Lindley strolls into the Sheriff's office. That's right, strolls. Damn if Lindley Quintan doesn't look sober.
William Tucker doesn't look like he slept well last night. The bank robbery that happened obviously didn't set well and his mood sure isn't likely to be receptive to Lindley Quintan. It's barely tolerable on the best of situations. It looks like he is reading through a stack of telegraph messages. He scowls at Lindley,
definitely giving him the 'this better be damn important' look. "Lindley.. what can I do for ya."
Lindley takes a step backwards at the scowl and then raises his hands in the air. "Woah now Sheriff, ifn' now ain't a good time." He turns towards the door, murmuring just loud enough for Tucker to hear. "'Course I thought ya might be interested in hearing what my pa done did."
"What, decompose?" William doesn't even smile at his own joke. Yet, he motions to the chair in front of the desk for Lindley to take a seat. Perhaps it will be a bit of a diversion from everything else going on.
"Ahrm surprised yer still in town, haven't they read that will yet?"
Lindley pauses at that question and turns. "Actually, read it just after the cook off." He looks irritated and amused at the same time. "My pa didn't give it to Christopher. Damn shame that is."
Tucker's eyes widen in surprise. Karl didn't give the ranch to Christopher? That just can't be... who the hell else would it go to? "Holy Mary, mother of Christ... Karl didn't give the ranch to Christopher? Damn..." William shakes his head, "He sure the hell wouldn't give it to you... Madeline?" William reaches under the desk and pulls up a bottle of whiskey and two shot glasses. What the hell, Lindley probably deserves a drink for dropping this news on him. He fills two of them, and slides one across the desk.
Lindley regards the offered glass, licking his lips. Is there a moment of hesitation there? What the hell. He takes the glass and tosses it back, slipping into the chair to enjoy the effect of its warmth. "That's right. Gave the whole kit and kaboodle to that crippled nephew of mine."
Tucker sticks his finger in his ear and moves it around a bit. "Damn, all that shootin' yesterday musta made me deaf. Did you just say Karl gave the ranch to Madeline's son?" That is the cripple, right?
Lindley looks might smug, "That's exactly what I said." He places the glass down in front of Tucker, hinting for a refill. "Every last bit of it."
Tucker takes his shot, and refills both glasses. He is in the mood to do a lot of drinking, which is a good warning sign to make this shot his last. He corks the bottle with a thump and puts it back under the desk. "I don't even know what to say to that. I know he never got along with any of you... but still... that seems so..." What's the word William is looking for? Generous? Pious? Kind and caring? William takes the second shot, not saying it.
"Bullshit." Is the word Lindley provides. "Damn wrong if you ask me." Course, Lindley didn't get a dime either. "You know why I came by, Marshal?""
Christopher must be spitting nails right now. William Tucker leans back and regards Lindley, "Nope, can't say that I do. Not that you try to hard to avoid this place... the back rooms anyway." William smirks slightly.
"Seems my pa might have known something about his own death cause he made a point to add a little clause to the will." He picks up his second shot. "Said if'n my sister was found to have anything to do with his death, my brother gets it /all/ back."
"That's.... that's a mighty unusual clause to put in a will...." William's eyes narrow slightly, staring right through Lindley Quintan. This story gets stranger and stranger by the moment. Really, William Tucker has no interest in investigating Karl's death. Why? Simple. Two very simple reasons. One, Karl shoulda died 7 years earlier by William's own hand. And Two, because whoever killed Karl was probably a tortured saint who probably never hurt another living soul and wouldn't ever again anyway. There wouldn't be any justice from finding out who killed Karl Quintan, Tucker is sure of it. But still... curious. It's hard not to find answers to questions such as this. "I know that Christopher found yer father was murdered by mercury poisoning... but he doesn't seem to want the law involved."
Lindley looks surprised at this. "Well now. That's going to be damn convenient if my brother's hunting a killer that might eventually lead to him gaining back the ranch isn't it?"
