Mexican Radio And Other Short Stories, Volume I

By Jaysen True Blood

Mexican Radio And Other Short Stories, Volume I: Contemporary: "I Just Want You": A man's look back at an unrequited love turns almost obsessive. "In The End There's Nothing": A bittersweet look back at a wasted life. "Eighteen And Life": There is only one thing to do when you break out after serving time for someone else's crime. Westerns: "Going Down In A Blaze Of Glory:: Hell hath no fury like a gunman with a buffalo gun,especially when he's hunting down the men who shot him in the back and framed him for their bank job. "Lay Your Money Down": Guy Marlowe, New Orleans' best gambler, heads west to settle a dispute between land-greedy settlers and a normally peaceful Indian tribe. Historical: "The Diaries And Letters Of Niccolo and Maffeo Polo": the documentation of the first three trips the Polo brothers took before the final trip that Marco detailed in his now legendary journal. Science Fiction: "Burning Sky": Ma Flees to the relative safety of the colonies after Pa is murdered and George is seriously wounded. "Faster Than The Speed Of Life": Our replacements are created in a lab. Will they accept the calling of their purpose, or choose their own destiny? "New Year's Resolutions": What does the average guy of the future wish for ON New Year's Eve? "The Gift": One child's selflessness and compassion may have just won him the answer to humanity's problems. Fantasy: "Narratives Of A Dry Vampire, Part One: ON The Wings Of A Bat": A vampire-monk describes his childhood and the harsh penance he served to atone for his family's evil. Suspense: "Mexican Radio": A con turns the plot of a crooked warden to his benefit. "I Don't Like Mondays": four drunks pull a prank that alters the lives of three of them and of one innocent person.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Jaysen True Blood
• Release date: Jun 6, 2014
• ISBN: 9781310849268

Jaysen True Blood

Jaysen True Blood was born and raised in the Midwest where he currently resides. His first taste of writing came early in grade school with a class assignment. a few years later, his love for writing would return as he found himself with another class assignment, this time a poetry unit. through junior high, he would write a series of novels, many poems, and begin his long interest in writing song lyrics as well. In high school, he would learn the value of tall tales, myths and other kinds of stories as he continued to build his store of stories. upon graduation, he went for a semester at a university, where he would write two stories, one of which would become a serial online for about six months. Returning home, he worked at just about anything he could find, but never strayed far from his love of the story. After his first marriage, he signed on with Keep It Coming, an e-zine, where he wrote two serials, "Tales From The Renge" and "Breed's Command" (the same characters appear with Fancy Marsh in several subsequent westerns. The serial was taken from a manuscript written for a class assignment while in high school). H also wrote writing and music related articles for the print version of KIC that came out for just three issues. When KIC went under, Jay was once again forced to work at different jobs just to make ends meet. between 2007 and 2010, Jay would release "Seven By Jay: Seven Short Stories", "The Price Of Lust: Book One Of Faces In The Crowd" and "So Here's To Twilight And Other Poems".

Book preview

Chapter One

No one knew his rightful name, nor could they remember how long he’d walked the earth but they knew when he was in town. And every frontier town went on notice when he was around. Those who knew the gunman called him Fancy Marsh, but even they knew that that was not his real name. No, it was just a name other gunmen had given him as a way to tell those who’d made his list of targets to get the hell out of the area.

But, like any other gunman, there were those who believed they could take him. Even though he had a reputation for being fast and deadly, some thought it was just a myth. Still, the last thing all ever saw was the lightning streak of his hand and his gun flashing upward so fast that no gun could ever clear its holster. And that was all they saw, besides the puff from the end of his gun...then, nothing. It was all over before it ever began.

And even though he was a wanted man, no lawman would ever step forward to challenge him. None wanted to tempt their fate. They didn’t feel as if they wanted to take that ill-fated chance that he would be quicker than they were. They refused to send any bounty hunters after him as well. They didn’t want to have anyone else’s blood on their hands, so they allowed him space. They allowed him to roam the frontier unfettered and un-hounded.

