Hired Gun - Pernell Purell

By Paul Lawless

Pernell Purell was a hired gun that some claimed had a draw faster than the eye could see. When he turned to whiskey and beer, he became downright mean and impossible to control.
He'd been hired by an unknown client who'd left a letter and money beneath the door of his hotel room, with instructions to go to the town of Lost Bend and initiate a gunfight between himself and a rancher by the name of Tom Holly. The reason? The client wanted Holly's ranch, cheap.
But, Purell soon learned that not everything is as cut and dry, black or white, as life sometimes leads you to believe. Not long after reaching Lost Bend, he realized that Tom Holly was better as a friend than another notch on his gun. When Tom's daughter is murdered by her husband, hired by the same man who wanted the Holly ranch, Purell finds himself putting his guns to a different use—bringing justice instead of hired death.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Pale Horse Publications
• Release date: May 12, 2024
• ISBN: 9798224924431

Paul Lawless

Paul Lawless was born in Liverpool, England in 1958. He spends a lot of time volunteering for charities in Liverpool. He's a lover of animals, reading, writing novels and poems. He's also member of an Unitarian Church in Liverpool which takes up a lot of his time.

Book preview

HIRED GUN

PERNELL PURELL

––––––––

PAUL LAWLESS

Copyright © 2017 by Paul Lawless

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, electronic, mechanical, recorded, photocopied, or otherwise, without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher, except by a reviewer who may quote brief passages in a review.

The scanning, uploading, and distribution of this book via the Internet or via any other means without the permission of the publisher is illegal and punishable by law. Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in or encourage piracy of copywritten material.

This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places and incidents either are a product of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is purely coincidental.

This book may contain views, premises, depictions, and statements by the author that are not necessarily shared or endorsed by Pale Horse Publications.

For information contact: [e-mail]

Cover Art by Michael Thomas

Cover design by Pale Horse Publications

Edited by Ann Mealler

Published by Pale Horse Publications

January 2022

10987654321

CHAPTER ONE

The Sunshine

The sun throws itself into the windows of the Prairie Dog Saloon. A man and a woman sit at a table in the far-right corner of the dim room. It is just Tuesday night, so not a great many customers are here. Only the regular customers frequent Lost Bend’s three saloons on a Tuesday night. 

One customer only comes into the Prairie Dog Saloon on a Tuesday night, sits at a table in the far-left corner, reading a book and drinking one glass of beer very slowly. Every now and then, during his reading, he will laugh, or sigh loudly, and then immediately mumble an apology to no one in particular. He is employed at the Stanley Hearst stable. 

All three Saloons are owned by Stanley Hearst, a tough, non-compromising businessman. His enemies, however, would call him callous and brutal in his business deals. 

There are two cups of hot coffee on the table in front of the man and woman. The woman, Mariette Holly, picks up her cup. She holds the cup delicately, then stops the cup halfway to her mouth and says, Ford, I hope you can return for the weekend. I mean, four days without her man, a lady can just about cope with but add the weekend to that and a lady is certain to get bored and so start thinking about spending Saturday night with her lady friends. What man would dare blame boredom for making a deserted lady desiring to do that?  

I watch the two of them, so nice and cozy, from the saloon doors. It sure does make you feel proud of human nature. I can feel the breath of the sun penetrating through my red shirt. The red shirt was a present from Mariette last week when she was very drunk, and I gallantly helped her to her bedroom like a fool. Now, just look at them acting like two childhood sweethearts. Why I should shoot both of them. And who would truly blame me? A man can only take so much. I drop my left hand hauntingly down to my gun waiting in its silver holster. 

I am very proud of my Colt .45 because I had grown so good with the gun. I have a well-earned reputation for being very good with my gun. I travelled from town to town, hiring out as a gunfighter to anyone who would be willing to pay me really good money. So much money that it always felt like it was burning a hole in my pocket. As for saving some of the money, well that was too stupid to even think of doing. 

I had a very good time with all that money to spend. The fancy restaurants and expensive shirts and boots, the saloon women and gambling, and foolishly over-tipping waitresses and hotel people like the money simply grew on trees and it would never end. 

