Welcome To The Bullpen
The Legend Of High Noon
Fermin Martinez
Blood begins to drip into the sink. A guilty switch blade lays in the basin, it’s golden handle stained sanguine.
“You look good.” He says to his reflection.
He buttoned up his old flannel sleeve, his right hand a dripping crimson. His hair a tangled, knotted mess. His real name was buried with his mother. The girls of The Ennio Hotel called him Baby, but he notoriously graced warrants as
“High Noon!” They shouted from outside.
His eyes perked up, and he strained his ears to listen. His malnourished frame swayed, and his gaze fell on his right hand. The extremity had quickly gone pale beneath the blood. He wiped his hand, staining a towel, and stepped out.
Ellie was staring out the window, her dress half on when Baby came in. She turned to him, near tears and said
“It’s a posse.” A black eye and a fat lip on her face.
Baby smiled, gentle eyes. He strolled to the window, his finger stroking her cheek. He slid his fingers through her hair as he parted the window shades.
“Hm…look at ‘em.”
Outside, the early Morning Sun was already furious. The pueblo of Indio was victim to it’s merciless onslaught. A miasma of torridness choked the yellow dirt road. Cautious eyes stared from brown windows.
Death marched down the street. The heavy boots of the law came in three, draped in darkness. Their graven hands gripped their guns with intent.
(“…bit small for a posse huh?” noted Baby.)
The dauntless Sheriff Huntington lead. At his right, the charred Deputy Daniels. Marching out of retirement to Huntington’s left, the wizened Pedro Martinez.
Daniels bled with vindictiveness. His face was in raw bandages, holding together what was left of his roasted flesh. His breath was wet, whistling from his lipless mouth. One eye stared out, darting back and forth. He choked his rifle with terrific anger. A hunger in his eye that only revenge would satisfy.
Pedro was too ancient to be a deputy. No, age had cut canyons into his sunburned face. Sad, dark eyes humbled in his heavy brow. A graying mustache swung below his chin. He bore a rifle in his arms, a gun as old as him. A rosary snaked around his hand, the cross dangled between his fist and the wooden rifle butt.
The Great Sheriff Huntington remained stoic. A silver pony tail tangled over his back. His callous eyes were set on the hotel. His right hand rested on his prize revolver. Given to him upon his leave of the Army, the gun was an intricately beautiful killing machine. It’s bullets casted to punish those who would bring evil to this world. In the other hand, a warrant.
They were here to bring justice to countless families. To uphold promises made over many a grave. They represented mothers, and fathers. Brothers and sisters. All whose lives have been shattered by the toxic touch of High Noon. The warrant cried “Dead or Alive!”, with a catalog of His sins. With all the will of God and Right on their side, they came to cleanse Indio of its cancerous parasite.
This was an exorcism.
Baby stepped back from the window, spitting onto the rug. He wobbled his way over to the coat rack, and removed his gun belt. Outside, Huntington announced the warrant, calling for High Noon to come out peacefully. It was half hearted at best. Baby opened the cylinder to his revolver. His last pair of bullets tucked patiently inside. Two bullets. Three men. ‘Regardless, two bullets to three people will get me jus as killed as no bullets’ he thought to himself as he let the duo drop to the floor.
“I’ve seen worse odds….” He mumbled to himself, losing his balance. The world teetered beneath him and he nearly fell backwards.
“Baby!” yelped Ellie
He caught himself, grabbing hold of the door knob. His trembling bloodied hand reached into his pocket and pulled out his cigarettes. He put one to his lips and recomposed himself. He looked at the strumpet, and let a sharp grin creep up his face.
“No worries, I’m still ‘Noon, ya dig? Aint ya hear? No bullet’s can touch me, ahaha.” he recited the rumors that had preceded him town to town.
He turned his back to her and took his step out the door.
“They’re going to kill you!” pleaded Ellie, tears streaming down her face.
He paused for only a moment at the door.
“No. They wont.” He didn’t look back. A trail of blood leading out the room.
*
Pedro quietly ducked away from the Sheriff. Dipping into an alley, he went around the makeshift house. He was praying very quietly to himself. Having to take another life weighed heavily on the man. He had spilled enough blood in his time, and found no serenity in it. But there are some things that a man cannot let stand. He could no longer sit back and allow this monster continue his victimization of the innocent. He wanted peace, not revenge. The alley led Pedro to the street parallel to the hotel. He lifted his rifle and took aim at the doorway…
Daniels kicked open the locked Bank entrance. The store was empty save for the teller, who stayed timidly to the back. He opened his mouth to protest, but froze at Daniels disfiguration. Daniels stepped to the window, and slipped the barrel of his rifle beneath. His finger tickled the trigger. His whole body was still in pain, and the fever drove him mad. He didn’t want High Noon to die, not immediately. He wanted the loathsome insect to see what he had done. To feel every slow second of pain that Daniels had felt as the kerosene cooked his face. This was hate fueled vengeance.
The outlaw stepped out of the Hotel. He tossed the match aside as smoke billowed over his face. A laugh escaped his lips.
“Lookit ya all dressed up. My girls would love yah.”
The Sheriff drew his revolver. High Noon still had his thumbs in his pockets. He pinched the cigarette and stared at it as he spoke.
“That’s hardly sportin’ sher’f. You aint even read me mah rights yet.” Smoke billowed from his nose and mouth as he antagonized Huntington.
“No more jokes ‘Noon. This warrant calls for a hangin’. I’m givin’ yeh one chance to hand yerself in, ta keep what lil’ honor yah have left in yah. Aint no more second chances.”
High Noon waved around the cigarette, blood dripping at his feet.
