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The desert was suffocating, not like a rope around the neck, where the pain and the panic struck faster than the lack of air, suffocating like being buried alive and seeing a landscape turn into nothing but sand and emptiness.
The desert had a name, Mexico. Surely, there were parts of the country that didn’t feel like hell on earth, but all John knew was this, the unbearable heat that clouded his vision, and the uneasiness that made him reach for his revolver at every sound. It would drive him mad before he reached his destination, he reckoned. All the more reason to hurry.
Small towns were scattered, far and few in between. He had visited a handful already, all without luck, before moving on to the next, each time less hopeful. It was easy to find a place, a place couldn’t move or hide; finding a man, therein lay the problem.
Night had fallen when he reached a place called Escondite, a villa with nothing much but a handful of bars and a church. Those things seemed to come in pairs around these parts, he noted. Redemption rarely called for a celebration, in his experience, but perhaps the locals were onto something. In such a hot place, he never found himself turning down a drink.
He sat at the bar, passing through the heavy stares of the locals who immediately identified him as an outsider. An American was bound to stand out, but someone with his looks, those most people were smart enough not to cross eyes with, always attracted the worst kind of attention, the kind that ended with his gun drawn, a hole in some idiot’s head, and being kicked out without even getting a damn drink. It was why he preferred to avoid confrontations, if possible.
“Cerveza,” he grunted at the bartender, slamming a couple of coins on the table, more than enough to buy a drink even on the other side of the border.
“Solo tequila.”
John took out another coin, not unaware he was probably being ripped off.
“There’s double that if you can speak English,” he offered.
The bartender smiled cockily as he served his drink.
“Americans that come to these parts don’t usually want to chat. If it’s information you want, it will cost you more than a few coins.”
“I’m looking for an old friend. I would gladly reward the man who points me in the right direction. Not that I don’t appreciate the hospitality, I just want to get the hell out of here as soon as I can.”
“An old friend, you say. Do Americans usually meet their friends with a gun in their belt?”
“When we come looking for them in the middle of a goddamn war zone, we do. Name’s Javier Escuella, ring any bells?”
The bartender turned quiet, as did the rest of the bar. Javier had been creating quite a reputation for himself during their time apart, it seemed, and it was bound to make things worse for John. But that much was expected. If it was an easy job, they wouldn’t have sent him.
“Friend, let me give you some advice. This town’s name, Escondite, means the hiding place. Meaning, nobody stays long and they sure as hell don’t share their real names. Whoever you search for is probably already two towns away.”
“Funny, I got told the same thing two towns before. I don’t buy that the people here abide by some strict moral code, so what the hell is it? Is everyone here protecting this guy?”
“Around here people only protect their own neck. You’d do well to do the same.”
John didn’t get another word out of him for the rest of the night, and after enough glares from the other customers, he figured it was time to leave. He would wait until morning before parting for the next town, which should be a couple hours away if the map didn’t lie. The inns around seemed filthy, but it was miles better than sleeping in the desert and being killed by robbers or bitten by serpents. He rented a room for the night, wiped the sweat off his face, and fell asleep.
John…
A voice roused him from his sleep gradually, too soft to wake him up cold, too familiar to ignore. Even unconscious, his instinct was to pull him to bed, if only to have another peaceful second.
“John!”
When he opened his eyes to find Javier by his tent, a ridiculous grin on his face, he knew there was no going back to sleep, not that night.
“Javier…? What the hell?”
“A stagecoach broke down a few miles from here. A couple of aristocrats stranded in the middle of nowhere! Come on, brother, get dressed! Unless you want me to tell Bill about it.”
He grunted as he got up and put on a jacket and shoes, more reluctantly than intrigued. Javier’s eye for targets wasn’t as sharp as he liked to think, and he was certain they’d end up robbing a couple of old guys with no more than ten dollars between them. Still, since he was already up, he might as well make it worth the while.
Things were simpler when they were constantly on the move. They could rob a couple of bastards off the side of the road and be gone by the time the law had traced their camp. It was staying in one place for long that always brought bad luck.
