Flint sighed as the doctor walked out. He slowly stood up and wrapped his arms around the man on the floor's chest, dragging him to one of the empty holding cells. It was the safer option without the deputy here. Flint left the man laying on the ground and walked out of the cell, closing and locking the door behind him. He walked back over to the table and, as gently as he could, moved the man onto one of the chairs. The deputy came back with water and bread and gave it to the detainees. Flint briefly explained what happened with the doctor. The deputy shrugged and asked Flint if he was ready for their next interrogation, standing behind the man in the chair. Flint told the deputy to pull the man's bandana down off his face. Henry listened, and Flint realized who had kidnapped Joel and immediately put his face into his hands.
Flint took a deep breath, “Alright, let's get this over with.” He loudly clapped, jolting the man awake. He looked around frantically, trying to figure out where he was. “Alright, Sam, what the hell have you done this time?”
Samuel Settler was a man Flint found himself crossing far more often than he wanted to, but then nobody else could get out of trouble quite like the Mayor's son. He was a skinny boy who so badly wanted to be taken seriously, but more often found himself the butt of many a joke. His poor excuse of a beard was sparse and patchy, and barely did anything to hide his pimple-ridden face. If he actually killed Violet Allen, Flint's job was about to get unimaginably more difficult. Typically, the boy was harmless. He'd do something stupid and would warm a bench in the jail waiting for his daddy to come and pick him up. This was a significant step up.
“I didn't do nothin', Sheriff!” Samuel defiantly crossed his arms as best he could, “And I'm not sayin' nothin' neither. You can just throw me in a cell and wait for my dad to show up to get me out. ‘Sides, not like you could catch me with anything anyway, even if we did kill that man.”
“You killed a man, now?” Flint was interested, “You care to say anythin' more about it?”
“You won't get me that easy, Sheriff.”
Flint grinned, “Damn, you're right. Ah, well, it probably wasn't that interestin' of a story anyhow.”
“I killed a man and you're callin' me borin'?”
Flint just shrugged, “How can I know if you won't tell me?”
“Well, Sheriff, we did it! We took that man out to the woods by the mill, and we shot him out there.”
“Is that true?” Flint nodded his head, then looked at Henry, “Deputy, go out there and check for the body. If it's true, good ole Sammy Settler just won himself a trip to Denver.”
Samuel was suddenly confused, “Denver?”
“See, Sammy, I'd love to just go and get your daddy, but it sounds like you've fallen into a bigger shit pile than you normally do. Daddy can get you off the hook for just about anything in our little town, but murder?” The shock set on Samuel's face quickly. “The only thing your daddy loves more than you is bein' mayor, and I don't see how lettin' a known murderer run loose helps his reelection chances.” Samuel dropped his hands and looked terrified into his lap. “Now, you're gonna tell me the truth. Years of living in a little pissant town like Sur Posta made you think you're invincible, but I promise that a big city judge will not give half a damn about who you are here.” Flint leaned on the table, staring daggers at Samuel, “So, what's it gonna be?”
Without any hesitation, “I'll talk, Sheriff.”
“That's what I thought. Did you kill a man?”
“No, I did not.”
Flint nodded his head. One fight with the mayor successfully avoided. “Now, what do you know about a girl named Violet Allen?”
“Violet Allen? She was one of Joel's girls, wasn't she?” Flint nodded. Samuel bit his lip, using what little brainpower he had to think, “She didn't like me much. She called me ‘obnoxious' and ‘immature.' Joel told me once that she liked rich men, so I got dad to give me a lot of money to gamble with.”
“Your daddy really gave you money to gamble with?”
“I didn't tell him what I was usin' it for. I'm not stupid.”
I wouldn't go that far. Flint thought. “So, you decided to go gamblin' with daddy's money and that didn't work?”
“That didn't help any. I tried talkin' to Joel about it, but that was also the night that banker came through. I thought we had a lot of money, but that man makes daddy look like Marie, I tell you what.” Flint grunted at the insult. “Anyway, she never paid me not a minute of her time. Shame, ‘cause she's real pretty too.”
“What do you know about James, her brother?”
Samuel just shrugged, “I dunno nothin' about him. Wasn't even aware she had a brother.”
Flint nodded. “So, what the hell is “Whiskey Gang” all about?”