“What’s the name yah got on that there warrant, huh? Maybe I can help you find the fella. Sure as hell aint my name, I’d betcha.”
“You think anyone’s gun’ care ‘bout yer name after what you did in Morricone? You pushed it too far ‘Noon, aint no one forgetin’ about this one till yer necks snapped.”
High Noon nodded. “Yeah?” he spit, bringing the cig to his lips. He rolled his head on his neck, his gaze fell on the bank. “Dep-oo-tee Daniels. Glad to see yah made it out. I reckon some o’ my girls gots some ointment in their purses that’ll do wonders on yer condition. They’ll take good care of yah, promises, they love charity cases.”
In the bank, Daniels was seething. “Yeah, keep talkin’ ya rat, keep talkin’.”
“Was that Pedro I saw?” pestered High Noon. He was unsteady in stance, nearly delirious and swaying. Huntington’s eyes scrutinized the puddle of blood growing at High Noon’s feet. “If ya be needing a cane to support ya in yer old age,” continued High Noon, “I just robbed a carpenter.”
Huntington pulled back the hammer to his revolver. “Enough.” He ordered.
High Noon leaned back, savoring his final drag before tossing the cig. He let the smoke roll out from his nose.
“Allright. Let’s do this then.”
High Noon’s stance was unsteady, as if stricken by vertigo.
Sheriff Huntington leveled the barrel at the criminal.
Daniels trembled with anticipation, his blackened fingers stroking the trigger.
Ellie watched through burning tears from the hotel window, till the pain became too much to bear. If he was to die, she would die with him.
Pedro prayed for forgiveness, and asked the Lord to guide his aim. Out the corner of his eye he saw movement in the hotel window. A woman was rushing out. Pedro looked out and saw Huntington and Daniel’s weapons pointed in that direction. Without hesitation, he tossed his rifle away and bound forward
Sweat poured from High Noon’s ashen face. His eyes weren’t looking at anything before him, but darting back and forth at nothing.
“Aheh….” He wiped his forehead of sweat “Sorry ta’ let yeh down bird. Me’be next time.”
His trembling hand slugged it’s way to the gun. Thunder struck when his fingers touched the old steel.
Ellie exploded out the hotel into a rain of lead. She cried out for death, but found only Pedro instead. He tackled the girl and pinned her to the ground. She struggled, but he pinned her to the dirt.
High Noon felt a wet smack on his left ear and a ringing. As blood poured down the side of his face, he removed his gun from his holster. He ignored the cacophony of gun fire as he raised his gun at the Sheriff. The windows of the hotel behind him shattered, and dirt exploded at his feet.
He saw Huntington through his barrel. The gunfire had grown distant, and he couldn’t hear Ellie’s screams.
He pulled the trigger and whispered “Pow!”
The world went out from beneath him, and High Noon fell, a grin on his face.
*
Huntington glared. Cautiously he made his way towards High Noon. Daniels stepped out of the bank, his gun still trained on the outlaw.
Standing over him, Huntington was sure he was dead, a delusional grin frozen on his lips. Daniels pushed the body over with his foot.
“I nailed ‘im in his vermin’ skull.” Rasped Daniels, spit and mucus flying from his skeletal jaw. Daniels spit and swore something awful. Huntington’s stone gaze met Daniels.
“Yeh well…” if Daniels still had cheek’s he’d blush, “good riddance.” He turned his back to the Huntington and walked towards the hotel, resting the rifle on his shoulder. He saw Pedro on his knee’s locking the girl in place.
Ellie was frozen in grim anticipation. Praying against her own eyes that he was all right. Stuck between tears. When the lawmen made eye contact, Pedro hung his head low, and the girl lost it.
A miserable howl erupted from the girl. Her scream tore the sky as she dispelled all joy from her body.
“Daniels.” Beckoned Huntington.
“Eh?” Daniels picked at his bandages and skipped to the Sheriff.
“Look.” Instructed Huntington.
The wind had blown back High Noon’s hair, revealing the bullet wound. High Noon’s left ear had been shot off.
“Yah just shot his ear off there Lester.” Explained Huntington, “Nothin’ else.” Behind them, Ellie howled.
“Well shoot Rich.” Daniels gave up, “Where’d we stick ‘em then?”
The Sheriff sighed, shaking his head to the tearful soundtrack.
“We didn’t.” he answered. Ellie continued to wail.
“What did you-” began Daniels. He turned his head to Pedro and hollered “Would ya shut ‘er up?!” He looked back at Huntington, “Whatja say there Rich?”
The Sheriff was studying the town. His eyes met Daniels and he said
“I said we didn’t kill him.” Huntington knelt down and examined High Noon.
Daniels studied the body. Save for the missing ear there was not a bullet in him. Blood was only to be found on his face and his hand. Sheriff Huntington knelt down. He withdrew the pocket knife his father had given him, and flipped open the blade. He poked Noon’s right hand with it and dragged the flat side down to the sleeve, peeling it back.
He exposed a gash on High Noon’s wrist. Swollen and black, the half coagulated wound gaped back at Huntington.
“Aw spit. We did that?” asked Daniels.
Huntington stared. He withdrew the blade and shook his head.
“No. He did that to himself.”
Daniels hissed “Why would he go and do something stupid like that?”
Huntington gave a heavy, tired sigh as he stood up and met Pedro’s gaze.
“So we would never catch him.” He realized. His eyes fell to a distance. It would never end. The Sheriff tossed the warrant into the wind and turned his back, returning to their horses. Daniels looked back at Pedro as he disconnected himself from Ellie. The two of them caught up to the Sheriff and left.
Ellie’s cries had lost their sound, and she rasped her misery with bestial pain.
High Noon remained dead in the dirt, a grin on his face.
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