The two mounted their horses and headed down the road, miles off the woods where they’d set camp until they reached the site of the collision. It appeared one of the wheels had broken after hitting a rock, and John just knew it hadn’t been by mistake.
“Your doing?”
“Well… stealing is like fishing, si no avientas la red, no atrapas nada.”
“Yeah, yeah, spare me the Spanish lesson. How you wanna play this? One distracts them while the other searches the safe, or we start shooting from the start?”
“Given that it always ends in a shooting anyway, might as well skip the boring part.”
They slipped their bandanas up and dismounted. A couple of shots were enough to send any city aristocrat running for their lives, but these actually hid and shot back, though they were no match for the Van der Lindes. The shooting ended before they even needed to reload, and when the unfortunate men lay in their own blood, John heard the sound of the safe popping open and a satisfied laugh.
“Ha! ¿Qué te dije?"
There were at least three hundred dollars in that modest coach, money it would take honest men weeks of hard labor to see, and they had earned it in less than an hour.
“John, you really thought I would get you out of bed over nothing?”
He grabbed Javier by the collar and ripped the bandana off his face before closing their l—
A knock on his window roused him, too loud for it to be just the wind. John reached for the revolver he’d left on the nightstand in a heartbeat before quietly getting out of bed. If someone was after him, he reckoned he would be full of holes by now, but a visitor in the middle of the night could hardly mean good news, much less in a place like this.
He approached the window quietly, gun raised, removing the safety lock at the same time he opened the curtains to glance upon his visitor.
“Who’s there?”
“¡No dispares!”
His visitor appeared unarmed but no less intriguing. A young woman, with long, black hair, a beauty one hardly came across in the desert.
“What do you want?” He demanded, without lowering his gun.
“Please, I can help! Escuella… I know where he is.”
John examined her for a moment before deciding there was no true risk to hearing her out. All his trails had amounted to nothing so far, what difference would another pointless ride make? He opened the window and lend her a hand to get in.
She was a brave girl, John had to admit. Not many would jump into a stranger’s room in the middle of the night, not unless they had nothing more to lose.
“Well? You’ve better not have gotten me out of bed over nothing.”
“Is it true? That you’re here to kill Escuella?”
“What’s it to you? Not a jealous ex lover, are you?”
“I want that bastard dead… he killed my… my…” the girl broke down, trying to search the words, some bleak hatred swirling in her dark eyes.
Javier never had any luck with women, he recalled. He’d heard stories about his time before joining the gang, all the pretty ideals and revolutionary dreams he’d wasted over an affair turned sour. Perhaps it wasn’t only women, but…
“…love. He killed my love.”
John turned away, searching for a handkerchief to offer her.
“Where is he?”
“There’s no name for that place. An old fort to the west, abandoned. He’ll leave if you’re not fast enough.”
“Who’s he running with these days? I’m not about to walk into a fort with a dozen armed bastards all by myself.”
“Whatever lowlife he finds along the way, never for long. He changes gangs faster than the moon changes phases.”
John huffed, standing by the window and lighting a cigarette.
“There’s a map over there. Mark the place for me, and I’ll avenge your lover.”
“I can take you there,” the girl offered. “All I ask is that you let me see his face before you kill him.”
Javier, what the hell did you do to this poor girl’s boyfriend for her to loathe you this much?
John wanted badly to know the answer, and it was all he could think about the next morning as he helped her up his horse and headed to another long journey through the desert. He should’ve been glad to at least have company this time, but the presence of another was unnerving after running alone for the past month.
“Did Escuella give you those scars?”
The girl hadn’t even asked for his name, but she sure as hell was curious about his reasons for hunting down Javier. Perhaps she hoped the two could bond over their mutual hatred, or maybe she thought it would ache less to see someone else take the shot that was rightfully hers if they had a good enough reason.
“No. He’s good with a knife, but not that good.”
What would she say at the truth? The man he hunted didn’t give him those wounds but saved him from dying to them, sat by his side when even his wife couldn’t stand the sight of them, and even pulled his hands from his gloves in the frozen weather to play his guitar and give him something else to think about than the excrutiating pain.
