Moonstone Cowboy

Posted on by
Come with us now on a journey to… The Wild West and the town of Moonstone. Vince is the cute cowboy with a big heart and an even bigger wardrobe. Howard is the dark and lamenting Sheriff trapped in an emotional cycle of guilt and need. In a world that’s like, but not like, the Boosh we know and love anything can happen (AU). But mostly our lads get in loads of bother. There’s plenty of mature imagery peeps so M+ for sex, violence, hurt/comfort, darkness, slash, angst etc.

Category:

Characters: , , , ,

Pairing:

Genre: , , , ,

Rating:

Warning: , , , , , ,

Status:

Length: words

Sheriff

Contents

Sheriff

Chapter Summary: Introducing Howard ‘The Buzzard’ Moon and Vince ‘The Electro-Kid’ Noir.

Vince arrives in the town by accident after a drunken night in the company of Cam and Den – the gender bending lead singers of the Wild West’s first steam punk band ‘Clockwork Guns’. After falling asleep in the back of a mail wagon Vince awakes to finds himself alone and penniless in the town of Moonstone. Wandering the street, looking for a friendly face, he suddenly spots Howard Moon.

It is here that their story starts…

Vince cannot believe that the unkempt man sitting outside the saloon is his idol Howard ‘The Buzzard’ Moon. Not only does he look badly in need of a brush and shave, Howard also seems to be fighting a few internal demons. Vince watches for a while wondering if Howard will ever blink, but then his eyes are so small it’s hard to tell if they’re even properly open. How can this tiny-eyed man be such a dead-shot?

Eventually Vince decides he needs to introduce himself and so casually makes his way over and coolly slides onto the end of the bench. He takes a quick sideways glance at his hero, but Howard seems not to have even noticed him. This momentarily confuses Vince as he’s not used to going unnoticed anywhere. He decides to strike up some conversation, after all maybe Howard is just in some sort of cowboy music boot scooting bluesy trance.

“Hey Mister… Mister Moon… Mister Moon… Mister… Hey mister… Mister… Mister… can you hear me? Mister… Mister Moon… Mister… Mister… Oi Buzzard!!”

Howard’s head snaps around suddenly in response to his once beloved pseudonym, only to find himself staring into the largest blue eyes he’s ever seen. He shakes his head trying to awake from his daze, to make sense of what’s happening.

“Who the hell are you?”

“I’m Vince. Vince Noir.” Vince stands and facing Howard puts his hands loosely on his hips. “They call me The Electro-Kid.”

A couple of seconds pass, Vince just standing there looking deep into Howard’s eyes, resting on one hip, heeled white boots turned slightly inwards and the suggestion of a pout on his lips. Howard shakes his head again. Is this a man? Howard’s not sure he’s ever seen a more beautiful creature.

A couple more seconds pass.

“And you’re Mister Moon right?” Vince breaks the silence. “Howard ‘The Buzzard’ Moon! I knew it as soon as I saw you. Man, you are one massive hero of mine. I know all your stories. How you foiled that bank robbery with a candlestick and some corn fritters. And how you stopped that runaway horse with a reworked verse of a lullaby. I know them all. You’re amazing!”

“Whoa there! Look, I don’t know who you are or what you want, but that’s not who I am anymore.”

“I said, I’m Vince Noir.”

“Yes, you said that, but where did you come from?”

“I came from the back of that mail wagon.”

“Mail wagon?”

“Look it doesn’t matter who I am, you’re Howard Moon. Blimey, I can’t believe I’m talking to The Buzzard.”

“Stop saying that!”

“What?”

“The B word. Stop saying that.”

“Blimey?”

“No Buzzard.”

“Buzzard?”

“Yes!”

“Why?”

“Because that’s not me anymore. I’m just Howard now. And I’ll kindly ask you to leave me in peace. I’ve got to go. It’s been nice and all, but I’ve places to be. I’ll bid you a good day Sir!”

Howard stands and moves to pass, but Vince puts his hand out to stop him. As their fingers accidentally make contact an unexpected surge of sparkling, tingling, pulsating energy stops Howard in his tracks. He impulsively turns once more to reconnect with the brilliant blue gaze. And it is clear that Vince is feeling something too. Howard notices the young man’s pupils dilating and a playful smile spreading across his face.

“I did tell you they call me The Electro-Kid.”

“What the hell was that?”

“I don’t know Howard, but I think I’d better come with you, that is to wherever it is you are going.”

Howard takes a deep breath and nods slightly before turning away and descending the steps back to street level.

With an agile leap and bound Vince is there right beside him.

Howard doesn’t really know what he is doing. He is heading home he supposes, but somehow he seems to have picked up a stray. A very exuberant and very talkative stray who is starting to give him a bit of a headache. Yet still, there is something rather magical about this stray, something, something…

“So whatchya think Howard? Just for a bit like, until I get back on my feet. Well it’s not that I’m off my feet, just that I fancy hangin’ around a bit. It’s not every day you meet a real life gunslinger. And I’m pretty good too you know. I’ve got a lot to offer. I just need a starting point is all. I think it would be genius. What do you reckon?”

Vince’s one hundred mile per hour patter suddenly breaks Howard’s train of thought.

“What?”

“Erghh, you weren’t listening were you? You drifted off. I can see you do that a lot. Maybe I’m good for you see. Maybe I could help you with that.”

“What are you talking about?”

Vince jumps in front of Howard putting a stop to his long-legged gait. Placing a hand on each of Howard’s shoulders, and on tiptoes, Vince’s face suddenly seems far too close to the bigger man’s.

“Ahh! Get off me. What’re you doing?”

“Howard, just listen a sec right. I’m trying to ask if I can stay with you for a bit. Me and you. Howard and Vince. What do you think?”

“I think you should get off me. People are staring.”

Vince looks around him. The street is deserted.

“There’s no-one staring. And anyway I’m just asking you a question. My goodness, you’re a jumpy one aren’t you.”

“Just don’t touch me okay. Never touch me!”

“Okay! Sorry!”

Vince takes a step backwards but remains in front of Howard. His head is down and suddenly he becomes, in Howard’s mind, like a hurt, scolded child. It is making Howard’s chest flutter. It is making him soften. It is making him feel protective and vulnerable all at the same time. Who the hell is this kid?

Vince risks looking up at Howard from beneath the brim of his hat. Huge, innocent pools of blue. Blue that’s pulling at every heart string in Howard’s body. Blue that’s making him go slightly giddy. Blue that he could dive into, deeper, deeper, deeper…

SLAP!

“What the…?”

SLAP! SLAP! “Howard. Howard.” SLAP! “Howard! Snap out of it you freak. What’s the matter with you?”

