The Man in Black: The Dead Man, #1

By Ben Mason

From town to town the Man in Black walks, selling his gun. A dead man who accepts any contract so long as he feels it is right.

His cost? Five pieces of silver and up to six bullets, depending on how many he uses.

One thing is for certain. If the Man in Black comes for you, you best be ready

• Language: English
• Publisher: Ben Mason
• Release date: Apr 7, 2017
• ISBN: 9781386471981

Book preview

The Dead Woman

Chapter One

The clock struck three and the two men shuffled out into the courtyard. One was dressed in white, his gun cocked at his right side, his suit cleaned and ready for church. The other wore black, beaten with his colt uncocked, dangling and limp in his left. The stones had been whitewashed and from the houses hung small black flags, lifting and falling in the shallow wind.

The Man in Black surveyed the flags. Looks like they have a preference.

The man in white said nothing, spitting as far as he could. Neither of the men moved. They were waiting for the signal. For a few seconds, the sun and blue sky dazzled, and if a stranger had walked by, they would have puzzled how a street could be so empty on a glorious day. The two men stayed waiting still, the man in white getting edgier, his wrist flexing, the six-shooter swinging from side to side like a snake.

The Man in Black held his steady. He was a statue other than the breathing of his chest. He ignored the brownstones on either side, ignored the man in front of him. All he focused on was the sky behind him.

The eyes lie. It was what he had been taught by his master before he had been handed the dust black revolver with the golden plated hammer. So do the hands and the feet. But the body doesn't, the steam of the soul drifting off the man in front of you, the collective, must tell the truth. Look through it and you'll sniff out what is real. The Man in Black had followed before he was given the gun and after without being steered wrong.

A dull clang came from a window, muffled by the breeze. The man in white stiffened for a moment, stretching his ears to make sure. The Man in Black didn't. He lifted, cocking the trigger as he did, pumping two into the man in white's chest. He went down without a struggle, the gun not going off.

The Man in Black went up to him and uncocked the fallen man's gun. People came out of their houses and walked around the corpse. One old man started to summon spit.

Don't, the Man in Black said.

Why not? Bastard deserved it.

The Man in Black tipped his hat. Maybe, but he isn't alive now. Alive was when you should have done it.

The old man let his shoulders and head fall, muttering as he did. His son came forward, the town leader. I suppose you'll want to be off then, he said, fear in his eyes, the sentence more a question than a statement.

As soon as you pay me.

The son nodded and gave the Man in Black his two bullets which the gunslinger promptly stuck into his gun, followed by five silver coins. The Man in Black nodded and started off.

Surprised you didn't ask for more, the son said.

No point, the Man in Black said without turning around. Five's all that fit in my hand.

What about your pockets?

The Man in Black holstered his gun. Dead men don't need pockets.

The son was smart enough to let it alone, allowing the Man in Black to walk down the street and out of town.

There were no legal bounties on the Man in Black. He provided a service, which was being a living weapon. He never deviated from a task and he never covered for an employer, so out in the flatlands many knew of the man with the talon-shaped scar. It cleaved his dark beard coming up from his chest, going up along the neck and hooking on the chin as if something had tapped him right on the face and drug a sharp nail down. The rest of him was black with tinges of red clay and dust clinging to his jacket, hat, and boots. He wore no vest. The other two things people noticed were his gloves, which were sawed off at the fingers, leaving them bare to the elements, and his black, stringy hair which was tied in a messy, half-done ponytail. He was known in every town he had been in and a few towns right around them as well.

He wasn't known in Ravens' Blood. It was a few days' walk from the other bigger towns, but the news hadn't traveled, the embarrassment of asking for outside help still fresh in the township's mind. It was a small town, and he had walked without sleep to get there, appearing as the sun came up again on the second day. The Man in Black took one look around and smiled. A small town. A small strip of main thoroughfare, a mercantile,