on talking, because I gotta get it all out while I still can. “She was scared, and right to be. Figured her youth would end the moment she announced her pregnancy, because then she’d be a mother to be. Can’t fault her for it, and I tried to tell her that it didn’t matter one way or another, that whatever may come, we’d see it through together. Got her a ring from the store, and asked her to marry me, not just because it was the right thing to do, but because I wanted her to know that I was in this for the long haul. That I loved her and wanted to spend the rest of my life with her.”
I’m ranting. I know it, but I can’t stop, even though Aunty Ray’s bawling her eyes out while hugging me tight. “Sorry I didn’t tell you sooner,” I whisper, speaking around the hard lump in my throat. “Wanted to, but couldn’t.” Now it sounds like I’m blaming Josie, which ain’t the case at all. “Or maybe I didn’t want to, because if I did, I would’ve. Told you that is. Was worried you wouldn’t approve though.”
“It’s alright,” she says, holding me so tight it’s hard to breathe. “Everything’s gonna be alright.”
Don’t see how that’s possible, because Josie is dead and gone, and so’s our baby. We was gonna raise him or her in the house that I’d build on the land my daddy passed on to me. We would’ve been next door neighbours with Aunty Ray, Tina, and Chrissy, and our kid would’ve grown up all spoiled as heck. I would’ve figured something out to make up for my missing hand, and found myself a job doing something I probably hated. Would be worth it though, because I wouldn’t be living just for me anymore. No, I’d be living for my family, my wife, my kid, my sorta sisters and Aunty Ray, who raised me like her own and is doing everything she can to be strong for me, because that’s what mother’s do. That’s why I gotta keep my head up high and power through this. Can’t live, if living is without Josie, but I can’t just up and die either. That’s what Mr. Ramirez did, and it destroyed Josie, but while he was counting on me to protect her, I failed, so who can I count on to protect the people I leave behind?
No one. That’s who. So I can’t quit just yet. I failed my mama, failed my daddy, failed Marcus, Josie, and our baby too. Gotta get good, be better, and balance the scales first, then I’ll figure out the rest as I go. I hope there’ll be a day when me and Josie and our baby are together again, but it can’t be today, no matter how much I want it to be.
Knowing just how to handle me, Aunty Ray pats my cheek and says, “I think Noora’s feeling a little overwhelmed by all the sympathies and well wishes. Why don’t you head on over as moral support?”
A mission. An objective. A goal to strive for, something I can accomplish in the short term to keep my mind off darker thoughts. That’s what I need, and she’s given it to me, so I hobble on over to Noora’s side in my darkest suit and shirt, offset by the white sling keeping my right arm in one piece after getting torn to shreds by another exploding Ice Knife. My left knee’s a little messed up too, but not so much that I need a cane or anything, and I’ll be back to full form in a few more days with Minor Regeneration to speed things along. All in all, I got out mostly in one piece, with only a few grazes and flesh wounds that won’t slow me down much. Everyone else made it out unscathed, because Tina got them all to cover inside the closest shop after shooting out the lock and kicking the door in, which was quick thinking by her.
Me? Not so much. If I’d’ve moved a foot to the side and out into the street, then that blue spiked bastard would’ve had a clear line of fire towards me, and Josie might well still be alive. I didn’t move though, just stood there like a fool again, and now she’s dead. Got no one to blame but me, the other guy, and the guy who sent the other guy who I’ll get to soon enough. For now though? I gotta focus on the mission at hand, which is support Noora through these trying times.
I pay no mind to the mourners lining up to offer their condolences, or the shadow I done been saddled with following close behind. Instead, I focus on Noora and see that she’s all but checked out, her tears all gone dry and mind a thousand miles away in an effort to get away from it all. That’s where she is until I limp up beside her, at which point she snaps back to reality and latches onto my arm. Just slips hers into mine, while it’s still in the sling no less, and though it hurts just a bit, I welcome the pain because I can handle physical discomfort. The hole in my chest though? The one that done got ripped out as I watched Josie die? That ain’t something I’m equipped to deal with, because there’s no gritting my teeth and pushing through it.
All I can do is embrace the pain and know that others are hurting too. Like Noora, so I lean my head down and touch my temple to hers as we take a quiet moment here at the wake to acknowledge each other’s pain. That’s all we can do though, because it’d be unseemly to embrace, not when everyone thinks I was dating Josie and Noora was her adopted sister. Burns me up inside to have to keep up appearances even now, but I won’t have people talking about our behaviour at Josie’s funeral for the next decade like it’s some choice piece of gossip to chew on.
Unsurprisingly, the line of well-wishers moves a whole lot faster after I join Noora at the head. Don’t even have to do anything like scowl or glare. I’m just there, with the same empty expression as her, and that’s enough to keep folks from waxing on about this or that. Tourists is what they are, people who just show up and say nice things like, ‘we’re here if you need any help’, or ‘she was such a bright life in our lives’, when they didn’t do shit for Josie after her parents’ passed. They showed up to the funeral and said many of the same things, but how many checked in later on to make sure Josie and Noora had meals to eat, or were keeping up with chores and classes, or see if they needed some help with something or the other? None that I saw, though most found time enough to take her aside and question her choice of partner over the last few weeks. Josie never said word one about it, and I didn’t either because I didn’t want to press her for names or reasons, but I know I ain’t the most popular man around town and there were plenty of young men hoping to court Josie before I swooped in and ‘stole’ her away.
