Maybe Lott was Graylock's guardian angel, after all. He didn't like the look in the eye of the man who called himself Elias. The man who wanted his money. Mostly because Lott wondered what he would be willing to do to get it.

Lott wasn't alone as he followed Graylock and Elias through the back doorway. A handful of the men at the table, as a well as a few onlookers from about the saloon, trailed behind.

The town sure must have been short on ways to pass the time. But then, who didn't like a little drama? A little competition.

A little 'Man Found Dead Out Back of Local Saloon'.

Well, let's not get ahead of ourselves. For now, it's just a friendly game.

For now.

Emerging from the thick shadows of the bar and into the bright mid-day was a harsh experience, even after only being inside for a few minutes. Lengths of white rock and gravel were bright with the light of the sun. Slivers of clouds scrawled across the sky like bloated bolts of white lightning.

Lott squinted, wishing he'd brought his hat. He could get by without it, sometimes. Preferred it that way. The hats the Federation provided to officers went horribly with the rest of the uniform. A small thing to some, compared to being able to keep the sun out of one's eyes and face, but to Lott presentation was an utmost concern. An officer in uniform was the face of the Federation. How was Alverand to command respect if it's officers didn't carry themselves with decorum?

With that last thought, he shot a glare at Graylock, who had been giving him a sidelong look.

"You shouldn't be doing this," Lott said, quiet enough that he was pretty certain Elias, who was a good fifteen paces ahead of them, couldn't hear. "There's something off about this."

Graylock smiled grimly. "I shouldn't have done a lot of things. But here we are. Caught in the current. And life a river whose course is about but impossible to alter."

"What does any of that even mean?" Lott said.

But Graylock had made a strange sort of wink, and he was off, making signature long-legged strides, closing the gap between himself and the gambling, bloodshot man.

Lott lagged back until he was apace with a younger man wearing a brown hat and no shirt. Suspenders hung from the waistband of the man's pants like vines, rippling as he walked.

"I'll give you five dollars if you fetch the sheriff," Lott said, pulling the bills out of his pocket and holding them out.

A flash of understanding crossed the man's features. He snatched the bills, tipped his hat, and was off at a run. If he was fast enough, he'd be back in time to witness what happened next.

It was possible Sheriff Anders would break up the crowd entirely, sending Graylock and Elias their separate ways. At the very least he would want to keep an eye on the proceedings, and that would be just fine.

Elias led them out to an open plain at the eastern edge of town. Kalana Kaine's mansion and processing plant were visible to the south-east. But straight east? Nothing of note. Nothing but dirt, gravel, and dry, grasping weeds, with a stretch of red hills off in the distance.

The sun had traveled far enough that it wouldn't be in the competitor's eyes. Which would be good for more reason than one. The way Lott saw it, you would want to toss your coin high, giving yourself as much time as possible to aim for it while it was in the air. If that was even possible. Without Shattercryst, that is.

The two competitors stood twenty paces apart, facing east. A warm breeze picked up, rattling the folds of their dusters and causing the dry brush to shake and jitter.

Graylock pulled his Wulther out of its holster and held it up. He spun the cylinder. His way of making sure everything was smooth, clicking, and loaded.

Elias peered at the gun. "How do you even aim with that thing?"

"I just do," Graylock said. He looked over at him, squinting one eye under the sun. He held the Wulther out, handle first. "Wanna run a round through it?"

Elias gave the gun a brief glance. He sneered at Graylock. "No need. I know a piece of North Alverand junk-metal when I see it."

Graylock shrugged. "You wouldn't be able to handle it, anyway." He felt his pockets. "You know, I don't think I have a single tarn on me."

Elias growled. Began searching his own pockets. "Shit." He turned around. "Anyone here have a spare tarn?"

There were some grumbles from the onlookers. A few presented one or two coins each after fishing their pockets for a few moments. The man called Elias began to march through the crowd, snatching them up. When he was done, he'd gathered seven tarns.

