Cause and Effect

Chapter 9

tocsin [toc-sin]

(n). a sound of warning; an alarm bell

//--//--//

"The del Lobos."

Dutch leaned into his travel table, pulling the map closer toward him, swearing deeply. Javier, Bill, and Sean had all come back in the early hours of the morning, and Dutch had not expected them to be pulling Sean off the back of Javier's bike, his arm hanging loose and dead by his side. 

He got shot by some people out there, Javier had said, pulling Sean off the bike, and pushing him toward Susan's trailer. We need to figure that out, Dutch.

Barely a few days in New Austin and they already were being shot at. Dutch glanced up at John, staring at him. He'd sneaked up on him, haggard and pale, and was standing near his table, glancing down at the map that Dutch was clutching. 

"Huh," Dutch looked back up at him. "What?"

John looked at him, eyes darting around frantically. "Said it was the del Lobos, most likely."

Dutch stood up, breathing in deeply. He hadn't really interacted with John much, knew he was flighty, Arthur had told him he had a wild bitter streak in him a mile long, and Dutch had dealt with wild men his entire life. "How you know 'bout them?"

John shrugged, running a hand over his face, and Dutch watched him drag dirty fingers over his twisted scars. "Been down here 'fore." He offered simply, not willing to offer any more information. 

Dutch took in a deep breath, Arthur hadn't told him that the man was willfully stubborn and so damn morose. "Any concerns I need to know 'bout them?" He asked patiently, one hand rubbing the knuckles of the other. 

"There's a lot of 'em," John said, not very helpful. "Bunch of dicks." 

Not at all helpful, Dutch leaned back to glance over the map. He glanced up, John pulling a cigarette out and lighting up. "Anything else?"

John stopped and considered for a few seconds, before shaking his head. "Nope." He popped the p resting his head against the trailer, hair brushing against his shoulders. 

Dutch breathed in deeply, closing his eyes. Even the goddamn Callendar boys were more helpful, the Callendar boys, and they had done nothing but rob and kill in the years that Dutch had brought them on. John on the other hand had the unique ability of just not giving a singular fuck. 

He knew why too, understood why even why he was acting like this. Anger was a hell of a motivator, and from what Dutch had seen from John, John thrived on anger. It was in the way he stood, the tension in his stance, smoldering anger in his eyes, barely restrained bitten-back arguments. Dutch knew the type, he'd end up dead sooner than later, his quick draw mindset sure to set someone bigger than him off one of these days. 

"Where are your people from?" Dutch asked, looking up from the map, at John who was staring up into the stars above. 

"Hm," John glanced over at him, eyes dark. "My 'people'?"

"Yeah," Dutch was determined to know more about the sad young man in front of him. "Where are you from."

John stared at him for a few seconds and Dutch could see the stubborn walls built up further. "Why?"

"Because," Dutch stood up straight, looking him in the eye. "If you're going to be here, I need to know more 'bout you, it's for the safety of my people."

John scoffed, rubbing his cigarette out on the trailer behind him, and Dutch could see anger flaring quick up in him. "I don't want  to be here, Dutch." He stared over at him again, shaking his head. "My dad was from Scotland if you wanna know."