MR. ED CHRONICLES - talk three with Jep / Antaris

Nothing much had happened for another week and it made Mr. Ed feel good. By now he could be sure that he wasn’t spotted on the kill-site and even if he was, Mr. Ed had his story ready. He just took a walk and he had just ended up at the wrong place at the wrong time. He didn’t have much of a reputation yet in Martossa and for that reason it made sense that that statement would be enough in itself. 

Mr. Ed was eager though to have some more work on his hands. For the time being he had relayed the operation of Mr. Ed’s frozen pizza to his number two. This guy had worked for Mr. Ed for over twenty years. He knew the ropes and he was well skilled in the same type of negotiations that Mr. Ed needed to resort to from time to time. 

The only question was why? Why did Mr. Ed feel this sudden need to chronicle his wisdom? There was more to it than the heat that was brought on by his daughter that had pressured him to change his ways.

1

As long as Jep can remember he has been writing stories. It had always been an outlet, although he had never seriously considered letting anyone read them. When he was young —Jep and his friends Tony, Frankie, Jim and Phyllis were obsessed by this super-hero that they created by the name of The Shadow. At the time, they were sure that it was a superpower in human form, but later on their attention and interests drifted to booze, girls and having a good time.

The other reason why Jep hadn’t let anyone read his work was the fact that he had never considered that he really was any good. Out of their gang, Tony had always been the one with the wildest imagination, and even during the reunion in West End Mansion Tony was the one that came up with the most outlandish stories. When he was back in The West Jep realized something though: those stories were all accounts of tales and legends that had been around and it hadn’t originated from his imagination. And even though Jep thought highly of Tony, he just didn’t seem the type that would be able to pull through and write a full blown novel. 

Jep was sure that he would have the stamina and ideas to pull through.

2

Writing is hard to learn and even for those who have the inspiration and stamina to jam out a full blown novel —chances are that the work doesn’t sell, eitherbecause the work isn’t that good or it just doesn’t generate the kind of traction of the next big thing. 

Mostcontemporarywriting doesn’t have the spark: it doesn’t have strong, memorable characters and the events are plain boring. Writing should always be larger than life, it should interesting, and even when it isn’t, there should at least be this anticipation of the reader that things will pick up soon.

To some degree writing starts by analyzing popular works of great writers and then to dream that one day you yourself wouldbe able to write something of the same caliber. To wish is to hope for, to dream is to have seen the possibilityis what Jep thought to be a quote from a great science-fiction series (he later found out that it was almosta complete fabrication). 

Reading and enjoying and hoping, wishing and dreaming is the beginning. There should be the enjoyment at the level of entertainment when reading these works, but ultimately that’s where it begins and ends. Writing is one of those occupations in which you need to have some skin in the game: there’s some of the writer in it —call it passion, imagination or anything, and it filters through on the page and the reader picks up on that, mostly on a subconscious level. 

The point is this: a writer needs to work hard to find his own voice, recurring themes, world view etc etc and that makes writing one of those things that’s very hard to learn, because it takes a lot of effort for many years and even after all that there’s no guarantee that the work will be any good. If you can find anything else, do it, if not: writeis one of those other famous quotes that’s more air than substance, because writing takes a lot of work, yes, talent, yes, but also luck.

Jep didn’t know about all of this, but he knew of this without knowing and that’s why he had never considered writing to be more than a hobby. 

3

In his writings Jep had always leaned towards science-fiction, not so much the hard-boiled kind that’s completely disconnected from our current times, but the kind where a few things are tweaked and then the story analyzes what exactly will happen next. It’s a way to speculate how the problems of our times will pan out on multiple levels: individual, society, technological. 

There were the things that were discussed in the sessions with Mr. Ed, although Jep realized that most of those were brought up by himself, either by stating it as a fact or by association. They also weren’t necessarily the stuff of great novels, but they might be a place to start. 