Tucker shrugs and scowls, "Aghh... not like he is gonna find anything anyway. Yer father's been dead over 7 months.. Ahrm damn surprised that he even figured that much out." William leans forward again, cupping his hands together on his desk, "'sides, not like Christopher wear's a badge. Though he tried his damndest to get me to give him one." William chuckles briefly, "He won't get far because if he does start stepping on anyone's toes, Ahrl have him locked up back here faster than you on a Saturday night." William sure is being blunt with Lindley Quintan, more blunt than with any of the man's other family. Perhaps its because he views Lindley has no threat, or perhaps its because Lindley has always been the kick dog of the family. Perhaps its even a bit of both.
Lindley bristles, not liking to be reminded of how much joy Tucker gets from locking him up. He sets the empty glass down and eyes the corked bottle. "I know you don't think much of my family Marshal." And at that he smiles, recalling time gone past with a glint in his eye. Damn if the alcohol hasn't kicked in. "Saw your woman at the shoot off. Maybe the reason you ain't interested in investigating this is cause she's the one who did it."
Well, Lindley probably did touch on a rather unfortunate, and less mentioned third reason. William doesn't expect it so, but it is a possibility. Its also another good reason to stay away from this murder investigation. He snorts, not even rising to the
occasion. "So why are you here Lindley?" Oh please don't come here asking me to look into this mess. That would be just to much, "Ahrm a busy man, what with cattle rustlers, thieves, and drunks running rampant all over this town."
Yeah, why is he here? Lindley just smiles a little and plays his card, though the sweat at his brow might indicate that the man is likely shaking in his boots to try a trick like this. "I need a job. Was thinkin' maybe since I've spent so much time in this here place - you'd be inclined to give me one. Might keep me straight, out of trouble - and I might be less inclined to bring up the past and all." Like how my pa used to sleep with your woman. Is that a smile that touches the Quintan's face.
"You Quintans are all crazy... you know that?" William laughs, just shocked by Lindley's reason for being here. He shakes his head, obviously amused. "That just beats all." William is silent for a moment, watching Lindley like a hawk to a mouse. "Yer brother wanted me to make him a deputy, you know that? Oh, he said it was because he knew we needed help and he was a capable man and what not... but I know the real reason. Its cause this shiny star is power. And power, to you Quintans, is a taste of sweet ambrosia. Something your whole family thirsts for more than anything else." William stands up and goes to the pot bellied stove. That sobered him up, and he needs coffee right quick. "You know, I had a dream once that you were the sheriff here in Maddock."
Christopher strolls over from outside.
Lindley blinks several times at the Marshal then stands, "Ya got me wrong, Marshal. I ain't interested in no badge." With a badge comes a gun and then that makes a man open season for getting shot. There /is/ a reason Lindley doesn't wear a weapon, it just ain't right to shoot an unarmed man (drunk). "I was thinkin' like something else - didn't you post about some jobs." And then Christopher arrives. That causes Lindley to shut the hell right up.
Christopher steps in, looking a bit worn, like he hasn't slept, or perhaps even been drinking. But not fall down drunk like Lindley. He can hold his liquor like his old man.
Christopher says, "The sheriff about?"
William is standing near the stove pouring himself a cup of coffee. Upon Christopher's entrance, he reaches for two more mugs. Might as well get this whole crew sobered up right quick. He pours three cups and says, "Whell iffin this ain't a family reunion. Why don't you have a seat Christopher. Yer brother here just told me the news. Ahrm quite surprised to hear it... hell man.. just about layed me out here on the floor." William is feeling cocky and confident. This whole situation has given Tucker a good shake back and forth. But its a good thing. "The sheriff ain't about."
Christopher looks at Lindley, shaking his head. "No coffee, Marshal. I'm here to pay for my business license."
