Red Star Sheriff

  RED STAR SHERIFF

  VOLUME I

  TIMOTHY S PURVIS

  Red Star Sheriff Volume I by Timothy S Purvis

  Published by Timothy S Purvis Dayton OH

  © 2020 CE Timothy S Purvis

  All rights reserved. No portion of this book may be reproduced in any form without permission from the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permissions contact:

  www.timothyspurvis@gmail.com

  Cover royalty free backdrops with edits by Timothy S Purvis.

  ISBN: 9798606392438

  Dedicated to my wife, Jennifer, who has stood by my side even at my most insane and aggravating. Thank you for your patience, love.

  CHAPTER INDEX

  ACT ONE 5

  CHAPTER ONE: REVENGE 6

  CHAPTER TWO: HOMECOMING 24

  CHAPTER THREE: GOOD FOR NOTHIN’ 72

  CHAPTER FOUR: GUNNIN’ FER TROUBLE 89

  CHAPTER FIVE: THE HARD TRUTH 117

  CHAPTER SIX: INTA THE SPINE 134

  CHAPTER SEVEN: DUSTLANDS BOUND 152

  ACT TWO 180

  CHAPTER EIGHT: BITTER MEDICINE 181

  CHAPTER NINE: MILLIN’ ABOUT 207

  CHAPTER TEN: STATE OF AFFAIRS 225

  CHAPTER ELEVEN: REST FER A SPELL 244

  CHAPTER TWELVE: CAME A CALLIN’ 272

  CHAPTER THIRTEEN: SHOWDOWN 306

  ACT THREE 320

  CHAPTER FOURTEEN: MEETING OF THE MINDS 321

  CHAPTER FIFTEEN: WHAT GOES AROUND, COMES AROUND 347

  CHAPTER SIXTEEN: RED STAR SHERIFF 360

  CHAPTER SEVENTEEN: THE QUICK AND THE DEAD 383

  CHAPTER EIGHTEEN: THE CALM BEFORE THE STORM 405

  CHAPTER NINETEEN: THE STORM 430

  CHAPTER TWENTY: PICKIN’ UP THE PIECES 478

  EPILOGUE: WHAT WAS LEFT UNSAID 489

  AUTHOR BIO 509

  ACT ONE

  CHAPTER ONE: REVENGE

  THE HAND AROUND her neck pressed her face harder into the filth encrusted wall of brick and mud. She tried to stifle the sob threatening to wrack her body as a calloused hand crawled up her thigh, sliding her frilled satin dress upwards to her waist. Her eyes clenched tighter and the sobbing broke through.

  Oh, please don’t rip my dress! Whatever you do to me, don’t damage it! It’s all I got left of my momma!

  A foul breath, thick with garlic and whiskey, caressed her right cheek as a grizzled face drew close to her ears. “Now quit yer whimperin’. You’n ah both know how much yer gonna enjoy this!”

  His hand reached up, grabbed her undergarments, and yanked so hard the rip echoed wall to wall for several heart wrenching seconds. A hungry chuckle rolled out and he slowly rubbed the front of his pants against her buttocks. The enlarging bulge set her on a path to screaming. Before she could let it loose, though, hot liquid splattered across her face dousing her hair in the process. A gurgled plea fell forth as his grip gave and his body hit the ground with a dull, thick thud.

  Lilybell opened her eyes and spun around, her blonde, blood-soaked locks clung to her face like a wet, terrified cat. Her bonnet slid down her neck and hung by its ties, hands whipped to her chest. Her attacker lay on his back, throat slit, body convulsing, chest sucking in its final breaths. His last, rasping protests ceased.

  Her heart was pounding, but a strange sense of satisfaction brought on a vicious grin as she watched his death knell. All of his kind disgusted her, and it was the least that he deserved. That grizzled tanned visage, his shit covered shirt, his twitching, ochre boots—all of it—reviled her. Even that mass of chestnut hair flickering in the sandy breeze.

  Lilybell forced herself to look away from the quivering mass and towards her brave savior, only to find a woman not even quite as tall as herself. Brick red skin, flowing raven black hair hanging wildly from beneath a dirty crimson red brimmed hat, a calf length leather duster (equally dirty, equally red) billowed out behind her. And, in the woman’s right hand, an impossibly large serrated knife dripping with the assailant’s blood. The Woman-In-Red held the blade outward. Not quite horizontal, but in a manner that suggested if the bastard tried to get back up, it was going to be driven deep into his gullet and twisted.

