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[June 2016]

Chapters: 1

Word Count: 3,529

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Warnings: None

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BLOOD BROTHERS

 

by

Eleanor Ward

 

 

Curry has to make a decision about the future.

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Jed Curry sat at a quiet corner table in the small town saloon, nursing a glass of whisky.  Outside in the street 4th of July celebrations were in full swing, but Curry paid them no mind, his thoughts elsewhere as he contemplated his forthcoming 21st birthday a few days from now.  Twenty one.  A milestone.  A day to be celebrated. But celebrations of any kind had been scarce in Curry’s life, and especially in the last few years.

 

He glanced down at his palm as it started to itch, noting the faint diagonal scar that ran across it from the base of his index finger out towards the heel of his palm. He ran his finger along it, a slight smile coming to his face as an image of the nine year old face of his friend Hannibal Heyes floated into his mind, his expression one of earnest seriousness as he’d cut first his own and then seven year old Jed’s palm and then bound their hands together in order for their blood to mingle. 'This makes us blood brothers, Jed. Closer even than real brothers. Forever.  Nothing will ever break the bond between us. We’ll never separate'.

 

The image faded and Curry gave a deep sigh, scratching the scar which had been itching a lot just lately. So much for the blood brother oath, he thought wryly.  He hadn’t seen Heyes in three years.

 

After their families had been murdered by bushwhackers a few months after their blood brother ceremony, Heyes, as the eldest, had made himself responsible for his younger friend, adopting the role of substitute father. Life hadn’t been easy. With no family to care for them, they had resorted to stealing, since they were too young to work and begging more often than not brought them a clip round the ear.  At first they’d stolen just food and clothes, but as time passed they had begun to steal money. Heyes had nurtured a natural talent for card games and would supplement their income from thievery by inviting unsuspecting victims to bet on the likelihood of him being able to make five pat hands out of twenty five cards dealt from a deck.

 

As they neared the end of their teenage years however, Curry had begun to tire of Heyes’ dominance, and began to rebel against what he saw as Heyes treating him like a child, giving him orders and refusing to listen to any of his ideas and suggestions. It had all come to a head on his eighteenth birthday. He had tried to explain to Heyes that he was no longer a child, that at eighteen he was a grown man and as such was entitled, and indeed wanted, to have an equal say in any decisions about their day to day life. But Heyes, now a shrewd and redoubtable twenty year old, had been scathing in his condemnation of the younger Curry’s ability to have any valid input.  Both Heyes and Curry had purchased guns a few years earlier, and Curry, still haunted by the murder of his family, had been putting in a lot of practice to become a good shot so that he could protect himself and Heyes from anyone who might want to hurt them, and Heyes’ denunciation had incensed him so much he had pulled his gun on him, to which Heyes had scornfully suggested that Curry should  “Let me do what I do best, and you do the same!” with a nod towards the gun in his hand.

 

Furious, at what he mistakenly saw as an implication that he was less intelligent than Heyes and only good for shooting a gun,  Curry had decided to leave and go his own way.

 

Curry came back from his reverie and poured himself another glass of whisky, thoughtfully stroking the closely cropped beard he’d been sporting for a few weeks in an attempt to look ‘grown up’.

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In the three years since he and Heyes had parted company he’d led a nomadic lifestyle, wandering from place to place, undertaking occasional jobs and playing poker to make extra money. He’d honed his fast draw, which had saved his life on more than one occasion after being accused of cheating at cards. It had also earned him a reputation.

 

Curry’s attention was drawn as the batwing doors of the saloon suddenly burst open and a group of men jostled their way noisily inside. It was obvious they were all drunk and in a riotous mood as they pushed their way to the counter and demanded drinks. One man, who appeared to be the leader of the group, hung a little back from the others seeming to want to maintain a little distance from the rowdy bunch.

 

Disinterested, Curry returned his attention to his drink, but did a double take when he heard the voice of the man at the back of the group as he barked orders to the men about how to conduct themselves, his jaw dropping open in surprise when he recognized the face of Hannibal Heyes.  He watched, as Heyes restored order to the proceedings as they all sorted out their drinks and retired to a table at the far end of the room, before pulling his hat a little lower over his forehead and twisting his chair around slightly so that Heyes wouldn’t be able to get a clear view of his face, not wanting him to see him.

 

Heyes sat with the men for a while before adjourning to the poker tables. Curry watched him from under his hat. He’d matured since the last time he’d seen him, his face, at twenty three, now more angled than the slightly chubby cheeked teenager he remembered, and his youthful arrogance had now been replaced by a confident, compelling and plainly charismatic persona. To Curry he appeared both like a familiar friend and an unfamiliar stranger.

