Once upon a time, he was gone for a month or two at a time, working oilfield jobs. He loved Alaska. It was a challenge. Nothing there was soft in the winter, which was his favorite time to be there. Nowadays, he rarely left the bars. The town cops had tried to remove him, but Bubba had a secret backing: his daddy.
Pop Jenkins was old school trouble. Rumor was that he’d had a hand in more than twenty murders, and countless robberies and beatings in his life. Truth was he was worse than that. He alone had killed thirty two, and nobody knew how many he’d had done. Nobody bothered Bubba because they were scared of Pop, and the rest of the clan.
The Jenkins clan was bad news. The kind that nobody felt like they could deal with alone and you didn’t dare discuss fixing it out loud, lest you were overheard.
A hot summer day was winding down to a close when trouble started. Three men walked into the bar, one seemed a few years older than the other two, who were about the same age.
The oldest one had curly brown hair, shot through with bits of gray, even though he looked to young in the face for gray hair. His jeans were worn and dirty, like his shirt, boots, and ball cap. The next oldest had even curlier hair and was clean shaven. His clothes were the cleanest. The youngest had straight hair, and stubble, both of which were reddish brown.
The oldest wore a pistol and knife. The pistol was a long barreled Model 10. The knife was a simple large woodsman type of knife. The middle one carried a shotgun in a scabbard with the strap over one shoulder, and a belt knife. The youngest had a short lever action rifle with a single point sling attached to the saddle ring.
The barkeep recognized the three brothers as Elwin, Darrel, and Greg Hinley. They were liked well enough, and few people had a bad thing to say about the family. The boys, though all three brothers were adults, were known for lending a helping hand to anyone in need. Elwin, the oldest, was the most confusing of the three.
He could be the nicest by far, but he was also the hardest of the three. If a man was doing wrong, Elwin had been known to help them see the error of their ways. The only person he had ever avoided tangling with directly was Bubba Jenkins. Nobody thought it was from cowardice, but for the sake of his family. The Jenkins had a reputation for getting back at people by hurting those who were close to them.
The three ordered beers, and sat down at a table. The younger two had left their long guns with the bar keep, who hung them on pegs.
It was only a few minutes before Bubba walked in with two cousins, Virgil and Corbin. Virgil was, well, ugly; and it’s best we leave it at that. Corbin was no looker either, what with his broken nose, half burned face, and yellow-brown teeth.
“Didn’t know you let trash in here!” Bubba said loudly, looking pointedly at the
Hinley’s.
Unnoticed by the Jenkins, Elwin’s grip tightened on the handle of the mug. It had been a bad day, and tonight just might be the breaking point for Elwin.
For three days they had struggled to keep his wife from dying, but today had ended that struggle. The brother’s had come to get away for a little while, and this was a bar that Bubba rarely visited.
“Let’s just finish our drinks and we’ll go somewhere else,” whispered Darrell.
Elwin sighed a little, relaxed his grip, and nodded.
“Hear that? They’re running scared Bubba!” Virgil cackled.
“Humph. That pretty wife of yours deserves a better man than you, Elwin. I think I may just come show her what a real man is like!” Bubba threatened gleefully.
Elwin rose out of his chair, right hand behind his back. A quick glance at his pistol holster assured all but his brothers that his gun was still in place.
“What did you say?” Elwin asked.
“I said I think I’m gonna get me some of that wife of yours you yellow sack of”
Elwin’s hand flashed from behind his back, a short barreled .44 special blossoming fire in his hand. Bubba fell to the ground, three holes in his chest.
“You go tell Pop his boys dead. And tell him I did it!” Elwin yelled at the two remaining Jenkins.
They nearly tripped over themselves in their rush to get out of there.
“Well, I guess we’ll need our guns back Dillon,” Darrell said to the barkeep. “Looks like trouble ahead.”
“No, you boys go back to Mama. I started this, and I’ll finish it. Somebody needs to keep an eye out for her though, y’all know how them Jenkins is.”
Elwin walked out to the truck with his two younger brothers, and got a back pack. He hugged them both before they got in.
“I love ya both, and I’m real proud of the men you’ve become. This is the last time I guess I’ll set somebody straight, so that torch’ll go to someone else. Take care of Mama, help others anyway ya can.”
The two drove off, tears in their eyes, knowing that this was the way their brother had chosen to go out.
It was sweet in a way, thought Greg. He wants to be with Mary, but he’s trying to take care of all the people he’ll be leaving behind.
Dillon watched in astonishment as Elwin changed clothes in the now empty bar. The tight fitting combat shirt hugged a chest and shoulders larger than anybody thought Elwin had. In place of the fairly mundane revolver normally on Elwin’s hip, a Glock 19X sat in a holster there. Under his left arm hung long barreled Glock, under his right were two spare magazines.
Dillon couldn’t believe the transformation of someone he’d always viewed as a man of simple tastes into a man who looked comfortable with specialized gear. On the left side of Elwin’s belt hung a Buck Hoodlum, and a small dagger looking knife.
They didn’t have to wait long before the roar of several engines could be heard coming up the road.
“If you wanna live through this, I’d suggest you head out now,” Elwin told Dillon.
“No, I think I’ve had all I can take of this family. It’s time somebody stood up and said enough,” Dillon replied, taking off his apron and pulling an old pump shotgun from beneath the bar.
“Well, alright then.” Elwin nodded.
They watched from beside windows as the two trucks stopped thirty yards from the front of the bar. The police chief, Albert Rainey, came out to see what was going on, fearing what a posse of Jenkins might mean for the town.
After a brief conversation that mostly consisted of Pop cussing Rainey out before telling him to let the barkeep know that he could go unharmed if he wanted to. Rainey stepped forward, and opened his mouth to speak, when Dillon shouted
“I heard him from here you moron. I’m staying put. It’s about time somebody stood up to them and said ‘no more! I won’t be pushed around by you anymore!’ So I’ll be on this side of the fighting Rainey! Now get outta here you no good excuse for a cop!”
Before Rainey could move, Elwin, who had slipped out the back and into the trees behind the bar, stepped from the brush, and opened fire with the big Glock. His first two shots took down Corbin, who had noticed Elwin.
Then everything went to hell. Bullets flew, screams ripped from scared or wounded people. The only two people not fazed were Pop Jenkins and Elwin Hinley. Pop yelled incoherently at Elwin before raising his old Remington 1911 and firing.
Almost simultaneously, Elwin fired at Pop. Elwin missed, Pop scored a hit on Elwin’s holstered Glock 19X, spinning Elwin. Elwin’s next shot went wide, scoring a hit on Rainey of all people. Two more of Pop’s slugs found Elwin before Elwin could semi-steady himself enough to shoot.
Pop walked toward Elwin, oblivious to the fighting happening around him. He wove just enough to make it hard for Elwin to shoot at him.
Suddenly, Elwin’s pistol fell from his hands as he hit his knees. His body hid the movement of his hand down to the Buck knife on his belt. Pop, now overly confident approached the dying man.
“Well son, you surely tried. I’ll give you that,” Pop said, raising his gun.
Elwin grabbed Pop’s wrist, forcing the gun away, and drove his knife deep into Pop’s gut, blade up, and pulled upwards. Pop almost dropped his gun, almost. He managed to fire a shot into Elwin’s left lung, through his clavicle.
Elwin’s world began to fade, but not before the confusing image of Greg’s face appeared.
“We did it. Most of the Jenkins were here, and most of them died. They won’t be a problem anymore,” Greg said, watching as his brother’s life slipped away.
Another short story with no title
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