Yet, no one knew the full story. Only the one they called Fancy knew how the ruthless gang he once rode with had tried, unsuccessfully, to kill him and place all the blame of all their misdeeds on him. No one knew it had all been because of one fateful robbery. Fancy had been against it from the start. Rustling, he had said, was one thing.

Robbery was another. They wouldn’t succeed. And he was right. That had galled them. He was right.

So they waited for him to turn his back to them, then shot him. They had been too cowardly to face him down, so they shot him in the back. But they did not kill him.

Perhaps they thought they had, or that the posse that followed them would hang him, for they left him behind. Yet, he didn’t die. Nor did the posse hang him.

Before the posse arrived, the young daughter of the rancher whose land he lay wounded on came upon him. Taking him back to her father’s ranch, she began to tend to his wounds. She called for the town doctor and, with the old man’s help, removed the bullets from Fancy’s back. As he lay, his wounds healing, he could think of nothing more than avenging his wrath.

After he was able to walk again, he worked for the rancher to pay for his daughter’s kindness. In his spare time, he began practicing his shooting skills trying to get back to where he had been. Then, one day, three of the men who’d shot him came to the ranch looking for work. Knowing who they were, and that they meant nothing good, he warned the rancher against hiring them on. When they refused to accept the rancher’s refusal to hire them, Fancy stood up. Even as they reached for their guns, flames blossomed from Fancy’s barrels. As the third fell to the ground, the sheriff arrived. The sheriff demanded that Fancy move on, not even listening to the rancher’s explanation of what had just transpired. So, Fancy moved on.

He wandered the countryside, cleaning out the holes where the outlaws hid. One by one he cleared them out, seeking those who remained of the gang that had tried to kill him. And, one by one, he found them. Most had been pushed out of the gang by new members who were faster and deadlier. They had gone without a fight, but none could escape Fancy. No one could escape him.

All the while, his reputation grew. The few bounty hunters who tried him died. And those who did not die told terrifying tales of his lightning fast draws and deadly accuracy.

Thus began the legend of Fancy Marsh.

But, though this is the way the western half of the legend started, it was not where the beginning really lay. That portion began somewhere in the east. Some say Fancy was born in New York, while others say he was born in Kentucky. Yet, no matter where he came from, he would cross paths with two well-known western families.

These two families, the Breeds and the Jacks, would teach his all that he knew. How to fight. How to ranch. How to hunt. How to love the land. And most importantly, how to man up to what one has done.

Moreover, they would become closely tied to him. Their friendship would add to his legend and draw more friends than enemies. Among those friends would be the Legends of Texas and the Arizona territory, the Saint Cherres of Louisiana, and everyone who’d been under the command of Lt. Thomas Breed during the Civil War. These alliances would make Fancy more of a myth than a real man. But he was real. Very real.

Chapter Two

Fancy sat atop a small ridge outside the small city of Dover, watching something through a field glass. Something down there had drawn his attention and he wanted to see it a bit closer. Behind him lay hundreds of dead or wounded outlaws who’d gotten in his way, down there...well, he thought that maybe he would find the man who’d left him for dead. Still, he wanted to make sure before he went down into town. So, he’d gotten out his field glass and was now watching the scene below unfold.

From what he could tell, someone was about to be strung up and it looked to be the town sheriff or maybe a town marshal. All he could tell was that the guy on the horse under the noose was some sort of lawman. Whoever or whatever he was wasn’t easily apparent. What was apparent was that, whoever or whatever he was, he needed Fancy’s help. Even more, Fancy needed his help. It seemed a win-win situation.

Taking his buffalo gun out of its saddle scabbard, he loaded, then aimed it at the top of the rope and waited for the ne’er-do-wells to place the noose around the man’s neck. Pulling the hammer back, he held his rifle steady. As he waited, he breathed a silent prayer for any help the man upstairs could give him and waited. It seemed like an eternity.

Down below, Sheriff Mooney Jack was at a quandary. He’d allowed the man named John Black Jack Fortice, the very man now hanging him, to stay in Dover unmolested. He’d even given him the benefit of the doubt when ranchers began accusing the man of rustling and land theft. Now, he found himself at the end of a rope, the one John claimed had really been behind the rustling. In his mind, he was trying to figure out how on earth he had enough time to even think about rustling-let alone, actually do the deed.

