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The sun just dipped under the horizon when Sawyer made his way into town. It was rare if you found an outlaw that wasn’t at the saloon for the weekend, and that was exactly where he was headed.
He’d been receiving non-stop reports of an outlaw in town all week. Firstly, a mineral polishing shop got caught in a hold up with a masked man on Monday, and ended up with all of their stones gone. Then, on Wednesday, a nearby railroad was shut down due to a robbery.
No matter the story, every person described the same man. One of average stature but seemed to loom over everyone in the room, with jet black hair and, for some odd reason, three kids behind him. Somehow, in every event, the four individuals left unseen and unscathed. Whoever that outlaw was, he was a damn sneaky one.
One of the frequents of the saloon Lantern’s End had stopped by his office that morning, said a man with dark hair and even darker eyes at the bar that night had sweet talked her all through the night and left with her wallet. Said he’d be back that night, too.
The hum of activity died down to a low thrum the moment Sawyer stepped inside. Most of the bar patrons turned to look at the door, and when greeted by the town sheriff instead of another participant for their game of poker, they immediately shoved their coins in their pockets and narrowed their eyes. The lady behind the counter rolled her eyes upon recognizing him.
“What’s got you scarin’ my boys on a Sunday night, Sawyer?” she chastised, resulting in a howl of laughter from her customers. Despite the biting tone, her lips curled up at the sides.
“Nothin’ but another outlaw,” he grumbled in response.
The woman rolled her eyes, of which she didn’t even take off of the cup she was polishing to meet Sawyer’s eyes. “In my saloon? That’s absolutely unheard of.”
“He’s been causing some trouble in town.”
The patrons had since abandoned their game, entirely focused on the conversation between the bartender and the sheriff. Sawyer shot them a warning glance. “Nothing you folks ought to be worried about.”
“He won’t arrest you guys. Will he, Sheriff?”
“You’re at my wit’s end, Rex,” Sawyer grumbled. Laughter sounded behind him. He pushed past a circle of men playing darts, narrowly avoiding being clipped in the ear.
There were two parts to Lantern’s End, a front room with a wrap-around bar and tables for food and drink, and a back room where more… illicit activities took place. It was dimly lit and always crowded, with a few pool tables and card tables scattered about. Even approaching the entryway, Sawyer could hear the sounds of whooping and drunken rambling. Sawyer slowly removed his badge and slipped it into his pocket, pulling a blue bandana over his nose.
A raven-haired man previously leaned up against the doorframe blocked Sawyer’s way just before he could make it inside.
“Not running the venue tonight, are you, Ryung?” Sawyer said, trying to keep the anticipation from slipping into his voice.
“Nope,” said Ryung, popping the P. “So Rex there has got me here as bouncer.”
“Not at the front door?”
Ryung sighed and began to fidget with his shirtsleeves. After a short stretch of silence, he spoke up, barely audible, “I don’t think she wants anybody to come in who will… arrest someone.”
Ryung put his hands up in front of him in defense. “I promise it isn’t a personal attack! She just has a way she runs the place, I swear!”
“I’m not angry,” Sawyer said.
Ryung looked visibly relieved. “Alrighty. That’s good.”
“However, I am still your Sheriff, and I demand that you let me through that door. I have business to take care of.”
Ryung frowned. “Are you sure?”
Sawyer stared at him. “What do you mean, am I sure?”
After taking another long, defeated sigh, Ryung stepped out of the way, “I’m just saying, if you can’t stand the heat, stay outta the kitchen, Sheriff.”
“Noted,” Sawyer said. He nodded appreciatively at Ryung and made his way into the back of the saloon.
Immediately, he was thrust into the middle of a roaring crowd. Unsure what the sea of people were cheering for, Sawyer looked around inquisitively as he maneuvered himself out from between two men much larger than him. Just through the cracks in between patrons, Sawyer could see a small table with two men sat opposite to each other.
He fought his way to the front, pushing past people who cursed when he shoved them aside. He eventually made it to a place where he could see the game in all its glory. However, from his perspective, it just looked like a normal game of Blackjack.
With a hesitant frown hidden by his bandana, Sawyer nudged the girl beside him and cleared his throat. She looked up at him with wide brown—almost black—eyes and a lopsided smile.
“Can I help you, sir?” she asked kindly, though her tone revealed something more mocking.
Sawyer shoved his hands in his pockets. “What’s so good about that game?” he said, trying to tone down his professionalism. If he sounded like a sheriff, she definitely wouldn’t respond to him.
Thankfully, she didn’t seem to think anything suspicious of his demeanor, because her smile widened a bit, and she turned back to the table. “Guy on the right’s been going for eleven rounds without breaking.”
