WIP Wednesday
@the-wip-project
I'm still in Mistlands with Bad Luck Phil. This isn't a recent snippet but I really like where I cut the scene, so this is the part I'm sharing today.
Phil deals with a(nother) heckler. "Hilarity" ensues.
Sam steps toward the audience. “You saw him break four at a time with a shotgun. Can Sowhettney Phil hit six with a pistol he’s never used before today?” He turns slightly my direction and continues. “Or will he miss?” he growls.
Nothing like hyping the suspense. I only hope this piece of shit doesn’t misfire or jam with all the rounds I’m pumping through it. Probably more action than the thing gets in a year. Sera tosses the clays. She picked nice bright ones out of the stack, making them easier to see both for me and the crowd. I know her tosses, too, so I hit the first at the top of its arc and nail the rest on their ascent.
The audience loves it. Mad applause, Sam’s crowing up the feat. I unload the brass, slowly this time. Give the crowd their minute. They’ll quiet down soon enough. Peddycord stands beside me, huffing and puffing, fixing to explode. As the applause fades I offer the gun back. “Your turn, Peddycord,” I say.
.............
The town Marshal frowns over his desk. He's a sunbleached scarecrow of a man who looks like he'd be infinitely more comfortable in a field somewhere rather than folded up in this office. “And that’s when you hit him?” he asks.
“No, sir. He swung at me and missed and I punched him in the gut,” I answer. Didn’t end there, but as brawls go it was pretty short. Town deputy showed up quick enough I wonder if she was in the crowd. Wouldn't be the first time. Whether for entertainment or a chance to harass us I don't know, but we get more than our share of attention from the law. I fidget with my hands. The cuffs chafe my wrists. Not as bad as Peddycord, who’s been messing with his the whole time.
“With the gun,” the Marshal prompts.
“I was holding the gun with that hand, yes, sir,” I answer. “I unloaded the spent rounds and was trying to give it back when he threw his punch.”
“He insulted me!” Peddycord whines.
“Shut it, Fenton,” the Marshal orders. He rubs his face with his hands.
Sam, standing beside me, is apoplectic, but he has a contrite face for the Marshal. He’ll chew me out later. A lot, I expect. In a surprisingly calm voice he adds, “If I may, Marshal, I’d like to add that there are plenty of witnesses among your townspeople who will testify to Phil’s version of events.” Important to mention ‘townspeople’ since they’re inherently more trustworthy than us carnies.
“I am aware of additional witnesses, Mr. Knapp. For once, I have an abundance of people eager to share their stories.” The Marshal sighs and kneads the bridge of his nose. “I’ve half a mind to hold you both but I’ve only got the two cells and that’s a headache I don’t need.” He drops his hand to the desk as though tired of the entire affair. “Alright. Fenton, that’s a ten-dollar fine for disorderly and your weapon stays here until you head out. Pay the deputy.” He unlocks Peddycord’s cuffs.