Being young, I think that I am too good to get killed, but the graveyards are full of gunfighters who figured so arrogantly and stupidly that no one could kill them. I love the emotional thrill of the gunfight. I have gotten so much used to killing, that I can no longer see the cold-hearted brutality beneath it all, and my humanity had completely vanished. That was until the day I rode into the town of Lost Bend. 

*****

I had been hired to force Tom Holly, the owner of the Arrowhead Ranch, into a gunfight because someone desired him dead for some personal reasons. I had no idea who had hired me. The money and letter were left in my hotel room in Deadwood. I tried to force Tom Holly, Mariette’s father, into gunplay like the bloody fool I had become. I stood in the saloon that day and tried everything I could to force Tom into gunplay, but he simply refused. So, I stood, smiling because this man fascinated me greatly. Then he asked me to come to the Arrowhead Ranch because he had something, he wanted to show me. For some unknown reason, Tom had me curious. It was an itch that I needed to scratch away. 

So, I decided to play along with Tom because I could always force him into a fight at the ranch. I rode to the ranch with Tom that day as the rain came to rip-roaring down and the violent wind blew and forced the rain into my face. I was glad for the coffee that day. I stood in front of the roaring fire inside Tom’s large house, held the cup of coffee close to my chest and listened to his offer with real and genuine interest. Halfway through, I realized that I was not at least bit interested in his offer. I was only concerned about finishing my coffee, despite longing for another cup of coffee. I only wished to force him into gunplay at that moment so I could ride away from this ranch and collect the rest of my money for his required death. The longer it took to kill him, the longer I would be forced to stay in the town of Lost Bend, using up and wasting my money. 

The town of Lost Bend held not the least bit interest or fascination for me.  I thought about the money and how I was going to spend it, what I was going to spend it on, while I was finishing my cup of coffee. I can say one thing for Tom Holly, he did not try to beg for his life like a lot of men I was hired to kill. (Murder is a better and truer word for it.) 

No, Tom just stood there finishing his cup of coffee, ready to make his play, knowing he did not stand a chance against me. This did not bother me in the least for I never had emotions about killing or murdering someone for money. In my book, humans were one brutal race from the start of life to the end of life, and only the strong mentally and physically would survive to fully appreciate it. 

I let the empty cup fall out of my hands with dark and cruel deliberation. The cup smashed into several bits on the expensive red carpet. I did this to signal to Tom Holly there was no more time for him to play his game of putting me off. This action made me happy for a split second and then I concentrated on the killing coming. 

I waited in the silence for Tom to react, but he simply disregarded my intentions while his ranch hands outside the house worked away in the rain. That world outside the room seemed so remote and alien to me. For ten minutes, the silence controlled the room. I knew I was bored with the silence and I figured, for the first time, I would need to change the rules of the game, if I was to leave this ranch and collect my blood money. 

So, I said, in a half-hearted tone, Well, I guess you give me no option. 

Tom Holly replied, so bravely, I have not got all day just to stand here. Make your play, if you still have a desire for it. I have my ranch to run because it does not run on its own. 

So, I thought, while I chewed on and over his brave words, ‘What the hell?’ Killing someone, it does not really matter how it’s done so long as it gets done.   I threw my left hand down towards my gun and Tom tried his best to throw his hand onto his gun. But Tom was far too slow. I dragged my gun up and out of my silver holster, had levelled it and was aiming it at Tom’s heart. From the corner of my left eye, I could see that Tom was still trying to drag his gun upwards. He was just too slow. It was a shame, but sentimentality had no place in the life of a hired gun hand. 

I was about to fire when the front door behind me opened and I turned towards the potential danger. I was ready, I was more than ready, to fill whoever came through the door with bullets. I could not believe who it was, standing in the doorway with a terrified look on her face. I first thought perhaps it was my imagination playing a game on me. If it was a game, it was a very pleasurable game and most welcomed. I simply lowered my gun because I could not fire at the woman standing in the doorway. 

I heard the woman say, Father, are you okay? Should I get some men in here?

I put my gun away and didn’t care if Tom gunned me down right there in the middle of this room. I replied, There is no need for that, I was just leaving. 