“Eleven?” Sawyer repeated incredulously.
“That is what I said, sir,” she chuckled.
Sawyer fought the urge to roll his eyes and instead focused back on the game. Sure enough, the twelfth turn came around, and the man on the left got twenty-four, while the one on the right got a comfortable twenty. The crowd erupted in cheers yet again. Even Sawyer clapped absent-mindedly.
The man on the left stood up, defeated, and shook the man on the right’s hand with a grin. Once they broke apart, a boy he didn’t notice before, sat just behind the winner, stood up and called out the crowd.
“Any takers?!” he shouted, and more than a few people stepped forward. Despite himself, Sawyer found himself locking eyes with the boy.
Somehow, the look in his eyes told everyone that he was a worthy opponent, he was pushed from multiple angles into the middle of the circle. The boy howled.
“Ten cents a game, sir,” he said in a shockingly similar tone as the girl from earlier. “You lose, we keep the money. You win, and we give you everything we’ve won tonight.” There were a few hoots from behind Sawyer.
“And how much have you got so far?” he asks.
“Just about a whole dollar, now,” the boy, who Sawyer has started calling Tall Boy in his head, responds. “You goin’ to take our offer?”
All of a sudden, the room fell into hushed whispers, and Sawyer found himself truly understanding why peer pressure worked. He reached his hand into his pocket, just scraping his Sheriff’s badge, and pulled out a quarter.
“Keep the change,” Sawyer said with determination.
The room burst into a cacophony of hoots and hollers. Tall Boy’s eyes widened for just a moment, but his previous easy grin quickly replaced the surprise, and he took the coin without protest.
“Good luck,” he said.
With that, he pulled out the chair opposite to the man of the hour, and Sawyer took his seat like he owned the establishment.
It was much easier to make out the winner’s facial features in the dim light of the saloon now that Sawyer was but a couple feet away from him. Their gazes met, and the moment Sawyer saw his expression, a surefire smile and concentrated eyes the color of gunmetal, he knew exactly who he was facing. The gun in his holster bore into his skin.
Tall Boy walked behind Sawyer and then between the two, holding a deck of red cards. Sawyer raised his hand.
“I have a request!” he exclaimed, and the crowd all but gasped.
“And what would that be?” his opponent asked.
“How do we know the boy, who is quite obviously working for you, isn’t helping you cheat?”
The crowd seemed initially taken aback, but hums of agreement began to sound throughout the room. Tall Boy seemed shocked, like he didn’t expect anyone to even suggest cheating. He looked at Sawyer’s opponent for… advice? The man simply shook his head.
“Very well!” he said. “Liam, someone from the crowd will replace you as dealer for this round.”
He took the deck of cards from Tall Boy—Liam, right—and slid them back into their box, which he had been keeping in his pocket.
“First person to catch it gets to deal.” Then, he all but chucked it into the crowd.
It wasn’t even an exaggeration to say the patrons dove for that box. It took a moment of scrambling and a few muffled yelps, but, eventually, one man emerged victorious. An older gentleman with a crooked grin held the box of cards up high.
“Warner will be dealing for this round!” Liam shouted, and the crowd went wild. Apparently, this Warner guy was a bigger deal than he’d thought.
The old man eventually made his way into Liam's old place after a few high-fives and claps on the back from his peers. He seemed like a genuinely good dealer. He shuffled precisely and efficiently, this time with a neutral, focused appearance.
However, the man across from him didn’t even spare a glance at Warner. His eyes were trained on Sawyer the entire time. Then, Warner split the deck, and it was time. Sawyer felt his blood rushing in his ears. What had he gotten himself into?
Warner dealt each of them two cards, and Sawyer wasted no time surveying what he had. An ace and a two. His heart immediately started pounding. He looked across the table, and his opponent was staring down at his hand, eyes dark. A three and an eight. The dealer’s non-hole card was a nine.
“Guests go first, of course,” Liam said with that easy smile. “Hit or stand… What was your name again, sir?”
Sawyer panicked. If the crowd heard his name, they’d recognize his status as the town Sheriff.
“Er… Annalaura.” Oh, sweet mother of pearl.
The crowd erupted in laughter. Even his opponent smirked. Despite Sawyer’s bewilderment at his own actions, he had a great poker face, so he simply sat in his seat, dead-faced.
“That ain’t your real name, is it?” Liam asked. When Sawyer didn’t dignify him with a response, the room’s giggles became more awkward.
“Well… Annalaura, hit or stand?”
Sawyer considered his options for a moment. A bead of sweat rolled down his face. With an ace and a two, the logical option would be to hit.
“I’ll hit,” Sawyer said. The crowd whooped.