“It ain't nothin' that serious. It's really just me and the boys. Hell, we didn't even think of the name until today.”
“Oh really?”
“Yeah. Joel said we needed to come up with something before we sent that note. We couldn't just be a no-name gang, he told us. If we wanted to be taken seriously, we needed to have a name.” Flint hummed curiously.
“When did you first see Joel today?”
Samuel scratched his head, “I suppose sometime this morning. A little after sunrise, I reckon.”
“Not until after sunrise?”
“Well, that's when I saw him. Willie said he first saw Joel some time this morning.”
“Which one of these idiots is Willie?” Samuel pointed at the man laying by himself in the second cell. Flint swore under his breath. “Alright, so you saw Joel this mornin', just after sunrise. Was he already tied up?”
“Not yet. We did that later.”
“Did he tell y'all to do that?”
Samuel sat up proudly, “Course not! We thought to do that ourselves.”
“That's not what your boys told me earlier.”
Samuel immediately deflated, “Dammit. Alright, so he told us to do it. He said everything had to look all real if Mrs. Marguerite was gonna give us the money. Same as the note. We were gonna split it evenly four ways, $50 for all the boys, and I was gonna get the whiskey.”
“What about the last $50?”
Samuel looked at the Sheriff like he was stupid, “There ain't no last $50, it goes evenly between the boys. I know how to do math, Sheriff.”
“Sure.” Flint just nodded his head as he replied sarcastically. “Alright, so Joel told you to tie him up and make a ransom note. Why'd he have y'all do that?”
Samuel shrugged, “I haven't the foggiest, Sheriff. He just told us what he wanted us to do.”
Flint hummed quizzically. He then took out the knife once again, “You know this knife?”
“Should I know that knife?”
“No, it ain't special. Thought it might be important for the murder.” Flint put it away again. “Alright, well, for once I don't see any reason to keep you any longer.”
“We're lettin' him go, Sheriff?!” Henry was just as slack-jawed as Samuel.
“Think of it as a reward for cooperatin' for once. Your friends are gonna have to stay in until they're sobered up, but you get to run home to daddy.” There was an upset chorus of voices coming from the jail cells. “I can't trust nothin' any of y'all say right now! You can shut up and stay there until you're good and sober!”
Henry took off Samuel's handcuffs and the boy ran off. He sighed as he sat down across from the Sheriff, who was just shaking his head. “So, Joel told us one hell of a lie then, huh?”
“I knew he was hidin' somethin', but this is not good for him.”
“I don't get why he'd ask them to kidnap him though? Makes no sense.”
“He's tryin' to distract us. I think he's got a lot more to do with this murder than we thought.”
“Do you think he and Gregor worked together?”
“No, this was a one-man job. It's either Gregor or Joel. They tolerate each other at best, so it'd be surprisin' to hear o'them workin' together.” Flint leaned forward and rested his chin in his hands. “We've gotta go talk to Gregor next. Lettin' Joel go home was a mistake, ‘cause it gives him time to up and leave town, but we couldn't hold him here for that long—not with Marguerite thinkin' he's kidnapped. How'd you even get that letter, Deputy?”
“I was waitin' at the saloon when it was delivered. One of them in there came in, slapped it down on the bar, and then ran out. Marguerite read it first and then showed it to me. She said ‘I don't know what mess my fool husband got himself in now, but with the murder that happened last night, I don't wanna take any chances' and told me to find you.”
Flint nodded his head. “Alright, well we can't let Joel know we're onto him. Deputy, I need you to keep an eye on the saloon to make sure Joel doesn't do anything stupid. Don't sit in the saloon; that'll make him suspicious. But stay out in the square there. I'm gonna pay Gregor a visit and try to get him to tell me anything more.”
Henry shook his head, “Good luck, Sheriff. Gregor doesn't like talkin' to us on a good day.”
“Gregor doesn't like to talk to anyone except his boys on any day, but we've gotta try. I need something that'll get him to let his guard down.”
“Well, why won't he talk to you?” The doctor sauntered back into the jailhouse.
“Don't you have appointments to keep?”
“My last one for the day saw me runnin' around town and cancelled on me. Turns out you're not the only one ridin' people harder than they're ready for, Sheriff.” Flint just gave the doctor a dull glare. “Anyway, why isn't Gregor talkin' to you?”
“Apparently he's committed some kind of crime and doesn't want to admit his guilt to it.”