“Vince, stop. Stop! I’m fine. I’m fine!”

“You weren’t fine.”

“I know. Sometimes…I kind of…”

“You were looking at me well odd.”

“Sorry.”

“I felt like I was about to be eaten.”

Howard gives a wry smile.

“It’s not funny. I felt like a piece of meat Howard. You were staring at me. It was weird. I think you do need help. You’re not right in the mind-tank you. I reckon I might be that help Howard, but no funny staring thing, okay?”

“It’s just…”

“What?”

“You’re strange to me.”

“Thanks a lot. That makes me feel so much better.”

“No. I mean strange in a good way. I don’t know Vince. You’re hurting my brain, and yet, I can’t…you know…it’s so…”

“Please Howard try and string a sentence together.”

“You don’t know me. I’m dark Vince. I’m not always a good person to be around.”

“You’re darkness, I get it. You’ve got a past, fine. We’ve all got a few skeletons in our trunks ain’t we? If we’re being honest here Howard I can’t remember a bloody thing about last Tuesday. Neither can the girl. Or her friend. Or the blacksmith’s son. And there was this goat…”

“I don’t just mean regrettable one-night stands and liquor consumption Vince. I’m talking big, bad shit. Shit that rocks you to your very core, which wakes you screaming in the night. Shit that burns you up inside, makes you cry like a baby, makes you beg for mercy.”

“Sounds like when I ate some ten day old refried chili beans. Woah momma! Had me in a tricky way for a week.”

“I don’t mean the shits Vince. If you’re just going to be flippant.”

“I’m sorry Howard. It’s just if you’re darkness then think of me as a little bit of light, a little bit of sunshine here to brighten your day.”

Howard can’t help smiling again, but this time it’s less wry and more, well, happy. Maybe this kid is the answer he’s looking for. Maybe he is just what he needs, a distraction from his past and a stepping stone into his future. And there is definitely something about him. It felt like he already knew Vince somehow.

Howard takes a deep breath. In the space of roughly twenty minutes it seems he has somehow made a new friend. That hadn’t happened since Tommy……NO! Howard doesn’t want to think about Tommy. Not now. He wants to think about Vince and his offer of help. About his dazzling smile and forever eyes and childlike energy. He wants to think about how he can offer to fix him a bed for the night, get some food into him, give him a change of clothes. He wants to think of Vince and think of nothing else.

“So then little man, do you fancy kipping at mine tonight?”

“I thought you’d never ask Howard.”

“Here we are then.”

“Where?”

“Here. My home.”

“Howard, why does your home have jail written on it?”

“Well because it’s the jail obviously.”

“And the Sheriff doesn’t mind you living in the jail?”

“I am the Sheriff Vince.”

“What?”

“I am the Sheriff, at least technically. I never officially retired.”

“You’re the Sheriff?”

“Yes.”

“Really?”

“Yes, Vince. The one and only.”

“Where’s your badge?”

“I don’t wear it anymore.”

“What? You can’t be a Sheriff without wearing a badge. That’s like saying you’re a horse without having hooves.”

“I don’t deserve to wear it Vince. The town deserves better.”

“What d’ya mean Howard?”

“It doesn’t matter.”

“Of course it matters. Why would you say something like that? You’re a big time hero. This town must be proud to have you as its Sheriff.”

“I was a hero, but that was a long time ago. Things change. People change. People forget.”

“But growing up all I wanted was to be you Howard. All I ever wanted was to be a hotshot like you.”

“We can all dream of being hotshots Vince, but can we really be hotshots?”

“What?”

“We can dream but what are dreams when there’s reality?”

“I don’t really know what you’re talking about.”

“I’m talking about reality Vince. Dirty stinking reality. Reality, where bad stuff happens and people get hurt. Where good stuff happens and people still get hurt. Reality sucks.”

“Howard, I don’t really follow what you’re trying to say, but I do know one thing. Reality has brought me here somehow. It’s put me right slap bang in front of the one man I’ve always wanted to meet. It might get bad, who knows, but right now it’s pretty good, and as far as I’m concerned you’re the Sheriff of this town.”

“Vince you don’t understand…”

“You keep saying that, so help me understand. Get your miserable reality-bitten arse inside, pour me a drink and tell me what’s going on with you.”

“Vince I…”

“Now Howard!”

The two men enter the jailhouse, Howard first, Vince eagerly on his coattails. “Wow Howard, I like what you’ve done with the place.”

There is more than a tone of sarcasm in Vince’s voice.

The jailhouse is essentially exactly that, a jailhouse. There’s a desk, a couple of chairs, a hat-stand, a clock, a lamp or two, a mirror, a worn couch in the corner near a stove. And of course at the back of the place the standard two cell set-up. One empty save for a cot-bed and a bucket. The other crammed full of what looks like clothes and bottles, chests and blankets, skins and barrels, a wheel, a saddle, rope, a battered old piano. Just stuff. Lots and lots of stuff. And practically buried in the stuff Vince can just about make out another cot-bed. He points at the shambles of a cell.

“Is that where you sleep Howard?”

“Yep.”

“And what’s all that in there with you?”

“Lost property. Contraband. Deceased estate. You know.”

“Why don’t you sleep in the other cell?”

“In case I need it for a prisoner.”

“And when was the last time you had a prisoner in here?”

“About eight months ago. Amos, the town drunk. I caught him pissing against a cow.”

“Howard…”

“Yeah I know. It’s not exactly homely, but it is home. If you don’t want to stay then…”

“No Howard, I was gonna say thanks for letting me in. You’ve not much room here and I appreciate it. I can kip on the sofa over there. Keep that cell free yeah, just in case Amos turns up.”

“Sure. That’s fine. Great. I’ll grab some blankets. Get some grub on the go. Brilliant.”

“It’s alright. No need to fuss yeah. Now you got anything to drink in this place? I’m parched.”

Vince is already flopping onto the couch, strewing his arm lazily across the back, his expression relaxed and boyish. He looks totally comfortable in these surroundings, but then again Vince Noir always looks comfortable in his surroundings. One could say he wears his surroundings.

Howard watches as the younger man bows his head slightly and cocks it to the side. Vince closes his eyes and turns to meet a solitary ray of sunshine which is diffusing into the room through the smudged glass of the window. As the light hits him his whole face glows, playful golden shards dance across his dark hair and high cheekbones, and across the smile that’s settling on his lips. Howard’s breath catches in his throat as he steadies himself against the desk.

“Shit,’ he thinks to himself, ‘I need to get these feelings under control or this kid’s gonna run a mile.”

Still he can’t help watching.

