coco- Lying Snake and The Forgetful Hat, Part 1He reinvests in his mission and saunters over to the Sheriff's office. Mac and Gil, the Sheriff's men, are playing cards with bourbon in their tin tea mugs and their boots up on the table. "There's a new guy in town," he tries again. The men draw their cards to their chests, lean back deeply in their seats, and watch him. "They call him Lying Snake." Mac flips out a card without checking his hand. "We know." "I hear he's trouble." "I know." Tan man hovers, expectantly, as they resume their game. He picks his teeth with a fingernail, looks back out at the sky, and wanders off. "First I heard of it," says Gil. "I know," says Mac, throwing in his cards and dropping his feet to the floor. "Think we should tell him." Gil straightens up. Smoothes out his shirt. "Sure should." They stretch their backs and pat their guns, then knock on the internal door. They enter the next room, where the Sheriff awaits, reading a two-month old paper from a far-away city. He lifts his eyes from the paper. "Sheriff," nods Gil. "Sheriff," nods Mac. The Sheriff opens his mouth to speak and Gil takes over. "Yes, yes, no, no, yes," he says. The Sheriff closes his mouth, thinks for a second, and opens it again. "Yes," says Mac. "Then," says the Sheriff, "let's move on. What've you got?" "Might be trouble, might not be," says Mac. "By the name of Lying Snake." "Have we heard of him?" says the Sheriff, motioning for them to sit. "He's, what do you say, he's like what he's called," says Mac. "Liar," says Gil. "Literal," says the Sheriff. "That," says Mac. "A blaggard, a swindler, a cheat, a rat." "A snake," says Gil, correcting. "Then," says the Sheriff, "keep an eye out." "We will," says Mac, and they leave. It takes thirteen days before they hear word of it anew. John Carver makes an appearance at the Sheriff's, a rare appearance, and he barges into the office with an intent to bypass all protocol, to have an audience with the Sheriff alone. Mac jumps up, to block John's way. "Want to speak with the Sheriff," says John. Mac makes a move to bar and intimidate, then thinks differently and steps aside. John knocks on the Sheriff's door, waits for a "Yes?" and slips in, with more respect than he was showing. "Good day Sheriff," he says. "Do I know you?" says the Sheriff. He's reassembling his gun after cleaning it. "Yes..." says John, confused. "Do you work for me?" says the Sheriff. "No," says John, "I'm John Carver, own land out ten miles north-west. Need your advice on a situation." "Sit down and tell me about it," says the Sheriff. John remains standing, uneasy. "I've got to return to my family." The Sheriff stands too. "Continue." "Someone's been bothering our business," John says, "and they're not from around here. There's been talk of lower prices in other towns and now our produce is seen with suspicion. Prices too high, they say. We're stealing from their pockets. Now I don't know much about other towns, Sheriff, but I know we've got a fair price for what we have, with some left over to get us good food on the table and good horses." "Someone out there causin' trouble," says the Sheriff, as though he's talking to his gun. "That's what we're supposin'," says John. "I'll get my men to have a look around," says the Sheriff, clearing his throat and touching his hat to tilt it. "You get back to your land." "Thanks Sheriff," says John, and he's up and gone. Mac and Gil appear in the doorway with their dry coats on. "Men," says the Sheriff, "you know what to do." "We do, Sheriff, because we were here listenin'," says Mac, "but you make sure to go write it down." They storm off with their horses. The Sheriff removes his hat carefully, fingers the hat's lining, prising out a small notebook. "3PM," he writes. "John Carver, local landowner, concerned about troublemaker around & about. Investigation underway." He flicks back a few pages to read about old news. He puts his gun on the table. |
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