The doctor shrugged, “So lie to him, then. You're both lawmen, you should know a thing or two about bein' dirty.”
“It ain't about bein' dirty. How d'ya know that'll work?”
“I've known Gregor Hess for a long time. He is a private man and isn't what I would call ‘hospitable' to anyone outside of his circle, but he's also an honest man. Gregor didn't go to the church for the same shallow absolution that someone like Mayor Settler does, he went because he needed the forgiveness of good ole J.C. to calm his mind. So, if you tell ‘im somebody else is gettin' punished for his wrongdoing, I'd be surprised if he didn't crack.”
Henry leaned over to the Sheriff and whispered, “I don't get why he can't just say “Jesus Christ” like the rest of us, Sheriff.”
“Thou shalt not take the lord's name in vain, dear Deputy.” Dr. Daver said loudly, startling the deputy.
“He's got you there,” Flint nodded. He then clapped his hands and stood up, “Alright then, we know what we've gotta do.”
“Sheriff, wait!” One of the men yelled out from the crowded cell. He was standing next to the bars.
“I told you, you ain't comin' out until you're good and sober!” Flint yelled back.
“You said Violet Allen got murdered, right? I saw her last night, Sheriff.”
Flint shot a curious glance at the man, “Did ya now? When?”
“It was last night—I think before when Joel invites people up to gamble. I saw her comin' into the saloon.”
“Were you gonna gamble last night?”
The man shook his head, “No, sir, but I saw her go up to the gamblin' room. She was the first girl up there.”
“Was Joel already in the room?”
“No, he walked in later. I left before last call.”
Flint nodded his head. “How drunk are you, boy?”
“I haven't had a drink since last night.”
Flint looked at Deputy Henry, “Deputy, open up the cell and let the good gentleman out. He's been behavin' himself.” Henry was surprised but followed the order. The man thanked the Sheriff and Deputy and ran out of the jailhouse, promising to stay out of trouble (Flint knew that was a lie). Flint turned back to Henry, “Deputy, keep an eye out for Joel at the saloon. Doc, you've been a pain in my ass all day and I don't think that's changin', so we're headin' to the mill again.” The three men left the jailhouse. The Sheriff and Deputy walked out to the stable and took their horses back out. They rode their horses back out to the front and were surprised to see the doctor just standing and waiting for them.
“Ain't you gonna ride your horse?” Flint asked. The doctor replied by getting onto Flint's horse and sitting behind him. He got as close as he could to the Sheriff and wrapped his arm around his strong abdomen to secure himself.
“My horse went off on his own adventure,” the Doctor whispered right in Flint's ear, “It'd be too much trouble for little ole me to find him, so we can just ride together for now.” Flint shook his head and nodded at the deputy. Both horses took off, galloping into town together. Flint's horse broke off to the north, heading once again for the lumber mill. There were more people moving about the town now than there had been in the early hours of the morning. Flint had to navigate and weave his horse through the small crowds of people coming to and going from Sur Posta. As they arrived at the mill, Flint could see Gregor barking orders at his men. The big man turned around as he heard the horse approaching, and Flint could see his face twisting into a grimace.
“I already told you, Sheriff,” Gregor yelled, “You can't trick me into confessing anything!”
“I ain't here to trick you into anything, Greg.” Flint stopped his horse, and he and the doctor dismounted. “I do got somethin' to tell you, though.”
“Well, it'll have to wait, Sheriff. I'm down a man today and I've got to get all these slackers working harder for it.” Gregor shook his head, “I wouldn't expect James to come in today, considering what happened, but he could at least have come and told me the news himself.”
“Oh, you didn't hear?” Flint feigned surprise, “I suppose you wouldn't have. We actually apprehended James earlier today.”
Gregor was stunned. “You what?”
“Yep.” Flint nodded, “We're still tryin' to find out who killed his sister, but James admitted to committin' another crime.”
“What did he do?”
Flint shrugged, “Don't know yet. He just admitted to it when I got some news about the murder. I had Deputy Henry take him down to the jailhouse for questionin'. The way he looked when he admitted he had done somethin', I'd figure it's pretty serious.” Flint gave Gregor a dark stare, “We might even have to send him off to Denver to be tried.”
“No! You can't do that, I need him!”
“Do ya, now? I thought you said you didn't hardly know the boy?”