Vince opens his eyes and catches Howard looking, but instead of reprimanding the Sheriff for breaking his ‘no staring’ promise so soon he steadily meets his gaze. He fixes Howard with it, rooting the bigger man to the spot. And in the unblinking of an eye Vince sees it. In those dark, intelligent, lacquered brown eyes he sees it so clearly. A deep-set longing. A longing for conversation maybe. A longing for friendship, for companionship.

A longing for affection.

Feeling suddenly a little disconcerted, and realising his face is starting to flush, Vince breaks eye contact first and motions instead towards a bottle he spots on a shelf.

“So?” he says, swallowing dryly, “How about that drink?”

“Drink. Yep. Absolutely. Good idea. Coming right up.”

Howard pivots on the spot. Deeply embarrassed and flustered he reaches across the desk. After much fumbling he manages to retrieve a glass and a mug from the top drawer. He goes to grab the bottle from the shelf then stops, looking awkward and too big for the small room.

“You gonna bring it here then?”

Howard takes down the bottle and turns to stand in front of Vince and the couch.

“You can sit down you know. I won’t bite.”

Howard lets out a nervous sounding ‘Hah’.

“I’ll squidge up.”

Vince moves along and pats the empty spot to the right of him. Howard sits quickly and focuses his attention on opening the bottle. He’s never felt so uneasy in his own house. He pours a good measure into the glass for Vince. He pours an even bigger measure for himself.

Vince turns and smiles at him. “You alright Howard?”

“Yeah. You?”

“Yeah, I’m peachy.”

Both sit in silence for a bit, staring at the far wall. Vince tucks a stray strand of hair back up into his hat. Howard downs his drink.

Vince turns to look at him.

“You’re not alright really are you?”

Howard pours himself another.

“Howard. You can talk to me you know. I’m not much of an expert on stuff but I’m happy to listen. “

Howard downs his second.

“You know sometimes a problem shared is a problem halved. You wanna tell me why you’re not playing Sheriff properly anymore?”

Howard starts to pour himself a third, his hand shaking a little making the bottle clink against the rim of his mug. Vince reaches over and puts his hand across the top of the mug stopping the noise and halting Howard’s progress.

“Please Howard.”

Howard looks at Vince’s hand. He looks at the bottle. “I wasn’t really the Sheriff, I was the Deputy. I became the Sheriff by default when the first one died.”

Howard taps the bottle against Vince’s hand encouraging him to move it out the way. Vince does and Howard pours himself the third.

“Have you a best friend Vince?”

“I have mates yeah, of course.”

“I don’t mean just mates, I mean a real friend. Someone you tell everything to. Someone who you look up to and admire, and who admires you in return. Someone who can finish your sentences, watch your back, who’d give you everything they own if you needed it?”

Vince screws his face up in thought.

“Nah. I don’t really have someone like that. Maybe when I was younger, there was this kid James. His Dad was a great carpenter and he used to make James these really cool toys. We didn’t really have any money and I think James felt a bit sorry for me like, so one day he left one of his toys outside my house for me. Just outside of my window. It was a little wooden snake. His Dad had polished and smoothed it and painted it brown with yellow eyes. It had a little wooden tongue painted red. I accidentally snapped the tongue off one day and I was really upset. James just told me that it was okay, that it just meant the snake liked me and wasn’t hissing at me anymore. His family moved away in the end, but I’ve still got that snake. It’s one of the best things I’ve ever owned.”

Vince drops his head as he finishes talking. His shoulders sag slightly. Howard reaches for Vince’s empty glass and tops it back up. He pours himself a fourth.

“I’m sorry Vince.”

Vince looks up at him. “Why?”

“For you having no toys. For your mate moving away.”

“It’s alright Howard. It was a long time ago. Anyway, we’re not talking about me are we? Who’s this friend of yours then?”

Howard takes a long sip.

“Tommy the Cheese.”

“Tommy the Cheese?” Vince can’t help a smirk.

“Yeah, I know, it’s a stupid nickname.”

“It’s pretty stupid yeah. What, was he kinda yellow looking or something?”

“No. He just really liked cheese.”

“Oh right.”

“He was my best friend Vince. We did everything together. We practically made this town together. Him the Sheriff and I his Deputy. We were the best Vince, the best!”

“Of course, Sheriff Thomas Nookah. I’ve heard of him from the stories too. I’d forgotten, sorry.”

“I can never forget.”

Howard pauses to finish his drink. He considers pouring a fifth but his head is already feeling foggy. Instead he passes the bottle to Vince, successfully avoiding contact with the blue eyes he knows are boring into the side of his head.

“I used to be a man of action Vince, everyone’s go-to guy and a maverick. I used to swagger around this place with a gun on each hip and a contented grin on my face. I loved my job, I loved my Moonstone, I loved its people, but most of all, I loved Tommy.”

“You were in love with him?”

“No, not in love with him. I loved him, like a brother, like a comrade.”

“Like two soldiers missing their wives?”

“Yeah, if you want. Like two soldiers.”

“What happened Howard?”

“What happened is that Dixon Bainbridge came to town.”

“Dixon Bainbridge? Never heard of him. Who’s he?”

“He, Vince, is an evil bastard.”

Howard forcefully grabs the bottle back from Vince and takes a huge swig directly from it. “He’s an evil, pig-stinking, tummy-churning, son-of-a-bitch bastard and if I ever…if I can ever…so help me god if I ever…”

Howard slumps suddenly forward off the couch and onto his knees. Bottle still in his hand he looks at it momentarily before downing the last dregs and tossing it angrily across the floor. It scoots, it spins, it meets the wall, but it doesn’t smash.

“See what use am I? I can’t even break a stupid bottle. How am I ever gonna break Bainbridge?”

Howard shoves his face into his hands and goes still. Vince leans forward and gingerly puts a hand on Howard’s shoulder. The big man flinches but lets it rest there.

“Howard. C’mon. You’re doing great. Please sit back up here and tell me what this Bainbridge did.”

Vince knew he was pushing Howard a bit, but he also knew that with this much whiskey inside the Sheriff it was an opportunity to get him to open up. And boy did he need to open up.

Howard slowly reverses backward up onto the edge of the sofa. Keeping his head in his hands he starts to speak, quite flatly, quite matter-of-factually.

“Bainbridge arrived in town and we knew he was gonna be trouble as soon as we saw him. There wasn’t really anything we could do about him. It wasn’t like he was an obvious criminal, it’s just that he had a way about him. He set himself up in the rooms above the saloon, said he was in the prospecting business. Prospecting for what we didn’t know. Anyway, about two months after he arrived other bad blood started turning up too. Rough and tough sorts. They all seemed to be living in the saloon, or at least around there. A few things happened, some theft, some vandalism, and some missing underwear. Then one day a couple of his thugs walked into the bank, nice as you like, and robbed the place. Just went straight up to the counter and asked for the money. Poor Minnie Tinkler didn’t know what to do so she just handed it over.”

