The Paper

by Wen

If one more person offers to buy me a drink, I'm gonna shoot 'em in the gut.

Amazing how things can turn around. Wasn't all that long ago that these fine citizens would've been happy to be rid of me. The "bad element." Now I'm one of the town's "heroes." God, I hate that word. Even the kid is startin' to squirm every time he hears it. After what happened to him this week, I guess he realizes that bein' a "hero" has a high price. Too high, most times. And all the whiskey in the territory won't pay for it, and all the slaps on the back do is remind you that somebody is always behind you.

So here I sit, in the far corner of this smelly damn saloon with my back to the wall and a bottle of whiskey in front of me, givin' every asshole that walks my way my best "git ta'hell away" look, as Vin calls it. And it works. Usually. Obviously not on Buck, because he's not turnin' around.

"Git ta'hell away, Buck."

Surprisingly, he does. But not before he gives me that damn shit-eatin' grin of his and drops a newspaper on the table in front of me. I glower at his back, thinkin' maybe I should ask how much Mary's payin' her new delivery boy, but I figure I better not tempt him. Let sleepin' dogs lie, Larabee.

Curiosity or boredom or both make me look at the paper he left. It's a coupla' days old and he's got it folded open to the inside page. The fact that there is an inside page is news itself. I'm almost afraid to look for whatever it is Buck thinks is so damned important. But I found out a long time ago that it's easier to ignore folks when you look like you're busy. So I do my best to look busy readin' while scannin' the page and try to prepare myself to be pissed off.

A Hero's Heart. By V. Tanner.

What the hell...?

It takes me a minute to figure out what I'm lookin' at. Poetry? V. Tanner? Vin? Hell, I don't think the scruffy bastard can even read, and now he's a poet?

I'll be a sonuva....

I look up in time to see Buck lookin' at me, still grinnin'. 'Cept now I see that it's not a shit-eatin' grin. He looks... Proud. And I must look like an idiot with my mouth hangin' open because he just nods and points with his glass at the paper in my hand. I look down again and start readin'. And come to realize that something my ma always said is true: still waters run deep.

And I realize that Vin Tanner is a poet. A damn good poet.

And I wonder if he knows how good.

I finish readin' the poem, then read it again. A Hero's Heart. Geezus.

But the more I think about it, the more I look into the words, the less surprised I am. This is Vin. And anybody who'll stop to look past the roughness and take the time to know him will see this.

This time when I look up, I see Vin walk through the swingin' doors. And as I stand up, I rip the poem out of the paper and tuck it into my pocket.

Then I walk over to the bar where Vin headed so I can buy him a drink and give him a slap on the back.

The End