Gregor bit his lip and shook his fist, trying not to fall for any of the Sheriff's tricks. “I lied, Sheriff. James is a damn good woodsman.”
“With the kind of offer you made him, I'd figure he was.” Flint crossed his arms, “If you know something about what he's done, Gregor, you need to tell me. I don't much like sendin' innocent men to prison.”
Gregor growled quietly. “Fine, you win, Sheriff. I won't tell you what I did, but I'll tell you that James didn't do it. He's lying to cover for me.”
“I need more than that to clear him, Gregor.”
“I won't tell you more, but I'll tell you he didn't do it.”
Flint shook his head. They were only going to go around in circles at this rate. “I wish I could believe you, Gregor. I'm sure you've got your reasons for protectin' the boy, but if you won't tell me what he's coverin' up for you, my hands are as good as tied.”
“You can't do that, Sheriff.”
“It's not about can or can't. I have to.” Flint could see the fury in Gregor's eyes. The Sheriff had found a weak point in Gregor's defense and was twisting the knife. Flint had to watch himself, however, because continuing to badger him like this could just as easily send the man into a blind rage as it would break him into finally confessing. There had to be a way to deescalate the situation.
“Now, now, gentlemen,” Dr. Daver stood between them, holding up his hands as if he was holding both of the men back, “There's no need to get more worked up than we are over this. Sheriff, I do believe you have some questions for good Mr. Hess related to the murder of one Violet Allen, don't you?”
Mr. Hess was confused, “What more questions could you have for me, Sheriff? I already told you I didn't murder that girl.”
“I know, Gregor, but we found out some more details.” Flint shrugged, “I'm hopin' you can help clarify some things for me.”
Gregor crossed his arms, “I won't be saying anything that would implicate myself.”
“The way you've been today, I'd be surprised if I could get you to tell me what time it is.”
“Don't be ridiculous, Sheriff.”
Flint just rolled his eyes. “Alright, Gregor, what do you know about Violet Allen? Don't you go and say nothin', because I know what you offered her brother to stay in Sur Posta.”
“And what did I offer him, Sheriff?”
“Five acres, a mule, and two hundred dollars.” Gregor swore quietly. “You don't just offer that to nobody, Greg. So, what do you know about Violet Allen?”
“Truthfully, I didn't know her too well. Her brother told me she was a righteous sort of person, but I'd never met her. I know she's looked for me—she had been for a while, but she'd only found some of my boys here. They, of course, didn't tell her where to find me. From what they told me, there wasn't anything I'd want to talk to her about. I don't care that my boys gamble—whether it's with each other or at Joel's stupid would-be casino—as long as they're here to do the job, that's all I'm worried about.”
“Do you ever go and gamble at Joel's?”
Gregor scoffed, “Why would I let him scam me out of my money? Besides, trying to keep strong men here in Sur Posta is enough of a gamble for me.”
“So, you never go down to the saloon?”
A pensive look crossed Gregor's face for a moment. “I wouldn't say that. I like to go to the saloon every once in a while to have a drink and a chat with Marguerite. She's better than Joel deserves.”
“When was the last time you went to the saloon?”
“Probably four or five days ago? Maybe about a week, to be honest? Actually,” he snapped his fingers, “Sheriff, I'm guessing you'll be heading back to the saloon sooner than I will. I think I left a pair of gloves there the last time I went? They had steel fingertips.”
The doctor was confused, “Why would you—?”
Gregor just shrugged, “I'm honestly not sure how much utility they have, but I liked the way they looked. They made me feel strong wearing them.”
“Can't say I understand, but okay. The Sheriff and I will be sure to ask Marguerite when we return to the saloon.” Dr. Daver looked over at the Sheriff, “Do you have any more questions for Mr. Hess, Sheriff?”
“I don't think we do,” Flint shook his head. “You seem fond of the boy, Greg, so I'll take what you told me into consideration. I'll try and investigate, see if I can figure out what you're hidin', and if I can't find anything to implicate James, then we'll let him go.”
“You're not going to find anything, Sheriff. I'll save you the trouble now.”
“It'll be a disservice to whoever you wronged if I don't do my proper work, Greg.” Flint tipped his hat, “We'll be off, then.”
“Sheriff!” Gregor yelled as Flint and the doctor were turning to leave, “Fine! You got me! I'll tell you what I did!”