He’d never forgotten the song he played that time, not even after a decade had passed.
Niña, cuando yo muera
No llores sobre mi tumba
No me llores, no, no me llores, no
Porque si lloras me muero
En cambio, si tú me cantas
Yo siempre vivo, y nunca muero.
Javier’s songs were always cheerful, always a nice background to drink to, to sing and dance, though he never knew half the words he was saying. That was the only time he heard Javier playing a melody that melancholic. He’d wanted to know the meaning of those words back then, but Javier always refused to translate them for him.
“Don’t they say music transcends language, John? You should be able to tell just by listening."
“Well, I don’t.”
“Then, you just need to hear it again.”
Javier had been right. After years of hearing it play in old memories, the meaning had finally reached him.
“You used to be partners, didn’t you? The price on his head isn’t high enough to be worth the journey.”
“You want to know how committed I am at killing him?”
“Any bastard can kill a man, only few can kill a friend.”
“We ain’t friends, lady. I’m not sure we ever were.”
Truth be told, it was never about friendship. A friend is the man next to you while you get drunk and try to find company for the night. What do you call the man at your side while bullets are raining down, who sticks his neck out, risking having his head blown off only for the chance of you two making it out alive?
The thing about outlaws, every man has a price, and loyalty is too damn costly to maintain.
They rode for a few hours, and eventually, John spotted a battered building far into the distance, surrounded by nothing. After some consideration, he decided he was better off continuing alone.
“You know how to ride?”
“Yes, but—”
“Good, get back home. You have no business being here.”
“No business? This man killed my—!”
“There’s nothing but crooks around these parts. Your boyfriend was also an outlaw, wasn’t he?”
“He was nothing like you people, he was kind and brave. He deserved better than to be shot on the street like a dog!”
“That’s what you knew of him. Good people don’t get involved with men like Escuella. He did you a favor, truly. He saved you from having to wait every night for him, wondering if he’s going to arrive with a hole in his chest or his head next. He saved you from carrying a child that’s gonna grow up without a father. Whatever satisfaction you think you’ll get from seeing his corpse won’t last as long as the years you’ll spent wondering if someone saw you and they’re coming for you next.”
The girl clenched her fists in the reins, knowing there was no changing his mind, knowing that beneath the vitriol and heartache, there was truth to his words. A truth not even death could erase.
She was sobbing when John left her to continue his way into the fort, murmuring a name he couldn’t make out with her hand clenching above her chest.
“Wait… what about your horse?” She asked before parting.
“Take it as payment for bringing me here. Besides, Javier won’t be needing his much longer.”
The fort appeared abandoned only from afar. As he closed in, it was like a party was taking place, with music and gunshots to go with it. He peeked inside and spotted at least six men, all armed and half drunk, an awful combination, and at least two prostitutes. Not the worse numbers he’d ever faced, not by a mile. Only he didn’t see Javier anywhere.
He continued examining the patio until his eyes found a room still standing in the back, along with the faint sound of a guitar playing a familiar melody. He followed the sound as if he’d spotted a deer in the middle of the desert, gun drawn and instinct over logic. Perhaps because of it, he didn’t notice the man creeping up behind him, not until he heard the distinct sound of the hammer from a gun pointed at his back, and he was forced to turn around.
“¡Aquí está!” He yelled, alerting the others.
A gun was pointed at his head, and soon, several others at his back, which made his own raised against the first feel severely lacking.
“I’m just here for Escuella,” he tried to reason. “Nobody else needs to die.”
His words did little to sway his captors, who burst in laughter, either uncomprehending or utterly unthreatened, only stopping when another set of steps closed in.
“Bájenlas. ¿Qué forma es esta de recibir a un invitado?”
The men put away their weapons, though John held his own firmly, more when the man he’d come to this hellhole to look for finally revealed himself.
“John, hermano. Te estaba esperando."
Javier had changed a lot, so John told himself in a meager attempt to distance himself from the bullet that was about to find its way into his heart. But truly, he remained the same. Who else but Javier would invite the man about to kill him for a drink?