The first real issue that Jep had discussed with Mr. Ed had been the murder of the girl at West End Mansion. You can’t run from lifewas what the advise came down to, which in a way was an open door, because it could be applied to anything, but it was also exactly what he needed to hear at that time. In a way it could also be seen as one of the problems of our times: we want to stay young, we don’t want to commit etc etc. It almost links up with the borderline times: the inability to control anger, extreme black and white thinking, an existential emptiness. 

Jep coined the whole depression-anxiety-thing during another session with Mr. Ed and while talking he stipulated that more complexity (on the level of society) wasn’t the answer to the problems of our times. It may be actually be the opposite: a simpler life, or to put it another way, a re-wilding. Then there was the notion of that retired shrink who stated that the distinction between those who pull through and those who sink away in insanity has to do with how effective they are at employing coping mechanisms that work. There’s a definite link here: complexity gives stress, which requires coping mechanisms. Re-wilding means less complexity, which (in theory) means less stress and less coping mechanisms. There’s one remark here though, re-wilding requires skills to grow food and an ability to lead a more frugal life with much less entertainment (vacations, big cars, the newest gadgets etc etc). It might not be for everyone. 

Then what is? One of these is the deliberate decision no to be effected by what goes on around us. And you can take this very literally: do I let events tear me apart or will this experience make me stronger (or at least find a way to deal with things)? In somewhat different words, it was also what Nietzsche said that the strugglewill end up making you stronger.

Then throughout it all there’s that whole idea of the narrative identity: literally rewriting of apersonal past into such a story that it allows you to go on living with yourself. Even then there’s that statement that hovers over all of it like a dark cloud—the cloud and that statement are both about thatvast, cold unloving universe and how it’s ultimately us who invest it with anymeaning. 

Fuck, Jep thinks, How can I make this into a story? A science-fiction that’s interesting to read and that may stand at least an iota of the test of time.

4

At the end of that week Jep had reached out and Mr. Ed had accepted the request for another session. It was in VR, which made it more easy to accept, kind of.

This time Mr. Ed had logged in before Jep. When Jep entered Mr. Ed looked up from his notes and gestured for Jep to take a seat.

“What can I do for you, Mr. Jep?” 

“The usual,” Jep says, “Maintenance.”

“Anything in particular?”

“Art,” Jep says, “Artistic endeavors.”

“As in what? Painting?”

“Writing,” Jep says, “I have been writing on and off for as long as I can remember. I’m thinking about a science-fiction: introduction describing a problem and a character that’s bound to solve it, a description of technological advancements. Then the middle where the problem is played out. The ending where it’s resolved.”

“I see….” Mr. Ed says, “What kind of problem?”

“I don’t know yet,” Jep says, “The problem might be the space travel itself, the middle where they arrive at a new place, struggle, then when it seems that everything will work out something bad happens.”

“Murder?”

“Danger,” Jep says.

“Terror?” Mr. Ed says, “Like acrazy guy in a clown suit whostarts terrorizing without any purpose or reasoning.”

“Then there’s the question of the kind of people that are willing to give up their lives, possibly indefinitely,” Jep says, “Which is very interesting, because if you think about it: which kind of person would do that?”

“If it was just for a short stretch, then it could be a sense of adventure,” Mr. Ed says.

“That’s the whole point: it isn’t short —space travel to distant planets will take years…. Then there’s the problem of time dilation: even if those space travelers somehow make it back to earth…. Everyone that they know will be dead, because for them, being on a space ship traveling near the speed of light or at high warp means that time for themwill go faster.”

Mr. Ed thinks about that one for a second.

“If you look back athistory there might be another element:” Mr. Ed says, “Those that were on the Mayflower didn’t just have that sense of adventure, but for many there was also a necessity, because a good number of them were struggling through poverty in Europeand the US was a fair chance at a better life.”

“Then the riches of space travel can never be expressed in US Dollars, since the riches that can be brought on a space ship will be very limited. Unless you bring technology that can create other technology that will be able to extract natural resources and literally build a new society.”

“Robots.”

“And a whole lot of them,” Jep says, “I’m just not sure yet about the poverty, because being poor now or a hundred years ago is very different. Back then it was more likely to have meant famine and starvation, these days it’s more about having little money and having limited means to change that situation.”

