Stand Off

McCreedy Bust Going, Going, Gone

Stand Off

Special thanks to Maz McCoy!

“I’m not gonna leave it here!”

“I’m warning you, Kid.  You take one step out of here with that gun on and I’m gonna flatten you!”

“You’re gonna what?!”

“Flatten you.”

Thus the stand off began, not so different from any other confrontation between the two former leaders of the Devil’s Hole Gang.  Two wills, strong as iron, two tempers, hot as the Arizona desert.

Its ending was somehow different from the rest.  Nothing Curry could easily understand.  Even Heyes, in his infinite wisdom, was unable to explain it.  But when “it” was over, the two shared a silent agreement — the incident would never be mentioned again.

“Before breakfast?!”

Those were the last words Heyes heard, before Curry, in a puff a smoke, disappeared.


“Sir?  Your bags.”

The voice came from a pretty young lady, though she would have looked better, the Kid thought, in a dress rather than the get-up she was wearing.  Military woman?  He’d never heard of one of those before.

He felt groggy, as if just waking from a dream.  Looking around, the Kid realized he was standing in something resembling a huge stagecoach station.

“Sir?  Are you alright?”

“I think so,” he nodded, none too sure.

“You need to place your bags on the belt.”

Curry complied and watched, dumbfounded, as his saddlebags began to float forward through a dark tunnel.  He lunged, attempting to grab them, before they disappeared completely.

“Hold on,” she cautioned him.  “You’re making my sensors ping.”

“I’ve been told that before,” Curry replied, with an amused wink.

“You need to take off your boots too, sir.  And your coat.”

“Huh?” came the confused response.  “What kinda coach is this?”

“It doesn’t matter if your traveling first class or coach. You still have to take off your boots.  Put them in this tub.”

“They don’t need washin’.”

“Here.”  She presented him with a gray basket.  “Empty your pockets too.”

“Anything else you want me to remove, lady?” he asked, becoming irritated.  This woman had to be related to Joe Briggs.

“The hat would be good,” she nodded, “and your belt.”

Curry’s eyebrows rose.  “My belt?”

“Yes, sir.”

The Kid glanced around self-consciously, “Ma’am, if I’m gonna be takin’ off all these clothes, maybe we should go someplace more private?”

“A private search can be arranged, sir.  I am a security expert.”

“Well now, that is a coincidence.”  The Kid leaned closer, flashing one of his best smiles.  “I’m a security expert too!”

She nodded, unimpressed.

Curry huffed, “Ya want me to do a jig too?”

“That won’t be necessary, sir.  The boots.”

He slowly reached down and pulled off one boot, then the other, revealing a pair of worn wool socks, with a hole in one toe.

“Are you carrying anything dangerous?”

“Just this.”  The Kid pushed back his thick coat revealing his polished weapon, holstered neatly on a denim-covered thigh.

The chaos resulting from the simple act, was enough to astound even a gunman as confident as Curry.

Passengers hit the deck.  A woman screamed.  A swat team of ‘security experts’ reached for their weapons.

Curry instinctively drew.  It was the stand off of his life.

The pretty army woman spoke.  “Give me the gun, sir.”

“You ain’t takin’ my gun.”

Smoke began to swirl again and, even more quickly than he had arrived, Kid Curry made his departure.


Curry glanced around the hotel room, puzzlement in the blue eyes.  Heyes was pale, looking like he’d just seen a ghost.  Whatever had happened, it seemed to be over now.  The Kid picked up a conversation, obviously already mid-stream.

“A solemn promise.  You got my word.”

Disclaimer: All publicly recognizable characters, settings, etc. are the property of their respective owners. The original characters and plot are the property of the author. The author is in no way associated with the owners, creators, or producers of any media franchise. No copyright infringement is intended.

August 2009

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