Raymond MacKay

Jake Plummer had just been dealt two aces and two eights when the saloon doors swung open.

The man who walked in was a U.S. Marshall. Even if the badge wasn’t pinned to his leather vest, Jake could tell by the way the young man carried himself.  Jake was more annoyed than worried by his arrival. Jake was the fastest and best gun in all of Texas, and no boyish out-of-town marshall was going to cause him trouble. Many had tried before and the notches engraved in his revolver displayed his superiority. But what the marshall could do was ruin his day. And up until that point, Jake had been having a rather pleasant day full of cigars, whiskey and poker. There wasn’t much else for men like him to do these days. But he liked it.

Yes sir, many had challenged Jake Plummer, yet here he sat.

The marshall approached the table.

“Plummer?” The marshall asked rhetorically. Jake nodded.

The rest of the table vacated their seats.

Jake tossed his cards onto the table. They fell next to a half drunk bottle of whiskey and his revolver.

“Name’s Gerard.” The marshall announced.

“What do you want tin-star?” Jake asked loudly. This drew a subdued chuckle from the saloon crowd listening in.

“To take you in for murder of Mr. Carlos Robante.” Gerard declared.

“Who?” Jake chuckled, amused by the Marshal’s no nonsense attitude.

“He was the man you killed outside of El Paso three weeks ago.” The Marshall clarified.

“Oh.” Jake cocked an eyebrow in mock realization. “Him.”

“Yes.”

“Let me ask you something.” Jake reached across the table and Marshall’s eyes darted to the gun on the table, but Jake picked up the whiskey bottle and took a big gulp. “You came all the way here to arrest me over a dead Mexican? Is that something worth dying over? Boy?”

“The law’s the law Mr. Plummer.” the marshall declared resolutely. “Now, the way I see it, you’ve got yourself two choices.”

“Oh yeah?” Jake was tiring of humoring the young marshall’s attitude.

“You can walk out of here in irons or…” The marshall opened his coat to reveal a holster resting on his belt. “ You can be carried out.”

The saloon went dead quiet. All eyes rested on the young marshall as he stared down the killer.

“Bold words from someone who barely looks old enough to shave.” Jake chuckled dryly, attempting to maintain his relaxed facade. “Tell me, have you ever killed a man? Because I have. I’ve killed plenty. Just take a look at the number of notches on that pistol.”

The Marshall’s eyes flicked to the carvings on the butt of the gun but his expression remained unreadable.

“So do you really think you can take me boy?” Jake’s jaded eyes bored into the marshall’s. “Because I’ve been killing since your mama was diapering your bottom.”

“That’s an interesting question there Mr. Plummer.” Marshall Gerard replied. “But there’s a more pressing one you should be asking yourself.”

“Oh yeah?” Jake was at the end of his patience. His eyes flicked to his gun. He felt the urge to snatch it up and gun down Gerard right then and there. But gunning down a marshall in front of witnesses could lead to a lot more trouble down the line. Regardless, his hand instinctively began to move slowly down his leg, towards the edge of the table where his revolver rested.

“What’s that?” Jake asked, slowly taking a swig from the emptying bottle.

“Can you pick your gun off that table, cock it and shoot me down before I draw mine and put a hole in you?”

Jake choked on his whiskey, shocked by the marshall’s directness.

Gerard continued. “Well there’s a lot to think about here Mr. Plummer. You see I’m sober, you’re not. So my reflexes could be faster than yours. And your hands are below the table and your gun is above it. My gun is holstered and my hands right next to it.”

Jake’s eyes fell on the marshall’s hand, still resting on his gun belt.

“You see, my draw is one motion.” Gerard explained what Jake already knew. “While yours is picking up and pointing. Not as simple.”

Jake said nothing. His confident facade cracked as a bead of sweat escaped from his hat brim and trickled down his face. He didn’t wipe it away.

“The way I see it.” Gerard said. “You don’t have a fair chance. So I’m gonna be reasonable.”

“Reasonable how?” Jake asked.

“If you back away from that table and come quietly I’ll take you to jail peacefully.” Gerard explained. “And I’ll speak at your trial and say you were cooperative. With any luck, you’ll spend the rest of your life in a nice cell in Yuma. But if you even as much as twitch your hand in the general direction of that gun I will kill you. My gun only ever leaves its holster for one reason. I don’t shoot to wound.” Gerard said, his eyes full of warning.

Gerard paused. “Now that I’ve said my piece, you’ve got a decision to make.”

Jake said nothing, lost in thought. The marshall was right, his draw was awkward. And he was drunk. But whiskey gave his body a speed and confidence unparalleled. He’d rarely killed a man sober. And he had killed many before, often in situations like this. He’d always come out on top. He was Jake Plummer dammit, the fastest gun in texas, no boy could out draw him, no matter the circumstances.

“May I state something that may have escaped your assessment?” Jake asked.

“Go ahead.” Gerard replied.

Jake’s statement left little to the imagination as his left hand jumped onto the table, snatching up the gun, cocking it and pointing.

The marshall’s response left little else to discuss.

Jake Plummer fell to the floor, a bullet in his heart and a fully loaded revolver in his hand.

He was Jake Plummer, one of the fastest guns in Texas. But he wasn’t the fastest. Not anymore.

The End.