He took John to that room at the back, four walls still standing, if only barely, full of dust and a single table.
“Déjennos.”
With that single word, his men left them to drink elsewhere, and Javier grabbed a bottle of tequila and two glasses. Only then did John put away his gun. Perhaps he hadn’t changed much either.
“Te tardaste, John. Casi me quedo sin acohol.”
“Did you forget English after you ran off? Or are you trying to play mysterious?”
Javier laughed, and the two downed their drinks almost in unison.
“I go to your country, and I’m forced to speak your language. Then, you come to my country and I’m still forced to speak your language. Americans are so entitled.”
John couldn’t deny it, but he knew Javier didn’t mind, truly. There’s nothing he loved more in the world than making John feel like an idiot.
“Not that I don’t appreciate the sound, I would just like to know what the hell you’re saying if we’re gonna have a conversation.”
“What do you want to talk about, John? We both know you didn’t come all the way here for a chat.”
“You knew I was coming. Who told you?”
Javier poured another drink with a smirk.
“A friend. Vete pa’l sur, te anda buscando un gringo con la cara cortada, he said. You should’ve seen his face, it was like he was talking of the devil himself. I, for one, have always liked your scars, John.”
“So you do have friends still. Ones you haven’t betrayed, not yet, at least.”
“More than what you can say, eh, John?”
He slammed the glass against the table.
“I never betrayed you. But you, you all left me to die.”
Javier’s expression turned somber, as it had that night when the Pinkertons found them. They had a huge standoff, dozens of guns against a handful of outlaws. John was shot and nearly captured, abandoned by the men he’d risked his own life to protect time and time again. He managed to escape in the end, but he never sought the gang again. It was a rude awakening but a necessary one.
“You were as my family, John. But there’s something far more valuable than family, more valuable than money and love, or even booze and a nice ass. La libertad, freedom, John. That is all that matters in life, all that united us for years. Dutch knew it, and I did, too. It pained me to leave you that night, but if it had been me laying on the ground, bleeding, with a dozen lawmen at my tail, I wouldn’t blame you for not turning back.”
John scoffed. He couldn’t even muster any ire, not after all those years. Family never meant shit to them. When it mattered the most, it was every man for himself. He could only be glad to have left those days behind, he had Abigail and Jack now, and all Javier and Dutch had left was but a few last sunrises.
Life had certainly taken a turn. And there was nothing left to do but have one last drink with an old friend. They finished the bottle and opened another, chatted about meaningless things, like the heat of the desert and the ten words of Spanish he’d learned to make his way through Mexico. They didn’t talk about their time apart, or about Abigail, or the true reason John had come to look for him. It was like returning to the past for a brief moment.
“Remember the time you woke me up in the middle of the night to rob a coach? Years before Blackwater.”
“Mmhm, we made a good buck that night. I still think we were the reason rich folk began hiring bodyguards around those parts.”
“I dreamed about it the other night, though I woke up before getting to the good part.”
Javier laughed. There was some fluster to his cheeks, but John couldn’t say if it was the heat, the alcohol, or his words.
“Are you trying to play coy? It doesn’t suit you at all, say what you want clearly.”
“Come on, for old time’s sake.”
It was the closest John would ever come to asking for it, and it was enough Javier couldn’t help but comply. He hooked his hand to the back of John’s head and closed their lips in a messy kiss, all desire and no restraint, twelve years of yearning being let loose. It tasted of cheap booze and tobacco, of the dust clinging to the air. Javier never tasted sweet like Abigail, he tasted of words he didn’t understand and promises he never believed, but he tasted right, like taking a shot and hitting the mark. John could never get enough of it.
Javier sat him on the table, undressing him impatiently with one hand while the other continued rustling his hair, not allowing him even a single breath without his lips over him.
“Wait, your men are still out there…” John managed to pull away long enough to remind him.
“That night we fucked at the woods next to that road where anyone passing could hear us. Don’t tell me you’ve gotten all shy now.”