“You mean that back then there was still a way out and these days there isn’t?”

“There’s still migration, obviously, from Africa to Europe, South to North America, but one thing is very different: there’s already scarcity in the places where they’re traveling to. Back then there was opportunity and abundance.”

“Which is what space travel to a new home world might also be about.”

“Opportunity and abundance.”

*

They continued talking some more and by the time the hour was up, they hadn’t discussed anything that would have been discussed in aregular therapy session. 

Still, Jep had the feeling that he had gotten something out of it. 

5

Long after Jep had logged out from the VR, his mind stayed with his unwritten story. He was still looking for its larger than life theme, but at the same time it needed to be relatable and contemporary: possibly something about what keeps us going (although that one might also be considered to be a sub-theme)…. 

The main theme is more straight forward: struggle and then to overcome. The story will take place in the future, possibly with a small group that’s trying to survive on a distant new world. 

He had already had a name for the new home-world: Antaris.

MR. ED CHRONICLES - talk three with Bradley / Starion

Mr. Ed had come to believe that he had an angel on his shoulder: just a week ago it seemed that he would be implicated for murder. Then the most unlikely thing happened. The bad element that had come to torment his life turned out to be hunted down by another element that had tormented Martossa in the past. Mr. Ed had been there when it had happened and he discretely slipped away.

Since that day Mr. Ed had asked himself why he deserved this much good luck, because as Mr. Ed himself, or any other person would state, Mr. Ed wasn’t a particularly good man. There was the fact that he had created employment through his frozen pizza plant, but the way he went about his business and the things that he did in his free time didn’t exactly balance the score. 

In a way how Mr. Ed judged himself came down to that old question of good and evil: does a certain measure of good, justify an evil? These kind of deliberations usually end up in a concentration camp where an evil doctor experiments on victims for the good of science. At heart Mr. Ed knew very well that good and evil are not balances, but instead they are different realms. A person is either good or bad and it seems there’s little room for a middle ground, unless for those poor office drones that have all the passion sapped out of them. 

What Mr. Ed didn’t know was that according to those that he spoke with as a therapist, was that they considered Mr. Ed to be a good man, mostly because he had all given them good advise. The strange, or insidious thing is that all of them saw what lurked beneath the surface, but they were all willing to give Mr. Ed the benefit of the doubt.

1

The news of the death of the Debt Collector had spread quickly around town and by the time the Sheriff and coroner came down there was a large crowd. In a way the mutual murder had been the kind of cleansing that could only be reconciled with bloodshed. Victor Vaughn had been the bad news and a bad element that his death by a bullet in the skull was a good thing instead of the bad that a murder usually was. Then again, the other guy that got killed by a bullet from Victor Vaughn was also bad news and he was also sorely missed.

It was almost like a revolution had taken place —the kind that overthrows dictatorships that can only end by the public lynching of its illegitimate head of state. In a revolution the tragedy is already implied, revolution, revolt, which is a turning like a wheel, which already implies that a new kind of torment will present itself in some future. 

On the other hand, that might also be considered the kind of doomsday preaching that feeds on the bad that will come. The simple fact is that the bad thing will always come for us, because there will always be a bad corner, or a bad alley where dungeons await, like a predator waiting patiently for its prey. 

It was just that, statistically speaking, bad things happened more frequently in Martossa and some Martossians had started to believe that it was somehow pre-ordained. 

2

A few weeks had passed and Bradley was brooding on what he could put his mind to. On a subconscious level he must have registered what Mr. Ed had said about the life of the mind. What Mr. Ed had only said in so many words was that the life of the mind might be something that would help us pull through rough stretches, whether they are tough or plain boring like a desert road.

