Fast and Deadly

By TON EMMES

Pitty is the fourth generation of the Masterson family. Four cursed horsemen have been unleashed, and her fate is to send them back to purgatory.

Charming cowboy and administrator - Friends in Love - Family saga - Sisters love - Duels - Cursed gunslingers - Magical revolver and cane.

Upon inheriting a Wild West theme park, Pitty discovers a time portal that takes her back to 1878, where she meets her legendary great-great-grandfather, Bat Masterson.

 With the help of John Blackstone, the charming cowboy who manages the park, Pitty embarks on a dangerous mission to rescue her sister from the clutches of demon gunslingers.

Will the power of love and courage be enough to overcome the fate of these two sisters?

 A different kind of western with a touch of romance.

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: TON EMMES
• Release date: Jul 26, 2023
• ISBN: 9798223134848

Book preview

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One

The smell of gunpowder permeated the firing range. Ear plugs softened the screams of agony my Colt 45 thundered with each shot. Although all the shots hit the center of the target, I wasn't happy. Not that day. It had been a week since Dad had been murdered, cowardly murdered.

I started reloading my six-shot madly for the third time, I looked towards the target and a huge hole made by the bullets, appeared right in its center. I didn't care about the damage to the target, at that moment he was merely a symbol for me, it wasn't to train my skills, today he represented my father's killer, and I wanted to discharge my weapon on him as many times as I could feed my revolver.

Once again I raised my arm mechanically and pointed my Colt 45 towards the holey paper. Someone at my side pressed the button that retrieved the target, and he began to approach me, still in the frenzy of the interrupted shot, I turned with the revolver cocked towards the intruder.

Calm down, Pitty. Who else do you want to prove you're an excellent shot to? said my sister Anne, holding my wrist and preventing me from shooting.

I don't want to prove anything to anyone, I just didn't see you when you arrived. What happened?

This couldn't wait and she handed me an envelope.

Stamped right above my name, Pitty Masterson, the word urgent in big letters. The envelope remaining at the bank my father did business with. I felt a certain apprehension as I held the letter, so I opened the envelope and removed the sheet. It was a bank subpoena. Dad had pawned our house and missed several mortgage payments. The property was going to auction. Damn bench didn't even leave his body followed in the grave.

What a beautiful twenty-fifth birthday keepsake. I received my father's death as a gift, and now this subpoena.

What does the bank want?

Our memories.

What do you mean, Pitty?

They want our house, where we were born, where we spent all our childhood, where all our memories are kept. They're going to auction everything, Anne, we have 72 hours to get out of there, just with our personal belongings. I don't even know if the cars we use are more ours.

My God, what did Daddy do?

It had been five years since Mom died. In less than three months, brutal cancer wiped out all her hopes and dreams for a future with her family. She was a veterinary doctor, and she loved horses. Dad in love with her, months before her death, set up a small stud farm, which my mother unfortunately could not enjoy.

After Mom's death, he became an introspective person, closing himself off from us, he continued to be a good father, but we knew very little about his actions. He started drinking a lot more than socially and gambling even more. Our ancestors were always good gamblers, they won more than they lost, that's how they built their assets, gambling and investing everything they earned in new businesses, dad did not escape this rule.

My great-great-grandfather Bat Masterson, in addition to being a lawman, was an excellent gambler who made a name for himself in the wild west. He was so famous that they created, when Dad was still a boy, a television series in his honor. Bat was represented by the magnificent actor Gene Barry.

My father had inherited this feeling, we knew he was good at cards, but something had gone wrong over the course of five years. I began to notice when he came home drunk more often or when I found out about the sale of some good. Of course, the excuse was always the same, that he was investing in a new business and needed capital. I was remiss in not realizing that he needed my help. I think I closed my eyes too long.

I was only able to see the reality of the facts a week ago, when those two police officers knocked on our door. It was a cold morning. Anne and I were alone, I got up quickly thinking it was Dad. But why would he knock? He had the key. Then the cops coldly informed us that Dad had been shot in the chest in the parking lot of a second-rate casino. They didn't have any leads on the murderer and due to my father's gambling background they thought it was some disagreement with a gambler. Underneath tears, my sister Anne and I recognized the body and buried it the next day.

Then I went to the casino and with a good bribe and empty promises, I got a digital copy of the security camera in the parking lot. The video showed the exact moment when Dad's death occurred. The police also had that tape, I was told. I didn't care. In tears, Anne and I replayed the scene several times, with the pen drive of the recording stuffed in my notebook It was night and the killer was backlit, you could only see the silhouette of a man shooting, when Dad opened the car door. He looked towards the killer with a look of recognition, put his hand on his chest and fell back dead into the driver's seat. I will never forget that scene, or that silhouette.

I put my revolver, which I nicknamed the peacemaker, along with the box of ammo in my bag, threw the bank envelope inside and grabbed my cell phone. I looked in the contacts for our lawyer's phone number, the same as Dad's. We exchanged a few words, and arranged a meeting the next morning.

Anne Lucky and I opened the glass door of the beautiful office in central Oklahoma, where we lived. At the reception, an embossed metal plaque introduced us to the location, George & Robert Associated Lawyers. I introduced myself to the receptionist, she immediately took us to Dr. George. I handed him the bank summons. He appeared to be a little over fifty years old, a well-cut linen chambray suit, thick hair that already had some gray strands, I believe due to the stress of his profession. He ordered us to sit down, read the document, took a green folder from the table, opened it and placed the sheet on top of the rest of the papers.

I'm sorry, but your father's financial situation hasn't been the best for some time now. He started selling his real estate to pay off debts he contracted in the game, and in the end he pawned the house you live in. I was radically against it, but gambling debts spoke louder.

Dad always played, but very little, and almost always won, after all, my great-great-grandfather Bat Masterson, was a good player, as well as an excellent lawman. Dad was proud of it, but five years after our mother died, gambling was his refuge. We didn't know he had reached this point. He never let us miss anything, we didn't even realize he was sinking in the mud, I said.

And the stud farm, which mother loved so much, what was done? Anne said.

He sold. He sold, no, he passed the property on to a group that was pressuring him for various gambling debts.

My sister held my hand in search of some comfort, I in response held hers tightly. Anne was twenty-one. I couldn't believe what I was hearing. When I was twenty-five, I couldn't see an inch in front of my nose, why did Dad need help? How many times have I felt him get closer to me to open his heart, which should have been anguished, perhaps looking for an answer to his problems, and I couldn't