The Day they Hung the Kid

 It was a rather nondescript day, the day they hung the Kid. I was there, but I wasn't exactly advertising my presence. There were several people at this blessed event that would have liked to had a "word" with me outside, and would have left me laying in a puddle of my own blood "outside". Either way the Kid, was the man of the season at this soiree, and this dusty, little town in the backwaters of _____ didn't have a lot of soirees, and I was just there in the back to see them do what they needed to do. ____ had saloons yes, whorehouses yes, and an oddly plentiful supply of banks, but they didn't throw a lot of parties for the likes of me or the Kid.  What is not to love about a town full of whiskey, whores, and money that just begs to be stolen? Two of thsoe things are just there for the taking if you have money, and well the third, if you were me and the Kid possessed the money we needed to get the first two, and we weren't the "taking out a small loan against next years crop" types.

I had the dubious pleasure of knowing the Kid longer than anybody, bar his parents.  I can't say that it was exactly a decision I had a lot control in making. We went to school together and our last names were one letter apart. Therefore we got sat together, picked to do random tasks together, and in no relation to our last names, punished together. Usually, such forced socialization results in random conversations in which most people find they have something in common, even if it just vices. The Kid and I, well, we had a lot of vices, most of them in common. The vices we shared (he had one that made me shudder, but that is not our concern here), were the usual ones of young, stupid men with no idea what they want to do with their life other than enjoy it too much. 

After school was through with us (which was long after we were through with school), the Kid and I went our different ways. I heard about him, and his "exploits" from all the usual sources, and I secretly hoped he would become so infamous that I could tell people I knew him "back when he was a nobody" for free drinks at my local bar (after all, a boy has to pay the rent). I figured that was all I would ever do, read about the Kid and his crimes, I never figured that I would be a part of them. But, life doesn't stop for you to think too much, life generally carries you along like drift wood on a raging river. 

It was in a riverside tavern that I ran into the Kid. I was propping up the bar, and making sure they didn't go out of business for lack of custom, when in walked the Kid. At first, I didn't really think of him as "the Kid." After all, we were the same age, and I wasn't going to call someone I had spent time trying to learn my letters and numbers with, "the Kid."  "Hello A____, it has been a while, I would ask what you are up to, but all I need to do to know that is read the paper." The Kid glared at me that is until he recognized me, then he broke into a wide grind, "GI, fancy meeting you here! Where have you been hiding yourself all of these years?" I shrugged "working, earning, you know being a good little Prole. Just like my father and his father and so and so." 

"Still playing the sucker bet GI? You know of all the reprobates we grew up with, I figured you to do better. You were my guy." I looked over at him with a bit of shock, "your guy? I am not sure that being your guy leads to a long and healthy life." He let out a small chuckle "aye, you've the right of it. My 'guys' have a bad habit of dying. But, you GI, you're a lucky cunt if there ever was one. You'd beat the Maid at her own game, and few, few people beat the Maid." 

"I was very,very lucky to beat the Maid, it took exactly zero skill." He laughed "see that's me point, even after winning the jackpot, you're too stupid or humble to admit that it took a fair amount of skill. Humility, is what they call it, and since I've none and you seem to be awash in it, I decided to bring you along." I smiled at him, "well since that jackpot has long since been used upon the vices we used to (and probably still do) share, I guess I am "volunteering" to be your partner, unless you've a better option." He slapped me on the shoulder and said "good lad, I knew that I could count on you. Now here is the idea." With that, I became his 'second'. His partner in a fair amount of crimes, that if caught and convicted of, would see us spending a fair few years of our lives in stir. 

The law was thin on the ground in those days, and the Kid and I made a lot of hay while the sun shined. We stole a lot of things, and money. We tried to justify it by saying that we stole from the rich and gave to the poor, and that we were the poor, but that was bullshit. We stole for the sake of stealing, and for the lifestyle we lived off of it. We tried very hard to steal just from the banks, not from the people, but sometimes a large diamond ring is just too pretty to resit. These days were happy in their own way, and I don't regret them per se, but I realized that perhaps the Kid had different ideas.

The Kid was, not to sound gay or anything, a very pretty man. He had the indecency to couple his good looks with a charisma that would make a nun blush. I was just basking in his reflected glory, and counting the money we stole. We never actually had to shoot anyone, which was great because for the most part I handed the Kid a shotgun that was as empty as his head. I figured the Kid would never pull the trigger on purpose, and I didn't want him pissing himself and accidentally shooting some poor fool that we had no grudge against. We weren't going to retire to the south of France with the money we took, but it was enough to keep us in a semi-fancy lifestyle. 