Lott peeked around, suddenly conscious of each second passing. The crowd stood at a sort of vantage point, with the ground sloping upward away from the town before leveling out onto the dusty plain. To the west, the saloon from which they had just come, as well as the main road which cut through town. The Sheriff's office was on the west side of the road, further up north.

There was no sign of either Sheriff Anders or the man that Lott had paid to go and fetch him.

Lott sighed. He touched his inner breast pocket, where he kept his Shattercryst.

You know what your problem is? Lott thought, recalling something Graylock had said to him not two months ago. It's not that you're a stickler. It's that you always have to be in control. That's why you like to see all the ducks in a row. It's the illusion of order. Something in you...craves it. Then, Honestly, I don't know if you've ever put that together before, but I feel like you should thank me either way. Isn't that what friends do? Tell the truth?

They did. And maybe he owed Graylock a bigger dose of the stuff. One of these days.

But was it really that Lott liked to be in control? Or were other people just so bad at controlling themselves that Lott so frequently had to intervene?

He removed two Shattercryst capsules from his pouch. A Citrine and an Obsidian. The ol' black and white. The go-to for any Deadeye in a tight space, and for good reason.

He held them tight in the palm of his closed fist. No need to take them in his mouth. Not now. Whatever true danger he'd been sensing, it hadn't presented itself just yet. And, honestly, he didn't like putting saliva-drenched capsules back into his pouch. Disgusting.

"Want to go first?" Graylock said.

"We'll flip," Elias said, as if contradicting him on reflex. Then he seemed to remember that tarns were identical on either side, and cleared his throat. "Yeah, I'll go."

He held one of the copper-colored tarns between his thumb and index finger. Thin, wide coins with large holes punched in the middle.

As a child, Lott had once asked his mother what the Federation did with the center part of the coin. They put them in the shoes of air-headed boys, to keep them from floating away. Now go fetch your sister. And be sure to comb your hair before dinner. And tuck your shirt in. You look like a delinquent. Don't ask me what that means, just do it.

Elias gave Graylock a questioning look.

Graylock shrugged. "Don't look at me. You're a grown man. No one needs to give you permission to play with guns." The Colonel was grinning like an idiot, now. There was a redness beginning to bloom in his neck and cheeks. His inebriation was manifesting physically in a way that Lott had only ever seen once before. Which was a bad sign. Graylock never seemed to know where the limit was. Finding it could mean passing out suddenly. Or maybe something worse. The potential was swirling around inside him. He was a ticking time-bomb.

This narrative has been purloined without the author's approval. Report any appearances on Amazon.

Elias faced east. He flicked the coin into the air, using his thumb. It went surprisingly high, considering the method. It arced a good four or five arm-spans into the air.

Graylock's challenger drew his revolver. With his free hand he reached up and snapped back the hammer. Looked down the sight. Pulled the trigger, with a loud crack of thunder and a brief billow of gunsmoke escaping from the end of the barrel.

The tarn was a briefly spinning bauble, flashing intermittently in the sun. Then it landed in the dirt.

A tiny gust of dry dust sprayed up from the point of impact, hijacking the south wind for a half-second before it dissipated and fell away, as if it had never existed.

The man called Elias took a few steps out across the plain, scanning the ground. Eventually he grunted, bent down, and came up holding the tarn.

Seemed like an easy way to cheat. What if the real tarn, the one he'd tossed, was still on the ground somewhere? What if the one Elias was holding right now was a fake, concealed on his person? But no one seemed to think anything of it. Even Graylock was silent on the matter, if he had any suspicions at all.

Elias held up the tarn. It was broken, alright. He'd used a bullet to break the circle. Amazingly.

Lott was beginning to reassess the abilities of this scraggly, dirty man. Maybe he was some kind of trickshooter. Or had been. It wasn't unheard of. Traveler who performed spectacular shots for money. Showmen posing as Deadeyes as a sort of performance theater.

Of course he's a trickshooter. He's probably done this thousands of times in a past life. He's playing the Colonel.