Then, the focus was turned to his opponent. Liam approached him and interrogated him with that same announcer-esque voice.
“What about you, Johnny? Hit or stand?”
So his name was Johnny. Sawyer didn’t know why, but this newfound knowledge made his stomach do flips.
Johnny cracked a smile. “I’ll stand, he said.”
What? He only had eleven in total! The crowd expressed their disagreement with this decision, and Sawyer even frowned his own frown under his bandana. Bless his heart. Hitting wouldn't even affect his count. If anything, if he got an ace, he would automatically win, or tie with another player at the very least.
Liam’s eyes widened, but he didn’t seem all that shocked. “Alright! Johnny’s standing,” he said.
Now, it was the dealer’s turn. Warner cracked another toothy grin. Slowly but surely, he lifted up the hole card. Sawyer couldn’t help shifting in his seat from the anticipation. He flipped the card. Sawyer held his breath. A five, which meant he was required to hit.
“You know the drill, folks!” Warner said.
He carefully selected two cards from the top of the deck. Sawyer imagined this was how all of those souls would feel on judgement day, standing before the lord, waiting to be sent to a flourishing paradise or eternal damnation.
Warner slammed Sawyer’s card down onto the table. He could barely muster the courage to look. It felt like the crowd was breathing over his shoulder. The suspicious- looking winner, the generous man from the crowd, or the regular pushing eighty? Sawyer cracked a single eye open.
An ace. He’d pulled an ace. Which, combined with his twelve meant he’d busted. Everyone cheered for his demise. Sawyer put his head in his hands.
He listened as Warner put his own card on the table, and according to the absolutely roaring reaction of the crowd, he’d definitely busted as well, which meant Johnny had won for the thirteenth time, and Sawyer still hadn’t even interrogated him on where he’d been this past week.
Sawyer stood up from his seat and waited in silence for around a minute, just letting that man who was definitely cheating bathe in all his glory. He wasn’t salty. No, definitely not.
Eventually, Johnny stood as well, and he reached out to shake Sawyer’s hand. Hesitantly, he took his hand. Johnny’s grip was firm and radiated the aura of I just wiped the floor with you. Sawyer hoped he could see his disdain even through the bandana.
“Congratulations to Johnny, yet again! Nice try, Annalaura. Any takers?”
Johnny released Sawyer’s hand from his grip, and Sawyer immediately made his way back into the sea of people, avoiding any pitiful glances and comments sent his way.
Rex was still talking to the men at the bar when he slid into a tall seat under the bright orange lights, the laughter of the patrons in the other room still reverberating in his head. Rex made her way up to him with a grin.
“He beat you bad, didn’t he?” she said. Sawyer only groaned in response.
“He isn’t the outlaw you’re here to catch, is he?” she continued, barking out a laugh. “It’d be a damn shame. He’s brought so many people here these past few nights. I’ve made more this week than I did all of last month. Not only that, but he tips like crazy.”
When Sawyer didn’t reply, her face fell ever so slightly. “Sawyer. You aren’t serious.”
“He held up Carol’s store down by main street, and he robbed a train just south of Fort Quitman.”
She turned back to the drink she’d been making and seemed to ponder for a moment.
“Alright, alright. Just go lock ‘em up and get out of my face,” Rex teased, though underneath her playful demeanor, it was obvious she wasn’t happy to have her main source of revenue taken away. Sawyer made a mental reminder to tip better in the coming weeks.
By the time he returned to the dim back room of Lantern’s End, Johnny stood in the corner of the room, surrounded by a few of the members of the crowd from earlier, including Liam and the girl who’d been almost too nice to him. Sawyer promptly made his way into the circle.
Johnny’s eyes flickered with recognition when he approached, but any conversation they could’ve had was quickly interrupted by the voice of a boy beside him.
“You’re the kind man who gave us twenty-five cents!” He was quickly elbowed by Liam, but he only looked a little sorry for the comment. “I mean… Johnny. Not us, of course.”
Sawyer’s lips quirked up into a smile, even though nobody could see it. “And the one who got beat terribly, yes.”
The boy laughed a nice, light-hearted laugh. He seemed like a nice boy. What was he doing with…?
Sawyer realized all at once that the ‘patrons’ surrounding Johnny were most definitely the three aforementioned children who followed him from crime to crime. Sawyer’s fist clenched.
“C’mon, Aldie, let the adults talk for a moment. I think this gentleman has something he’d like to say,” Johnny said. It was one of the first full sentences he’d spoken all evening, and his voice was smooth like honey. Sawyer couldn’t at all imagine him conducting a hold up.
Aldie frowned, but he concurred, and took a step back alongside the two other children. Sawyer turned to Johnny.
“Can I buy you a drink?” he asked.
