Treys

fiCTion

Treys

by brenDan murphy

“Your poker face is shit,” the moustached man muttered. “I can read you like a book. Just fold already.” Jeremiah did not like being told this. He was fully convinced that his poker face was impeccable. His hand consisted of a three of clubs and a three of hearts. A low pair, but with enough luck he could make it work. If he maintained his composure, perhaps he could fool the moustached man into folding. Jeremiah smirked as he stared at his cards. “I didn’t think you could read, old man.” Jeremiah looked up and began to study his accuser’s face. It was a little more red than it was a second ago. The cartoonishly large handlebar moustache attached to the man’s wrinkly face twitched. Jeremiah saw his chance. “And while we’re talkin’ about faces.” The saloon grew quiet. “I’d wager that a heifer’d be more eager to spend a night with you than any woman on God’s green Earth. Hell, I’d say get a clean shave, but you’re doing everyone a service by hiding that unfortunate mug.” “I’m giving you one chance to apologize.” “Or what? You’ll shed on me? I’m real scared.” “I’ve had it with you, boy.” The moustached man stood up and slid a revolver across the table in one swift motion. “Meet me outside,” the moustached man huffed. Jeremiah’s stomach sank further than he thought possible in that moment. The moustached man stomped outside and stood in the middle of the road, waiting. Jeremiah gingerly picked up the gun and stumbled through the doors. “Are you serious, old man? It was a game of poker!” “You afraid you bit off more than you can chew, boy? With a mouth as big as yours, I’d have thought that was impossible.” The moustached man’s face was no longer red. He spit his tobacco into the dirt. It became increasingly apparent to Jeremiah that the moustached man was in his element

when guns were involved. “I’m not too far east here. Surely you know how a duel works. Ten paces, turn around, shoot. Got it?” Jeremiah thought about his life. He’d spent nearly all of it in this very town. He grew up surrounded by endless plains. Perhaps, he considered, the vastness of the land he knew brought him up to be a little too self-absorbed. Maybe he would’ve been more humble had he been raised among mountains. They might have reminded him that there will always be something, or someone, bigger and more dangerous. He decided that introspection would do him no good at this moment, though. Right now, he needed a clear mind and a steady hand. Upon examination, Jeremiah concluded that the gun he was given was very old. It had some rust on the tip of the barrel. The trigger felt like sandpaper against his finger. He knew this piece had left its prime a long time ago. The cylinder was fully loaded. “You ready?” The moustached man asked. Jeremiah wasn’t sure. He hadn’t really considered this question. Then again, he didn’t really expect his banter to lead him to his life being on the line. He wondered if the moustached man really wanted to know. “Do you really want to know?” Jeremiah responded. “Quit being smart with me, boy! Have you got no respect?” At that very moment, a stranger walked between the two and stopped. He looked at Jeremiah, then the moustached man, then back at Jeremiah. The stranger produced a smile and reached out his hand, seemingly for a handshake. Jeremiah found this odd. Not necessarily because he was being offered a handshake, rather that the stranger was very clearly out of arm’s reach. Jeremiah looked at the outstretched hand and then at the stranger’s face. It was clean shaven, even on the top. There didn’t appear to be a single hair on this man’s head. Jeremiah didn’t want to be rude to another stranger, lest he end up with two people wanting him dead. With that in mind, Jeremiah took four steps toward the stranger and shook his hand. Nobody said anything for a bit, but the handshake continued. Jeremiah loosened his grip in an effort to end the interaction, but the stranger did not seem to pick up on this cue. After what Jeremiah could only guess to be about seven seconds of silence, he decided to introduce himself to the stranger. “Hi, I’m Jeremiah.” “I like that name.” The stranger’s voice was higher than Jeremiah expected. His accent was unfamiliar. He spoke sharply and quickly. “Thanks,” Jeremiah replied. His voice curled upward with the word and it ended up sounding more like a question than a response. “What’s your name?” With that, the stranger turned around and extended his hand to the moustached man. “The hell do you want?” The stranger put his hand down. He looked back to Jeremiah and produced another smile, this time wider. Jeremiah saw his teeth. He appeared to be missing nearly a third of them. The stranger closed his mouth and pulled a revolver out from the inside of his coat. He took a few slow, deliberate steps perpendicular to the two, making a triangle out of the three men. “I want to join,” the coated stranger stated. “This is personal business.” The moustached man’s face started to turn red.