  There was a shallow shadow cast across the Woman-In-Red’s brow line. Focused, narrowed eyes (fierce and onyx), stared hard at the body and studied the rest of the alley. Cracked lips and hard, vertical lines belied her young visage. A tingle ran up Lilybell’s spine, and she opened her mouth to say something, anything, when gruff voices, jesting and braying, came sauntering down the alleyway head.

  “Hey, Gil, how long ya gonna take ta—Oh shit!”

  The two men reached for their guns.

  Well, Lilybell let a sigh slip loose, it was nice while it lasted…

  However, in the time it took her to form a cross over her chest, and those men’s weapons to come to bear, the Woman-In-Red had dropped her heavy blade (which fell straight down to pierce the groin of the dead man—he didn’t seem to mind. He wasn’t using them anymore, anyway), pulled both of her enormous revolvers, and fired two shots that tore through those men like they were wet paper. Oh! Lilybell leapt back a step seeing a bright light and being rattled by the fiercest explosion she’d ever heard a gun make. The smell of copper and electricity filled the air.

  One outlaw’s head erupted in a fountain of blood and gore. What was left of his shredded body flopped onto the ground in a wet, slurpy splat. The second man took a blast to the chest and received a similar fate. The only difference being, his bloody mass went careening into the wall behind him, giving a fresh painting of viscera and brain matter. His arms, meanwhile, made an effort of escape back down the alley. They didn’t get very far.

  “Maybe too much…” the Woman-In-Red muttered, and thumbed what looked to Lilybell like two small flat discs on the inner pistol grips of those lethal widow-makers.

  Oh dear! Oh dear! Lilybell fanned herself with her hand. Yet, she couldn’t tear her eyes away from the bits of shredded meat, the pools of blood covering just about everything, the organs snaking across the dirty, dusty ground, rolling around in the muck like dropped sausage at the county fair—the sheer gore of the scene, the violence… Something clicked in her head. A glimmer of some new emotion she never knew she could feel. Her head grew light, her vision drew far away. A pulsing sensation said, ‘None of this is real’. But, there she stood, in the middle of a truth she was only now coming to understand. This… is what Justice looks like. The sort of justice that these cowards fear…

  A smile crept across her lips and her eyes widened at the thought of it all. She looked to the Woman-In-Red, parted her lips to thank her, sing her praises, hail the Gods in the stars for delivering this bastion of ‘Justice’ to her. Instead, the Woman-In-Red grabbed Lilybell by the shoulder and shoved her towards a flight of stairs that, somewhere in the back of Lilybell’s mind, she knew led into the backroom of the general store. Her feet had trouble finding purchase as she was forced up the stairs, her mind reeling. Her words failing.

  “You, git on up in there, an’ don’ come out ‘til the shootin’s done stopped!” the Woman-In-Red railed in her ear.

  ‘Thank you! Thank you! Thank you, Goddess of Vengeance! You saved my life! Punished the wicked! Brought back true law to this town who’s forgotten what that is’, were all words she hoped to say, but all that came out was heavy, grunting breaths as she was pushed forward. She raced to the top of the stairs, free of the Woman-In-Red’s grip. Once at the top, she looked back towards the alley, seeing the total scene of the aftermath in all its vicious glory.

  And there was the Woman-In-Red.

  She was no longer looking at Lilybell, but rather checking her rounds, spinning their chambers along her th
ighs, and then racing towards the main street where the dead man’s friends had come clomping towards them, expecting an easy time, and finding only oblivion instead. Justice! The Woman-In-Red’s duster trailed behind her, beating out a funeral dirge for those unlucky or stupid enough to be caught in her crosshairs.

  Godsspeed, my lady! Godsspeed! Lilybell smiled and waved. Then the explosive force of the Woman-In-Red’s harbingers of death started back up, and Lilybell fled inside.

