Ezra Standish sat on his bed in the hotel, holstered the gun he had been cleaning and stared at the $600 that lay next to him on the quilt. It was his share of the blood money, the money that Governour Hopewell had paid to Stutz senior to murder Mary Travis and other opponents in his political fight. And it was the money that had almost cost Ezra his place amongst the Seven, almost ended his little illusion of safety and belonging.
Ezra flinched at the thought, the memory of that day was too vivid and painful. Everything he had considered thruth had been turned upside down in the matter of a few hours, and he had suffered one of the most humiliating personal defeats of his life. 'Well, maybe apart from losing my shirt to Big Lester Banks. Or losing the Standish Tavern to Mother. Or getting JD beaten up for my lies.' He winced when the incidents fought their way back to his consciousness, more painful memories stirred up by the recent events. Ezra had done a lot of thinking about himself and his life ever since Chris Larabee had chewed him out with a devastating glare. A glare that had told the gambler more than he preferred to know for neglecting his job. Standish hadn't found much sleep that night, the whiskey he had downed didn't help to calm the uproar of thoughts, the inner accusations that made him cower and think. Doubts had been nagging the self-secure facade that Ezra wore like an armor and that usually kept him from taking a closer look at his life. Chris didn't trust him with the money, and obviously he didn't trust him to do his job properly, either. 'A conman and cheater asking for trust. Did I ever earn that trust? Sure, I told Josiah that I had earned trust. Trust and respect. But have I really earned them? First chance of showing that I can be trusted, I ruin it. Running away, as I always have.’
He swallowed bitterly. Botching up was the only thing he could consider himself good at. His life was an endless row of screw ups, and the past two years hadn't been any different. The Seminole village. Unable to con JD into releasing him from jail. Getting involved with this godforsaken town and the six others. Losing his dream, losing his money, losing everyone's respect. Unable to cope with the problems when things went downhill, he ran straight into the bottle instead of facing them like the man he always pretended to be. Brave warrior. He snorted. He was still the third kind, nothing had changed.
And the godgiven talents that his mother always wanted to exploit? He had not stood the slightest chance against Big Lester Banks. The man had made Ezra look like a fool, conning him skillfully into admitting that he had cheated. Standish groaned. He had lost like a bloody amateur. All the hands that he and Banks had played, and he hadn't been able to tell how the older gambler was doing it, not even after finding out about the false leg. It had sent Ezra spiralling down, spending the next few weeks feverishly trying to figure out where he had slipped.
And he hadn't just slipped in the gaming sector. He was a conman whose people skills were as bad as those of Chris Larabee. Or maybe even worse. He had laughed at Vin for writing a poem instead of using the moment to get more influence over the man. Ezra couldn't even begin to understand the amount of trust that the tracker must've brought up to ask for this unusual favour. 'What the hell was I thinking? Sure, I’d had had a few drinks at the time. Maybe a few too many. But it shouldn't have happened. Mother taught me better than this.'
And his great plan to lure the town into trusting him. He remembered what he had told his mother back in the very beginning of his assignment, but the primary target had been altered. Have his friends trusting him. Friends. Ezra had never realized how much he had needed friends until he had fallen under the spell of the six lawkeepers. Friends, a place to call home. Funny how easy it had been to just stay in this dustbowl instead of hunting for the riches that the big cities offered. 'I could be stinking rich by now, or even have my own casino.'
Then why wasn't he rich? Bad luck? Ezra didn't believe in luck. Life cheated, people cheated. All that counted was who had the best skills. Ezra had always thought of himself as skilled. Talented. Good at what he was doing. Because it was the only thing he was good at. Then why had he ended up in this backwater town in the first place? Why had he been caught in Fort Laramie, why wasn't he in the big gambling palaces where the big money was won? Why was he stuck in the territory, cheating a handfull of dollars out of settlers, citizens and cowpokes like a two-bit conman? 'Because that's what I am. Two-bit. If I'm that good at all.'
Was that why his friends could read him so well? Had Chris Larabee been able to see straight through him and call his bluff in the saloon that very first time they had met, and later on in the Seminole village? And if Chris could read him that easily, what about the others? What did they see when they looked at Ezra Standish? A cheat? A nusiance? Only tolerated because he was another gun? They sure hadn't seen someone to trust. Was he their comic relief? A constant thorn in their sides that had to be watched carefully so that it didn't cause the downfall of the entire group? Even Josiah had expected Ezra to fail. The gambler was the weak element. Not Chris with his temper. Not Vin and the bounty that was on his head. Not Josiah and his dark moods. Not Buck and his womanizing. Not Nathan with his overgrown sense of right and wrong. And certainly not JD with his inexperience and naivety. 'No, it's me and my greed. All that I worried about is this goddamned money... Riches...'
He vividly remembered being shot when he had scrambled after the diamond. As if that was all that counted in his life, even more than his life. That diamond had been worth maybe one thousand dollars. Was that his value? The slave markets he had visited in his youth came back to memory. People like Nathan, sold like cattle. How much would he have paid for a man like Nathan Jackson back then? And now? No money in the world would be able to replace the black healer for Ezra. The $500 on Vin Tanner's head had never once tempted the gambler to betray his friend to the bounty hunters or collect the bounty himself, because Vin was worth more than that, much more. Then there was Buck, poor on monetary terms, but richer than Ezra would ever be. None of his friends could be weighed up in money or gold. 'They are happy with what they have. And they have so much more than I will ever possess.'