After a little over two months, the three instances when the wicked voice had entered Bradley’s mind were still fresh enough to keep him on edge. The memory of those three times had very subtly warped into this notion that those three times would make him into a schizo, but at the same time he was unwilling to just give in like that. On some level whether it was fact or fiction was irrelevant, simply because for a schizo it was always subjective, an account that was relayed to professionals and documented in reports. Then there were the manifestations that could be observed: a complete melt-down and dysfunction. Those reports were facts that could’t be changed and also the foundation for the diagnosis of schizophrenia. 

No one knew of those three instances and that fact gave Bradley leeway to redefine those three instances into a fiction —for all intents and purposes it had never happened and he was as normal as the next 16 year old. He was still in full control, as Mr. Ed might have put it.

*

Forgetting and processing takes time and Bradley simply needed something to put his mind to. Sometimes the solution to problems is right in front of us and we know this in the back of our heads.

Since the summer two modern classic cars had been for sale by a guy on the edge of town who claimed that he had bought the two carsa good ten years ago, but he never came around to doing the work needed to fix them up. In his yard this guy had two Mitsubishi Starion’s, one from ‘84 and the other of ‘86. These cars are older than Bradley himself, but there’s just something about the 80s design of these coupes. These cars have a very distinctive slick line, headlights that pop up, a chunked dashboard and what can only be described as an 80s swagger.

Bradley had his eye on those two cars since the summer and until recently he hadn’t seriously considered buying one of them. Fixing up old cars is something though that almost came with the territory: his dad, Ian, had always had a ‘68 Mustang that he spend a lot of time fixing and fine-tuning. When Bradley finally asked his dad to have the car registered under his name, he didn’t need to think twice. 

Bradley’s mother, Holly, wasn’t too thrilled about buying the car at first. She worried about Bradley’s school performance, his safety in case the car broke down at high speed, but at the same time she realized that it might be something that he would really like and that would help to sustain the bond with his father.

*

After four weeks the car was running and Bradley could take it for a spin. The engine was running, but it didn’t run smoothly. It sounded like it may need to be taken apart to clean its smallest parts and replace components, such as belts and hoses that were past being worn out. At this point it also looked like an old car, because it needed a very thorough paint job to bring it back to any kind of glory. 

Bradley drove down to the lot with the junked up cars where they used to hang out and where Victor Vaughn and the other guy had murdered each other. The bikes of Brandon, Tommie-Lee and Bobby were where they usually stashed their bikes, but they weren’t around. Bradley knew that this probably meant that they had gone fishing. He had parked the car and gone down to the water.

“You guys want to see my ride?” Bradley asked when he was near.

“We don’t see this guys for weeks and all of a sudden he pops up….” Tommie-Lee says in a fake gangster voice, “We thought you ran off with some girl or something.”

They all start laughing at that, because they know that Bradley still harbors something for Cassie, but according to them he’s too chickenshit to pursue it.

“What can I say….” Bradley says, “There was a certain golden opportunity.”

“That’s good, man,” Brandon says, “It’s better to do something than to just fuck around all the time.”

“Are you calling us dipshits?” Bobby asks.

“Not you, us,” Brandon says, “We all ain’t exactly the smartest kids on the block, but he, this kid, he’s got a real chance.”

“He’s just messing with you guys,” Bradley says, “It’s just an old car that I’m fixing up. Nothing fancy schmancy.”

“Let’s check out this ride,” Tommie-Lee says and he starts tying the fishing line to a tree, “You never know when fish is gonna bite.”

*

Bradley shows them the car. Dented, scratched, faded paint and an engine that runs like it has a cold. The guys don’t look too impressed.

“I know,” Bradley says, “But listen to this….” 

Bradley revs the engine to 5000 rpm and the sound of the raw power gives a glimpse of what’s under the hood and what this ride can be restored back into.

They all return back to the beach and continue fishing together. They catch a few fish, roast it on the fire and sit around and talk until midnight. 

*

“You’ll remember this drive,” Ian said, when Bradley returned, “Right now it’s running, but it’s running like an old heap of junk. Just wait and see in a few months: the engine will be thoroughly cleaned, it will have a new paint job and the interior will be updated.”

“Can’t wait to get started,” Bradley said, “Where should I start?”