“Send them away, I don’t want an audience,” John repeated, with that tone that signaled he wouldn’t be getting laid unless he did as he said.
He removed himself from John’s lips with an annoyed sight, grabbed his gun, and went to the patio.
“¡Pa’fuera, cabrones! Ya se acabó la fiesta.”
A few shots and the bandits were on their horses and out the road, and the two of them, alone.
“Happy now, princesa? ”
Javier didn’t waste any time to slam him back into the table, this time flipping him onto his stomach. His pants came off soon after, as did his shirt and holster. John should’ve been more concerned about that last one, but he couldn’t bring himself to care about it at the moment. Much less when Javier’s fingers, drenched in gun oil, began working him open in that familiar rhythm. John could barely stop himself from shaking his ass like a bitch, and if he weren’t biting his lip he’d surely be moaning like one, too.
“You’re so tight, John. Don’t tell me you’ve been saving yourself for me all these years,” he teased, moving inside him so heavenly John feared the sound that would come out of his mouth as he answered.
“I… I’m married, you idiot. What do you think? Ahh…”
“All these years and Abigail hasn’t figured a finger up the ass drives you mad?”
“Ahh… don’t fucking… talk about her.”
Javier withdrew his fingers after, and John heard him unbuckling his belt. He barely had time to breath before the head of his cock breached in, less smooth than a knife but just as rough, pleasure and pain assaulting him at once, but most of all nostalgia. All those nights spent with each other, to celebrate a job gone well, to release adrenaline, or even just to ward off the cold. They weren’t lovers, such a label never even crossed his mind back then, but he had loved Javier, he’d loved everyone in the gang. Had Javier ever loved him?
“Fuck, I missed you so much, John,” he moaned into his ear, placing kisses all over his neck.
In a way, he already knew the answer. It’s difficult not to love a man you share almost every aspect of your life with, even your bed every now and then. But that love was not simple at all, it was secretive and confusing, enough that most of the time, he couldn’t say if it was real or merely their frustration finding an outlet. In comparison, loving Abigail was easy, he never had to be afraid of someone catching him as he slipped into her tent, he could kiss her in front of everyone, hold her without any stares. It was what everyone expected of him, even Javier. When she got pregnant he didn’t appear upset or jealous, if anything he was one of the people always reminding him to do right by the kid, even while fucking him so roughly John could barely make sense of the words.
Perhaps it had to do with what Javier talked about earlier, freedom. Sex was fine and all, but anything more was a hindrance. Being tied down was worse than a dead sentence. It was why outlaws were always on the move.
“Argh…!”
A sudden thrust into a spot deep inside made him jolt, Javier’s rhythm turning far harder.
“What are you thinking about so intensely?” He asked. “If you don’t focus on me, I’ll be upset.”
John was trying not to climax so fast, though the other was adamant in making things difficult for him. It had been too long. He was so sensitive, and reminiscing only made it all the worse.
“Javier, do you remember that song? The one you used to play for me.”
“Yeah…”
“I finally understood it. It’s a song about death, isn’t it? But I still don’t know if you were singing about my death or yours.”
Javier laughed, his thrusts relentless and robbing the words right from his throat.
“Ambas," he grunted.
“You always fucking do that, change language when you don’t want to answer something. It’s so damn annoying…”
“Let’s stop talking, then.”
He reached down and closed their lips together again. John was left wondering about the answer, as usual, but with Javier’s lips devouring him, it was hard to complain.
Some things never changed. John was always the first to fall asleep, but Javier was always the last to wake up. They were half naked still, lay in bedrolls over the dirty ground. He moved carefully so as not to wake the other up and quickly put on a shirt and pants before reaching for his gun, thankfully still by his side.
The time to dwell on the past had ended, and all that remained was to finish the job. He removed the safety lock and pointed the barrel towards the sleeping man.
“No hard feelings,” he muttered, half expecting the other wouldn’t wake up.
To his misfortune, Javier rustled beneath the thin cover, catching a glance of him before returning to sleep. It was more than enough to know see the barrel pointed to his face, though he appeared utterly unconcerned about it, as if John was pestering him to do chores rather than about to kill him.
