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Thirteen Tombstones Chapter One - Part One By: David K. Montoya

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Thirteen Tombstones
Chapter One - Part One
By: David K. Montoya


“Okay. Okay. I caught him walking out of a brothel drunk the other night. He was headed to the outhouse, and I waited a minute or so then trapped him inside. He had no pistol and no place to go. So he gave up,” I said, covered in a wave of embarrassment.

The other men erupted into laughter. I was unsure whether it was because of how I caught Paco or because of his bad English. The two deputies cuffed the prisoner and led him away. The sheriff remained where he stood. The older man glared off into the distance and began to play with the tips of his mustache. Eventually, he pushed out a deep sigh and looked at me. “I reckon you want your reward,” he said.

“Yeah, I reckon so, sheriff,” I said. I had a gut feeling this tubby bastard didn‘t have no money to begin with. “Then I can be on my way.”

“Well, son, you can follow me into town and I can issue a bank note for ya troubles. But, ole Sullivan won’t be back until tomorrow.”

“Who’s Sullivan, Sheriff,” I asked. I knew this backwards town had no money. I came all that way for nothing. I should have traveled the extra distance and taken Paco to Tombstone.

“Ole Sullivan is Fairbanks’ banker, son. Hell, he owns the whole town. If ya want we can go see his boy, Wallace. He’s the Mayor in these here parts,” the Sheriff said, with an unpleasant expression.

I pondered my options for a few moments. “All right Sheriff; let’s go pay Mayor Wallace a visit.”

I smirked inwardly. I surely hoped that the expression from the Sheriff was an indication that I would get my money.

#

The mayor’s office was located half way into town. It was hard not to miss—it was the largest building in the city and sat next to the local bank. The Sheriff and I walked into the office. It appeared to be abandoned; no one was at the desk and the windows were shut with the shades pulled down. I looked around. There were several painted pictures on the walls and expensive furniture scattered around; it felt more like I stood in a fancy home instead of a Mayor’s office.

“We keep the place closed up in the summer time to keep the hot air from getting inside,” someone said from behind me. I turned around and saw a young man. He was of medium build and height and wore a nice gray suit. He slowly walked up to us. “Well, Henry, what can I do for ya?”

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