As the noose slipped about his neck, he prayed that it would end swift. He felt the horse bolt as John slapped it on the rump, and the tightening of the rope as he dropped. Then, a shot rang out and he crumpled on the ground-freed from the tree. Still tied, he could not push himself off the ground to run, so he laid there as if he were dead.

Holy hell! He heard John exclaim, that shot took the whole damned branch! Some’un out there has themselves a buffalo gun! Let me out of here!

Turning his head slightly, and squinting his eyes, he watched as a man on a horse rode up.

Untie him, he heard the man say, and go back to your homes."

And if’n we don’t? one townsman challenged.

Then your blood will be on your own hands, Red, Mooney said, that’s Fancy Marsh up on that horse.

A murmur went through the crowd.

Why the hell, another townsperson began, would a wanted gunman help a lawman who’s accused of rustlin’?

Who accused him? Fancy asked.

Why, the man replied, John Fortice, of course.

Don’t you mean ‘Black Jack’ Fortice, the notorious rustler and bank robber? Fancy countered.

Who? the man exclaimed.

‘Black Jack’ Fortice, Fancy repeated, you’ve all been hornswoggled by the shiftiest shyster of them all. I wager he’s probably robbing your bank now since he ran from the lynchin’.

So, another townsman began slowly, he knew that it was you who shot the rope?

More’n likely, Fancy replied, he knows that I’m one of the few men who travel with a buffalo gun. He also knows that I am after him, too.

A fourth man was begrudgingly working at cutting the ropes that held Mooney.

The wily sheriff, one of the notorious Jack Family of Iowa and Nebraska, knew that there was a back story that went along with Fancy’s. His brother, Tol Jack, better known as One-eyed Jack, had had dealings with Fancy in the past and had let the family know that the gunman wasn’t as bad as the reports said. Of course, there was also the endorsement of the war hero Thomas Breed-who’d served in the Civil War with Tol and was a close family friend. He also knew that Fancy was rumored to be associated with the Legend clan of Texas and the Arizona territory.

If the Legends had close dealings with Fancy, then the gunman wasn’t bad at all. He was just misunderstood. Whatever happened that day at the bank where Fancy was supposed to be leading the robbery must’ve involved John. Mooney began thinking that John had been the leader of the gang, not Fancy. He was beginning to think that Fancy had advised against the bank job and that John had not listened. And, of course, he knew of all the outlaw hideouts that Fancy had cleaned out. Saved work for the law.

The townspeople began filtering from the failed lynching and headed for their homes. Once again, they had hastily listened to a perfect stranger, someone who’d proven to be the real culprit, and almost killed an innocent man. None of them could blame him, should he decide to resign as their sheriff. Still, they hated to think that they would lose him and hope he would be able to forgive them and stay on as their sheriff.

Mister Mooney, the mayor began, we’re right sorry for what we done. We only hope that you c’n forgive us and stay on as sheriff.

Mister McCord, Mooney replied, disgusted, this is the second time your illustrious town has wronged me. I could not, in clear conscience, remain your sheriff. Ask ol’ Red to do it. I am through.

And McCord? Fancy inquired.

Yes, Mister Fancy? the mayor replied in kind.

Had I not happened to be on John’s trail and been here at this point in time, Fancy replied coolly, and had you successfully hung Mooney Jack, you would’ve called down the wrath of Heaven upon your little town.

And what do you mean by that? the mayor asked indignantly.

You think I am the only one in the territories with a reputation, but you haven’t seen the best of them all, Fancy responded, had you been successful in hanging Mooney, you would’ve had the Breeds, the Jacks and the Legends to answer to...as well as me. You see, when you kill one, you have to deal with the rest. And I will tell you right now, they would raze your worthless town and leave none of you alive.

I-is that true, Mister Mooney? the mayor inquired nervously.

It sure is, Mooney replied, but as it stands, when they hear of what has transpired here, the Jacks and Breeds, not to mention the Legends, will merely avoid your town and make it difficult for you to prosper. he took the badge from his vest. Here. Have your precious sheriff’s badge back.

The mayor took the badge, looked at it for a little while, then left -quite shaken.