“It’s too early for this. Don’t you know it’s good manners to wait until after coffee to blow someone’s brains?”
“Look, if it was my choice, I would happily leave and never see your face again. But as it turns out, it’s me or you, Javier. You understand it, right?”
Javier didn’t answer, not that John minded. He was never fond of last words. All there was to say had been said long before their last night together.
He coked the hammer and placed his finger on the trigger, already resigned to what was to come. Without wasting another second, he pulled it, ready for the splattered blood he was far too used to. He did not expect the click of an empty chamber, not on the first shot, nor on the several others that followed.
“The years haven’t made you any brighter, have they, John? You really think I would let you keep your bullets?”
“Bastard…!”
By the time John had the good sense to run, there was already a gun holding him up.
“I must say… this is pretty compelling, eh, John?”
Javier had tied him up, leaving him unarmed and completely defenseless. He could have shot him dead already, but it appeared he had other plans in mind, and John wasn’t looking forward to finding out what they were.
“Quit the bullshit, if you’re gonna kill me, get it over with.”
Javier pulled up a chair and took a seat in front of him, swirling his gun in an attempt to frighten him.
“Why are you in such a hurry to die? I, for one, am having a great time catching up with an old friend.”
“Don’t you wanna know who sent me to kill you?”
“Por favor, John, I know who sent you. Bill came to visit me a few days back, said you were hunting him with a bunch of lawmen. I just hope the government paid a fair price for your soul.”
John laughed.
“My soul? What do you think we were doing back then, charity work? We weren’t good men, Javier. It was bound to blow up eventually.”
“No, we weren’t, but at least we knew what we were. What now? You think running errands for some government dogs suddenly makes you a good man? No seas pendejo.”
“It ain’t like that. They’ve got my family, I ain’t about to let them die for the bastards that left me for dead years ago.”
“If they got your family, then they’re dead already, and so are you.”
John gritted his teeth just imagining it. Of course, he knew they wouldn’t hurt his family, not while they still had some use for him, but just knowing that was even a possibility made him tremble with rage.
Javier seemed to pity him, somewhat, not enough to let him go, but enough to grant him a brief respite. He lit a cigarette and took a couple huffs before placing it into John’s mouth, which he happily received.
“You know, John, if you’ve already given up on your freedom, I wouldn’t mind keeping you with me. Even cleaning my boots shouldn’t be as pathetic as running errands for the government.”
“Is that so…” he cuckled, trying not to drop the cigarette.
“Why not? They’ll kill you if you go back. People like that don’t forget. They think we’re a stain in society, they’re using you to do their dirty work, but soon enough, you’ll be the only thing left to clean. They’ll look to hang you, for one reason or another.”
“I’ve told you, it ain’t just about me.”
“What, Abigail and Jack? You and Abigail were always at each other’s throats, and that kid… you didn’t even want him. You’d do them a favor by disappearing.”
John couldn’t help but think about the young girl that had led him there and the last words he’d spoken to her, not too different from what Javier was talking about now. It was true he hadn’t been a good husband, and barely even a father, he never learned how. But he knew the two were waiting for him, despite all of his flaws. Returning was the least he could do for them.
“Come on, John. We can run together again. The heat is… well, you get used to it. There’s money to be made, and with the war, they have far worse things to worry about than a couple of outlaws.”
At another time, he’d wished to hear those words. If the day he told him about Abigail’s pregnancy, Javier had said the same, he would’ve left with him and never looked back. It wasn’t because of some romantic reason, either. He’d wanted a way out, that freedom Dutch and Javier were always blabbering about, which seemed impossible to reach with a kid around. But now, that life seemed so far from him.
“It doesn’t sound half bad, I have to say. But I’ll take the bullet.”
Javier snatched the cigarette from his lips again and took another hit for himself, almost disappointed.
“Have it your way, then.”
He stood up and walked off, leaving John tied on the ground.
“Where the hell are you going? Ain’t you gonna finish this?” He yelled.
“You’re my prisoner. I can do whatever I want.”