“Will you now?” Flint turned back around, “Alright, then, what'd you do, Gregor?”
“I—it does have to do with Violet. I have been to Joel's saloon after dark. It was only once, two weeks ago. It was just before that banker came through town. She didn't know who I was, but she was pretty sweet on me. The way I understand, she was always sweet on men with big money.”
“That seems to be what everyone tells me,” Flint nodded, “How'd you know who she was?”
“Joel introduced the girls to the table. He said if we needed anything, we should ask for them to help us by name. Anyway, I don't flaunt my wealth, Sheriff—you know that—but on that night I said, ‘What the hell' and got myself a bottle of some fine liquor. Marguerite told me Joel paid a pretty penny to get it brought in, and I was willing to indulge myself. So, I called her over and told her what I wanted. She spent the rest of that night doting on me and making sure I was good and taken care of. I—well, I won't lie, I started to fancy her a little bit. I quit the game early a few hands after ordering the bottle and then I offered to take her home. Joel started throwing a fit over that, but I told her to ignore him and just come with me. We left and we,” Gregor started blushing, “Well, we didn't come to know each other, but we didn't have what I could call good, Christian relations, Sheriff.”
Flint grimaced, not wanting to imagine what Gregor was implying. “Alright, so what does this have to do with you runnin' off to the church so early this mornin'?”
“Well, Sheriff, I-I didn't know who she was that night, and with the things we did, I'm not that kind of man. It wasn't until I was talking with James a few days later that I figured out who she was. Since then I've just been wracked with guilt, Sheriff. I didn't besmirch her honor as a woman, but I had this gnawing hunger that I've never felt before. I wanted her, Sheriff. The thought of her working at Joel's made my stomach drop just thinking about it. So, I—well, half the reason I made James the offer I did was to keep her in Sur Posta. James is a strong, hardworking boy and he does alright work, but she's the one I wanted to keep. All this dishonesty and scheming doesn't sit well with me, Sheriff.”
“Alright, Gregor, alright. I understand.” Of course he didn't do anything illegal. “We'll let the Deputy know, and James will be allowed to go his merry way.”
“I appreciate it Sheriff, but please don't tell him what I told you.”
“I won't if you won't.” Flint tipped his hat. He looked at Dr. Daver, “Let's go. We've got a murderer to catch.”
“Oooh, so determined!” the doctor cooed, “I like a man who knows what he wants!”
“Not now.” They mounted Flint's horse again and took back off into town. Now they knew Joel was the only one who could have murdered Violet Allen. Flint wasn't surprised—Joel always gave off the air that he would do anything to succeed—but he expected Joel's target to be someone of greater importance. He'd expected Joel to attempt to murder Gregor or Mayor Settler at least. Violet had to have done something especially egregious for Joel to have finally snapped.
And because of that, it was going to cost Joel everything. The saloon would probably have to change hands and go to someone else. With things the way they were, the mayor would probably buy it up. Couldn't have a town without a watering hole, after all. But Marguerite—what would she do? The people of Sur Posta, small-minded and ignorant as they are, would blame her for Joel's sins. Even if she had nothing to do with it, for some reason she'd have to bear responsibility for his actions. Several of the local wives already blamed her for their husbands' gambling habits and infidelity. If Mags wasn't so flirtatious, they wouldn't be so tempted to go and waste their nights participating in Joel's illicit activities. As hard as Flint tried, he could never convince them of the truth: There was nothing else to do in a quiet little trading post like Sur Posta.
Flint supposed Violet wasn't the only one deluded about Sur Posta's reputation. There were very few small towns that were as good or godly as their residents claimed them to be. Every town and city had some kind of sin they were hiding. Flint often found that what made a town “good” was what they were willing to do to address that sin. The sheriff frequently mused that he wasn't doing much to help Sur Posta be a “good” town, but at the very least he did what he could to keep it a safe town.
That was easy when people weren't trying to get trampled by his horse.
A line of men was standing side-by-side in the middle of the road, and they showed no interest in moving out of his way. Flint pulled back on the reins, stopping his horse just before he ran into the line. There were seven of them, all dressed in black, and Flint didn't recognize any of them. He grimaced as he and the doctor dismounted his horse. As they approached, the men started to surround Flint and Dr. Daver. Flint found his hand hovering over his gun as he stood back-to-back with the doctor.
