The Cunning Man || ONC 2021

4: Truth

"What the hell are you doing here?"

I touched the brim of my black cattleman's hat with a thumb and tilted it up just enough so I could return Deputy Harlan Well's familiar scowl.

"Last time I checked, I work here too," I shot back.

"Well sure, Sheriff," Harlan crossed his thick arms over his equally barrel-sized chest. "But why are you here at work, when you should be in the company of your new bride?"

I answered that with a growl and dropped my head back against the wall. My feet were propped up on the desk in front of me, and the chair beneath me balanced precariously on its two back legs. My arms were crossed over my chest and I tucked my hand back into the crook of the opposite elbow. The day was hot, but the breeze that blew through the jailhouse's open windows made me drowsy. I'd been fading in and out of a cat nap when Harlan interrupted it, and I was never a pleasant conversationalist when forced awake before I was ready.

"Having trouble with the missus, I take it?"

"You could say that," I muttered from beneath my hat.

"I suppose it's just as well. Need to talk to ya' 'bout somethin'."

There was a steely note to Harlan's voice that sent warning bells off in my head. I lifted my brim again and eyed him warily as he settled himself down in the wooden chair on the opposite side of the desk. The two of us had been friends and partners for seven years and I didn't need to ask to know that the rigid set of Harlan's heavy jaw boded ill.

Neither of us said a word as he leaned to the side in his seat and fished a piece of folded paper out of his left pant pocket. I pulled my feet off of the desk, dropped the chair back down onto all four legs, and sat up in my seat. That gave Harlan time to unfold the paper and slide it across the desk toward me.

He had the paper turned toward him, but I knew what I looked like even upside down. My heart slammed into my throat at the same time that my stomach plummeted down to my boots. When I didn't move, Harlan leaned forward and spun the photo around so it faced me right side up.

The artist had drawn an excellent likeness of me, and even though the picture was dated by about ten years, anyone acquainted with me would still be able to know who it was they were looking at. Above the picture in bold block letters was the word "WANTED"; beneath that in slightly smaller typeface was "$5,000". Beneath my picture was the name I'd left behind me in Pennsylvania: "Cadwyn E. Marrick." Following that were the words "MURDER" and "THEFT", as well as a brief explanation that the reward would only apply if I was brought in alive.

"Congratulations," Harlan said dryly. "You're worth as much as Billy the Kid."

I shook my head in furious refusal and shoved the wanted poster back at him.

"Where the hell did you get this bullshit?"

"Who," Harlan corrected. "I got it from Captain Randler. He passed through town last night on his way back up from Laramie, said he pulled this off of a saloon porch post. You got an explanation for me?" His expression was deadly, but I heard the plea beneath the heat of his words.

He didn't want to believe the poster's accusations. I could tell that a part of him didn't believe it. The older man rarely jumped to conclusions and I'd always known him to be fair. He'd hear anyone out, especially a friend.

I took a deep breath to steady myself and raised both my hands, palms out, in a placating gesture. "The only men I've ever killed were the ones who wanted me dead first, and you've been present for every single one. As for theft, I have no idea," I made a face of genuine confusion. "I picked a few pockets as a boy, but it was only ever for food."