“We’ll lift the engine out tomorrow and then the hard part comes,” Ian said, “Taking it apart and arranging the pieces in such a way that you’ll be able to put it back together after.”

“How long would that take?”

“Depends on the time that you have,” Ian said, “But since it’s mostly the evening hours, it will take a few weeks.”

“I don’t mind,” Bradley said and he could already picture the restored car before him: swift and cool and totally back to the future.

3

Mr. Ed was on the other end of town. Even though he was sure that no one saw him near the kill-site, he still had this very strong feeling that it would be better for him to stay low for a while. And that’s exactly what Mr. Ed did. 

Bradley was obsessing over his car and therapy wasn’t on his mind that week.

THE DEBT COLLECTOR PART 3 - The Purge

Mr. Ed instinctively knew that it would be a bad idea for him to be seen with Victor Vaughn from here on. 

“You do what you see fit,” Mr. Ed said when he stepped into the rental, “Have a good one.”

“Likewise,” Victor Vaughn said. If it wasn’t for the guy tied up to the tree it might have seemed like a conversation between two old friends that had gone hunting at night.

Mr. Ed looked in the back mirror when he drove off and he saw that Victor Vaughn was bent over the trunk of his car, probably taking out some tools. 

1

Mr. Ed was surprised to find outthat the road back to Martossa was blocked by the deputy.

“Just a random check,” the deputy says, while checking the rental papers, “What were you doing out of town?”

“I went for an early morning stroll,” Mr. Ed says, prying if the guy was already reported missing, “No law against that, right?”

The deputy hands his papers back and waves him through, without saying so much as a single word. 

*

That same morning the boys didn’t have anything better to do and they biked down to the store close to the Martossa Inn. The soft chewy candy that they used to munch on was 10 cents cheaper than in the other stores. Besides, they didn’t have much else to do that day. 

Not much was going on though: the old Mercedes was still gone and Mr. Ed was not in sight either. After an hour they were about to go home to play video games, but somehow they got this feeling that they should stick around just a little longer. Brandon was the one to stay back and observe the inn, while the others biked off in different directions. 

*

After thirty minutes the last of them returned to the tree across from the Martossa Inn. There was no sight of the Debt Collector in town.

“Maybe he skipped town already?” Brandon says.

“My mom says that he always stays for three to four weeks,” Bobby says.

“That is strange,” Bradley says, “And usually there are these extremerumors about this or that, but this time: nothing.”

“Video games,” Tommie-Lee says.

“Just hang on,” Brandon says.

It’s then that they see the crummy Mercedes turn around the corner. The Debt Collector gets out -- it looks like he had rolled around in the dirt. 

“Like he dug someones grave,” Tommie-Lee says softly. If it was any other person that would probably bethe way to crack a joke about it, but in this case chances werethat he actually did kill someone.

2

The next day the disappearance of the guy was all over the news and it turned out that he also had a name: Felipe Owen. He turned out to have been some office worker without too much of a social or family life. The Sheriff stated that he was most likely one of those lost souls who had looked too deep in the bottle and had gone off to kill himself at the darkest hour of the night. There was one woman who stated that he might have been struggling to cope with modern life, like so many men that were build to be cowboys and more apt at dealing with horses and guns than the softer skills that are needed for our day and age.

Felipe Owen definitely hadn’t been one of those men though: if he had lived in the 19^thcentury he might have become a telegrapher or worked the post office. The reporter asked if the guy didn’t have any family in town. The Sheriff said that there was and the family had stated that there hadn’t been any contact for months. The police had gone through the apartment and it had seemed like this guy had just gotten up and headed out: there were no indications of foul play.

*

Mr. Ed realized that things had gotten out of hand, but at least there were no leads pointing towards him or Victor Vaughn. Mr. Ed wasn’t sure though how to control a guy like that. If he was back in Moac it would be simple: he would get a few guys to talk some sense into this guy. He could get a few of those guys over to Martossa, but that would draw too much attention. Mr. Ed thinks: this one needs some ingenuity.