“Afternoon, gentlemen,” Flint said somewhat sarcastically as he tipped his hat, “Mind tellin' me what business y'all have in my town?”
“By the looks of you, I'd guess you're Sheriff Flint Waters?” The tallest of the men asked. He had a smooth voice with an ice-cold tone, but an accent that Flint couldn't quite place. British, perhaps? All seven of them were wearing black long-sleeve shirts and pants, but this man also wore a long black coat and had a bright red tie. Much like Dr. Daver, he also wore a pair of dark tinted sunglasses, although Flint couldn't tell if this man was afflicted like the doctor was.
“The one and only. Who do I have the displeasure of speakin' with?”
“Well, Sheriff, we're part of the Osiris Collective, an organization that helps our clientele handle people who they find undesirable.” He took a step forward and took off his sunglasses, revealing his cold grey eyes that matched his short silver hair. Flint got a good look at his handsome, clean-shaven face. “You can call me Grey Craven. I specialize in efficient human disposal.” Grey put his glasses back on, “And someone has paid a pretty penny for yours.”
“Pretty ballsy of you to kill me in the middle of town.” Flint had dealt with men of this ilk before. He had plenty of enemies, several of them well-connected. These mercenaries were just more well-organized than he had seen before. Grey didn't respond, and just walked around to the doctor.
“And what do we have here?” He asked, staring Dr. Daver in the face.
The good doctor was unfazed, “I believe you mean ‘who,' good sir.”
“I don't know if I'd call your kind ‘people'.”
“You can't discriminate against the French like that, Gray.” Flint said with a chuckle.
“You know what I mean.” Grey replied bluntly. He shrugged, “I wasn't paid to deal with you, despite knowing the menace you are. You get the luxury of living to torment this town another day.” Grey turned to walk back to Flint.
“See, I don't think you're gonna do that.” Dr. Daver grabbed Grey's arm and glared at him, “This town and its people are my territory, Gray. I won't allow you to take one of my possessions without my permission.” Grey just gave the doctor a bored look, and then pulled a silver crucifix out of his inner coat pocket and held it up to the doctor's face. Dr. Daver hissed and recoiled, falling onto his back.
“My men and I are paid to dispose of people. I hate to kill anyone I'm not paid to, but if you decide to further make yourself a nuisance, I will make an exception.” He put the crucifix away, “Oh, and my men are all equipped to deal with vermin like you.”
“Now, Sheriff,” Grey walked back around to face Flint, “As I told you, I specialize in efficient human disposal. Killing you in the middle of town wouldn't be terribly efficient, would it?” Grey wasn't much taller than Flint, but he was still tall enough that Flint had to look up just a bit to stare him in the eye. “What's going to happen instead, Flint Waters, is that you are going to voluntarily go with us, and we'll deal with you out in the wilderness.”
“And how do you intend to make me volunteer to go with you?”
Grey laughed, “Sheriff, I know you aren't blind. There are seven of us, one of you, and we've got you surrounded.”
Flint smirked, “I've faced worse odds.”
A sick grin crossed Grey's face, “Oh ho! You've got some fire in you! It looks like my client did not undersell your tenacity after all.” Flint tried to punch Grey, but he caught the sheriff's fist. Before Flint could react, Grey used his free hand to punch him in the gut. As Flint doubled over, Dr. Daver landed a hook into Grey's cheek, knocking the man back. Out of the corner of his eye, the doctor saw one of the Osiris men throwing something. He grabbed the corner of his coattail and flung it up, protecting himself from what he assumed was holy water. He glared at the man, but Flint managed to shoot him before the doctor could retaliate. Flint whipped around, cocked his gun, and shot another of the Osiris men.
With inhuman speed, Dr. Daver rushed at one of the men behind them and punched him as hard as he could. The doctor heard another gunshot and looked behind him. One of the Osiris men had tried throwing holy water on him, but his arm had been shot. A fourth gunshot. Another one had been hit in the chest. Flint was taking aim at the last Osiris lackey when Grey knocked his arm up, causing Flint to fire into the sky and let go of his gun. Grey then punched Flint in the face, scowling furiously. The last Osiris goon thought he had a good chance to shoot Flint, but the doctor suddenly started choking him from behind, and snapped his neck before he could defend himself. He looked up and saw Grey approaching Flint again, and charged back in.
