Red rain pelted the windows with a soothing cadence. Dune's blubbered nearly lessened when Atwater leaped forward from the desk's edge, his long, rangy legs covering the distance in one stride. He invaded Dune's personal space.

  "Corris Carson is actually Corris Lee Bride, not just a free Negro and the Red Mesa Wolf's Killer. He and Judge Nagy are more—much more than you know, Mr. Pinton.

  His eyes never left the trembling Travis Dune. The portly man finally took a drink of the warm black coffee, more to be doing something than looking into the eyes of Tracy Atwater. The Marshal was known for his good manners and intolerance for disorder of any kind. A feared gun by all in the Shadetown of Lethe.

  "Pinton, round up the boys. As many as you can. Then meet me and Mr. Dune across the street at Miner's Hall."

  Atwater was staring a hole through Dune's ears, searching for any hint of a ruse. House Bosses have been known to track the law into arresting a client when they couldn't cover a card player's winnings, which always ended with a shootout afterward.

  "Excuse me, sir, but I think I can handle Corris..." Pinton started.

  "Mr. Pinton, if you please. This isn't a suggestion. You will surely carry out my orders right now, boy. Now go on."

  "Sir, it's just one nigger, good with a gun."

  "No, sir. That man is a Reclaimer!

  “You can't be serious right now. You give up your jacket, we get all skinned and trimmed.”

  “Yeah we got kids, a family..." whined one of Caleb’s men, Oscar, hiding behind the overturned bar.

  "Shut up, Oscar. We ain't dying in the Shadelands or anywhere near the Shift. You wanna end up munching on your children?" Archie Bennett whispered behind the overturned table. Looking at the floor now littered with play cards, shattered shot glasses, and bullet casings, all stained with blood.

  "All of ya's shut your pie holes! I got us out of hotter shit than this. The way I figure it, we hang tight until someone alerts the town Marshal. Then we are home free. We ain't done nothing wrong. Let Corris Lee and the law shoot it out. We scoot in the middle of it all!" Caleb said. His voice was confident but shaky.

  Kaplan watched, disbelieving, as nearly a third of Shadetown's shop owners pulled down their steel shutters. The Marshal’s order was clear: no one would dare risk commerce during the imminent “dogfight”—the showdown between Atwater and his boys against a Reclaimer. She watched men and women scramble about. Arming themselves. Rifles were jam-packed with bullets. Boxes of ammo lay open. Some were empty as the Marshal summoned all the rogue gunmen and willing shooters, to bring the legendary Corris Lee Carson, aka Corris Lee Bride, to ground. His reputation alone was a trophy that catapults his potential killer—a golden "Get Out of Jail Free" card.

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  “ This man sure knows how to make an entrance.”

  Kaplan is a good shot. Actually, she is an outstanding shooter with a Winchester long-range rifle, but Lethe posed a significant advantage and an equally dangerous disadvantage. It's a linear town: one way in, one way out. One sightline for both parties, but with only the barest of cover.

  Outside the shop signs, like the one she is currently hunkered down behind, Kaplan knew she had to keep engagements at range. Mid-range evens the odds. Close range, however... you don't even need much skill. Not with that many gunners shedding lead at the same targets. A rampant ricochet from a hack shooter will kill, let alone a mob of gunmen all looking for a grand payday. The head of Corris Lee Bride! Her only option at this point was a no-brainer: Retreat. Getting gunned down wasn't one of them. Surrender is essentially getting gunned down. Just much later after a bullshit trial. Nope. One option.

  "Corris! Move your ass! We got company!" Kaplan yelled from above Jaxon General Store signage.

  Inside the saloon, most of the smoke hovered in the ceiling. The majority of the liquor and spirits leaked to the floor after the first drop. The few remaining customers, non-combatants, packed into nooks and crannies, keeping low and their silhouettes out of easy sightlines. They had survived situations like this before. Others were about to be a part of a gunplay extravaganza, unlike anything the fiction writers could drum up to sell print and newspapers.

  “CORRIS LEE THEIR COMING!” Kaplan yelled out!

  Seeing the mob of gunners waiting for me is almost a compliment. They want to pack every single bullet in my brainpan. Most men would flinch seeing the amount of firepower i can bring to bear. I can see the angles. The variables. The way forward through the darkness. My biggest struggle comes from which one to shoot first. That single solitary bullet not only begins the chorus, it also decides how the initial engagement will start. Good news for me: I can control that. Kaplan however will most certainly hate me for sure. For engaging with the whole town.

  "Seems you won't be collecting on that debt now, Corris Lee! Marshal Atwater ain't gonna let you take me down. Ha ha ha!" Caleb gloated.

  "Seems that way, doesn't it?" I said that and couldn't make myself believe it. Finesse it is.

  If there is one thing that motivates a coward, it's his will to live. Caleb Grimsby is definitely not a coward. Practical. Pragmatic. Quick-witted. But not a Yellow Belly, coward. His boys on the other hand, second and third cousins, the blood begins to thin. Very thin. Finesse it is.

  “Hey Marshal? You're not taking me or Caleb. We came to get paid for a bounty, and we ain't leaving until Tin Ten pays it out Atwater."

  Apparently, they roused the whole town, who wants a piece of me. There are bad days and my God, there are legendary bad days.

  I heard Kaplan right before the Marshal threw down the gauntlet. I doubt he has the whole town outside. At his collection rates, they may be praying I slide a bullet through him as I get cut to ribbons. So I take the parlay time to peek out the windows, never leaving my senses from the book of the bar where Caleb and two wingmen are hoping I give up my tools. Not happening. Not as long as God keeps my heart beating. I could hear Abby now as I look at the heavily armed mob outside.

  What’s the word of the day? I asked.

  “Finesse.”

  “What does that mean?”

  You can’t hammer everything Corris. in Whist, it’s an attempt to win a trick with a card that is not a certain winner.

  Finesse it is. I am still being schooled by an angel.

  The situation is clear now. Marshal Atwater has surrounded the Tin Ten Saloon with every hired gun in town, offering a bounty on Corris Lee that is too tempting for the locals to ignore. Corris, meanwhile, has to figure out how to escape the siege while holding Caleb Grimsby hostage, who seems to know a deeper truth about The Judge.