Lindley eyes Christopher from his seat where only moments before he was asking the Marshal for a job. That's right, he'll work for Tucker, but not for his own brother. A man has his principles. Course, Christopher's comment leads to a bit of curiosity. "Business license?"
"Business license?" He says that at the same time as Lindley, a regular chorus of
curiosity. William only fills two cups then, placing one in front of Lindley. Lindley probably won't drink it, but what the hell. This news must have taken the wind out of Christopher's sail. He feels sorry for Christopher actually. The man pretty well had his life set up. "Why don't you have a seat Christopher. Ahrd like ta help ya out, this whole thing musta come as quite a blow."
Christopher nods to his brother, but says nothing to him. "I'm starting a business. Need a license, I understand. It's still $25, ain't it?" He pulls out a goodly wad of paper bills, and plops down $25. "Since that mayor ain't ever around, and the Sheriff's not here, I'll hope you can issue it to me?" He waves off the offer of a chair, as well, as remains standing. "I'm expecting a good amount of supplies to arrive
any day now, and want to get my shop up and running as soon as possible." He shakes his head to Tucker, "Not really. It's what I expected, actually. And Karl made a good choice, if you ask me." Lindley's still a bum, and Chris is the enigma.
Lindley ignores the coffee. He's not an enigma no, he's as easy to read as an open book and drunks don't drink coffee unless they have a court appearance. He glances snidely towards Christopher, still quite bruised by his pa's rejection. "Expected it? Now that's just plain bullcrap, brother. You were lording over that ranch like you owned the place already - sticking your men to follow me around like a dang dog."
William nods, he takes a piece of paper from drawer. He takes the money, pockets it, and signs the paper. He hands the paper to Christopher. "This is just a temporary one, Ahrl have to get the mayor to sign something more official. This is good enough to get you started though. What are you going to be doing?" William agrees completely with Lindley on this issue. Christopher was dug in like a tick at that ranch, already prepared to throw his weight around on exactly how much of this town he controlled.
Christopher laughs, and nods, "I did that, I sure did, brother. You're a drunk, and just like I didn't trust you with a loaded gun yesterday, I didn't trust you around that ranch. You think the old man would have even /allowed/ you step foot on it, if he was alive?" He shakes his head, "But I didn't come back just to hear the will. I've put hard work into running that ranch just as Karl had," he's not 'pa' to him. Never has been, never will be. "Can you say that, brother?"
He takes the paper from the marshal, and nods, "Thank you." Think what you want, Chris has /never/ liked living in his father's shadow. Now he gets to make his own decisions, and leave the problems to his sister. A possible murderer. "I've procured a lot, and gonna raise the new General Store, Marshal, if you care to know." Running a ranch, and running a store ain't all the much different. It's all management, ya know. And something Chris has a lot of experience with.
Lindley stands from his seat, the chair scraping loudly as he does so. "You know, you always liked to talk big. To look big. To be the 'big brother'. But when Pa needed someone to take care of business it was me he had to turn to." He pokes hard at his chest, "You were as surprised as me to find out the old man usurped you for his bastard daughter's get. Hell, for all anyone knows that boy isn't even MacClaine's that whore of our sister was already blooming when she walked down the isle. You're a dang fool brother, you just don't know it."
"Now that's enough Lindley... we just got this building up and running and I don't want you two scraping it up." William stands to his feet as well, prepared to break up any possible fisticuffs that might result out of this encounter. He doesn't sound terribly eager though, since this a family matter and he can't blame the two brothers for arguing over this. Especially Karl's children. Karl made them what they are, after all.
Christopher is tired, and shakes his head, "Brother, you just don't get it, do you?" He looks at the marshal, a hypocrite, it would appear, for "scraping it up" with the little Chinaman the other day. The larger Quintan squints at the marshal, and pulls the wad of cash out of his pocket yet again. Peeling another greenback from the bundle, he shifts his gaze to his upstart brother, as he inquires of the marshal, yet again about a local item. "Brawling still a $5 fine, marshal?" With that, he drops a 10 spot on the desk, and moves to step outside.