Grey, once again, was prepared. He pulled his crucifix out again and slammed it into the doctor's face, breaking his sunglasses. The metal burned against the doctor's skin, as he stumbled and fell back. His hat fell off, leaving his face exposed to the sunlight. He tried his best to protect himself with his arms.
“I don't know when the last time you fed was, but it doesn't seem like you've had a proper hunt in days.” Grey said coldly, “You can stay there while I deal with the Sheriff.” He took off his coat, letting it drop to the ground, and pulled off his tie. Unlike his subordinates, Grey wore a short-sleeved white shirt and a black vest. He unsheathed the two knives sitting on his sides, and then sprinted at Flint. The Sheriff, more ready for this attack than Grey's others, dodged the slices and stabs. He managed to get a few lucky jabs and punches in, but Grey was relentless. Flint barely stepped back in time to avoid one errant swipe, but it tore through his shirt.
“Aw, hell,” Flint groaned, “This is why I shouldn't wear my nice clothes to work.” He ripped it off and threw the scrap aside. He put up his fists.
Grey just wiped some blood off the corner of his mouth, then grinned again. “It's days like this that remind me why I do what I do.” He flipped one of the knives over, catching it by the blade. He tossed it over to Flint, who looked at it warily. “Go on, take it. The fight's not sporting if you're unarmed.”
Flint picked it up, “That's a mistake you may not live to regret, Gray.” He took a few swipes with it, and then took his stance.
“Sheriff, I do nothing I will regret.” Grey also took his stance. The two men charged forward and started fighting again. Flint stabbed at Grey, who sidestepped it and sliced at the sheriff. He leaned back, evading the attack. He then tried going for Grey's legs, but Grey hopped away before charging in for his next attack. The two men continued this dance, their blades quietly whistling through the air, meeting the other in synchronized lockstep. They were a perfect pair, equally matched in skill and strength. But Grey got overzealous with a stab, and Flint was not about to let him get away with that mistake. The sheriff wrapped his arm around Grey's, and then stomped on his foot. Grey dropped his knife and lost his balance, giving Flint the chance to push him up against a nearby building and hold his knife to Grey's throat. The pair just glared at one another as they took heavy breaths.
Grey could see the droplets of sweat forming on Flint's brow and rolling down his stunning masculine face. Flint's tanned muscles glistened in the sunlight, and Grey watched his chest rise and fall with each breath. But—most thrilling of all to Grey—was the intensity in Flint's striking icy blue eyes.
“You aren't just some country bumpkin are you, Sheriff?” Grey asked with his stupid grin that was slowly getting on the sheriff's nerves.
“You're not in any position to ask questions, Gray.” Flint could see the madness in Grey's eyes, but it wasn't any madness he had seen before. Grey was still very in control of his mind. “I'm gonna ask you once—and don't you lie to me—did you kill Violet Allen?”
Grey cackled as best he could, “I have no idea who that is. I didn't come to this backwater town to kill just anyone, Sheriff. I was hired to kill you.”
“So, you had nothin' to do with the murder of Violet Allen?”
“I already told you, Sheriff,” Grey's face turned serious, “I only kill the people I'm paid to.”
Flint growled. “Who hired you to kill me?”
“The Osiris Collective values the privacy of our clients above all else. I don't handle the contract; I'm just told what the job is.”
“Well, I can't just let you walk away after trying to kill me.”
“My good Sheriff, you've killed all my men. I believe justice has been more than settled there.”
“Not all of them. You've still got one or two kickin'.”
“These men already failed. I would've killed them after I finished killing you.”
Flint was stunned by the admission, and his grip loosened. Grey immediately sensed Flint's weakness and punched him in the gut again. He followed up with a punch to the face, knocking him onto the ground. Grey took a deep breath, and then bent over to pick up his knife. “You can keep that one as a souvenir, Sheriff. I'm sure I'll be seeing you again very soon.” He started walking away and picked up his coat and tie.
Flint sat up on his elbows, “Ain't you got a job to do?”
“Oh, dear Sheriff, I do have a job to do.” He grinned yet again, “But it seems I'm going to have to get your contract renegotiated. You should count yourself lucky.” He waved dismissively, “Farewell, my sweet Flint Waters. May this end bring you a new beginning.” With that, Grey just walked away, stepping over the bodies of his former subordinates.