3

Felipe Owen was the uncle of Bobby. When the word had gotten out the boys stayed in contact via walkie-talkies. The other boys assumed that Bobby would be so struck with grief that his walkie-talkie would be off. 

They were all surprised when they heard Bobby’s voice: “Let’s just meet at the usual,” Bobby said, “The junk yard with the cars.”

“He bobbie-man,” Bradley said, “You alright.”

“I’m okay, I guess,” he said, “I just need to get out of the house.”

*

For the boys things had gotten very real over night, since it weren’t just stories about bad things that happened to other people that they didn’t know too well. They didn’t know Felipe Owen and Bobby also didn’t care too much for the man, but that wasn’t the point. 

The point was that it was as if the Debt Collector was closing in on them. In a way it was as if circling around them and this was the last victim that had been close, but not close enough to paralyze them with fear. 

“My family doesn’t seem to believe a word of it that my uncle killed himself,” Bobby says, “He mostly kept to himself, but he just wasn’t the type to do something like that.”

“Then what do they think has happened here?” Bradley asks.

“The Debt Collector,” Bobby says, “When we were on that stake-out yesterday, it really looked like he had just dug someones grave.”

“That was a weird co-incidence….” Tommie-Lee says.

“That guy just has something to do with it,” Brandon says, “Your uncle goes missing the same night that this scary creature doesn’t go back to his hotel for the night.”

“What if it’s true?” Bradley asks. 

“What do you mean: what if,” Tommie-Lee says all agitated.

“The question is: how can we find out?” Brandon asks. 

“We can look for traces,” Bradley says, “Inspect the outside of that dude’s car.” 

“Looking for what?” Bobby asks, and he turns all pale, “Blood? Pieces of clothing?” 

Bradley nods, realizing that that might actually be a very painful experience for him. He also thought something else because he had his share with heavy stuff and muddling through: Painful, yes, but it will help you process what has happened in the long run.

4

Victor Vaughn wasn’t worried: this hadn’t been the first time that he iced someone and it sure wouldn’t be the last. The circumstances were worrisome though. He usually acted out of duty or towards some greater good. This one had been different though, since there was no need for any involvement on his part, other than the fact that he didn’t trust that Mr. Ed guy. 

It was all the reason to keep this guy close, but he just hadn’t expected that he would go quite this far to establish and maintain this kind of proximity. The whole idea of leverage hadn’t come to mind, but it might come when he would find himself cornered or strapped for cash. 

Victor Vaughn needed to catch some air and that’s why he got in his car and he drove to the edge of town. At the end of the road there was the lot with the junked-up cars. 

*

“Look who just turned onto the lot,” Brandon whispers, “This is like a sign, guys: we need to investigate this guy’s car.”

“I guess it wouldn’t hurt to just walk over and check it out a little,” Tommie-Lee says.

“What do you guys think?” Brandon asks.

“I guess just looking couldn’t hurt,” Bradley says, “You in?”

“I don’t know,” Bobby says, “What if I like see blood or pieces of clothing…. I think I will freak out for real….”

“Stay back, it’s ok,” Brandon says, “Then you can be the lookout.”

*

The car was battered and beat up. They looked around all they could, but except for dirt and more dirt, they couldn’t find much of anything.

“I think I can pry the lock of the door, you know,” Tommie-Lee says, “Then we can open the trunk from there.”

“I don’t know,” Bradley says, “It’s kind of risky.”

“You’re going to tell me that you’re not the least curious?” Brandon asks. 

“Okay, I admit to that….”

Tommie-Lee used his army knife and a paperclip; cracking a lock wasn’t as easy as they made it seem in the movies and it took him a good fifteen minutes. He quickly opened the door and pulled the release for the trunk. 

“O man,” Tommie-Lee says, “It feels like that guy is watching or something.”

“What are we looking for exactly?” Brandon asks. 

Inside the trunk they saw two barrels of gasoline, a large collection of all kinds of knives and a whole lot of guns. There were also what looked like ancient devices of torture, but before they had a chance tostudy everything in there they hear someone yell in the distance:“What the hell!”