Should’ve never gotten involved with her. Ain’t safe to associate with me, and that there is God’s honest truth. Should’ve stayed strong and refused Josie and Noora that first time at the gun range then avoided them like the plague, because whoever said, ‘better to have loved and lost, than to have never loved at all’ was full of horseshit.
A discussion I’ll have to have with Noora and Elodie soon enough. Chrissy, Tina, and Aunty Ray too maybe. Might be I just move out and start a homestead myself, maybe up where we found Clayton’s people around that abandoned wulf den. Or I dunno. Somewhere further, like out in the Coral Dessert where I can spend my days killing scavs and outlaws without having to worry about collateral damage. Who knows. Not me. I’ll think about it later, after I’ve handled my business and dealt with the aftermath, assuming there’ll be a later. I don’t know much yet, not even how I’m gonna go about making my next move, but the day is still early yet and I’ve yet to sleep since night before last.
Which shows when I’m slow to react to the familiar faces in front of me, and pull away from Sarah Jay’s offer of a hug. Do my best to convey that it ain’t her, that she just caught me by surprise is all, but I refrain from accepting all the same. Mostly because Errol’s right there, and though he’s doing his best to appear sympathetic, I’d have to be blind to miss the sour grimace that flashes across his face. One that makes a reappearance as Sarah Jay reaches over to take my hand in hers and says, “I ain’t gonna say nothin’ that dozens of people have already said.” Meeting my eyes with a confidence that used to be faked, and is now real as can be, she adds, “All I’ll say is this. However you plannin’ on making them mafiosos pay, you can count me in.”
Errol don’t offer his support, but Antoni and Ike meet my eyes and nod along, as do Kacey, Alfred, Michael, Gabriella, and several other Ranger recruits who came out together. They’re all standing around us in a semi-circle, blocking out my shadow and the audience both as they make this touching offer, but the pragmatist in me can’t help but shake my head. “Y’all don’t understand what you sayin’,” I reply, squeezing Sarah Jay’s hand in thanks before letting go to gesture at the five-pointed star she and all the other recruits are wearing pinned to their chests. “That right there? That means you a Ranger. No two ways about it. Might just be recruits for now, but you still a part of the Federal Armed Forces, and despite the shorthand, they don’t like it when their soldiers go faffin’ about. Takin’ up arms against civilians without orders, even criminal ones, will get y’all drawn up on charges and 86’ed right quick, because a soldier that don’t follow orders ain’t much of a soldier at all.”
Drawing in a deep breath, I meet their eyes and let them know I appreciate the offer, but I ain’t gonna take them up on it. Errol’s looking shocked that I turned them down, but that’s because he don’t know me at all. He thinks I’m a bloodthirsty killer, one who’s ready and raring to get killing, but killing don’t fix nothing. No, I ain’t looking to kill mafiosos. Least, that’s not all I mean to do. Gotta have a goal in mind, a mission to accomplish, and I’ve taken it upon myself to wipe out the Pugliano Family in its entirety. Best way to do that is with the full force of the law and the Federal Army both behind me, so I gotta play nice for a little bit and let due process take its course. Patience is a virtue, one which ain’t ever been my strong suit, but sometimes you gotta know when to hold your shot and wait until all your enemies have come out of hiding before bringing the hammer down on their heads.
“So stand ready,” I say, meeting their eyes once more to say what I can’t say out loud. “Clean your guns. Sharpen your skills. Pack your bags, and wait for orders, because y’all are Rangers now, and I for one won’t stand by and let you disgrace those badges. Clear?”
Chastised and understanding the meaning behind my message, Sarah Jay gives me an informal salute. “You got it, hoss,” she says, and the other boots nod along as they unravel the message, all except Errol who gets that sour look once again. Can’t be bothered with him though, so I thank them all for showing up and send them on their way. Noora don’t say anything, just continues clutching my arm in a daze. She ain’t hungry for vengeance like I am, not raring to get even or hit back. No, she just wishes Josie was still here and we were all back at their house having a quiet morning in after what should have been a wonderous and magical night.
This ain’t how I pictured my 5th of July going either. I figured we’d be sat down at the dining table in front of Aunty Ray, getting grilled about our decision to have a shotgun wedding on account of the baby we got coming our way. She’d be upset and incredulous at first, but she’d come around soon enough, making sure we knew what we were getting into and running down a checklist of stuff we gotta get done. That’s where I learned it from, my obsession with keeping lists, because my daddy usually just knew what needed to be done and could prioritize on the fly without having to think.