It was that semi-fancy lifestyle, and the Kid's natural charisma that changed his, and by extension, my life. It seemed that people just naturally liked the Kid, and he ate that admiration up like a kitten with a bowl of milk. I, on the other hand, just cared about the dollars. I wasn't trying to win a beauty contest, I was just trying not to have to go back to mines and work for a living again. Over 12 years, the Kid and I robbed 15 stagecoaches, and 4 banks. The banks were the harder of the two, and twice I rode away with a bullet in me from a over eager bank guard. The Kid, as one would expect, rode away unscathed.

 Living what people would later call a 'double' life can get confusing after a while. Getting names straight when you have to change them as often (or more often) as you change your underwear, can be very confusing. Add a fair amount of whiskey to the equation, and a fair maiden or two that just needed one more fancy lie to fall into bed with you, and you have a prescription for disaster. The Kid didn't partake of much of the former, and his good looks and charm made the telling of the latter less necessary, However, those among us (i.e. me)  who possessed less beauty and loved more than his fair share of john barleycorn, had to tell a few tall tales to those fair maidens to convince them that we were the heroes of the day that they had been waiting all their lives to meet. 

As one would expect, eventually one of those fair maidens would take more than a little offense to my convincing lies, and would find her way to the gendarmes to explain that at least of the fellows who had recently robbed the stagecoach to ____ was, at present, snoring the remains of the morning away in her bed as they spoke. It was only because the Kid had remained less than black out drunk the night before, that he was able to rouse me out of my death slumber, and get us the hell out of that particular town. The Kid was a happy go lucky type, but he was not amused. "Your love of the bottle will be the death of us one day ___," he would say with a smile that didn't reach his eyes, "mark my words." 

I did mark his words, but whiskey has a call that's easy to hear and hard to resist, and fair maidens well they have a certain allure that I didn't even bother to attempt to resist. After all, life is short and you might as well dance while the music is playing, because eventually you'll die dancing on the end of a rope. Which was why the Kid decided that maybe the outlaw life wasn't for him anymore. I suppose besides those pretty looks, the Kid was also the brains of the outfit. Looks and brains, why did I hang out with such a loser? I suppose it was inevitable that the Kid and I would eventually go our separate ways, which one day in ____ we did. He shook my hand and said "____ we have had a good run, but there is just no future in this for us, you're either going to drink yourself to death, or your drinking will be the death of us, and I am just not quite ready to feel the Devil bite me on the ass as they pull the lever on me because your drunk ass couldn't keep his story straight."  I nodded "fair enough Kid, I don't really understand why you've stuck around this long, but no harm done, and I hold no grudge against you and wish you well." With that, I went west and he went east, I found out eventually he went very, very far east.

I kept the big iron on my hip, and went about the business of trying not to starve to death. Honest work had long since lost its allure to me, and I decided that without the Kid at least my percentage of the take would double. The main problem is robbing stages and banks is a lot harder by your lonesome. I had some near escapes, and wound up with a lot less of a "take" than I had hoped. Several weeks would pass when I did have to bite the bullet (so to speak) and perform what people would call "honest work" just to keep body and soul together. I didn't like it, but I figured that dying of hunger was a lot less fun.  

I would get news of the Kid from time to time, seemed going east had agreed with him, and he had become some nob banker type. The irony of that was not lost on me, and I figured the Kid was just playing the long game before he robbed the bank from the inside for a change. The allure of ____ like the allure of hard work, lost its luster, and I decided that maybe east would be as nice to me as it was to the Kid. Which is why I was there the day they hung the Kid.

I was surprised that the Kid hadn't ended up in some big Eastern town, but I guess he wasn't as sociable as one would think, maybe all those years of hanging out with me had rubbed off on him. The dusty little town of ____ would not have been out of place a thousand miles west, but it was this town that decided that day that the Kid needed to be hung. I am not much of one for parties, and parties that require me to play dress up are even lower on my list of things I want to do, but I figured I owed it to the Kid to be there when he was hung. But here I was, wearing what passed for my Sunday go to meeting clothes, waiting for the guest of honour to make his appearance. 