“What, they didn’t even have guns out?”

“No Vince, they just strolled up and asked for it.”

“Is that even robbery?”

“I’m not sure, but it can’t be right can it? Anyway me and Tommy, well we were a bit out of practice like. It had been five years since we’d run anyone out of town, and I hadn’t had to fire my gun even then. I knew these guys were going to be a big problem. I said to Tommy, I told him, we needed back-up and we needed a good plan. But Tommy was a proud man, a brave man. That night he just went and stood outside the saloon and shouted for Bainbridge to come out and meet with him. He said he wouldn’t leave until Bainbridge came outside, alone, to talk. But instead Bainbridge came to the upstairs window and invited Tommy in.”

“Did he go?”

“Oh yeah, he went alright. I was yelling at him not to be so reckless, but he just winked at me and walked straight in.”

“Did he come out again Howard?”

“He did Vince, but he came out a different man.”

“Whatchya mean? Did he come out with a make-over? I’ve seen that before. There’s this travelling stylist guy, he takes you behind a big screen and when you come back out he’s completely remodelled you. New hair, new clothes, the works. He’s a genius.”

“No Vince I don’t mean a new look. I mean he came back out with a different personality. He was broken, quiet, suppressed. I kept asking him what had happened but he wouldn’t tell me. He just kept saying that we were to leave Dixon Bainbridge alone, that he wasn’t really hurting anyone, and that Minnie Tinkler was the real culprit.”

“Did he arrest her?”

“No, but he sent her away and before I knew it one of Bainbridge’s cohorts was running the bank. An absolute idiot of a man called Bobby Fossil.”

“And Tommy never told you what happened in there?”

“No Vince, but Bainbridge must have blackmailed him or threatened him or something.”

“So what did you do Howard?”

“Something stupid Vince. I did something really stupid.”

Vince is unsure whether to ask again, but his curiosity is peaked and Howard clearly needs to confide in somebody. “Howard. What did you do?”

Howard moves back from the edge of the seat and turns to look at Vince. He looks directly into Vince’s eyes, this time a solid look. A deep, penetrating look. He has to know if he can trust this kid.

And Vince meets his inquisition front and square. Those blue orbs stare right back at him. There’s a slight frown of worry on his forehead, a slight parting of the lips as if a word is ready to leap from them, but there’s no judgement, no mocking, no pity. Just genuine concern. Howard feels a wonderful warmth move throughout his body. Of course it could just be the whiskey.

“Tommy began drinking Vince. And I let him. I was so angry at the situation, at Bainbridge and at Tommy for not telling me what had happened. I didn’t really care that he was getting sloshed every night. I was too caught up in my own frustrations. I moved into this place. I hardly slept, I hardly ate. Every moment I spent racking my brain trying to formulate a plan, trying to work out what Tommy must have agreed to. It was crazy Vince.”

“Sounds like you only were acting the same as any man would Howard.”

“Yeah, maybe, but I didn’t notice what was happening to my friend. As I say he started drinking morning, noon and night. At first he’d still come here, mooch about the place, and try to be nice to me. But I was so angry with him I pushed him away. Said I couldn’t stand it when he was drunk. Told him not to come in ‘til he’d sobered up. Well he didn’t sober up. He just drank more and more. In the end he spent all his days in the saloon. Within a month of that fateful night he’d become a joke. A drunkard dullard joke at the mercy of Bainbridge and his boys.”

“Their mercy?”

“They were cruel to him. They pushed him around, teased him, shot at his feet to make him dance. You know, bully antics. They’d taken a great man Vince, a great figure of a man and reduced him to shit.”

“Sounds awful Howard.”

“It was. By the time I realised that I’d let my friend down it seemed such an impossible task to rescue him from their clutches. I couldn’t find anything to pin on Bainbridge. I was at a loss Vince. I was completely out of ideas.”

Pausing Howard looks away. He needs a second or two. Vince gives it to him.

Howard reaches into the top pocket of his jacket and pulls something out carefully. He makes a fist around it and brings that fist up to his chin, closing his eyes as he does so.

Vince waits.

Howard takes a breath inwards and exhales slowly, eyes still closed. “One night I couldn’t take it anymore Vince. One night, sitting right where I am now, I decided I couldn’t take it anymore. My beloved town was falling apart and my best friend was a shambles. Nothing made sense.”

“Go on.”

“I grabbed a gun. I felt justified Vince. What Bainbridge was doing to Tommy amounted to nothing more than a slow murder in my book. I was the Deputy. I could make a murder charge stick, I could make anything stick. People liked me. It would be my word against his. I didn’t care, Vince. I downed a couple of shots, grabbed my gun and charged up to that saloon full of violence and righteousness and self-vindication.”

“Howard that’s…”

“It’s not Vince. It’s not understandable. It’s not excusable. It’s not justifiable. And it was utterly idiotic. I stormed into the saloon, gun in my hands, shouting for Bainbridge, demanding Bainbridge. Baying for his blood. He came of course. He came down the stairs, cool as ice, polished as glass he came. “Deputy,” he said, “To what do I owe the pleasure?”

Howard’s eyes open suddenly.

“He walked across the floor. I had my gun trained on him the whole time, but he just walked across the floor like he owned the place. Well he did own the place, but you know what I mean. He asked if I wanted a drink. I didn’t answer. He walked over next to Tommy who was half seated on a stool at the bar. Tommy had gone white as a sheet and was staring at me like I was a mad man. I was a mad man, but I was in control of my gun and I had it aimed right at Bainbridge’s chest. The arse asked me again if I wanted a drink, said it was his round and that I was welcome to join him. I was so angry Vince. He was making me so angry, walking around talking like he was mister big shot. I could feel my finger tightening on the trigger. Could feel myself tensing ready to take the shot. He started pouring himself a drink, he poured one out for Tommy. He was so arrogant, so full of himself. My finger tightened some more. I was seeing red. Bainbridge walked right up to Tommy and you know what he did? Can you guess what he did Vince? He walked right up to Tommy and said “You’ll join me won’t you Sheriff” and he tipped the drink right over Tommy’s head. Bainbridge’s goons were all laughing. Bainbridge was laughing. Tommy just sat there with the liquid dripping off his hair and down his face. He didn’t move, he didn’t blink, and he didn’t say anything. He just sat there, my best friend, humiliated and mocked like he was nothing. And I was livid. I took two steps towards Bainbridge, gun primed. To the right I saw his men go to their holsters but I didn’t care. I only had eyes for Bainbridge. I squeezed the trigger Vince, still walking forward, I squeezed that trigger with utter conviction.”