How would he have handled all this, were he here in my place? Not the funeral today, or the fight last night, or any one thing in particular. I mean how would he have gone about things in general, upon learning of the Mafia’s presence and interest in him? Me, I played passive because that’s what Uncle Teddy told me to do, but my daddy? He liked to handle things more direct. I don’t mean with violence and bloodshed necessarily, but he wouldn’t have shied away from it. Knowing him, he would’ve found some excuse to head up to Mount Rimepeak and get the lay of the land, learn more about the Puglianos because knowledge is power. Would’ve asked more questions too, squeezed every scrap of information he could out everyone he knew, like Clayton’s people, or the folks in Mueller’s Quay, or even Carter and his ilk. I’m sure they all could’ve shared some nugget of information I could’ve used to my advantage, to either send my own warning to the Mafiosos or at least get eyes and ears on the lookout to get advanced warning of anything the Puglianos were gonna do.
Me though? I got too into the townie mindset and buried my head in the sand, trusting the Sherrif’s Office and the Rangers to handle things for me. Not to disparage anyone in particular, as Sherrif Patel and Uncle Teddy are good, hardworking, competent people, but they got a whole lot on their plate and can’t be devoting all their attention my way. I should’ve put out my own feelers, figured things out for myself, instead of letting myself get blindsided by an attack I should’ve known was coming days in advance. If it wasn’t for Mia Pugliano, I wouldn’t have known anything about it at all, and could easily have been shot in the back while dancing with Josie.
Wouldn’t have happened to my daddy though. He’s the one who taught me to trust, but verify, only I done forgot all about the second part. Got no one to blame for it either, no one except myself, and Josie paid dearly for it.
A burden I’ll have to bear for the rest of my life regardless of what happens next. Which isn’t much. The wake slowly fizzles out as everyone goes back to living their lives, leaving me alone with Noora, Aunty Ray, Tina, and Chrissy, as Elodie bids us all a mournful farewell. She don’t meet my eyes, or come in close for a pat, just waves goodbye while hiding behind her parents before turning to leave. With Old Tux in tow, who seems a little confused to be going while I stay behind, but he don’t make any fuss and seems happier for it. There’s that at least, so I heave a little sigh and gently extract myself from Noora’s grasp. “I gotta go,” I say, and she nods, so uncharacteristically subdued and silent. “I’ll come find you when I can, but until then, you stay with Aunty Ray, alright?”
Again, she nods without asking why, but I suppose she already knows. I didn’t get everyone who showed up to fight last night, and I’m not sure if the Sherrif swept them up after the fact. Doubt those fool kids got the stomach to take a second run at me, but the thing about idiots is they too dumb to predict. That’s why the funeral’s got a heavy Ranger presence, though not why I got a shadow breathing down my neck. No, the deputy watching my every move is here to make sure I don’t skip town or try anything funny, so I present myself to him and say, “You can take me back to jail now.”
Which is where I spent the night, because I done upset some folks with my ‘violent actions’. I don’t sweat it though, not even when the deputy brings me into an interrogation room instead of locking me up in a jail cell. Sitting inside and waiting on my presence is a lineup that gives me déjà vu. Got the Sherrif on the right, the Marshal on the left, and one Judge Samuel McKean sitting front and centre with a dark scowl sprawled across his wrinkled, saggy jowls. Doesn’t offer no condolences or beat around the bush neither, just jumps straight to business as soon as I’m seated. “I see that you have once again waived your constitutional right to a lawyer, as well as your right to be accompanied by a guardian as a minor. Is that still the case?”
The paperwork’s all stacked up neat and tidy in front of him, stuff I signed early this morning when they brung it to me, but rather than point it out, I just shrug and ask, “Have I been charged with a crime?”
“Not yet,” the Judge replies, and I can tell he still on the fence about it. “Though whether that remains true after this conversation is still a matter for debate.”
I shrug a second time. “Then I don’t need a lawyer yet.” Which ain’t entirely true, but I want all this over and done with as quick as possible. Even if they do bring me up on charges, which I don’t believe they will, it’ll be weeks before my case comes before the court, and I’d like to think I’ll have handled the Puglianos by then. After that? Doesn’t really matter what Judge McKean wants to do, because part of me believes I should be punished, and almost hopes that I will be.
Not the same reasons as the Judge. No, I deserve to be punished for failing to keep Josie safe, for failing to protect my future wife and unborn child. Can lock me up and throw away the key for all I care, so long as I get to handle my unfinished business first.
The look in the Judge’s eye says he thinks me a fool for moving forward without a lawyer, but it ain’t his job to convince me otherwise. Uncle Teddy don’t say anything either, though he already urged me to get one. As for the Sherrif, he appears as relaxed and unconcerned as usual, with one bare foot resting on the chair he sitting on and his opposite arm slung over the back, but his fingers drumming away on the wooden table give his mood away. He’s furious, but not at me, which is why he ain’t paying me no mind. No, he’s angry at the punks who dared bring violence and death into his town, one that is still recovering from the aftermath of the Mindspire.
Last night was supposed to be a celebration of victory, on top of so many other things. The first graduating class in school, the first batch of boots to make it through Basic, the very first Frontier Born Ranger recruits earning their badges on stage, among other things like Independence day and what not. Instead of raising all our spirits and getting us back on track, the whole town’s been taken off rails and is still reeling from the aftermath. The Madness was one thing, but last night was a targeted attack, one made by criminals who sent children with weapons in what I gotta imagine was a message of some sort, like we got our own next generation of criminal scum too.