Money would never heal the wounds. The dollars that were lying on his bed didn't make up for all the hurt it had caused. For the agonizing self-recriminations, the unshed tears, the desperation, the humiliation of failing once more. Ezra saw it with perfect clarity, but he also had seen what a tight grip his demons had on him. His face in the mirror had been a reflection of the greed he had seen in the people in front of the bank. 'Is this all that I am? Is this what my friends see in me? A greedy, unreliable two-bit conman and cheating gambler? Good for nothing useful, with no other skills than failing his own standards and running like a scared rabbit?'
Ezra felt a cold shiver creeping over his body, despite the warmth of the day. Running was all he had ever done. Whenever he had botched up, he had run. Why bother with consequences when it was so much easier to just disappear? But the price he had had paid was immense. In the end, he was more often run out of a town than leaving of his own choice. Ezra had managed to run himself out of society as well, wearing the colors of a gambler, pretending to be a gentleman and acting like a bastard. Someone no one in their sane mind would want to keep around. Loneliness was his destiny if he kept on running and, after tasting the sweet nectar of friendship, he could no longer stand the thought. Ezra wanted the banter, the knowledge that there was someone who would back him up no matter the odds, wanted to belong and have a place to call home. 'But I risked it for ten thousand dollars.'
Sure, the Judge had divided the money and everybody seemed happy and relaxed now. Ezra's downfall hadn’t been mentioned. Chris Larabee hadn't shot him for stealing it, and his friends were talking with him like nothing had happened. Even Mary Travis seemed to focus more on the fact that Standish had saved her life than on the money she had seen with her own eyes, blood covered and carelessly stuffed under the seams of his jacket. There had been no rebuttals, no low remarks, nothing. Of course, he had kept a low profile, trying his best to make the nasty facts forgotten. But Ezra couldn't get rid of the feeling that things weren't over yet. Soon, the talking behind his back would start. The looks that said 'Can we trust him?' He would once again be isolated, excluded from the team, forced out of yet another group. Losing the first town that had meant more than a bed to sleep and a saloon to play in. Losing home. And once again, he would have no one else to blame for failing but himself. No matter how he looked at the entire mess he had manoeuvred himself into, Ezra always found himself as the guilty party. It had been his doing that caused his failings, his lack of skills. 'I can as well just pack my things and leave, before they throw me out of Four Corners, too.'
Ezra's stomach churned at the thought. He didn't want to leave. Four Corners might not be able to give him the riches he had always chased like a fool, but it offered something that he needed far more than money. Here, he had a purpose other than waking up and wondering about new ways to ruin other people's lives. He had a home, protected the citizens against all those bad elements who washed into town every day... 'Sentimental fool. I've become a sentimental fool... Ah, hell. Mother was right, I’ve lost my edge. I can't even get myself to leave these people. My friends.'
He swallowed hard, torn between options that weren't very appealing and the fears of what would happen if he stayed. The money next to him on the bed was tempting. 'Six hundred dollars. That would keep me alive and in business for a while. I could join a big game, win some extra money and still get into that deal with Mother...'
The very idea made the gambler feel sick. Teaming up with Maude would be admitting defeat, acknowledging that she had been right all along and give her another reason to tie him down. And Ezra wasn't sure if he would win any money in the big game. All it needed was another Big Lester Banks, and he could as well throw it out of the window here and now. He sighed and closed his eyes. 'Trust and respect. All that I want is a bit of trust and respect. But like with everything in my life, I fail to achieve them. Not even my friends trust me. Respect? Who could possibly respect me after what I did? Face the facts, Ezra. No one will ever trust a low life like you, even less show you some respect.'
As he opened his eyes again, his look fell on the shaving mirror. His reflection stared back accusingly. See what you've done to yourself, his tired features seemed to say. Deep, dark rings under his eyes were witness of his sleepless nights, the ashen color of his skin told the story of too many meals skipped in favor of a lonely rendevous with the whiskey bottle. Ezra's eyes widened, recognizing where his escape from reality would lead him. He had to stop running from responsibilities, commitment and consequences. If he didn't do something to find a way out of his misery soon, another failure that might cost him his life was predestined to happen. 'Josiah said to look inside my own heart. That I had to fight my demons... But I am not strong enough to fight them alone, without my friends to back me up... '
His friends. How had he become so dependent on them? Chris's constant challenge and the straight line he drew to which he tolerated Ezra's behaviour, Vin, who he admired for his silent strength and honesty. Buck, who had been the gambler's partner in crime more than once and who was possibly the closest thing to a brother that Ezra knew. JD, who with all his naivety possessed an innate wisdom that the others had lost over the years. Nathan, Ezra’s conscience and Josiah, who watched over him like a big brother. Sure, it wasn't perfect, there were so many edges and conflicts, so many pent up frustrations and anger amongst them that were unavoidable when you lived together on a daily base. But it was what he wanted, it was worth the effort. 'And to keep my friends, I have to change. Become someone they aren't ashamed off. Someone they can trust for real. I don't want to be a failure any more...'
Change. Yes, he would change. Change to someone worthwhile. It would be a long road. He grabbed the money, rolled it into a wad and stored it in his right boot. 'But even the longest way begins with the first step.'
He stood, straightened his vest and made his first move towards a new life.
The End