Howard had brought his hands up and out in front of him, mimicking taking aim, his hand still balled around the item from his pocket.

“I squeezed the trigger and in that same moment of the bullet leaving the barrel I suddenly met Tommy’s eye. I met Tommy’s eye because Tommy was no longer seated. He’d leapt up! He’d leapt up from his stool to jump in front of Bainbridge the moment that I had taken those steps forward. He’d leapt up as I’d pulled the trigger, before I pulled it. He’d leapt up Vince.”

Howard jerks his hands as if firing a pistol.

“Bang!”

Vince was holding his breath, not daring to make a sound.

“I was Howard ‘The Buzzard’ Moon, Vince, and The Buzzard never missed.”

Vince looks at the back of Howard’s head and takes a moment to absorb what he’s just been told. The Sheriff is still slumped forward on the edge of his seat, head in his hands, rocking ever so gently. Vince gets a sudden urge to give the big man a hug but thinks better of it. Probably not the right time.

If truth be told he could do with a hug himself. It had turned out to be a very peculiar day for him.

“Howard.” Vince speaks very gently. “If you need some space I don’t mind going out for a bit.”

Howard remains quiet.

“I don’t want you thinking I’m bailing because I’m not. I promise I’m here for you now. We can work this out together. Just figured you might want to be on your own for a bit, you know.”

Still nothing.

Vince shuffles forward on his seat and makes to stand.

“I might visit this saloon myself.”

Howard spins suddenly and grabs Vince’s chin forcing him to meet his gaze. Vince’s hat goes flying and Vince lets out an audible squeak, surprised as he is by the Sheriff’s sudden show of force. His blue eyes are huge and Howard sees a flash of fear race across them. He loosens his hold slightly, but keeps enough pressure to stop Vince from looking away.

“I’m going to say this once Vince, and once only. You stay away from the saloon you hear? You stay right away from that place. If I so much as catch you as even looking at it then, so help me, I’ll…

Vince is still staring at him with the most ridiculously innocent and wide-eyed expression. Howard drops his hand.

“I’m sorry Vince, but you’ve got to promise me you won’t ever go near the place.”

“But Howard I only…”

“Vince, goddammit I’m not kidding. You promise me, here and now, that you won’t go near the saloon.”

The two men stare at each other. Howard’s face is set in grim determination, his jaw locked in a sort of controlled anger. Vince still looks somewhat abashed.

“Vince, I mean it. Promise me.”

“Okay Howard.”

“Promise.”

“Okay, I promise. I won’t go near the saloon.”

“Seriously Vince, Dixon Bainbridge should not be messed with. If you go in there I’ve no idea what he might do to you.”

“I can look after myself Howard. I’m not a child.”

“They’d eat you alive.”

Both men finally look away from each other. Vince, rubbing his chin, retrieves his hat from the floor.

Howard, feeling now altogether sober and somewhat stronger from both his confession and his outburst, lifts his still fisted hand up in front of him and turns back to Vince. He has the young man’s attention.

“After I fired and Tommy fell to the ground I froze Vince. Bainbridge and his men surrounded me within seconds. Truth was I probably could have taken them all out, but I choked. I couldn’t take my eyes off my friend, couldn’t speak, and couldn’t move. Bainbridge and the others disarmed me and manhandled me out of the saloon. Then they threw Tommy out after me. The street was crowded. Word had got around that I’d entered the saloon, and then people had heard the shot. But as we were turfed out not one person came to help us. They were all so scared. Dixon Bainbridge walked forward, he stood at the top of the steps, pointed directly at me and he said, in front of everybody, “You’re my flunky now Deputy.” Then he turned on his heel and went back inside.”

“What a dick.”

“Yeah Vince, he is. Anyway I was still pretty much in shock, you know, but I crawled over to Tommy. I grabbed his head and begged him not to die. His eyes were still open but the light was fading fast. I could see he was going, but he grabbed my hand and with his last ounce of strength he pulled me closer to him.”

Howard finally opens his fist and pulls from it a long thread of what looks like wire.

“He pulled me towards him, pushed this into my hands, and with his dying breath said just three words to me.”

Vince notices Howard’s eyes welling up with the memory. He can’t help welling up a little himself.

“He said “I forgive you.”

Howard has given Vince chills. “Wow.”

“He was an incredible man Vince.” The Sheriff wipes his eyes with his thumb and forefinger.

“And what is that Howard? It looks like a cheese-wire.”

Howard glares intently at the piece of wire, shakes it a little, and then balls it back up and returns it to his top pocket.

“It is Vince. It was Tommy’s favourite possession. He went everywhere with it. He always said he felt naked without it, that he never wanted to be ill-equipped in the face of a good Gouda or Queso del Tietar.”

“And you carry it now for cheese too?”

“No Vince. I carry it now as a reminder.”

There is silence again following Howard’s remark. Vince simply does not know what to say or how to make any of it better. He desperately wants to offer some words of comfort, some extraordinary and ground-breaking words of wisdom. Unfortunately he just isn’t that kind of guy. His words of wisdom don’t reach much beyond what type of gun-belt to best match with a sombrero, or how to tackle a corset in the dark. He just hopes that being a good listener is enough.

It is Howard who breaks the silence first. Rising to his feet he turns sheepishly to Vince.

“You hungry little man? Thought I might fix up some food.”

Vince stands too and gives Howard his biggest, most reassuring smile.

“Sure Howard. Want a hand? I can’t really cook or anything, but I can stir.”

“No, I’m fine. I tell you what though, you’re probably wanting a change of clothes aren’t you? I haven’t got much to offer but you’re welcome to go through those chests back there.”

Howard points to his bedroom cell. “There may be something in there that’ll fit you.”

“Brilliant. If you’re sure then thanks. I do feel a little bit ‘yesterday’.”

Vince makes his way to the cell. He’s almost nervous to enter knowing it’s Howard’s bedroom. It feels a bit wrong. Still he really could do with a change of shirt.

He begins with the nearest trunk and reads the engraved plaque on the lid. ‘PROPERTY OF MONTGOMERY FLANGE – MOONSTONE PLAYERS THEATRE COMPANY’. “Cool. An actor’s chest.”

Vince opens the lid and starts rummaging through. He holds up a shirt, then a second, then a jacket.

“Nice cut. Turned cuffs. Missing a button, but wonderful sequinship.”

He holds up some trousers to his own waist and looks down at himself.

“Sweet. My size. How lucky’s that?”

He pulls out a hat, a belt, and some boots.

“It’s like everything was made for me. Wow. Thanks Montgomery.”

Vince tucks into a corner to change. He can hear Howard whistling some nondescript tune on the other side of the jailhouse and can’t help but smile to himself.

“Maybe I did make a difference after all.”