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“I sympathize with your plight,” the Judge begins, studying my vacant expression as I sit across from him, my arms resting on the table and my shoulders slumped in fatigue. “You came under attack and lost someone you hold dear, but you can understand how your actions after the fact were… concerning, to say the least.”
“How so?” I ask. Not because I care, but because he seems to expect it, and after a few seconds of sitting in silence, I figured I’d help move things along.
Don’t think it was the right move though, or not the right words to use, because the Judge stops in his tracks and studies me close with a disgruntled frown. After an even longer pause which I’m content to let hang, the Judge reaches for the Major Illusion Artifact sitting off to the side and slides it over front and centre. The Marshal frowns, but he don’t speak up as the Judge starts the video of last night’s events caught by the bakery’s security camera. The grainy, monochrome feed makes the images move like molasses, and it takes me a moment to figure out what I’m looking at. Blue Spikes sitting on his ass in the middle of the street, where he done slipped and fell while I was chasing him. He got his gun raised and pointed at me while I’m standing off screen, and the muzzle flashes rapid quick as he unloads all ten rounds from his Maoser. A boxy, semi-automatic that can put plenty of Bolts downrange quick as a blink, but is sorely lacking in power, range, and precision among many other things. That’s how I’m able to walk headlong into the barrage and emerge unscathed, because the Mao He Pao can’t punch through my Warding Wind, and even if it could wouldn’t have enough power to do more than graze flesh.
Which the blue-spiked bastard learns first-hand in the heat of the moment, and loses all nerve once his gun clicks empty. In the video, he tosses the gun away, then scampers back away from my approach, a slow and steady step and drag as I chase him down with a wounded leg. A lucky graze on the knee from a different shooter, but it ain’t enough to stop me. The angle don’t show my face all that well, only my side profile as I stomp on the leg of Josie’s killer and put a stop to his scampering. He screams and raises both hands in front of him, a mixture of surrender and self defense, as if he thinks his hands are enough to stop the hatchet in my hand. A Conjured Weapon dripping with the blood and brain matter of several of his friends, it ain’t my weapon of choice, but it’s the only weapon I got. Ain’t worth picking up no Maoser, not when I gotta worry about collateral damage, which is bad enough with my Warding Wind flinging Bolts out and about in all directions, so I’d hate to add more Bolts flying in the other direction too.
I remember the kid’s face, which kicked off the violence all twisted in rage, but in the Video, it’s all teary and terrified as can be. Boy done messed with the bull, and was about to get the horns, except he thinks he could say sorry, plead for mercy, and that’ll be enough to spare his life. No, please, don’t, I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to, all stuff we probably would’ve heard him say if the recording captured any Audio. Instead, we watch him lay there with hands raised in futile defense and look away as I bring the hatchet down and bury it in flesh. First hit bites deep into his bicep, and I can almost hear his scream, while a backhand strike takes out his other arm. He tries to sit up, but I shove my boot into his chest and drive him into the ground, squeezing all the air out of his lungs. There he lays, all flat on the cobblestone as I stand with one foot planted atop him. Blood still dripping from the hatchet, I point it at his face and lean over to say something, words I’ll never admit out loud, but in the moment, meant with every fibre of my being.
“You gonna die like your daddy did,” I said, and the look on the kid’s face will haunt me for the rest of my years. Fear, rage, and regret, but more than anything, despair. “Scared, crying, and full of regret for having ever crossed me.”
Then I raise the hatchet, and bring the flat end down atop the crown of his head. Not hard enough to break his skull, just ring his bell and disorient him enough so I can kneel on his throat and run the blade across his forehead. Ain’t a neat or tidy thing, scalping a living man, especially when all I got is the one hand, but he got no strength in him anymore, no breath to resist, not with his lacerated arms and the full weight of my body resting atop his bruised or possibly even broken ribcage. He tries all the same, pushes and pulls with his one good arm while wiggling all about, but I run the razor-sharp edge of my Conjured Hatchet across the top of his head. With my Mage Hands to help, I tear away a full patch of skin complete with all them neat rows of blue, conical spikes, which I promptly toss aside, because it ain’t about the trophy. It’s about the message, which is why I stand and watch the kid scream and writhe in pain and regret for long seconds before finally putting him out of his misery.
Make no mistake. I derived no satisfaction from the act, nor is it something I’ve done before. I’ve taken scalps, sure, but only off of corpses, because sometimes, it ain’t enough to just kill a man. There plenty of folks who risk life and limb every day out in the Frontier, whether they be outlaws, thugs, hunters, mercs, guards, or anything else I might’ve missed. Death ain’t a stranger to those folks, and hardly much of a deterrent, so you gotta up the stakes so they’ll sit up and take notice. That kid there though? He killed my Josie, so I gotta bring the pain, strike fear into the next fool who’ll think twice before taking a run at me and mine.
I get why the Judge is concerned though. Don’t shy away when he pauses the video on the frame of me coming away with the bloody scalp, just meet his eyes with a complete and utter lack of concern. Don’t say nothing either, but the Judge catches onto my meaning well enough.