“O, shit,” they all say and all of them run back to the cars where they usually hang out, “Grab your gears, guys.”

Victor Vaughn ran towards his car and pulled a shotgun out the back of his trunk. By luck the guys had their bows and arrows ready.

“You kids made a huge mistake,” Victor Vaughn yells, “A huge….”

The guys didn’t wait for them to be shot at. The first arrow came from Bobby and it pierced Victor Vaughn’s shoulder. The second pierced his other shoulder. The third hit was a rock from the slingshot that hit him right in the head. The fourth hit was another rock that hit him on the knee. The fifth was an arrow that pierced his hand. 

“I’ll be back,” Victor Vaughn yells, while retreating, “You better believe it.” 

The boys grab all the stones they can and they drive him back to his car. They don’t stop there and by the time he’s about to drive off all of his windows are shattered, except a small one in the back. 

“You guys think this was smart?” Brandon asks, while they are still trying to catch their breath.

“My dad says that bad guys respect strength,” Bradley says.

“Even when it comes from a bunch of kids?” Brandon asks. 

“I don’t know,” Bradley says. 

“We’re fried,” Bobby says in a scared voice, “I know it.”

“Don’t move ahead of yourself now, son,” Brandon says, “That guy had it coming for a long time.”

*

What the boys didn’t know was that Mr. Ed was still plotting his revenge and it so turned out to be that he came across the site of the agency that employed Victor Vaughn as a bounty hunter. They have a listing of all active bounty hunters in the area and Mr. Ed hires a guy by the name of Malcolm Thompson.

Mr. Ed puts out a $10.000 reward for a dead or alive on Victor Vaughn a.k.a. The Debt Collector.

5

Malcolm Thompson was very interested in the 10k that Mr. Ed had offered for Victor Vaughn. Malcolm Thompson once served as mayor in Martossa, but he was so bad to the bone until there was one night in July that it was so hot and miserable that something just needed to give. That night it had rained slightly and then it stopped, but by that time people were so riled up that a whole posse formed out of thin air. The Sheriff and his two deputies couldn’t do much to stop what the posse had on their mind (and secretly they might have been of the same mind). 

When Malcolm Thompson had been elected to office it had been by a majority of 74 percent. It had much to do with the fact that he had been a decorated war hero and that he didn’t come from town seemed much less important. If he had been, then the people of Martossa might have had an idea of what would have been coming for them: tyranny.

Much like anywhere else, or come to think of it, maybe even more than anywhere else people were accustomed of politicians lying wherever they could, while taking bribes left and right. What Malcolm Thompson had established in just a few months wasn’t a whole lot of lies, but he had turned the government of Martossa into a de facto military regime. The kind that tended to be headed by a man with absolute power. 

How he had gotten away with it, no one really knew, but he had managed to instill a culture of fear with his subordinates. They in turn demanded absolute loyalty of all citizens. There was one thing though that Malcolm Thompson couldn’t control and that was the warm, hot and miserable weather of July that seemed to drag on longer than during other years during that faithful year. 

In a way, this heat wave was like a cloak or wall between him and his subordinates. Malcolm Thompson saw that he lost his grip by the day. When there was one day that was even worse than all the others, his subordinates simply deserted him, all of them. 

It was during that night that the posse rounded up after heavy rain of just 15 minutes that did little to cool the people down, but it gave them clarity of mind as to what they needed at that time. There were no words spoken between any of the people, but they had one thing on their mind: the lynching of Malcolm Thompson. 

Much like any man of his caliber, Malcolm Thompson somehow picked up on the angry mob that was after him. He grabbed the escape bag that he always kept by the front door and he skipped town. By the time the posse had reached his house they found it empty and it was the mother of Bobby who said: “The weasel must be gone.”

By that time it started to pour and it lasted for one night and one day. The people took it as a sign that that had been the end of it. 