Howard stops whistling. “What’s that?”

“Nothing Howard. I was just saying these clothes aren’t bad at all.”

“You found something then?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

Vince notices a mirror buried under a stack of ponchos and pulls it out. “Holy smoke,” he murmurs to himself, turning this way and that in front of his reflection, “I totally rock this look.”

Vince spots another trunk covered in a large velvet drape.

“Ooh, I wonder what’s in this one.”

Unlike the first, this trunk has no plaque. Vince opens it quickly hoping for another treasure find.

The trunk is full of clothes, but they belong to no actor. Vince pulls out a long, black shawl-like cloak and matching felt hat. Interestingly there seems to be a couple of bullet holes in the cloak. He puts them aside and pulls out a tasseled suede jacket, some brown strides and matching brown hat, a pair of two-toned boots, and a beautifully embroidered crisp white shirt that’s been lovingly pressed and folded. And finally, right at the bottom of the trunk, next to a worn leather gun holster, is a small wooden box. Vince opens it and inside are two rather dull-metallic star-shaped badges.

“Shit, this is Howard’s stuff.”

Vince hurriedly puts everything back as best he can remember finding it and closes the lid. He looks out through the bars to see if Howard has noticed, but Howard is busy taste-testing whatever’s on the boil. Vince goes to move away from the trunk, but then he has a second thought. He delves back to the bottom and finds the small box again. He opens it and studies the contents a little closer. One badge is slightly bigger than the other, is of a golden hue and says Sheriff. The other is more silver in colour and says Deputy Sheriff. Vince lifts out the Sheriff’s badge and closing the box pops it back into the trunk beneath the clothes. He holds the badge gently in the palm of his hand and affectionately runs his finger across the embossed wording. He takes the corner of the velvet drape and gives the badge a little polish before replacing the material across the trunk. He looks at Howard once more to make sure he’s going unseen, and then secretly stows the badge into the inner pocket of his jacket.

“So then Howard, what’s cooking?” Vince makes his way across the room and leans up against a post. “It smells pretty good whatever it is.”

“Just a little something my Mama taught me.”

Howard turns with a rather large pot in his hand, sees Vince, gapes, momentarily forgets how to stand, juggles the pot then slams it rather violently onto the table.

“Sorry Howard, did I make you jump?”

“Yes, no, it’s, you just…”

There’s a glint in Vince’s eye. He knows he looks good, but he didn’t quite expect this reaction. He feels slightly naughty teasing Howard this way, but he can’t help himself. He just can’t get enough of being admired. It’s like a drug to him. Strange he’s allowing it from an older man with no dress sense and some serious personal issues, but, ever since catching Howard’s eye earlier, and now that some of the serious doo-doo had been lifted from Howard’s rather broad chest, Vince thinks it’s time to have a little fun. He’s not sure he wants Howard. He definitely likes him, and he’s never been averse to sometimes messing around with his mates from time to time, but Howard is nowhere near his usual type. Still, no harm in a small dose of flirting. It will probably do Howard some good anyway.

“Where did you find those clothes?”

Howard’s voice comes out a little high and he quickly turns away to clear his throat. When he looks back he sees Vince is smiling at him.

“What?”

“Nothing Howard, you just seem a little tense is all.”

“Do I? Well I’m not. You just caught me off guard. I didn’t know an outfit like that was back there.”

“Do you like it?” Vince swings his hips, his tongue poking out from between his lips. “Fits me pretty well doesn’t it?”

“Yeah, sure, where was it from exactly?”

“An actor’s chest. Said Montgomery Flange.”

“Oh.”

“Is that a problem Howard?”

“No, no,” Howard picks up a cloth and starts frantically wiping up some invisible spillages. “He still lives in Moonstone is all.”

“Do you think he’ll mind? I can go ask him if you reckon that’s best. But then hang-on, if he’s still here what are you doing with his clothes? Is he a criminal or something?”

“No, nothing like that. Don’t worry he’ll be fine. It’s fine. I’ll sort it, he may not, might not…it’ll be fine.”

“Howard, you’ve gone a bit weird on me again. I can take the clothes off if you’d rather.”

“No! It’s okay, really it is. Like I say it was just a bit of a surprise seeing you spruced up like that. Monty won’t mind, I don’t mind. It’s all cool.”

“Shall we eat then?”

“Yeah. Sit yourself down.”

“You got anything else to drink?”

“What, oh umm, no.”

“That’s okay, I’ll just pop out and get some from somewhere.” Vince starts towards the door.

“No Vince, you can’t go out there.”

“What?”

“You can’t go out, not tonight, not yet. Wait until tomorrow yeah.”

“Howard, first you tell me I can’t go to the saloon, now you won’t let me go out on my own. Is Moonstone really that scary a place?”

“I don’t want you getting into any trouble.”

“I’ll keep my head down.”

“Somehow I think you’ll get noticed…” Howard points to Vince’s hat, to his body, to his legs. “Besides, the saloon is the only place you can get a bottle so…”

“That’s bullshit Howard, I saw liquor in that general store. Look I’ll take off the hat and coat.”

“Vince, that won’t help. It won’t help because you’re…” Howard pauses. He looks down at his feet.

“I’m what Howard?”

Howard looks up again and for what feels like the hundredth time that day finds those breathtakingly bright blue eyes. Howard finds himself smiling back at Vince.

“Because you’re new Vince. You’re bright and beautiful and brand-spanking new, and I’m not sure if Moonstone’s ready for you yet.”

“You’re having me on Howard?”

“A touch yeah, but mostly no.”

“You think I’m beautiful?”

“Others out there will.”

“But do you Howard?”

Howard’s smile wanes. In its place a nervous twitch forms at the side of his mouth. Vince notices it and in response starts to bite gently on his own bottom lip. Howard unconsciously licks his. Neither man looks away from the other. Vince is thoroughly enjoying the obvious reactions he’s causing in the Sheriff.

Howard’s palms are sweating and he goes to wipe them on his trousers, thinks better of it and balls them into fists instead. Vince runs a hand up the side of his own neck around to the nape. He sticks his chest out a little and gives his neck a little rub. Howard unfurls his right hand and runs the back of it across his forehead, then through his hair making it stick up slightly at the crown. Vince moves his hand back around his neck, across to his chin where he rests the side of his forefinger on his lips. He tilts his chin down towards his chest so he’s looking at Howard from beneath his brows. He’s still smiling playfully.

Howard crosses his arms and visibly clenches his entire body as if trying desperately to stop any involuntary body reflexes. He looks anything but comfortable, yet still he’s meeting Vince’s gaze. Vince decides to move this on one more notch and slowly turns his forefinger around until its tip is just between his lips.