So what?
“You don’t think this a cause for concern?” The Judge asks. “Say for example that wasn’t you in that video who just scalped a boy in the streets. That it was some other young man, one trained by soldiers and capable of unleashing Spells of widescale slaughter who just went on a rampage designed to inflict maximum suffering on his assailants. You wouldn’t look at this and think, ‘I don’t want this boy living anywhere near me’?”
“Depends on the circumstances,” I reply. “If all else is the same? Then I get it.” Adding another shrug for effect, I ask, “That what this about? Exile? If it ain’t about criminal charges, then I can’t be bothered to care, so why don’t we move on?”
“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” the Marshal snaps, and his rage is clear to everyone in the room. The Judge and Sherrif glance at him sideways, but I meet the man’s slate grey eyes same as I met the Judge’s. Hurts to see how much pain and anguish he hiding behind them, but as much as I feel for him, I’m struggling not to turn my anger against him, because that wouldn’t be fair. “Being Exiled means more than getting kicked out of town and losing your property here in New Hope,” he says, picking up a head of steam as he goes. “Your weapons and Spell permits will all be revoked and none will ever be issued to you again, so you’ll be arrested if ever found even touching a weapon inside secured Federal borders. You’ll need to apply for a visa to pass through the gates, and never be allowed to stay within the walls beyond 5 pm, not even when the Watershed hits. You’ll lose your status as a Freeholding landowner, with the government seizing the house your daddy built and automatically rejecting any attempt to register a homestead within claimed Federal territory after the fact. You can work the land and live wherever you please, but the Federal government won’t recognize your right of ownership once things settle down, nor will you be offered any Federal assistance while living there.”
“Far as I can tell, folks don’t get much of that regardless,” I say, and even as the words slip out, I wish I could take them back. The Marshal is a good man who’s trying his best to do everything right. Only reason he’s falling short is because there’s only one of him, and even then, what he’s already accomplished is nothing short of a miracle.
I don’t say that though. I just go silent and weather the storm as the Marshal struggles to rein himself in. No, not the Marshal, not right in this moment, as that’s Uncle Teddy sitting across from me, a man who sees me as family and don’t want me to lose everything me and my daddy done worked for. He don’t say anything else though, just falls silent because he knows there’s no point hashing it out. I done already said I don’t care about Exile, and even if I did, it wouldn’t change the facts. So we sit there and stew until the Judge is ready to get back on track again.
“Even if we were to put aside the… extenuating circumstances surrounding this particular boy,” the Judge says, looking grey around the gills as he turns the video off, “You killed seven other young men last night, some possibly as young as twelve. All in a brutal and grisly manner, with many eyewitnesses who believed you to be the aggressor, even though the video shows this to be untrue.”
“Didn’t kill anyone that didn’t shoot at me,” I say, because that there is the truth. Killed a few who were done shooting, but only because they ran outta ammo and were fumbling with their magazines. “They came ready to kill, so you can’t expect me to pull no punches, not when all I brung was a hatchet to a gun fight.”
“But you didn’t kill them with only your hatchet,” the Judge retorts. “You used Spells too. The Sherrif took your blood and ran it after the fact, showing you have a plethora of non-lethal options available to you. Shocking Grasp for one. Bolts directed at non-lethal areas, or Spells Metamagicked with Mercy, yet you never once sought to use them.”
Rather than dignify his idiotic question with an immediate answer, I look to the Marshal and the Sherrif. “Either one of you care to weigh in?” They don’t say anything, but I don’t really give them much of a chance to as I turn to the Judge and say, “Even Rangers and deputies ain’t expected to resort to non-lethal options once blood is spilled, so why should I be held to a higher standard?”
“Because the world expects more from you, young man.” Shaking his head, the Judge purses his lips and continues, “That is the burden you bear as the Firstborn of the Frontier. That said, the fact that you acted largely in self defense is why I have yet ask Sherrif Patel to bring you up on charges.” Which is a laugh, because he acting like he’s offering up a concession when he just following the rule of law. “I had high hopes for you, especially after hearing of all your exploits these last few weeks, on top of how quickly you finished all 480 hours of hard labour.” Work I should’ve put off to spend more time with Josie, but fool that I was, I thought we’d have all the time in the world. “I believe many held out similar hopes for you, but your actions last night might well have brought ruin down upon you.”
The Judge got plenty more to say, a bunch of high-minded nonsense about the rule of law and how justice and vengeance are not the same thing, but it all goes in one ear and out the other. Don’t care what expectations he has, because it ain’t got nothing to do with me. I make no effort to hide my indifference either, which frustrates him to no end as he leans back in his seat and mops the sweat off his brow. “The last time we spoke,” the Judge begins, looking all tired and defeated even though I’m the one here in the hot-seat, “We spoke of Nietzsche and slippery slopes, and I find it more relevant now than ever. You stand on the precipice young man, and I fear you all too ready to dive headlong off of it, all in some misguided desire for vengeance and retribution. I hoped to reason with you, but now I implore you. I empathize with what you are going through, understand how much pain you are feeling, but even then, I ask you to not do anything rash and remain on your best behaviour.” Heaving a sigh, he looks me in the eyes and says, “I cannot stand in the way of the will of the people. Should they ratify a motion and pass a vote to have you Exiled, then you and the Federation will have both lost out.”