*

It would be an understatement to say that Malcolm Thompson didn’t feel much like going back to Martossa. He was sure that they wouldn’t be too happy to see him, but on the other hand, if he brought their new tormentor to them in a cage – he figured that it might ease their judgement. The other reason was that he could sure use the 10k. 

6

Connie Moore was among the first to spot Malcolm Thompson driving around town. He had gained some pounds, lost some hair, but she was sure it was him. The rumor spread and the Sheriff got air of it: he summoned Malcolm Thompson to the edge of town and told him not to come back. His deputy escorted him to the edge of town. 

Malcolm Thompson waited until the deputy was out of sight, then he turned his car around. 

This time Malcolm Thompson had more luck and he spotted the guy that fitted the description. The person was just getting out of his car. Malcolm Thompson had half a mind to gun this guy down then and there, the catching alive seemed more of a challenge. He wrote a note and slipped it under the windscreen: payback 5 pm car junk yard, edge of town, signed MT.

*

Victor Vaughn figured that the note came from the boys that he had it out with the other day. He figured that MT stood for something like Mighty Teens. 

Victor Vaughn went down there at five, this time wearing two revolvers on a belt. The guns were for backup though, he brought his own bow and arrow, because he wanted this one to last. 

7

When Victor Vaughn turned on the lot at five, he was genuinely surprised that the boys weren’t there. He thought: those little punks chickened out.

“Who the hell are you?” he brisks at the guy who’s at the far end.

“I’m your 5 pm.”

“You?” Victor Vaughn asks, “You’re a dad of one of those punks?”

“I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Sure you don’t,” Victor Vaughn says, and he’s getting vexed, “So how you want to do this?”

“Man to man,” Malcolm Thompson says, “Just like they did in the Wild West.”

“Turn at 3.”

*

They both turned at two, but Malcolm Thompson did it a fraction of a second before Victor Vaughn. He managed to shoot him in the knee. Next he shot him in the hand when he went for his gun. 

“Where on earth did you learn to shoot like that?” Victor Vaughn cries out in pain.

“What do you think?”

The boys were there the whole time and somehow Malcolm Thompson registers it when when Brandon said “We better split.” 

Victor Vaughn managed to shoot Malcolm Thompson in the belly (he aimed for the heart). He turned around and shot Victor Vaughn in the head. The blood was already coming up from Malcolm Thompson’s mouth and he thinks: off all the places this dump is where I end.

The boys saw what happened and they saw Malcolm Thompson collapse across from Victor Vaughn. 

“They killed each other….” Tommie-Lee says.

“No shit….” Brandon says.

“We better split still,” Bradley says, “What if one of their friends shows up and think it’s us….”

*

The boys alerted the Sherif and he immediately came down with his two deputies following in separate cars. 

“Malcolm Thompson,” the Sheriff says, when he turns the fella over with his foot, “To see the light of day.”

“I think he’s dead, Sheriff,” the deputy says.

“It’s an expression, you idiot,” the Sheriff says, “If he was any more dead he would nothing more than a pile of dust.”

“What do you figure this guy did here?” the other deputy asks. 

“I have no idea,” the Sheriff says, “Making amends?”

“Neither of them will be missed, that’s for sure,” the first deputy says, “So what should we do with them?”

“Call the coroner,” the Sheriff says, “I assume that neither of them has any relatives that give two bits that these two are gone.”

“People might want to see these two for themselves,” the second deputy says, “You know, to keep rumors from spreading that these two are still around.”

“Sharp thinking,” the Sheriff says, “We give the town five days, until Friday. Then at a town meeting we can celebrate that Martossa has finally been set free.”

*

The next day Mr. Ed heard the news. He hadn’t withdrawn the 10k yet and he hadn’t met in person with Malcolm Thompson. As far as anyone knew they never had any business. Mr. Ed ordered one of his men to erase all digital traces that he had ever dealt with any bounty hunter. 

Mr. Ed was fully aware that the luck that he had just had tendency of not coming back twice. He was playing with the idea of donating the 10k to the local church. It was just that there was no way for him to do that without people finding out about it. 

He needed a third man to do this for him. The 10k would clear his conscience.