John couldn’t imagine what those twelve years apart had looked like for Javier to make him return to the one place he was sure to die in. Perhaps once he ran out of places to escape to, he had little choice but to start the list again, here, where he first became a criminal. He knew Javier hadn’t changed his ways. If anything, the collapse of their gang had made him worse, less restrained, and devoid of compassion. So when John thought of reasons he might have to keep him alive, other than sentimentalism, none good came to mind. At first, he thought Javier was looking to collect some bounty on him and those paying needed him alive, but night fell again and he continued tied on that abandoned fort, no one to collect him, and much less to free him.
His old friend paced around the place with a restlessness that, if nothing more, signaled John he wasn’t quite sure what to do with him. Killing a man sent to kill you was not only proper but expected. Killing an old friend, on the other hand, was bitter and uncomfortable, a task not every man was up to, just as that girl had said. But to Javier, perhaps there was something else to it.
Not much remained of the life he looked back to so fondly, certainly not within himself, not much but the man before him, and killing him would finally put those precious memories into an unreachable past. That bullet would kill John, but it would also kill the man Javier had always wanted to be, the romantic, the free spirited revolutionary, leaving only the thief and the murderer, the man cursed to flee for the rest of his days, lest justice caught up to him.
Eventually, Javier would come to the realization that the man he thought himself to be was already gone or perhaps had never existed in the first place. When he did, John would be dead, one way or another. He needed to escape before then.
He scanned the floor for anything he could use to cut down the ropes every time a Javier left the room and eventually came across a shard of shattered glass. He crawled towards it and picked it up as fast as he could with his hands bound behind his back. It wasn’t as sharp as he would’ve wanted, but he reckoned it would get the job done with enough patience, though he wasn’t sure he had the time. Javier returned shortly after, looking dreadfully decided, while the rope was still too many strands away from coming loose.
“You’ve gone strangely quiet, John. Are you done begging?”
“I don’t remember begging,” he scoffed, slowing down the movement of his hands as to avoid giving away his plan.
“Right,” Javier laughed. “Stupidly proud, as always.”
He took out his gun, and John was faced with a silver barrel, a sight no less unnerving no matter how many times it appeared before him.
“They know where I am, killing me will leave a damn big trail behind you,” John attempted to stall, palms sweating against the glass that didn’t seem to work fast enough.
“Letting you escape will leave an even bigger.”
“It don’t have to be this way. I can tell them I couldn’t find you, give you time to disappear further south.”
“You had your chance to walk away. You didn't seem to care much about cutting deals when it was your gun pointed at me.”
John laughed, more out of resignation than anything else.
“You’re right,” he chuckled nervously. “I lost. Just do me a favor…”
Javier got closer, letting curiosity get the better of him, gun still firmly raised.
“Send Bill my regards when you meet him in hell.”
A shot was fired, but John was quick enough to push Javier back with a kick and divert the bullet. The hit knocked the gun off his hand, and as John finally broke free from the ropes binding his wrists, he immediately reached for it.
Javier was clever enough not to test his speed against John’s, and he headed for one of the broken windows, leaving him no target in sight by the time he turned around ready to shoot.
“ ¡Cabrón! I knew those agents couldn’t tame the wildness in you!” Javier boasted from the outside.
John pursued him, but he was faced with the empty desert, one where not even a single leaf could hide. Javier wouldn’t try to run in such an open field, it would be suicide. He would hide in the building and attempt to sneak up on him. John climbed out the window and carefully checked the perimeter, hugging the wall. When he reached the corner, he was ready to blast off at the first sign of movement, but once again, all was clear.
“You can’t go back, John. You weren’t made to tend a ranch, can’t you see that? Life is much more exciting with a gun in your hand and a bounty on your head.”
The voice came from inside the fort again, not the room John had just left but somewhere in the ruins. He was being baited into a place where he wouldn’t be able to hit the mark that easily.
“Yeah? You know, I met a girl back in town, not even twenty years old, says you shot her boyfriend. Is that what’s exciting to you, shooting some kid?” He shouted back, reluctant to peek his head in.