Which is a quick about face that I wasn’t prepared for, because I thought the Judge wasn’t a big fan. Now it sounds like he doesn’t want me Exiled, and I don’t really see why. Suppose he’s still holding out hope that I’ll enlist and be the Federation’s poster child for the Frontier Born, but that ship’s long since set sail and left us far behind. Fact is, I can’t rightly bring myself to care about Exile either. For awhile, it was nice to be back in New Hope for good, but then all the non-essentials came back to roost, and I can’t find much reason to like the place anymore. Even before losing Josie, I was thinking of moving out to a homestead, and Federal registration ain’t worth shit, so what difference does Exile make?
His piece said, the Judge sits and waits for an answer, then heaves another sigh when it’s clear I got nothing to say. That’s all there is to this, and he shuffles off after some legalese about watching my step, leaving me, the Marshal, and the Sherrif behind. “You would do well to listen to his advice,” the Sherrif says, pushing his chair back and making as if to leave, but I motion for him to stay because I still have questions for him. “He spoke only the truth when he said he understands what you are going through.”
I tilt my head in question, but the Sherrif shakes his head, because he doesn’t feel like it’s his place to explain. The Marshal chimes in here, because even though he probably feels the same way, he’s hoping the facts will lend more weight to the Judge’s advice. “Samuel McKean has been a circuit court judge for thirteen years now,” Uncle Teddy says, giving me a look that says I best be listening with both ears. “About ten years ago, he presided over a case where he sentenced one Burton Davenport to death for murder. Was open and shut, with no doubt in anyone’s mind that they’d caught their killer. Burton was a career criminal however, a member of a close-knit outlaw gang that had been together since the Advent. In an effort to secure his release, his gang kidnapped Judge McKean’s wife and daughter and held them ransom. Although the Federal Government eventually acquiesced, the criminals didn’t hold up their end of the bargain and killed their hostages.”
Which is heartbreaking to hear, or would be if mine wasn’t already broken. The Marshal seems to expect me to weigh in however, so I play along and ask, “What happened next?”
The Marshal doesn’t answer right away, just studies me for a long minute before responding. “Someone put out a private bounty on the criminals. Cash for proof of death, and lots of it, enough to turn more than a few heads. So much so it attracted the wrong kind of attention, including certain criminal elements unrelated to Burton and his outlaw gang. Some say it was the Chechens, while the Serbians also claimed credit, but I’ve also heard whispers of the Sumer Natufians and Mexican Cartels claiming credit for the hit. All we really know for sure is that someone left a trail of bodies behind them while tracking down their quarry. Every time the trail went cold, the trackers resorted to torture and intimidation to elicit information from innocent bystanders, most of whom had nothing to do with Burton or his crew except to have the misfortune of having crossed paths.”
So the Judge put out a hit on the bandits who killed his wife, and ended up causing more collateral damage than expected. Rookie mistake putting out an open contract, because then you got no control over the process. No, you hire private, find someone you can trust, which ought to be easy for a Judge who got plenty of chances to rub elbows with Sheriffs, Rangers, and bounty hunters alike. Man fucked up, so the rest of us don’t even get to try? Nah. Forget that.
Already, I can tell that the Marshal knows what I’m thinking and ain’t impressed one bit. “I know,” he says with a shake of his head. “You think you can do better, that you’d never make the same silly mistakes, but you’re dead wrong Howie. Everyone makes mistakes. It’s human nature. Maybe not this time, or even the next, but you keep walking down by the river, then sooner or later your boots will get wet.”
Another idiom my daddy used every now and then, one that pretty much means shit happens. There are risks in life, and almost everything you do can be boiled down to a roll of the die. Sure, the chances of something going wrong could be infinitesimally small because of all your practice, experience, and the preparations you’ve made, but it’s never zero.
“Okay,” I say, nodding along and ready to play nice. “Understood. We do this by the book.” Glancing at the Sherrif, I ask, “You find the girl?”
He shakes his head, and even though I know it ain’t his fault, I can’t help but growl to see it. “No record of a Mia Pugliano going in or out of the gates,” the Sherrif begins, and presses onwards before I can interrupt. “None of the guards report seeing a girl matching your description either, though I spoke with others who were at the dance and could corroborate that you indeed had a conversation with her.”
But not what we spoke about. Not that he thinks I’m lying or anything, but if I’m the only one who can testify as to what was said, then it’s hearsay and can’t be used to obtain a warrant to act against the Pugliano Family. What a night to go without guns or my bull’s head medallion, a mistake I won’t make a second time. “Okay,” I say, wondering if there’s even a point in using Locate Object to try and track her jewellery now. If she was smart, it’d all be stuffed in a lead lined box by now or at the bottom of the lake. Could even be in the hold of a ship bound for the west coast to send me off on a wild goose chase. Still, I might as well give it a shot, so I ask if the Sherrif’s got time to wait for me to go and get my gear so I can do the Ritual.