I could, out of the corner of my left eye, see that Tom had finally managed to raise his gun upwards and level it out. He was aiming it at me. I could feel the tension feeding on my body like a vulture. I did not wait for her reply, I simply walked through the open doorway past her. I could smell her sweet scent and I was immediately captivated by it. I had no more desire to force Tom into gunplay and I had no idea how to fathom this out. Tom could have simply shot me in the back, but for some reason, I knew he would not. There was something in Tom’s nature that would not permit him to shoot a man in the back. Even if that person could come back at any time and force him into a gunplay that he could not possibly win. 

I strolled to my horse with some worry and anxiety plaguing me about the money I had taken for this job, and there was my well-earned reputation to consider. I did not realize it at that moment that my old life was over. I would be starting a new, uncertain life. It had stopped raining and the sun was out. I reached my horse when Tom and Mariette came out of the house, and I could hear them arguing. I knew the argument involved me. It made me smile. I swung onto my horse and I could hear Mariette moving beyond me. She stopped in front of three ranch hands, all wearing guns.  

The three men stopped talking to Mariette. I kept my eyes on their body movements to try to calculate what they were likely to do. They had a look on their faces that I would never forget. They stopped briefly to check and make sure that they were wearing guns, trying to convince themselves that they were loaded. Then they strolled determinately towards me for some imaginary showdown. 

You could never tell with men and guns. Most men, who don’t not use their gun in a professional manner, will back down when faced by a professional gunman. I mean, it is alright shooting your gun at bits of wood or can to practice with, but actually shooting at a target that can shoot back is different and requires nerves, confidence and the natural belief in one’s ability and self. 

I sat on my horse and waited for them to reach me. I could have simply ridden away from them, but there was always a slim chance that one of them may have tried to pull his gun out and called me out as his gun left his holster. The three men reached me. I could feel with every one of my senses their nervous tension. I could see tiny drops of sweat running down the faces of two of the men. I kept my right hand holding the reins, ready to force my horse swiftly forward to make them move back, so I could throw my left hand down to my gun. I would have my gun out and pointing at them when they recovered. 

I could tell straight away the tallest one of them wanted no trouble and only craved to escape from the situation with his life and seem not so foolish in front of Tom’s daughter. He wiped his face with his right hand very slowly as not to give out the wrong signal. Then, he swiped the tiny drops of sweat against his battered and stained shirt and trousers. I could see his Adam’s apple moving grotesquely in his throat. I knew as soon as he escaped from this predicament, he would be drinking several glasses of whiskey, come cold or warm. 

The stockier of the three men was not so nervous, but there would be no trouble from him. He said, taking his brown battered, greased bowler hat off his bald head with his left hand and wiping his face with his right hand, Its sure is hot now. I wish I was in the saloon. I can taste the whiskey and beer in my throat now. I actually felt some pity for this stocky man. 

But the youngest man, there was some arrogance and confidence in him that represented danger that, if not controlled and handled with toughness, there could be gunplay and possibly death here. I did not desire anyone’s death. This young man stupidly figured that he was good enough with his gun to try me. He longed for the opportunity to test his gun skills with a real professional gunman. Now, here was his golden opportunity to show how good he was with his gun to all those on the ranch and, in particular, to Tom Holly’s daughter and Tom himself. 

I could see his fancy gun in a fancy holster. I could tell that this young man had spent all his spare time diligently practicing with his gun by the dents and crease marks on the top of his holster. He stood like he truly knew how to stand before a gunfight, but he was really clueless. I felt like busting out with laughter, but this would only infuriate him and perhaps make him do something foolish. It was a real shame. 

I had seen foolish young men like this man freeze during a gunfight. Oh, these young men were full of self-assured confidence, and so looking forward to showing everyone how fast and good they were with their guns, especially the women. Until when these young men stepped into the middle of the street for a gunfight. They were sure swift pulling out their guns, but suddenly they would freeze, and these young men always ended up being brutally gunned down in the middle of the street by their adversaries. Then, the large crowd would simply go back to their lives while the young men’s blood ran in the middle of the street and the undertakers would start measuring them. 

I knew I needed to stamp down hard on this stupid young man before I was left with no choice but to kill or seriously wound him. I had no longing for this. I locked my eyes, mind, thoughts, concentration, and heart onto this man. I leaned forward on my horse, and said, "Now listen here. There is no need for any gunplay today. I am leaving and I am leaving peacefully, so don’t go reaching for your gun. I do not wish to shoot anyone. Step aside and