 

As Curry watched him playing poker, it became obvious that he had honed his card playing skills even more this past three years and was now a formidable poker player, soon amassing a significant pile of money in front of him as the night wore on.

 

One by one the other gang members drifted away with the saloon girls until eventually there was only Heyes left.  He had taken a break from the poker game at one point, to indulge in a little canoodling with one of the girls, but had now rejoined it.

 

Curry remained at his table, quietly watching him, unsure what to do; whether to speak to him and risk a rebuff, or whether to just slip away without him ever having known he was there.  The last three years had been pretty lonely being on his own, and part of him wanted to approach him and make an attempt at reconciliation, but another part of him was reluctant. 

 

He sat there for quite some time, wrestling with the dilemma of whether to make contact or slip away into the night.  Then, suddenly, his attention was drawn by a sudden tense silence that had descended up on the room.

 

He looked around for the cause to see Heyes and the smartly dressed man seated directly opposite to him staring icily at each other, while the other players at the table all tried to look like they were somewhere else.

 

“What did you say?” Heyes spoke quietly but Curry was able to hear him quite clearly from the other end of the room.

 

“I said, I think you’re cheating.” the other man reiterated, “You aint lost a hand since you sat down at the table.”

 

“Just lucky I guess.” said Heyes, his lips curling into a slight smile that failed to reach his eyes which bored unwaveringly at his opponent and were more full of menace than congeniality.

 

“More than lucky.” the other man replied, “The only way you coulda won for this long was by cheatin’ somehow.”

 

“I wasn’t cheating.” Heyes said flatly.  He briefly swept his gaze across each of the other men at the table, “Do any of you think I was cheating?” he enquired.

 

The other men responded with a few shakes of the head and muttered denials.

 

“Well, they don’t seem to agree with you, Mister.” Heyes returned his stoney gaze back to his accuser,  “So why don’t we just behave like gentlemen and get on with the game.” he added, in an apparently cordial tone, but, even to Curry’s ears, the note of sarcasm in his reference to ‘gentlemen’ was plain to hear and wasn’t lost on his accuser who suddenly jumped to his feet, knocking his chair over as he did so.  The other men hurriedly pushed their chairs back and scrambled away from the table.

 

“You dare to call yourself a gentleman with that crowd of rabble rousers you came in here with?” he hissed,  “You not only cheat at cards, Sir, you try to cheat people in regards to your status in life as well.”

 

Heyes got slowly to his feet, “I wasn’t cheating.” he said again, his tone irritated.”

 

“Well, I say you were, and you’d better hand that money back right now.” the other man demanded.

 

“I won that money fair and square. I aint handin’ any of it back.  If you want it, you play for it.”

 

They eyed each other across the table, mentally sizing each other up.

 

Suddenly, the man pulled a gun, seemingly out of nowhere.  Heyes moved for his own gun, already knowing that the other man had the advantage.

 

A shot rang out. The card player’s gun flew out of his hand as blood began to spurt from his forearm.  With a shriek of pain, the man fell to his knees cradling his arm. Heyes watched it as though it was in slow motion before realizing that he'd barely got his own gun out of its holster, let alone fired it.

 

He and everyone else in the saloon turned, as one, in the direction of the shot, to see a bearded man, hat pulled down low on his forehead, pointing his smoking gun in the direction of the injured man.

 

As the man walked slowly towards them, everyone backed up to allow him passage.  He stopped at the table and looked at the card player, on his knees on the floor.

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“You heard the man.” he told him, “He said he wasn’t cheating, and the other players didn’t believe he was either.  He made you a fair offer to try and win your money back.  I’d say it was you who was being ungentlemanly, not him.  So, either play, or leave.  Your choice.”

 

The card player lifted his head, his pain filled eyes meeting the gunman’s steely blue gaze and seeing the menace that lay in their depths.  He struggled shakily to his feet, his face bathed in sweat and his body trembling from both shock and fear, and staggered towards the door.

 

“Take him to the doctor.”  The command was quiet, yet authoritative, and two of the saloon’s patrons jumped to aid the man out of the saloon and across the street to the doctor’s office.

 

To the rest of the crowd, who were still standing as if dumbstruck, the gunman said,  “There’s nothing more to see folks, go back about your business.” as he holstered his gun.

 

The crowd didn’t need telling twice, and moved back to whatever they had been doing, while maintaining a cautious eye on the bearded stranger.

 

Heyes now approached him.

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“Thanks, Mister.” he began, “I’d like to say that I had everything under control, but the fact is, he would probably have killed me but for your intervention.”