To which he gives me a sad look, one I ain’t seen from him before, only to glance away at the floor and very obviously away from the Marshal. Me, I got no qualms about facing him head on, because I want answers and don’t understand why they ain’t as gung-ho about this as I am. They should be chomping at the bit to go after the Mafia, but they acting like I’m being unreasonable here.
And as I watch the Marshal’s shoulders slump ever so slightly in the face of my unspoken query, I realize why. “Tell me the reason,” I say, more demand than question, because I got a right to know. “What excuse did High Command give to make you rein it in?”
The Marshal winces to see the rage in my eyes and hear the heat in my tone. Ain’t fair to him, not really, because he ain’t at fault here, but I got nowhere else to direct my ire. “Officially,” he begins, choking on the word like a bitter pill, “The captured assailants have no outward ties to the Pugliano Family. They’re all young first-time offenders with no records to speak of, and most refuse to even give a name, much less a home town.”
“The blue-spiked Innate,” I say, and again, the Marshal winces at the reminder of what I done. I ain’t ashamed though, because that’s how you deal with unrepentant criminal scum like the Puglianos. “There’s your tie. His daddy was mobbed up. Joseph… something or the other. Sicilian. Nickname was Cold Cuts, I remember that much. Spotted him with Mikey D’ippolito when he shook down Carter for protection fees.”
“I looked into that too,” the Sherrif interjects, back to his regular stony demeanour. “And I have heard back from trusted sources that the Mafia believes you killed this Joseph ‘Cold Cuts’ Morelli, alongside two more of their men some time in early May.”
There’s no question or accusation there, not in his tone or his gaze, but I figure there ain’t no sense hiding it either way. “If I did, and I ain’t sayin’ I did,” I reply, meeting the Sherrif’s gaze without blinking, “I probably had good reason. Like maybe he was sent to capture me so the Mafia could question me about what went down in Pleasant Dunes. Maybe they fired the first shot without warning, but being an ambush, I didn’t catch it on recording, and I did get on crystal looked ambiguous at best, which would explain my hypothetical reluctance to play ball.”
Could’ve made a case that I done gunned down two men before questioning Joey and killing him after the fact, because that’s exactly what the recording looks like. Not saying anything would’ve come of it, but I didn’t want to deal with it then and don’t care to get into it now. So I don’t say any more, or give an exact date, because doing so would implicate Carter in my lie. Already put his daughter’s life in danger, so I owe him this much at least, even if the Marshal and Sherrif are both less than pleased. “You are making it very difficult to trust you,” the Marshal says, rubbing his eyes and looking more tired than I ever seen him before. “I’ve got half a mind to keep you locked up in here, if only for your own protection.”
That’d be the time to call for a lawyer then, because ain’t no chance I’m gonna sit this out. I haven’t forgotten my anger yet either, so I meet the Marshal’s eyes and say, “I want the real reason, not the official line. Why aren’t we going after the Pugliano Family for this? We all know they responsible. Can’t prove it, but we don’t need proof to look at them more closely.” And hopefully find a legitimate reason to hit them fast and hard, which is what we should’ve done weeks ago when I gunned down 4 of their people in the Sherrif’s office. Could argue the Rangers should’ve done something even earlier, like years ago when it was clear the Puglianos were running things up in Mount Rimepeak, but that ain’t for me to say.
As for the Marshal? He don’t got no excuses, and looks mighty ashamed to admit as much. “Construction of the three new settlements south of Redeemer’s Keep is falling far behind schedule,” he says, with little to no conviction in his tone, only a dry statement of fact. “Not only did the Mindspire slow down production and transportation, it also pulled Ranger patrols away from the southern front, which has been inundated by professionally trained outlaws.” Or rather Qin Vanguard posing as outlaws, so they can steal Federal goods and bring them back to the Republic’s bastion by the Knife’s Edge Mountains. No one’s got the guts to come out and say it though, because the Qin will kick up a fuss and threaten to send word back to the ‘Fatherland’ once communications open up and get any offending nations blacklisted from the second wave. The Qin got a whole lot of leverage seeing how the Gate connecting the Frontier and the old world sits deep within their territory, but seeing how they’ve have 20 years to prepare for this, I would hope the old world nations joined hands to kick the everlasting shit out the Qin by now.
Not because I think the Gate would be better of in someone else’s control. Well, it probably would, but things could also be worse. Either way, I just want someone to knock the Qin off their high horse so we can take off the kid’s gloves and give those ‘outlaws’ what for.
My hatred for my daddy’s people is burning hot as ever, but right this minute, the Feds are neck in neck with the Qin for government I hate the most. “So lemme get this straight,” I begin, doing everything in my power not to make this personal and blame the Marshal himself, even though it really do feel like it’s his fault. “The Pugliano Family sends a bunch of armed hitters into New Hope who kill Josie and injure several more. We can’t prove it was them, but you know it was, except you ain’t gonna go after them because… what? We can’t risk interrupting the supply of stone and metals coming out of Mount Rimepeak?” No one answers as I look from the Marshal to the Sherrif and back again. “That how it is? Because that’s what it sounds like you just said, only I ain’t entirely sure.”