Eventually he did, he swanned into the room flanked by two fellows who were clearly strapped, all smiles and with the same woman melting grin on his face that I had seen a thousand times. He didn't seem to have changed much, except his Sunday go to meeting clothes were a lot nicer than might. Seems getting hung required everyone to play dress up. The actually act of being hung took a lot more time than you would think. A few people had to give speeches about the Kid and what he had done and whatnot, and then someone would remember a story about him, and would just start talking. It went on, and on and on. I was begging to wonder if I had came to see the Kid hung or to some sort of rally in support of the Kid becoming governor. 

I stayed as far back in the crowd as possible. I ain't much for mingling with strangers, and I didn't think this lot wanted to hear MY stories about the Kid. Seems most of their stories made the Kid out to be some gentleman who loved his mother, Jesus, and walked on water. I knew that the Kid's mother was a whore in a parlour house on Utah Street in El Paso, and that he didn't much care for Jesus, and that he couldn't swim. I also knew that my stories making the Kid the human bastard that I knew him to be wouldn't exactly win the crowd over to my side. I decided, for once, that keeping my gob shut was the best plan, at least until the Kid saw and recognized me. 

He was in mid-conversation with some overstuffed fellow in a suit, and his eyes raked over me, and expressed only a moment of surprise before he looked away, if you hadn't been paying attention, you wouldn't have thought anything of it. Lucky for me, I happened to be paying attention. Robbing places on your own makes you pay a lot more attention than if you have a partner. I didn't make any move to talk to the Kid, I figured as he was the star of this show, he would find his way to me in his own time. O

For once, I was right. A few minutes later the Kid sidled up to me and said loud enough for some people to hear "Henry Mckinney!!! As I live and breathe. Last I heard of you, you were in the frontier prison of ____ for conning little old ladies out of their egg money. When did they let you out?" My face reddened as I gave him the best "fuck your mother" glare I could manage under the circumstances and "Replied, You sir are confusing me for my brother Dick, the shame of the family he is, and we try not to talk about him in polite society." Nonplussed the Kid walked closer and grabbed my elbow and steered me to a quiet corner. "You sir are correct, I apologize and beg a moment of your time." 

The Kid was not longer a Kid some grey had reached his hair that I could see now that he was up close and personal with me. "You miserable Son of a Bitch what are you doing here? I really did figure you to be dead or in prison by now. How have you managed to maintain both life and freedom at the same time?" I shrugged "well Kid, I guess they" I pointed to the crowd "don't know you by that name do they?' He smiled "No they do not, and I would ask you not to tell them. It might shock their tender sense of decorum to know about the things we did together." I laughed "Oh don't worry Kid, your secrets are safe as houses with me, not like this lot would believe me anyway. Besides I just came to see you hung."

Before he could reply, some fat fellow in a suit two sizes too small for him called for everyone's attention. I figured that we should at least pay some attention to the fellow as he seemed to be making the announcement that I had came for. It was the big moment for the Kid, and here he was caught off guard and out of place (in the back talking to me) seems the east had dulled his sense of timing, and I was secretly thankfully that I wasn't robbing the place with him, he would surely get us killed with timing as bad as that. 

The speech came to it's big finish and cries of "George Rawlins, George Rawlins" rang out from the crowd. I quickly figured out that "George Rawlins" was name that these people knew the Kid under (it wasn't close to his real name, but I wasn't Henry Mckinney either).  With a flourish, the fat fellow pulled a rope, and a silk covering fell to the floor. "It is my pleasure to unveil this portrait of George Rawlins, the youngest director of the Bank of _____, and all around good egg. I looked over the heads of the crowd, and there on the wall hung a fairly well done picture of the Kid, all dressed up and smiling like the cat let loose among the pigeons. 

I suppressed a large laugh, and looked at the Kid "It's a perfect likeness, really catches the je ne sais quoi of you. Don't you think? He hissed back between firmly clenched teeth "we will talk later you SOB!" Then he plastered that pigeon eating smile on his face, and made his way to give the speech these people had come to hear. Not me though, I shook my head one last time, and gave the Irish goodbye to the Kid. Maybe one day we will talk again, but for today's purposes I had heard this town was famous for a certain brand of whiskey, and I was anxious to find a bottle of it to climb into. And that is the story of the day they hung the Kid. 

P.S. for those poor savages that don't know. Things are hung, People are hanged.