 

“No probably about it.” the gunman replied, his hat pulled down low over his forehead, preventing Heyes from getting a clear look at his face.

 

“Well, thanks again.  I’m much obliged to you.” said Heyes, “At least let me buy you a drink.”

 

“O.K.”

 

Heyes led the way to the bar and ordered whisky for himself and his savior.

 

“Thanks again...” said Heyes as he held up his glass in a salute,  “Sorry, I don’t even know your name.”

 

“Oh, I think you do.” Curry said quietly, drawing a puzzled stare from Heyes.

 

Curry pushed his hat up off his forehead and stared at Heyes.

 

At first, there was no recognition in Heyes’ face, but then, his eyes widened as he took in the cool blue gaze of Curry’s eyes.

 

A surprised gasp escaped his lips, “K-kid?” he whispered.

 

Curry nodded.

 

Heyes just stared at him, incredulously, for once lost for words.

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Eventually he found the power of speech, but still couldn’t seem to put a sentence together.

“I… you… but… I…” he trailed off, while Curry took a swig of his drink and waited for him to collect his thoughts.

 

“I can’t believe it…” Heyes said presently.

 

“What?” asked Curry

 

Heyes waved a hand towards him,  “You.  How you’ve changed.”

 

“It has been three years.” Curry said dryly.

 

“I know, but…”  Heyes shook his head, incredulously.

 

“You haven’t.”  Curry said now.

 

Haven’t what?”

 

“Changed.  I recognized you the minute you walked in here.” 

 

“So why didn’t you come over and speak?” asked Heyes.

 

Curry shrugged. 

 

“So, if that guy hadn’t called me out, you’d probably have left without me even knowing you were here?”

 

“Maybe, maybe not.” replied Curry.

 

Heyes eyed him momentarily, “Maybe him calling me out was a good thing then.” he said.

 

Curry didn’t reply.

 

They fell silent for a moment, each lost in their own thoughts.

 

Presently, Curry said, “Were you cheating?”

 

Heyes looked hurt, “Do you think I was?”

 

Curry eyed him for a moment, “No.” he said presently.  He was a pretty fair poker player himself and had a sense for when someone was cheating and he hadn’t noticed anything in Heyes’ play that had given him a sense that he might be cheating.

 

“Thank you.” said Heyes. He took a sip of his drink,  “I could, if I chose to.  I’m good at it.  But I choose not to.  I like to keep my poker honest, unless there’s a very good reason not to.  I was playing straight.  They were puhsovers.”

 

Curry nodded, knowing he was speaking the truth.

 

“You’ve certainly honed that fast draw.” Heyes said presently, shaking his head incredulously as he replayed the scene in his mind.

 

“A man’s gotta take care of himself out there.” Curry replied, matter-of-factly, as he took another swig of his drink.

 

“Well, I’m a pretty decent shot myself,” boasted Heyes, “but that was just…” he trailed off, unable to think of a suitable adjective to describe it.  Then, turning to Curry he said, “So, what’ve you been up to all this time?”

 

Curry shrugged,  “This and that.  Worked a few jobs here and there, played some poker.”

 

Heyes nodded politely.

 

“How about you?” Curry asked now, “Who are those guys you came in with?”

 

“Oh, just some guys I’ve been riding with.  We pull the odd job here and there, play poker, generally have a good time.”

 

“What kind of jobs?”

 

Heyes looked both amused and slightly embarrassed at the same time,  “Bank jobs… and I don’t mean clerking.” he added with a conspiratorial wink.

 

“Bank robberies you mean?” asked Curry

 

“Sssh, keep your voice down.” whispered Heyes, looking around to make sure no-one heard before turning back towards Curry,  “Yes, bank robberies. It pays a hell of a lot more than working in the bank.”

 

Curry looked at him.

 

“You’re shocked.” said Heyes.

 

“Why would I be shocked?” asked Curry,  “It’s not like we never did any thieving before.”

 

“True, but…”

 

“A man’s gotta make a living the best way he can.” Curry spoke over him,  “We didn’t get much in the way of education to be qualified for many jobs, not ones that pay a decent wage anyhow. Kind of limits your career options.”

 

Heyes stared at him, noting how much he’d matured this past three years, not just physically, but emotionally and intellectually as well.

 

“I’ve missed you.” he admitted presently.

 

“Really?” Curry questioned, surprised by his honesty. Heyes had never been one for revealing his feelings.

 

Heyes nodded.

 

Curry looked thoughtful for a moment.  Heyes watched, waiting for him to speak.