“I’ve nothing better to do. I speak the truth.” The moustached man visibly pondered this for a second. He took his hands off the two holsters around his waist and ran them through his scraggly hair. “Well what’s in it for me?” the moustached man asked. “If you beat me, you can have my gun along with any money I have in my pockets. Don’t worry, I won’t take anything of yours when this is over,” the stranger declared in a matter-of-fact tone. He smiled at the moustached man. The stranger didn’t seem to mean this as a threat. It felt like a genuine effort to reassure the moustached man. “So who do we point at, then?” Jeremiah bleated out. “Well, it’s only fair that the man with a moustache points at you, you point at me, and I point at him. He wants to kill you, yes?” the stranger responded. He raised his revolver and pointed it at the moustached man, who pointed his gun at Jeremiah, who pointed his gun at the stranger. Jeremiah felt as though he’d lost his mind. He wasn’t sure why he was still going through with this. His stomach no longer felt like it was sinking, but he wasn’t sure if this came from some newfound confidence or if it was merely his subconscious coming to terms with the fact that he likely wouldn’t make it out of this alive.

“Okay. We’ll count down,” the moustached man exclaimed. “On three. One.” Jeremiah squinted his eyes. Though he couldn’t remember where or when, he’d heard that’s what gunslingers out west do. He quickly glanced at the moustached man and saw two squinting eyes looking back. In a strange way, this reassured Jeremiah. If he knew to squint, maybe he’d be a natural. “Two.” All three of the men cocked their guns. The rust on Jeremiah’s gun made it incredibly difficult to pull the hammer back, but the adrenaline pumping through his blood gave him a strength he didn’t think he’d had. “Thr—” At that moment, a shot rang out. The stranger was too eager to pull the trigger. His aim was not as strong as his enthusiasm, however. The bullet lodged itself in a post outside the saloon. This surprise caused the moustached man to jump back, pulling the trigger with his eyes closed. The bullet left the moustached man’s gun and flew towards Jeremiah. Jeremiah had pulled the trigger the moment he heard the stranger’s shot ring out, but no bullet emerged. He squeezed his eyes shut and waited. Jeremiah wasn’t sure if he’d survived. He’d heard that being shot didn’t hurt initially. The two shots echoed for a few seconds, creating something that sounded close to music. Then silence fell. Jeremiah turned his face upwards and opened his eyes. He was met with an opaque blue. He looked back down and saw the moustached man and the stranger staring back at him. Jeremiah gently set the gun down on the dirt and laid down, face up. Suddenly, he felt a sharp pain on the tip of his left ear. He touched it as softly as he could. Feeling around, he’d come to the conclusion that a bullet must’ve grazed his ear. Had it come any closer, he would have certainly been killed. The moustached man walked towards Jeremiah to collect his extra gun. As he stooped down to grab it, the gun fired. Luckily, Jeremiah had placed it so that the barrel would face away from any of the three men. The bullet found its way into the dirt.

The moustached man, now standing up straight, said to Jeremiah, “You know what, boy? Keep it,” and walked back into the saloon. The stranger had tucked his gun back into the inside of his coat and wandered off, back in the direction he came. Jeremiah got up and stared at the gun lying on the ground. For a second, he thought it would be nice to keep a memento to remind him of this bizarre day he’d survived. He followed that thought up by reminding himself that this was probably the least fun he’d ever had, and he’d be ecstatic to forget it as quickly as possible. With that, he started down the road back to his home. That was more than enough adventure for today. Right now, he wanted to rest.