Howard’s mouth opens as does Vince’s as slowly he pushes his finger into his own mouth, just up to the first knuckle. A bead of sweat forms on Howard’s temple and his neck is pinking. He uncrosses his arms, crosses them again, and then crosses his feet. Vince pulls his finger back out of his mouth with a small ‘pop’. Time to put Howard out of his misery.

“So, what are we gonna do about a drink then?”

Howard isn’t sure if he can move just yet.

“Howard?”

“I’ll go.”

“You sure. I honestly don’t mind.”

Howard pivots on the spot untangling his legs as he does so, happy to be out from under Vince’s gaze for the moment. He’s all too aware of the bulge at his crotch and hopes to god Vince didn’t notice.

“No, I’ll go. Besides I could do with some fresh air.” In one sudden stumbling swoop Howard is out of the door.

“Well that was interesting,” says Vince to himself as he replaces the pot onto the stove top. “Seems the Electro-Kid hasn’t lost his touch.”

Vince sits on one of the wooden stools and removes the Sheriff’s badge from his pocket. He holds it out in front of him and looks at it admiringly for a moment. He smiles again at the memory of what just happened between them, and flushes as he realises how aroused he is feeling because of it. He slips the badge back into his pocket and pats it fondly.

“O Howard Moon. What am I going to do with you?”

Howard isn’t breathing properly. He’d stumbled out of the jailhouse and, like some sort of beast, had half ran, half lumbered up the street. Now he’s tucked away along the side of Jean Claud & Jack T’s Barber Shop, both of his hands flat against the wall, his head lower than his shoulders, his body trying to steady his breathing, to stop his heart from racing, to tame the quivering. His eyes are screwed shut like he’s in pain. He is in pain.

“What the hell was that?” He mutters through gritted teeth, “What the hell?”

Howard opens his eyes, straightens and turns to put his back against the wall. The heaving in his chest slows. He takes a deep breath.

“Could he have been…?”

Howard shakes his head. He tips it back and looks up at the sky. His mouth falls open and his eyes are rolling back and forth as he replays what just occurred through his mind.

“Did that just happen? I don’t know. Maybe I’m reading into it. But he just stood there. He definitely did something with his mouth, with his finger. He did, didn’t he?”

He palms his forehead with his right hand, gives his brow a rub.

“I dunno, I dunno, I dunno. He’s just a kid. Or is he? It’s hard to tell. Maybe he’s not as young as he looks. Fuck. I dunno.”

Howard pushes himself off of the wall. His legs still feel a bit wobbly, but he’s mostly back to full composure. That is aside from the fairly indecent images running through his brain.

Howard knows he can’t stay away all night, but he needs a nerve calmer. He looks across the street at the saloon, The Salty Bullet. The warm glow at the windows beckons him. He pulls his shoulders back, takes one more deep breath and strides towards it, up the steps and through the swinging doors. A quick scan tells him there’s no sign of Bainbridge and for that he can at least be thankful. Not that Bainbridge tends to frequent the bar itself, preferring to have drinks delivered to his rooms. Howard does spot two of Bainbridge’s heavies playing cards at a table though. They make eye contact but the men carry on with their game without interest. They’re used to seeing the Sheriff in here.

Howard approaches the bar and greets Chalky, the proprietor of The Salty Bullet. Also at the bar is Monty Flange, the ex-actor whose clothes Vince is now sporting back at the jailhouse. The image of Vince leaning up against the post in that outfit, lightly licking his lips and staring at him with those blue…Howard shakes his head again.

“Are you okay my boy? You look like you’ve just seen a ghost?”

“Oh, I’m fine Monty.”

“Really?”

“You do look rather pale Howard,” adds Chalky placing a glass in front of his friend, “Something happened?”

“Not happened as such. I’m fine Chalky, really. Thanks.”

Chalky pours Howard a good measure, adds a tot to Monty’s glass and then moves away to serve another patron.

Monty puts a hand on Howard’s shoulder. “Are you sure you’re alright? You can tell me you know.”

“I’m not really, no. Let’s move to a table yeah. Chalky’s great but…”

“I know Howard. He’s not like us.”

The men move to the far side of the saloon, as far away from any prying ears as possible. They lean-in across the table.

“I’ve kind of met someone.”

“Met someone? In Moonstone? Who’s there to meet here? You know everyone.”

“Someone new. I don’t really understand how he arrived, something to do with the mail wagon, but he’s here Monty, he’s real and he’s here and he’s all kinds of perfect.”

“You feeling the hots boy?”

Howard smiles. “Yeah, I guess, but it’s more than that. I feel like I know him, like I’ve met him before or something. I dunno. We touched earlier by accident and it was like this shock went through us. It was weird, weird and wonderful and frightening as fuck.”

“I’d like to meet him. He sounds delicious.”

“He is. He’s been in my life no more than a couple of hours and yet he suddenly feels like the most important person in it.”

“Love at first sight?”

“Don’t be stupid Monty.”

“Why’s that stupid?”

“Because I don’t believe in that. Besides with him being a man and me being a man, well, it’s not right.”

“It’s right if it feels right Howard.”

“He probably doesn’t think so.”

“That shouldn’t stop you being able to fantasize though should it?” Monty gives his most devilish grin and wiggles his eyebrows. “He doesn’t need to know what’s going on inside that filthy mind of yours.”

Howard blushes.

“See, you have been having naughty thoughts. What he doesn’t know won’t hurt him. Not for now anyway. Just wait and see. Like you say you’ve only just met him.”

“That’s the trouble, I think he already knows.”

“You never were a very good liar.”

“Nope. And now I’ve probably scared the kid half-way across the plains.”

“You gonna tell me his name then?”

“Vince. Vince Noir.”

“Noir? No, can’t say as I’ve met any Noirs. Did you say he was a kid?”

“No. Yes. Well not really. He’s just kind of…innocent. Actually I’ve a favour to ask. Vince hasn’t got any clothes with him and he found your chest and got himself dressed in one of your old stage costumes. Is that okay?”

“Of course it is, as long as he doesn’t look better than I do in it.”

“I can’t promise that’s the case.”

“Really?”

“Sorry.”

“Oh well. I will get to meet him though won’t I? You’re not going to keep him all to yourself?”

“If I haven’t frightened him off then of course.”

“What you gonna do about Bainbridge though?”

At the mention of his adversary’s name Howard stiffens. He downs his drink and stares into the empty glass for a moment.

“Bainbridge is going to find out Howard. He’ll find out and he won’t like it. You realise no-one ever comes to town without Bainbridge’s permission.”

“I know Monty, I know. For the moment I’ve got Vince holed up at the jailhouse. I’ve told him never to set foot in here. Asked him not to leave the house tonight. I can’t keep him locked away indefinitely though can I?”

