Posh

by HAL

Tags: Western,

Desc: : Posh joined the gang not long ago. Has he got what it takes? They've just robbed the stagecoach and found two prizes - a lot of gold, and three young women. Just a very short story; hope you like it.

“What will happen to us?” The elder sister said to their guardian, their aunt who had been accompanying them. Their aunt had a pretty good idea.

Egsy looked up, lost count, swore and pulled back all the money. “Posh, explain. And tell them to shut the fuck up”

“Our father will pay well to get us back unharmed”, ‘well,’ thought Irma, their aunt, ‘he’d pay to get you back unharmed’

“Well” said Posh, he looked liked he should wear glasses, he even made a movement before he spoke that looked like he was adjusting his spectacles. “You see, we’ve just robbed the stage. We have money, what we don’t have, apart from you, is women. So you see, money in the future isn’t as good as, umm, cunt in the present”

The three women looked white, and said nothing. There were eleven of the gang, and three of them.

“Posh, Denge and Jonny, take them to the stables; we need to sort this money out before the fun”

The stage had clearly been carrying something special, it had the usual guard beside the driver but a couple of extra guards on top. Stupid really. A rifle picked them both off before they even saw the gang. The normal guard threw his scatter gun away and jumped; he wasn’t paid enough to risk his life. He would walk twenty miles back towards town before collapsing and dying of thirst. He would have been better waiting and then heading through the canyon, the way station was only ten miles on. The driver was shot dead because he wouldn’t stop the stage.

Inside were Madrigal, Celeste, Irma and a man travelling to the start of the west coast part of the line. The distance shortened every day, soon the age of the stage (and stagecoach robbery) would be over.

The man got down with his hands up. He was stripped to his long johns, stripped of his boots, and allowed to go. He would make it to the way station with feet red raw from the stones and thorns. But he was alive. Alive but ruined, his wealth was in the trunk and the gang found that and knew they had struck the paydirt. It would take a while to divide it up.

“Please,” whispered Celeste “My sister is only fifteen...” Posh looked at her “We would be mighty grateful ... please, help us” With their hands tied behind them, they were incapable of anything without help. “Please”

At the barn, he opened the small door and stepped in. Two of the girls followed, then Denge; then Irma and finally, as Jonny stepped in, Posh’s knife flipped out and slashed across his throat. His blood spurted, he gasped for breath and fell into the barn. Denge wheeled round, drawing his gun, and the knife sliced both eyes open before stabbing into his heart. The struggle was to stop the gun being fired, as they fought, Denge weakened and then collapsed in a pool of his blood. Posh herded the three women to a corner and said “Stay. Don’t move! Hide under the hay” Then he slipped out of the side of the barn.

A gang member having a shit was an easy target. The knife kept it quiet. Posh held him tight as his life force drained into the shit. Three out of ten, still bad odds. Luck stayed with him when one of the two in the kitchen came out to get water from the well; with his vocal cords cut, he fell soundlessly head first into the well. There wasn’t room to turn. And Mute was the other worker in the kitchen that day. The poker in the face disabled him, and the hammer finished the job. He’d started, he had to finish now; if he was caught he would get a merciless death.

Posh started only a few weeks before, he spoke well (hence the nickname), but he had a psychopathic streak. Egsy sensed that and had others watch him, but the money had taken them off guard. Five down before they realised there was a problem.

“Boss, something’s up. Denge and Jonny are dead, I see’d it!” Even now Posh wasn’t suspected, he had a few more minutes. His rifle cracked twice and the odds were only 3 to 1 against. Egsy wasn’t stupid, he guessed now. He’d always thought Posh had a screw loose. He’d kill him slowly if he could.

“Posh? Posh? You murdering scum. I’ll kill you, you know that.”

“Egsy; what can I say? How about you and me? In the yard. Now”

Egsy would never turn down a challenge, he agreed and shouted “I’m coming out”

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Story tagged with:
Western /