Johnny seemed taken aback. “Why not,” he responded. “Grab me a whiskey cocktail and head back here, will you?” Sawyer didn’t even think to object.
When he slammed another twenty-five cents down on the counter and asked for his drink, Rex shot him a look that he couldn’t quite place the meaning of. It was like she knew something he didn’t.
“Are you buying Johnny a drink?”
“No,” Sawyer lied, a very obvious lie.
“Funny,” Rex said, taking the coin and slipping it into a small pouch around her waist. “That’s what he orders every time he comes in."
“You ain't from around these parts, that much is obvious,” Johnny said, taking the drink from Sawyer’s hands and bringing it to his lips. “What’s a good Georgia boy like you doing out here?”
“I’ve got family in town,” Sawyer said with simple directness. “And what about you… Johnny?”
“Doesn’t matter. Leavin’ for El Paso by tomorrow, less’n my sense catches up with me.”
Sawyer’s eyebrows raised. “And what brings you out to El Paso?”
“I’m sure you know what,” Johnny said with a devilish grin. He took a long drag of his cigarette like he was savoring it, and he fixed his gaze upon Sawyer.
Sawyer glanced away as if the eye contact burned. He could feel Johnny’s eyes on him, unbreaking.
“You don’t have a drink?” Johnny asked.
“I’m not much of a drinker.”
Johnny shook his head like that was the most blasphemous thing he’d ever been told. “C’mon, Annalaura, we’re gonna get you a drink,” he said, and he grabbed Sawyer’s wrist and dragged him to the other side of the room, despite Sawyers’ protests.
Johnny was much less intimidating up close like this. However, it was getting harder and harder to want to arrest him. Focus, he thought. Focus.
Johnny led Sawyer to the back wall of the room, where a white door led to a dark alleyway behind the saloon. He grabbed a beer off a random patron’s table, whom did nothing but laugh it off.
“...Johnny?” Sawyer asked.
Johnny shoved the beer in Sawyer’s general direction, not even bothering to look back at him. “Don’t be shy, Annalaura.”
Sawyer almost spilled his (?) beer as he stumbled into the alley. There wasn’t another person in sight. Sawyer’s hand firmly rested on the gun in his holster. What was this? What was he planning to do? Perhaps this would be his chance to—
Sawyer’s back hit the hard wooden wall, and Johnny’s lips crashed against his.
It was an utter mess of tongues and teeth. Sawyer’s head was spinning, spinning like the ground beneath him, and Johnny was the only thing holding him up, and his mind was lost in the feeling of his soft, plush lips and the scratch of his beard against his face.
He let go of his beer and let the glass shatter on the floor.
Sawyer didn’t know what was happening or why it was happening or what steps even led to this. Perhaps the look in his eyes betrayed him. Maybe it was the fact that the first button of Sawyer's shirt was undone, or maybe it was just the intoxication.
“My name,” Sawyer rasped against Johnny’s lips. “It isn’t Annalaura.”
“What is it then?”
“It’s Sawyer.”
He reached for his belt as they kissed, and as they kissed Sawyer was only pressed harder against the wall, and they were flush together, and he was so, so angry at himself for wanting to end it, but this had to happen. He had a job to do. He had an objective.
“That’s a pretty name. Sawyer.”
Suddenly, Johnny’s hand travelled to Sawyer’s wrist, slowly pinning it to the wall above his head. Sawyer whimpered.
“You’re the sheriff, ain't ya,” he murmured.
Sawyer could only shudder in response. For some reason, some stupid, horrible reason, Johnny didn’t move, he didn’t run. He kept kissing Sawyer like a man starved, and for a similarly stupid, horrible reason, Sawyer didn’t protest.
“You’re an idiot,” Sawyer said. “Why aren’t you— why aren’t—”
“Because you like it.”
And by god, if that wasn’t true.
Sometime between their short conversation and then, Sawyer had gotten his hands on Johnny’s hips, and Johnny’s hands were fisted in his collar.
Their kisses became less intense, slow and languid rather than charged and desperate. Johnny released his iron-clad grip on Sawyer’s collar, instead resting his hand on the small of his back.
When they finally broke apart, Johnny’s pupils were blown wide, face flushed red. Sawyer could only imagine how he, himself looked. Thankfully, upon surveying their surroundings, their encounter was only witnessed by the stars, who’ve never been good talkers.
Johnny took a step back.
“Before you go,” Sawyer said, stumbling over his words. He was still in a daze. “Where’d you learn to play like that? How did ‘ya keep winning?”
Stratford wiped his mouth and grinned. “Card counting,” he said.
And with that, he turned the corner, coattails billowing in the wind, leaving Sawyer alone to contemplate what had happened.