 

“Before you came in here tonight, I was looking at this.” Curry held out his palm, showing the thin white scar across it, “Do you remember that day, Heyes?”

 

Heyes eyed the scar for a moment before nodding, his face softening as the memory flooded his mind.

 

“The summer our folks were killed.” he said quietly.

 

Curry nodded.

 

“Blood brothers, you said.” he told him, “Closer even than real brothers. Forever.”

 

Heyes nodded, his mind back on that day, “We’ll never separate, I said.”  He looked pointedly at Curry now,  “But we did.”

 

“You also said ‘nothing will ever break the bond between us’."  Curry reminded him.

 

“I remember.” said Heyes. Presently he looked at Curry.

 

“You saved my life.” he told him, as though to reinforce his comment about the bond between them.

 

“You’d have done the same.” replied Curry.

 

Heyes nodded, thoughtfully.  Presently, he held out his own hand, showing the faint scar on his own palm.

 

Curry eyed it briefly before clasping it with his own.

 

“Blood brothers.” smiled Heyes.

 

Curry returned his smile, nodding, “Blood brothers.”

 

“I always knew we’d see each other again.” Heyes said after they loosed hands.

 

“You did?”

 

Heyes nodded, “After everything we went through together after our folks were killed… it makes a bond deeper than just friendship. We’re family, like I said... blood brothers… closer even than real brothers.”

 

“I left because you wouldn’t listen to me.” Curry told him,  “You were an arrogant son-of-a-bitch.”

 

Heyes grinned, “I guess I was.” he admitted,  “But you needed time to grow up some more…  and you have.” he added, still amazed by the coolly confident man who now stood before him.

 

“It’s my birthday next week.” Curry told him.

 

Heyes nodded, “Twenty one.  I know.” He studied him momentarily before saying, “Why don’t you ride with us?”

 

“The gang? Would they mind?” said Curry.

 

“Nah.” said Heyes,  “Anyhow, I’m their leader, so if I want to bring in a new member, they aint got no say in the matter.” he grinned,  “Say, we’ll throw you a party to celebrate your birthday.”

 

“I dunno.” Curry was hesitant, “I’ve kind of gotten used to being on my own.  I don’t know if I’d fit in with a gang.”

 

“You’d fit in just fine,” said Heyes, “and if you don’t, well, we’ll just go it alone. Equal partners.  What do you say?”

 

Curry thought for a moment.

 

Equal partners?”  he questioned, raising a quizzical eyebrow.

 

Heyes nodded, “Fifty-fifty, straight down the middle.”

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“You sure you can do that?”

 

“What do you mean?” Heyes was puzzled, misunderstanding his question as a reference to his authority over the gang.

 

Curry sighed,  “Some people are leaders, some people are follows.  I watched you with those men.  You’re a natural leader.  They’re followers.”

 

“I guess.” said Heyes, not really sure what Curry was getting at.

 

“Well, I aint a natural leader… but I aint a natural follower either. I have my own ideas and opinions and I make my own decisions.  If I follow anyone or anything, it’s because I choose to, not because it’s expected.  If you’re gonna dismiss my opinions like you did before, it aint gonna work.  I aint a kid any more, even if you still think of me as one. You think you can deal with considering someone else’s views?”

 

Heyes stared at him, marveling again at how much he’d matured this past three years.

 

“You’re right.” he said presently,  “I was an arrogant son-of-a-bitch as a teenager, and I guess I’m still the same way now.  But I’m older and, I hope, wiser now than then.  I can’t promise not to be bossy, it’s just the way I am,  and I can’t promise that I won’t argue over ideas you might have… but, we can thrash them out between us. That’s what partners do, isn’t it?”

 

“I guess.”

 

“I can... I do... promise to listen,” Heyes continued, “and after seeing the way you handled yourself tonight with that card player, I don’t think of you as a kid anymore.  You’re as much a man as anyone here.”  He gave Curry a quizzical glance, “So, what do you say?

 

Curry pondered Heyes’ words for a few moments, before giving a slow nod.

 

“Deal.” he said, holding out his hand for Heyes to shake.  He knew Heyes well enough to know the truth of his words.  Being in charge came naturally to him, and he no doubt would argue against ideas that he didn’t consider as good as his own, but he didn’t doubt the sincerity of his offer to be equal partners or of his promise to listen and that was as good a start as any.

 

“Great!” Heyes smiled, grasping his hand and pumping it vigorously before becoming serious once more, “Blood brothers.” he said quietly, his dark eyes boring into his.

 

Curry nodded, slowly,  “Blood brothers.”

 

“Forever.” they both added, in unison.

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-ooOOoo-

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