Oh crap. What did Lindley start. He glances at the ten spot, then back to his brother. The man might be taller. The man might be wider. The man is likely going to kick his ass. Still, Lindley's not as drunk as he usually is and the chance to get a good jibe in at his older brother outweighs any common sense. "You go ahead and keep your nose out of this Marshal." Lack of common sense is right, and lack of honor. He charges towards Christopher's back.
William Tucker has no problems with scraping it up, just not in his shiny new office. "Drawing a loaded gun is a five dollar fine, brawling I don't care for on principle, but its free of charge." William picks up the ten spot to hand it back to Christopher when Lindley charges his brother. William isn't fast enough to react.
Christopher gets to the door, as he's tackled from behind. Shoulda expected that. Oh well. In his tired state, he takes a fall on the wood porch outside, splitting a lip. He rolls to his back, quickly, trying to pin the
accost with his larger frame. Cheap shot, Lindley, is about all that crosses his mind as he offers a rapid elbow to about where center of mass, groin or ribs, should be. Either will hurt, if he lands the blow.
You head towards the road outside.
Maddock Square Outdoors
Christopher saunters over from inside the sheriff's office.
Christopher has arrived.
Lindley lands on top of Christopher as he tackles him from behind and the pair fall out the Sheriff's office doorway. The surprise attack is the only advantage the smaller man is going to get and that advantage wanes quickly when he is flipped under Christopher's weight. The elbow elicits a loud grunt of pain from the younger Quintan, but he's quick to fight back, his unpinned arm moving without much force towards Christopher's stomach.
Tucker hurries over from inside the sheriff's office.
On the saloon porch, Damien sits in a chair on the saloon porch smoking a cigarillo. Beside him is a small table on which rests a half full whiskey bottle, a glass, and a double
barreled shotgun. He cocks his head as the Quintan brothers come tumbling out of the Sheriff's office followed by Tucker. Well, this should be entertaining. He refreshes his drink with the bottle then takes a sip.
Aware he's armed, the experienced Quintan makes sure Lindley doesn't grab one of his irons. "This is a fistfight, brother, you make a grab for my gun," he grunts, sitting up, to get away from the flailing of Lindley's free arm, "I'll kill you." Now sitting , more or less on Lindley's midriff, Christopher reciprocates for the cheap shot, with one of his own. With what seems a move he's used before, he drops his torso quickly, backwards, snapping his head back, in an attempt to headbutt his brother.
Tucker gets a very familiar sense of deja vu. Maybe the town should rope off a part of the square just for this brawling purpose. William, unlike Barron, isn't one to get crazy over a fair fight. Especially over a personal matter such as this one. Especially with two Quintans. "Alright you two, I hope you think this is gonna solve something. Cause if its not, might as well break it up now." Course if the two of them killed each other, it would solve at least one big headache on Tucker's mind.
Lindley's side is still stabbing from Christopher's elbow jab. As Christopher rises, he drops his flailing hand to the ground and tries to rise as well. "Ain't nothing saying you couldn't just take your belt o-Oooph." The statement is never finished, since Christopher's head connects with his own. There is a sickening crunching sound which might indicate that Lindley's nose just broke. The man falls back against the ground, both hands moving to cover his face. "Ahhh! Ahhhh! You bashterd, you broke ma nose. Ahh! Ahh!" He's blinded by the pain but if he can get a leg free it's going to be looking to kick Christopher in the kidney.
On the saloon porch, Damien blows smoke rings. Pity the saloon is closed. If it were open he's sure he could make a nice profit taking bets on how this particular fight is going to turn out.
Christopher moves to roll off his brother, a grimace from the head butt, himself. "I would have, if'n you'd allowed me to get in the street," he huffs and takes a knee to the side. No crunch there, but it stings, obviously, and the wind is knocked from him. He continues to roll, trying to get clear of those legs, so he can stand up, and do just that. Remove his gunbelt, that is.