Elias' face was passive, stone-faced. He flicked the broken tarn to Graylock, who had to lean a little to reach out and catch it. In the process, he shifted his stance, kicking up some dirt with one of his boots. For a second, it looked like he might lose his footing. When he held up the coin to look at it, his upper body was at a tilting, lopsided angle.

"Well, well, well," Graylock said, appraising his competitor. "I'm not sure what I expected. But it probably wasn't this. Though, I suppose you did say you were good."

"That I did." He cocked a head at Graylock, waiting.

"Right," Graylock said, getting the hint. "My turn, isn't it?" He reached to rummage in his pockets, then seemed to remember that Elias was the one with the tarns. "Spare a coin, sir?"

Elias stomped over to Graylock, shoved three tarns into his palm.

"Obliged," Graylock said, pocketing one of them. He put a hand on his Wulther.

"Oh no, you don't," Elias said, drawing his pistol and holding it out. "You're using mine. No fancy, magic bullets for you."

"Not how that works," Graylock said, shrugging. "But okay."

"And you have to draw it. Same as I did."

"Fine."

Elias took a few steps off to the side, making some distance.

Graylock wedged the pistol in his belt, just next to the holster of his Wulther. He looked up and out across the plain, with the tarn held tight in his other hand. He cleared his throat, for some reason. Then, an upward, jerking motion with his wrist.

The coin flew, bright and burgeoning. But not far. The arc of the coin's flight apexed at the height of Graylock's head, and dropped fast.

Immediately, Lott knew that it wasn't going to be enough. If he was smart, Graylock would ask for a do-over. Allow the coin to drop without letting off a shot.

But the Colonel had already made another twitchy motion with his gun arm. The pistol came up.

CRACK.

Smoke. A hush of quiet in crowd. But to some, like Lott, it was already obvious he had missed. And maybe it was a good thing. Even if Graylock didn't remember what happened here today, Lott would. It would be quite the story. One that the Lieutenant Colonel doubted he would soon tire of telling. A nice bargaining chip to help keep Graylock in line, now and then. Gods knew he could use a couple of those.

Elias grinned. He knew, too. But he was silent as he stood there, watching Graylock get down on his knees and rummage through the dirt.

"Need some help, there?" He said, finally.

Graylock shook his head, hair falling down in front of his face. "I'm quite acquainted with being mad drunk, crawling around on my hands and knees, thanks. Ah, here we go." He stood, holding the copper coin up in the light.

"Don't see no break," Elias said. He spat.

"Me either," Graylock said. He smiled. In a way that unnerved Lott, though most of the onlookers probably saw it as an amiable gesture.

Elias grunted. He took his gun back, holstered it, and faced east. He held a tarn between his fingers, and braced for a moment, working himself up.

He was visualizing it. Thinking about all the times he'd done it before. Summoning the image of his accomplishments and experience into the present.

It wasn't that Lott couldn't make a shot like that. Hitting a coin out of the air. It's just that it wouldn't occur to him to try it without Shattercryst. With Shattercryst, both he and Graylock were at least five times deadlier than this scraggly miner man. And being sober wouldn't hurt, either. But Elias had made the challenge, and set the rules. Graylock had agreed to that. He had agreed to let the man make his bed for him.

Elias' coin spun, ascending. He drew fast, taking about a half-second to aim. And then the shot from his gun rang in the air.

There was another moment of quiet anticipation as Elias rummaged in the dirt. Lott found himself looking around again, wishing the Sheriff was already on hand.

When Elias stood, holding the unbroken tarn, his disappointment couldn't be more clear.

Now, he and Graylock would potentially be on equal ground. If the Colonel could break this next tarn. Though, Lott highly doubted he would.

"Here's a question," Graylock said, loading a couple more rounds into the cylinder of Elias' gun. "You only ever shoot tarns with this thing?"

"What's it to you?" Elias said. But he'd adopted a look Lott didn't much like. Tension marked his face. His eyes were flat and dark.

"I only ask because shooting and killing? Not the same thing." He locked the loaded cylinder back into place. "Even if you win here today, all you'll have managed to prove is that you can knock a couple coins out of the air."