“As much as you’d like to.”

Howard blushes again. “That’s not helping.”

“Apologies, my boy.”

“How should I deal with Bainbridge though? What if they want to try and hurt him or kick him out of town? What then?”

“I think you should deal with that particular bridge when it pops up Howard. No doubt something will happen, but tonight at least go back to that jailhouse of yours and try to relax. Deal with Dixon Bainbridge tomorrow. And if there’s anything I can do…”

“Thanks. I appreciate it.”

“Well you can show me some of that appreciation by introducing me to this Vince Noir in the morning can’t you. I’ll be at the barbers around ten. You bring him along.”

“I don’t know if that’s a good idea.”

“Bainbridge will happen sooner or later so it might as well be sooner. Get it out the way. Plus you’re still the Sheriff. Maybe it’s time you reclaimed that title.”

“Funny, Vince was saying something similar.”

“There you go then. It’s one way for you to impress this kid.”

“I’m not looking to impress him. Right now I’m just happy for the company. Plus I want to keep him safe.”

“Keeping him safe is cute, but of course you want to impress him. Now get your butt back there and start doing so.”

Howard blushes for a third time. “Okay, cheers Monty.”

The Sheriff rises from the table and returns to the bar.

“Can I get a bottle to go please Chalky?”

“Sure.”

The barman hands one over and they share a goodbye.

Howard walks out the door with a ‘so long’ to Monty. He’s back down the steps and heading towards the jailhouse before he knows it. His heart-rate has increased again, a heady mix of nerves and excitement and trepidation. Trepidation of all that’s been said, of whether Vince will still be there, of how he’s going to deal with Bainbridge in the morning, but mostly the trepidation of seeing Vince in that outfit again and being back in the presence of his glow.

The Sheriff falters as he reaches the jailhouse. He looks towards the window but apart from the soft gold of the interior lights there’s nothing to suggest anyone’s inside. He reaches for the doorknob and murmurs to himself ‘please, please’ before slowly pushing it open.

He lets out his breath and grins. There he is, Vince Noir, laid back in a chair, feet up on the table, arms crossed, hat pulled down over his face. Howard notices the steady rhythm of Vince’s chest rising and falling, and can hear the gentle sounds of his slumber.

Howard also notices the bubbling pot and crosses to the stove to remove it. He touches the handle. “Ouch!”

Vince jolts awake, leaps up and starts straightening his clothes.

“Shit Howard you made me jump.”

“Sorry, I burnt myself. Bugger that hurts.”

“Where? Let me see.” Vince crosses to the stove and reaches for Howard’s hand. Howard flinches away.

“No, it’s fine.”

“Don’t be a dumbass. Here, let me take a look.”

“It’s fine, honestly.”

“Howard, for goodness sake.” Vince reaches again, this time successfully grabbing Howard’s sleeve. He turns the hand over and spots an angry red welt at the base of Howard’s thumb. “Ooh, that looks painful. No skin off though.”

Vince grabs a clean cloth from the sideboard and rinses it in the water jug. He moves back to Howard and gently wraps the cloth around the Sheriff’s hand. Howard winces.

“C’mon you big lummox. It’s not that bad.”

They stand there for a second or two, Howard’s hand still resting in Vince’s smaller one. Vince doesn’t look up. He can feel Howard staring at the top of his head. Somehow too he can sense Howard’s quickening pulse and he imagines the blood running through the Sheriff’s wrist and out to those fingers, those fast-as-lightning fingers. With the lightest of touches he sweeps his own thumb across Howard’s bandaged palm. Howard lets out a near silent sigh. Near silent! Vince lets go of his hand and moves back to the table.

“So, you got that drink then?”

The Sheriff’s staring at his own hand.

“Howard? The drink.”

“Oh, yeah, yeah. Here.”

Howard passes Vince the bottle and turns back to the stove.

“Careful, don’t damage the other one.”

Howard smirks and serves two portions into bowls. Vince pours a couple of measures and both men sit opposite each other at the table.

“This is good, really good.” Vince is hungrily gulping down the meal. “I haven’t eaten since yesterday I just realised. Can I grab some more?”

“Yeah of course.”

Vince moves to the stove. With his back to Howard he serves up a second helping.

“Howard?”

“Mmmm?” Howard’s mouth is too full to reply properly.

“I was wondering. How do you feel about wearing your Sheriff’s badge again?”

Howard stops chewing. He looks up but Vince hasn’t dared turn around yet.

“I just thought, that with me here to help, you might want to retake up the mantle so to speak.”

Howard doesn’t answer so Vince turns to look at him. The big man is frowning, but not at him, more at the idea. Vince decides to keep going. He walks back to the table with his bowl, his free hand reaching into his inner pocket.

“I didn’t mean to pry, but when I was looking through the clothes earlier I came across this.”

Vince pushes the freshly polished Sheriff’s badge across the table. He keeps his fingers on top of it as if ready to whip it back away from Howard if need be.

Howard frowns at it, looks up, frowns at Vince, then looks back at the badge.

“I took it from the box Howard. I’m sorry if that was wrong. It’s just I really wanted to clean it up for you, and in all honesty I’d really like to see you wear it again.”

Vince still has his fingers on top of the badge. In one sudden quick move Howard grabs Vince’s hand, and consequently the badge too, and he drags it closer to his side of the table. Vince is at full stretch but he doesn’t pull back or squirm. He doesn’t quite find any words either.

Howard tucks his own fingers under the cuff of Vince’s jacket and then pulls back, delicately running his finger-tips down Vince’s lower forearm, wrist and hand causing Vince’s arm hair to partially stand on end. He continues the trail across Vince’s knuckles and then slides down each of Vince’s fingers to the tips of his nails. He makes a series of small circles across the nail of Vince’s middle finger which produces a tiny shudder in the smaller man. Then impulsively Howard reaches across the table and puts his hand softly against Vince’s cheek. He looks the young man directly in the eyes and says simply,

“Thank you Vince.”

Howard retrieves the badge from under Vince’s grip and stands.

“And now if you don’t mind I could do with a little time alone, just to have a bit of a think. Is that okay?”

Vince can only manage a whisper in reply, “Of course it is Howard.”

Howard moves to his cell and pulls across a makeshift curtain that Vince hadn’t noticed before. The noise of springs give away Howard’s laying down upon his cot-bed.

Vince remains seated for a couple of minutes, eyes closed, rubbing the spot on his cheek where Howard touched him. Eventually he too stands, puts the bowls to the side and gathers up the bottle. He moves to the couch, reclines with a full glass and says to himself with a bemused smile,

“Reckon I’m going to have to drink a few of these to get any sleep tonight.”