As Christopher rolls away, Lindley drops his hands and sees blood. Bright red and covering his palms from his broken bleeding nose. This of course results in another round of screams as the younger Quintan rolls in the opposite direction and clumsily tries to get to his feet. He is mad now, and has a crooked nose to boot. He will wait for Quintan to drop his gunbelt and do the most predictable thing Lindley can. Charge again, shoulder dropping low as he closes the distance and aims for Christopher's midsection.
William shakes his head. Two Quintan brothers, looking to destroy each other. Its breaking his heart. He intones, "This better solve yer problems here and now. Ahrm sure Karl would be very proud of both of you at this point." William frowns, but doubts his words were even heard over this ongoing tussle. He will let it go on for a while, but will stop it if one of them looks like they need it stopped.
Christopher pushes himself to his feet, and quickly unbuckles his belt, tossing it well to the side. He actually lets out a sigh, as his foolish brother charges him, yet again. Feinting one way, then actually sidestepping the other, he has the time to toss the marshal a vicious sneer,
/hypocrite/, as his brother approaches.
Lindley sails on past Christopher, the force of his leap towards the now missing obstacle carrying Lindley through the air to land face down in the dust. The wind is horribly knocked from his lungs and he struggles to rise, unable to breath. As a small crowd gathers now, it's obvious to Lindley he's outclassed, outsized and just plain stupid. Can he walk away now? Hell no. And so his eyes drop to the discarded gunbelt.
Christopher shakes his head at Lindley, as his sibling's gaze moves towards the pair of firearms. "Don'e even, brother." He's pulling something from his pocket, as he warns Lindley. Shiny, flat, it glints a bit in the afternoon sun as he draws his arm back.
William Tucker draws one of his pistols and shoots it into the air. He yells, "Alright, that's enough!" He should have known that this family always has to take things to that next level. Knives and guns indeed. "Break it up you two, its been fun to watch so far, but its time to call it quits before one of you gets killed." Unfortunately....
What does the other Quintan have? Flat, shiny? A knife? Lindley just drops to the ground as Christopher pulls his arm back. Breaking into pleading sobs, "Aw hell brother! Don't kill me! Don't kill me!" Lindley's more then Yellow. He's Bright Sun Yellow. he places his hands over his heads as Tucker calls out, "Marshal!! Marshal!! I'll never talk bad about yer woman again if you just stop him!"
Down the road to the south, Colin heads towards the northern part of town.
Colin comes over from the southern part of town.
Colin walks along, trying not to take attention, he watches in deep thought...hmmm interesting...his hands are both placed at his hips...ready and waiting..he will help if he has too...
Christopher shakes his head, at who, though, not readily apparent. Lowering his arm, he uncorks the shiny, silver hipflask and takes a swig. "Well, you never cease to amaze me, Lindley." He walks towards his firearms, and says to Lindley, "You say that about Madeline again, and a broken nose will be just the beginning of what I give you."
William holsters his pistol, snapping a strap over the hammer. He smiles a bit, seeing now that Christopher only drew a flask. Probably to beam Lindley over the head with. He steps off the porch and into the street, "Alright... alright. You two would be best off remembering that yer brothers, whether you might like it or not sometimes. Hell, my brother's a preacher, yet we get along just like peaches and cream."
Yeah, and neither of you are a Quintan, either.
Lindley looks up when it becomes apparent Christopher isn't going to run him through with a knife. When he realizes that the object is a flask he looks downright angry. He cowered because his brother wielded a flask at him? While some of the nearby spectators laugh at Lindley, the man casts a deadly glare at his brother. "This isn't over, /brother/" He stalks eastward.
Christopher corks, and pockets the flask, as his brother storms off. He collects, and buckles his guns back on. "Of course not," he mutters, as he ignores the lawman.