"You sound like a sore loser already," Elias said.

"Oh, I was just trying to be nice when I implied that you might win," Graylock said. Even as he said it, his leg wobbled a little, and he had to find his footing. "But my real point is that precision is only a small part of what it is that I do. The other part...you just don't have it. I can tell just from looking at you. And trust me, you don't want it." He held up the tarn with one slightly trembling hand.

He took a deep breath, and as he did, something changed. Where before he had seemed loose and unstable, his body started to regain some solidity in the joints and posture. Control. Like a physical manifestation of resolve, coursing through him, reigning his body into submission, despite the handicap that inebriation currently presented. His head was high, body pulled taut like a rope. He was poised, assuming a position he would only be able to hold for so long.

He flicked the coin, drew the pistol, and fired in almost the same half-second.

It was immediately obvious, to Lott at least, that the bullet had at least made contact with the coin. It had pinged the outer edge, causing it to flip off it's course.

"I'll check it," Elias said. Too quickly. A half-second before the coin hit the dirt.

"That's okay," Graylock said, shoulders drooping. As soon as he'd made the shot, his rigid stance had fallen apart completely, and he was back to looking like he could fall over at any second. "We'll let someone from the crown get it. Any takers?"

A tall, excited young kid--he might have been eighteen, but anyone younger than twenty was a child to Lott--raised his hand. Graylock nodded, and the kid was off, scouring the area where the coin had landed. After five or so seconds, he stood, holding it up enthusiastically. "It's broken!"

There was little response to this from the crowd. If anything they were would be rooting for their own, not for a Federation military man from up north. Mostly they watched with vaguely discernible interest, despite the insanity of what these men were apparently capable of doing. Lott couldn't blame them. It looks a lot like luck, if you don't know better. One hit, one miss. The odds of a coin toss.

Elias glowered. When he took his gun back, he pulled before Graylock had let go, nearly yanking him forward and off his feet.

Not yet that this seemed to bother Graylock, though. He merely brushed some dust off his jacket and gave a slight bow to Elias. As if to say, Carry on. And by that point Elias already had. He tossed a coin upward, this time using his wrist and arm to do so. The coin didn't so much flip or spin. It looked like a fish leaping up out of a river. For a second, at the highest point, it almost seemed to hover. And that was when Elias made his shot.

The gunshot sounded. The tarn fell, landing with a dull thud in the dirt, not far from where Elias stood. And for a good few seconds, Elias didn't move.

"I think I know what that means," Graylock said. "I do believe I've seen that look before."

The man Elias ground his teeth. "We're not done yet. Don't think we're not going to settle this."

"Oh, we'll settle it," Graylock said. "Don't worry your little head about that." He held out his hand to take the man's gun.

Elias didn't hand it over. He flung it. It spun, landing next to Graylock's feet.

"Now, now," Graylock said, bending to pick the revolver. "That's no way to treat your piece." He blew the dirt off of it, and spun the cylinder again, just in case. "After all, you might have to sell it once we're done here."

Oh, come on, Graylock. Don't push it. That man is two steps away from throttling you in the dirt.

Elias was watching the Colonel with hard eyes and a slow, steady, rising and falling of the chest. His ears were all but bright red. Had they been that color before?

Not that Graylock was paying any mind. He jammed the revolver in his belt and pulled one of the tarns out of his jacket pocket.

"Watch closely," he said. He made a motion with his fingers. Then--

Wait. Was he holding two different tarns?

He was. There were two distinct holes visible in the copper as he held them up.

Elias cocked his head, frowning.

And then Graylock had tossed them. The tarns were in the air, up and spinning. Graylock drew with his right hand. Cocked with his left.

One shot. Another shot.

He took a big step, lashing out with one arm and snatching at the air. He stumbled a little, but once he'd regained his balance he held up his hand. With the two broken tarns in his palm.

He held them up between his fingers, so everyone could see.

"And that," he said to Elias, "Is the difference between you and me."

And then he passed out.