With his departure, the gunman and the ex-sheriff were left alone. Mooney turned to Fancy. So, he began cautiously, what really happened on that bank job?

You’ve already guessed, came the reply, I told Jack it was a bad idea and he refused to listen. I didn’t go with ‘em, but got all the blame. When they returned, I quit the gang. But they couldn’t face me like men, either. They had to wait until my back was turned to shoot me.

So that’s why you’ve been goin’ around an’ cleanin’ house on the outlaw hideouts? Mooney asked, half stating.

Yup, Fancy said with a grim smile, I been huntin’ the bastards who shot me.

You been doin’ it all like we do in the Jack family, Mooney said with a grin, Hell. The Breeds an’ Legends do things that a way, too. You fit in right nice.

I do it the frontier way, Fancy replied.

Which reminds me, Mooney interjected, I hear that you had dealings with my brother. You also know Thomas Breed and the Legend boys.

Yes, Fancy replied, I respect Tom and the Legends. But your brother...who exactly is your brother?

Tol One-Eyed Jack, Mooney stated.

Ol’ ‘One-Eye’ is your brother? Came the surprised reply, I always thought he was your cousin! I’ll be damned!

Yep, Mooney replied coolly, we’re brothers.

I learned how to draw from him! I was a young’un and green behind the ears when I met up with you brother, Fancy began, opening up to his new friend, and your brother took me under his wing. Iowa was just a territory then, and the small towns were a lot like this town here. Like a lot of people who meet up with ol’ One-Eye", I was an orphan, wandering my way west. Thirteen and alone, I was an easy target for older and meaner people. Your brother came along and took me in, gave me a reason to be and taught me how to work cattle. He also taught me how to fight and shoot a gun.

I was right sorry to leave his employment, though. I loved working for your brother. Hell. I loved the feeling of family. Tom Breed, too, had a hand in teaching me to shoot. You know ol’ Tom is one hell of a shot! He can shoot the eyes outta any slithering rattler from at least two miles! So c’n ol’ One-Eye"!

And them Legend boys ain’t no people to mess with either! Mess with one of them, you mess with them all! They’re like a nest of rattlers, them Legends. Better to work with them, than against them.

I know, Mooney replied sympathetically, they come riding through Dover from time to time. Quick as lightning, all of them. But as for my obligation to ol’ Tom and my brother, I regard you as part of my family. Where you go, I go. Besides, I have a bone to pick with Black Jack. I also think it’s time for me to move on.

Don’t you have any woman to settle you down? Fancy asked curiously, no chillun?

Nope, Mooney chuckled, haven’t found any to really turn my head. Been wanderin’ too long to know what settled feels like. Maybe someday, though, when I no longer wish to roam.

I hear ya, Fancy said, a grin forming on his lips, so what‘re we going to do now?

Well, Mooney replied, I know of a couple of law jobs needing to be filled. All we have to do is go and tell the person who offered that we‘ll take the jobs.

We? Fancy asked, testily.

Well, yeah, Mooney replied, smiling, wouldn’t you like to continue your battle with a badge on your chest?

What kind of badge? Fancy inquired.

That of a U.S. Marshal, of course, Mooney replied, and possibly a place in the Texas Rangers later on as well. Lucas Legend wants a couple of Marshals that are open to placement as Rangers.

Why the hell not? Fancy replied, I’d rather work for the Legends while I hunt down the rest of that gutless gang of dry gulchers. You think he could get rid of that thing of me being a wanted man as well?

Why don’t you ask him when we reach his ranch? Mooney asked in reply.

I might as well, came Fancy’s reply, couldn’t hurt. By the way, how far do we have to go?

Only a four day ride from here, Mooney began, more if’n we have to walk.

Believe me, Fancy replied, we ain’t goin’ to have to walk. You’ll have a horse, I’ll see to that.

Chapter Three

Lucas Legend stood upon the porch of his ranch house and watched as two riders approached from the direction of Dover. Jose Velasquez, the horse breeder who’d often sold Lucas horses, had sent a rider ahead of them and told him who they were. God, but it had been a long time since he last saw Mooney Jack! Fancy, though, had only been a man his brothers had mentioned in