Editing Nine of Clubs: 'Sweet Justice'

Howdy, name's Jacob. Lemme tell ya about this man I knew, was a rough and dirty guy by the name of Alexander Fitch. We had been good buddies for a while back growin' up, and then one day he just up and disappeared. Then suddenly, five years later, he rolls into town without warnin' and with a pretty new firearm slung across his back to boot.

I had been the manager of the saloon at that point so naturally he had simply run into me by stoppin' in for a drink. We shared stories, though most of mine were pretty borin' compared to the grisly messes he had gotten himself into in his absence, but he didn't exactly sound too horribly proud of himself either.

It was after this that he had some particularly bad news to share: A group of bandits that had been terrorizing the nearby towns was headed this way. When I spoke up about telling the sheriff, Alex just laughed and told me it was nothin' I should worry myself with. When I asked him why the hell not, he told me to meet him at the edge of town the next day around noon and he'd show me.

Both curious as to what the hell he meant and fearin' for my own skin, I decided to pack my father's old slugthrower for when I met him on the outskirts, just in case. When I walked up with the revolver slung around my hip, Alex just laughed and told me it really wasn't neccessary. Needless to say I was even more confused than before.

We walked out of town for a bit, the plains around us humming with it's usual life. After we got maybe a couple hundred paces out of town, Alex stopped, unslung the firearm from his back, and inspected it for a second. I did as well: it was a single-barrel shotgun, with a polished silver barrel and a dark stained wooden stock. He snapped it open, reached into his pocket, pulled out a single shell, and jammed it into the barrel.

Then I heard it. Hoofbeats echoing from down the road. Whoopin' and hollerin' from a whole gang of men, and a few gunshots here and there when they fired into the sky. Honestly, I was scared shitless. But Alex? No, Alex just stood there calm as all hell as he raised the gun to his shoulder and braced himself.

"Alex, you can't seriously hope to take on all of them by yourself! There's at least a dozen of them!"

"Jacob, ya might want to cover your ears."

"Wha-" I never finished my sentence. The trigger clicked under Alex's finger, and a sound like that of a whole shed of dynamite exploding rang from the barrel. The shockwave from the shot knocked me flat on my ass and kicked up enough dust that i had to cover my eyes. 

When the dust settled, my ears were still ringing, but I'll never forget what I saw. The dozen or so men who had been maybe twenty paces away from us a few seconds before now lied in a giant grisly mess, horses and all, what was left of them strewn about the road.

And then there was Alex. Alex, standing there with his shotgun sitting on his shoulder, glinting in the sunlight. Printed clearly on the barrel was a small number nine with a club underneath it. "Sweet Justice" he had called it, just before he disappeared without a word the following night, just like he had five years ago.

To have been so close to one of the legendary 54, one of the Cards, it's a changing experience to say the least. But I will tell you one thing: I hope to sweet God I never have to see another one again in my life.

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