Lawless Liberty Ch. 01

"They tend to get a little too close," I reply, and am rewarding with a shotgun stock to the stomach. I cough until I drool, but still stay on my feet.

"Easy boys, we still need him to look pretty," the man with the bloody face says. "Nothing above the neck."

I surprise them by still getting a few punches in, but five men are more than enough to give me a good beating. I cover my body the best I can, but I am savaged from kicks and punches for nearly a full minute. My body is quaking in pain by the end of it, but the man tells them I've had enough and orders me to my feet.

"Can you still stand?" the man asks, and I pull myself up with the wagon wheel and put my back against it. "Tough son of bitch, aren't ya?"

"Baiser un cheval," I say, and one of them laughs. Turns out one of them knows French. He has the accent too.

"He just told us to fuck a horse," the Frenchman says.

"Why don't you tell me what you really think?" the bloodied man says.

"I'm not doing it," I say, and he gives me a bloody grin.

"You hear that Bonaparte? He says he aint doing it," the man says. I cannot tell if that is his real name or a nickname. I will assume the latter.

"If he's Bonaparte, who are you?"

"Take your pick, I got some favorites, but I take my inspiration from antiquity. Fabius. Scipio. Hannibal. Themistocles. Hell, I'll even tip my hat to Sherman if we crossed paths. Don't have to be on the same side of the conflict to respect a man. Do you know what all those commanders had in common?"

This man is educated. This is not some fool I can talk circles around and prod at his lack of knowledge. He sounds as if he could describe the Battle of Cannae as if he was present as the Carthaginians crushed the Romans to death. I could ask him what the earth and sea at Marathon smelled like.

"They didn't fight on their enemy's terms," I say, and he chuckles with a nod. "I won't fight on yours either."

"That you have very wrong. I will not be fighting on yours. You have two choices right now. Open the safes, or I beat them out of you, grab your Jew teller and have him escort us instead. All the while his wife Rivka is raped while his daughters wait for their turn. I got twenty-one men. That's twenty-one cocks for just three little cunts, and one of them cunts I'm told is very little."

"If you even touch his family!" I shout, and he holds the gun to me. He has learned his lesson about keeping his distance.

"Entirely up to you," he says, and I can hear my breath through my teeth. "What will it be?" I cannot take that chance.

"I'll do it. You don't go anywhere near his family," I say, and he put the gun back in his holster.

"Gentlemen's agreement. Hell, if we do this right, the town won't even notice we were ever there."

--

Under the cover of darkness, the gang places their wagon to the side of the bank as two of the men keep watch on the street. I am led to the front of the bank by gunpoint and quietly let them in.

"Don't try nothing. We get in, we get out," the bloodied man says.

I enter the public space of the bank and lead them to the next door. Mr. Primrose's key opens the first and second iron bars. We get to the three safes and he pushes the gun to my back.

"Open em," he says.

"I want your word. Nothing happens to his family," I say.

"Gentlemen's agreement," he replies.

"You are not a gentleman," I say, and he pokes my back again.

"I want this to be as quiet as possible," he says. "Open em."

I struggle to squat from the beating I took, but I start the dials on the first lock. After a moment I have the first open. As I start the second, we hear a knock on the back wall.

"Wait," he says, and I stop. We hear the front doors open, and he grabs my arm and pushes my back against the wall. He is too close again, and I could fight for the gun, but I cannot take that chance.

"Justin? Hal?" I hear Eugene say from the front. I look at the bloodied man, who gestures with his head.

"Get rid of him, or I will," he whispers.

"It's me," I say to him, and step into the door frame. "You're early."

"So are you. I was on my way from the butcher, get the meat while it's fresh. Thought I saw some shadows," Eugene says, and he steps into the doorway at the end of the hall. "What are you doing?"

"Mr. Primrose stayed late last night. Said I'd open early. This insurance matter has taken priority," I quickly say, trying my best to appear natural.

"I understand. That means we won't see him all day," Eugene says, and I attempt a sincere laugh.

"Probably," I say and feel the gun on my shoulder. "You should take the day too."

"Take the day? Why?" Eugene asks.

"You were saying Hannah's birthday was on Friday, right?" I ask.

"Sure is. She's turning six," Eugene says like a proud father. "Growing so fast."

"Take the day, find her something nice," I say, and he thinks. "I'll mark you present for duty and everything. Like you said, we won't see him all day anyway."

"You sure?" Eugene asks.

"It's not a problem. When is the last time you had a day? Spend it with your family," I say, and he ponders again.

"I think I might just take you up on that offer," Eugene says. "Thanks, see you tomorrow?"

"Sure thing," I say, and he says a polite goodbye before departing. I exhale as the door shut, trembling in relief.

"Good going kid. Get to work," the bloodied man says.

I open the safes, then I'm ordered to carry the merchandise out myself. No one would bat an eyelash if they saw me doing it. It takes roughly ten minutes and three trips, but it is all loaded into a steam trunk on the back of the stagecoach.

"It's done. Now get out," I say. The reply is me being grabbed from behind, bound and gagged, and thrown into a steam trunk. I kick it a few times and I hear a lock being put on. I hear a crash of the trunk with the money being thrown on top.

"Keep it down in there. We're going to stay a few hours, make it look like we're passing through for provisions. We can't have you running to the law," the bloodied man says.

I hear and feel the wagon move, and I force myself to be still. I am still for what feels like hours. It is becoming hot as the morning progresses, and my entire body is in pain. Suddenly gunshots start cracking. Were they caught?

The gunfire intensifies, and minute later I hear a bang above me, like something being thrown onto the wagon. I can hear the shots coming close to or hitting the wagon which jerks forward and off we go. I just accept I am about to die.

It feels like more hours pass until the wagon finally stops. Just kill me already.

I hear the trunk on top grind against mine a little, but the person grunts like they underestimated the weight. I hear a gunshot a moment later. I hear noises until a new voice says. "What in the world?" It's a woman. I hammer my body upwards to rumble the trunk. "What in the fucking world?"

I scream through the gag to get their attention. A second gunshot follows, and the trunk is thrown open. Standing above me is a woman. She looks my age, maybe a little younger. Braided hair, light freckles, and a crooked nose. With the trunk open, now is my chance. I ram into the side to tip it, and the woman jumps out of the way as it crashes to the ground. I roll out of it and try to run, but the combination of my legs being numb and tied together throws my body to the ground face first.

"Stop, stop," the woman says before she presses her boot to my chest to control me. Is she with them? She looks the type if I'm being fair. She then brandishes a knife.

"I'm not the one who put you in that trunk. I don't care who did, but I have a feeling I know how that was going to end. It's your lucky day," she says. You must be shitting me. Someone else stole the wagon. I nod to her out of relief.

"I'm going to cut your binds. Try anything funny, and I will stab you, before I shoot you. Do you understand?" she asks. I believe her, and I nod.

The woman crouches down to my ankles to cut the rope. She then cuts the wrists, and I untie and remove the gag myself.

"You gonna tell me why you're in a trunk?" she asks as I start rubbing my wrists. "Or why the other trunk is full of money?" I don't answer right away. I push myself up to my feet then swipe the dirt from myself. "Let's start with your name."

"Justin," I say, standing upright and putting my knuckles to my chin and pushing until my neck cracks. "You?"

"Best you don't know who I am," she says, then points to the money. "Explain."

"That's a long story."