“I do what I need to survive, just like you, John.”
“Well, I’m tired of just surviving. We were never free, not really. We were slaves to Dutch’s whims. And now, you’re a slave to your bloodlust, can’t stop killing or stealing to save your own life!”
John moved forward, he didn’t have enough bullets to shoot first and check second, so he began making his way through the ruins as carefully as possible, scanning for any noise of movement. It all seemed clear until something came up from behind him.
“Quitting didn’t save you or your family.”
He turned around immediately, taking a shot at where the sound had come from, hitting nothing but concrete. It appeared Javier was hiding behind the battered pillars and the rubble, toying with John before gunning him down.
John stepped back for cover, only peeking his head enough to catch him moving again.
“Come out now! We both know how this ends.”
“I know how this ends, John. Dutch, too, even Bill. You’re the only one still deluding yourself, amigo,” he yelled from his hiding place.
The moment he peeked out, two shots were fired, barely missing his head, but he caught a glance of Javier heading for the exit. He pulled only his hand and gun from cover and returned a couple shots of his own, relying on luck and instinct rather than sight.
He heard a grunt, and when he looked to investigate, another shot came his way, grazing his shoulder. He almost thought it was merely Javier baiting him until he spotted a trail of blood leading out.
He followed it almost too eagerly, not wishing to waste his advantage, but as soon as he crossed the entrance to the fort, there was a gun pointed at his face.
Javier was holding his side, one hand drenched in blood, the other firm on his revolver. John hadn’t lowered his own either, but neither took the shot, they just stood still for a moment, a few steps away from one another and a single movement away from ending it all.
“You were always the better shooter, John. I wouldn’t dream of beating you in a duel, but do you have another shot left?”
Javier’s breathing was heavy, but he still attempted to conceal his ache under a cheeky smile. His confidence made John wonder. He hadn’t checked, but assuming the gun had been fully loaded, there should remain at least one bullet in the chamber. It wasn’t ideal, but he assumed Javier was in similar circumstances, otherwise, he wouldn’t have hesitated to shoot as soon as he had him in sight.
“Guess we’ll find out.”
Javier laughed, though it came out more like a long exhale. His eyes weren’t as sharp anymore, but oddly soft, as those odd glances he’d caught in the camp bonfire years back, or in those mornings waking up next to one another. John didn’t dare ask, but he was dying to know what Javier was thinking at that moment, if he was glad this was the way it all ended or too tired to do it any other way. It was better to circle around Javier’s feelings, thinking too much of his own might have made that trigger harder to pull.
“I told you, I know how this ends. I’ve known for too long. From the moment you left us for a year, and when you got lost in that snowstorm, and when I sat next to you with your face all red and swollen. You don’t know anything, John, not even what I was singing. It wasn’t a song about death, it was about mourning. I loved you, but I swore to myself I wouldn’t mourn for you. We don’t cry for one another, we don’t say goodbye even if we think it’s the last time seeing each other, and we don’t wait for the other to come home after it gets dark. That’s the kind of men we are. We don’t choose when we die, only how.”
“I do know this, it’s taken a long time to learn, but I know now. I never cared for freedom or none of that. I wanted a family. I wanted someone waiting for me at home. Whatever death brings me that, that’s the one I want.”
Javier’s hand seemed to tremble, but, oddly enough, lowering his gun required more strength than keeping it raised. For an outlaw, surrendering was always the hardest choice.
“I’ll wait for you, John.”
Both pulled the trigger at the same time, less than a breath after those last words were spoken, but only one bullet was fired, and only one body hit the ground.
It wasn’t until he saw Javier fall that John understood it wasn’t his own. The hollowness in his chest wasn’t a bullet hole, and he told himself the tears falling down his face were out of happiness. He was going home.
John didn’t mourn Javier, but he remembered his last expression weeks later. Even knowing he would die in that vast desert, he hadn’t been in anguish facing the inevitable, there had been some relief and perhaps even a hint of satisfaction John hadn’t understood until it was time to face his own reckoning. It was good to die home.