“Howie,” the Marshal begins, before deciding better and dropping the mantel to become Uncle Teddy again. “I know you’re hurting and angry, and Lord knows it hurts me to have to do this, but I cannot sanction a retaliatory strike, and any attempt to open an investigation on the Puglianos will be shut down before the ink is dry. If we had more to go on, ironclad evidence, not your word of a conversation, then I would fight this tooth and nail. You know I would, but it’s a thin line to begin with even if we had the girl in custody, much less without her.”
“So you gonna do nothing?” I ask, and this time, I don’t care that it hurts him. Turning to the Sherrif, I ask, “How about you? You sittin’ on your hands too?”
The Sherrif bows his head in shame and heaves a sigh. “I am the Sherrif of New Hope,” he says, and that’s all he’s gotta say, because he got no power to do anything over in Mount Rimepeak. They got their own Sherrifs there, ones no doubt on the Pugliano payroll, so asking them to cooperate would be no different from pissing in the wind. All he can do is catch the kids who got away and charge them with a crime, and everything else is out of his hands.
I try to be understanding, to accept that good men that they are, there are limits to what they can do, but it’s hard to let this one go. Josie’s dead and gone, and ain’t no one doing shit about it, so I can’t help but take that as a personal betrayal. Not just by the Rangers, or the Feds, or the Sherrif’s Office, but from Uncle Teddy too, because he’s the one who told me to stand down and let him handle the Mafia. I said this would happen, that they’d come after me for what I done, but he told me the Rangers would be ready and waiting. That’s what he said, in those exact words, which is why I was willing to stand down, but now they caught him slipping and he won’t do nothing about it.
Because the Blue Bulwark comes first. Always has.
This right here is the straw that breaks the camel’s back. All these years, I’ve been making excuses for the Marshal and the Rangers. Sure they disavowed my daddy, but it was just politics, and it’s true he wasn’t no American citizen. Yeah, Wayne’s been on my ass about that dead merchant and is probably bent as a horseshoe, but that’s just one guy. Okay, they let me down in Pleasant Dunes, but I let Marcus down too, so might as well call it a wash.
This though? This I cannot forgive. Josie was my future, my bride to be who was carrying our child. The Puglianos killed her, so the Puglianos gotta die, no two ways about it. I thought the Marshal would be on board with this, or at least Uncle Teddy would be behind me every step of the way, and it pains me to learn I was oh so very wrong.
I don’t say nothing though, just look at him from across the table and feel all my pride and admiration drain away as I fixate on the five-pointed star pinned to his chest. Yeah, Uncle Teddy’s still a good man, but it don’t got nothing to do with him being the Marshal or a Ranger. Not anymore. Those two things have become forever distinct, with no link in between. Never again will I see a Ranger badge and automatically see one of the good guys, because now they been relegated to a case-by-case basis same as any Sherrif or deputy of the land. Suits me just fine though, because now I can stop being so bitter about not being one of them anymore, since being a Ranger don’t mean shit anymore.
“Okay,” I say, and Uncle Teddy hears the lie before I even say it. “That’s the end of this then.”
I stand in my seat, and only stop when Uncle Teddy leans across the table to grab my wrist. “Don’t do anything stupid,” he says, even though he knows it’s futile. “Think about it. If this hit was sanctioned by Ignazio Pugliano, even unofficially, why would he send children after you when he’s already seen what you can do? This Mia Pugliano? She’s playing a game, or was sent here to bait you into reacting, and you’re playing right into their hands if you run off half-cocked and ready to kill.” He sees it in my eyes, my posture, my stance and demeanour, because I ain’t walking away in defeat. No, I’m leaving this room with a plan, or the beginnings of one, and a determination to see things through until the very end. He get’s it, so he tries a different tack, as his tone goes soft and whisper quiet as he says, “If you do this, they’ll send me to stop you, and I will have no choice but to bring you in to stand trial.”
“What’s the alternative then?” I ask, meeting his eyes without heat or emotion. “What would you have me do? Sit here and wait for the Rangers to find reason to go after the Puglianos? You can’t even promise me that. How long have they been in control of Mount Rimepeak? Seven, eight years? When you gonna do something about that?” The lack of answer is all I need, because the Marshal accepts the status quo as just how things gotta be. He knows the system ain’t perfect, but it’s what works, except from my point of view, it don’t look like it works at all.
So what’s a man to do when the government fails him?
Same thing we’ve always done. Take matters into our own hands
“You do whatever it is you gotta do,” I say, pulling my arm free to adjust the collar of my shirt, only to get hit by a torrent of grief when I realize Josie ain’t ever gonna do that for me again, or grab my tie and pull me close for a kiss. Nor do I think I’ll ever be sitting down to a lesson with Uncle Teddy ever again, because this here is a line in the sand which I done drawn and crossed in one breath. “Me? I’ll do the same.”
And with that, I stalk out of the Sherrif’s Office and make ready to wage a one-man war. Ain’t my war, or even one I want, but the Puglianos fired the first shot, and I’ll happily fire back until there ain’t no one to shoot at anymore.