  AIDELE HELD HER weapons out at arm’s length. Each weighed no more than five pounds, yet both could deliver a shot with the force of a cannonball fired at the speed of light. Red tubes ran the silver barrels from tip to hilt. Every time she pulled the trigger, they glowed like soldered steel. She called them her ‘Irons’, though their construction was of a considerably rarer element. They were as long as her forearm and half as thick. Yet the built-in kinetic regulators allowed her to wield them as if they were little more than water pistols. Those cold ferrymen were mementos of him.

  Their creator.

  And it was because of him she had come to Rented City.

  It was because of her father’s death that thirty bastards had to die.

  The wind kicked in hard as she exited the alleyway. Dust blew down the dirty street while two men saw her and took cover by water barrels outside of the jailhouse. Aidele thumbed the discs on her Irons halfway and fired. The revolvers made a satisfying hum just before they discharged their specialized rounds. The barrel in front of one man exploded into a cloud of water, wood, and blood, sending him flying backwards into the building wall and through the jailhouse window, his torso shredded flesh.

  More shots rang out as the other man peeked out of cover to open up on her position. She leapt to her left and into the cover of a trough. Bullets buried deep, the water inside streamed out tiny holes. Aidele popped back up and returned fire. Another barrel destroyed. Another bloody mess.

  She thumbed the inner discs back a quarter and looked around the streets. She knew there were more out there. Could hear some of them yelling to one another. They were coming and coming fast. She needed better cover or this little quest of hers was going to come to a sudden and painful end.

  Tally time, girl. She saw a stairwell outside of a tailor shop and rushed towards it. Took out those two lookouts enterin’ town. That fuck tryin’ ta have his way wit’ dat girl. His two friends… and these losses. Okay. Seven down, twenty-three ta go. Includin’ the big boss hisself, Kern fucking Michaels. Ah’m comin’ fer ya, ya sumabitch!

  She hit the top of the stairwell and found a throughway to an open balcony. Beyond was an alleyway to her right. On the left, doors to a series of apartments. She knelt down by the balcony rail. A crossbeam nearby connected across the alley to another building. It would be a narrow walk, but was as good a way as any.

  Aidele furrowed her brow and ran a hand across her forehead. She clenched her eyes and sighed deeply. Footsteps echoed loudly in the crunching dirt. She opened her eyes and grabbed the Iron resting on her thigh. Two men walked slowly into view, their guns at the ready. She raised her Iron and aimed, firing twice. Both headshots. Nine.

  Getting to her feet, Aidele mounted the crossbeam and balanced her way across. As she reached her destination, more yelling rang out convincing her to duck down once more. Three more men ran into the alley. They stopped at the still twitching corpses of their former colleagues.

  “Aw balls, Lou! What we gonna do?” the man questioned and gripped his hair with a free hand staring down at the headless bodies.

  “Ah tells ya what we should do, fuck this! High tail it outta town! Make fer the hills!”

  “You stow that talk, Merus! Jus’ one little gal with a burr up her ass! There’s more’n enough o’us left ta put her down!”

  Merus walked in a tight circle around the two dead men. His hands waved animatedly, his eyes narrowed and spit flew from his mouth.

  “Look around ya, Lou! Two more dead, an’ ah hear more’s out the other side o’town! Hell, ah heard someone done went and did in the sentries! And those were the John boys! Anyone jus’ come in’n take them down, ah don’ wanna mess with! Ain’ that right, Elson!?”

  “Ah don’ know, Merus. But… shit! Maybe we should git outta town, Lou?”

  “Both ya two knock that shit off!” Lou pointed his gun at the dead men. “Now, we’re gonna find that little bitch’n we’re gonna—”

  Aidele rolled her eyes. She popped up, brought both her Irons forward, and unloaded on all three. Elson flew back into a pile of garbage and Lou’s head erupted. Merus took two shots to his shoulder before ducking beneath a painter’s scaffold.

  “Elson!” Merus cried out watching the young man gurgle his last breath and go still.

  He fired blindly up at Aidele forcing her back into cover.

  “She’s up in the ole whore house!” Merus shouted at the top of his lungs and heard half a dozen angry responses.

  Aidele cursed under her breath. Looking around, she knew she had little time. To the left and right were windows. Behind her, a corridor ran into the building. She ran through the upper entrance and down the hallway passing four doors. As she neared a stairwell at the far end, three men came thundering up. She aimed her Irons, dropping back a doorway and opened fire on the men as they lumbered into the hall. She dropped two of them while the last took cover behind a wall and fired around the corner.

