Outlaws - An American Youth - [Charles Smith x OC]

Chapter 41 - Charles

Everything was ready. His suitcase was waiting for him on the dock, the boat that would bring him out of this dreadful town too. One fight. One last fight. As usual, he was going to agree to throw the fight. Take the blows without saying anything. But at the last moment, he would strike back, knocking out his opponent to pocket the jackpot before running away.

On his bare chest, the blood still fresh from his previous encounter. Stoically, he listened to the organizer of the fight. His Italian accent twisted his ears. One last fight, and he wouldn't have to work for those mobsters, Angelo Bronte's heirs.

"Folks they love a surprise, but they hate a massacre, and you are a killer. We both know what you gotta do. I'm leaving now...

- He don't know the half of it."

He whirled around, hearing that familiar voice. In front of him, John Marston, in person. That's something he hadn't planned for today. A happy laugh escaped his throat as he shaked the hand of this long-lost friend.

"What are you doing?

- I don't know... I'm alive.

- Uncle thought that maybe you was in some sort of trouble.

- K-kind of... just... I don't know... I..." He approached John to confess. "I'm throwing fights for a few dollars.

- Throwing fights?

- Sure.

- And you like that?

- Of course not.

- So?

- So... Let me go place a bet."

He motioned for his friend to follow him to the bookmaker. John told him that Abigail was alive, but she was gone. He patted his shoulder as a sign of support, before placing a bet on his own victory. He handed out all his money, gained by the strength of his fists in recent weeks. Double or quits.

Without waiting, he joined the center of the crowd. The barker was already haranguing the crowd of gamblers. He barely listened to what he was saying. His eyes fixed on those of his opponent. He absolutely had to win this fight. The other was also tall and strong. A real worthy opponent. He would start by letting the other gain the advantage, to give him confidence. And when he wouldn't expect it, he would fight back.

"Let's have a good fight boys. Let's keep it clean. But not so clean."

He took a few hits, which would undoubtedly leave him with black eyes. Then, with the flexibility of a cat, he dodged his enemy's fist before fighting back. He punched, again and again, until he knocked the Welshman down, finishing him with a kick in the face. He had won. Without further ado, he moved away from the combat zone to get dressed. As he walked away with John, the bookie caught them up.

"You made my month... But you also made some fellers mighty unhappy.

- So it goes."

He took the wad of bills the man handed him. A small fortune in his hands. John put his hand on his shoulder before leading him through the streets of Saint-Denis to shelter him from the angry crowd.

"So you keen on staying round here? Or heading off with me and Uncle?

- But John, I haven't seen you two in years.

- I know, but right now... my sense is you just need to lie low."

Charles finally accepted the offer of his friend, guiding him through the alleys of the slums that he now knew by heart. On the way, they chatted about Arthur, Dutch and Micah. So he was the rat. Yet he was so loyal to the leader, always whispering in his ear. It seems that was not enough, he ended up turning his back at the first occasion.