  She growled and pushed into a room with her left shoulder slamming the door shut behind her. Beside her was a bookcase that looked made of solid oak and full of books. Putting all her might into it, she pushed the whole unit over until it crashed in front of the doorway. It wouldn’t hold the men out indefinitely but she was certain it would be just long enough. There was a window and she prayed it opened out to another building.

  Whimpering came from a walk-in closet as Aidele passed and she stopped to see two women sitting on the floor holding one another. They looked at her and their grips tightened. Thumping came from behind and Aidele looked back to see dust being pounded off the blocked door as Kern’s men shouted and cursed trying to burst inward. She turned to the two women and held up a hand.

  “You ladies stay put now. No matter what ya hear, don’ leave this closet.”

  They nodded just as fast as their heads could manage as Aidele headed towards the window. She saw a short jump to a single-story roof and leapt out to run across. Getting to the edge, she leapt over to a stairwell. Three men ran below looking up as she made the jump.

  “She’s headed into the saloon! She’s headed—” His head blew off as she fired and aimed for the others. One man fired back lodging his shots into the wood of the stairs she crouched upon. Aidele blasted his rear shoulder as he fled. He tried to stand back up from his sprawl, but two more shots into his back put him down for good. The last man managed to escape. A grumble escaped her lips as she pushed up and rushed into the saloon hearing the voices of angry men closing in.

  MATTHEW KYLE RACED into the bank yelling at the top of his lungs in a panic that Kern Michaels just didn’t care for. They might be considered outlaws, but there was a certain decorum one exhibited when expressing one’s fears. Matthew failed in every account of his expectations.

  “She’s here, Kern! She’s here! The boys done saw her, that bitch from Dreary! An’ she’s pickin’ us off one by one! Ah jus’ barely got away with mah life!”

  Kern turned from the counter where he and his crew were loading up bags of coin and minerals. He braced his hands on his hips and screwed up his face, his thick mustache accentuating a menacing snarl. There were strands of grey in that mustache and the stubble lining his grizzled jaw. The weight of decades was in his eyes as he stared at the young man wilting under his gaze. No, Matt wasn’t living up to his expectations at all.

  “Whatchou hollerin’ ‘bout?”

  “Ain’ ya heard it, Ker… Mr. Michaels!? That Wilson girl’s tearin’ through our crew! Gunfire ever’where! An’ ain’ nobody ken git a bead on her neither!
”

  “Wilson…” he narrowed his eyes and looked around the smalltown bank. They’d only been in Rented City about two days and he hadn’t expected word to have already traveled far and wide where they were. Two weeks earlier, that young woman had caused him a headache out in Dreary, killing five of his men. He’d thought he’d convinced her to give up all that revenge nonsense over her father. But he guessed he’d been wrong about her self-righteous determination. He thought just letting her go had been his recompense for screwing that job up so bad. And now she was back not having gotten the merit of his generosity. Well, that was okay, his crew was a bunch of seasoned killers (well, maybe not Matthew), and could handle one scrawny Chuhukon girl. Kent they? He scowled and looked back to the young man.

  “Ain’ nobody been able ta corner her?”

  “No, sir! Well, not really. Me’n Bret’n Mikey, came up under her jumpin’ over ta the saloon stairwell. She took him and Mikey down without even a breath. Never seen such fast shootin’! I, I, I mean—”

  “Awright, shut it.” Kern lifted his hand and furrowed his brows. “Ya go git the rest of the boys ta keep her pinned down up in there. Git ‘em tagetha fast fer she comes ta her senses’n skips out. Ah’ll be up there shortly. An’ don’ go gittin’ flustered. Ya ain’ doin’ any o’us any good runnin’ ‘round like a startled pussy!”

  “Yes, sir, Mr. Michaels!” the young man turned and ran out of the bank doors. Kern heard him shouting the second he exited to get the crew to the saloon. Nope, definitely ain’t cut out fer this life, that one. First thing’s first, though.

  Kern turned to the five crew members with him in the bank. They’d stopped loading the bags into the broad handcart and were staring at him in expectation. They’d been hankering for a real fight for weeks. The local law just hadn’t met their cravings and had gone down easy and fast. And now Ms. Wilson was back for a rematch.