The Gun And The Shoes
Forged from silver, made with pearl handles, to become something special; created in the image of its fore-bearers arms, so there it began in the fiery hands of blacksmith Dan, came into being so to speak, a Colt 45, loaded with bullets at birth. Guns and rifles do not live on their own. Behind every legend is an itchy finger, Someone to pull the trigger to give them meaning, put them into use to give them life.
Jim Cork needed something precarious in his life, something new and mindless to do, some activity to occupy his tedious time, to distract him and his weakened mind, which was already in motion with fewer than needed marbles to pull him through to the the next train of thought. It was a brain not known to reach the station on time or reach conclusions on its own.
Behind him, beyond fathoming, there was a trail of dead bodies left behind, put there by him and his gun, with the help of luck since his skill levels at shooting were really not up to snuff. His thinking processes and draw abilities were never near the speed of light. People just happened to be at the wrong place at the wrong time when he pulled the trigger. They never saw it coming and he probably didn't either.
The story of the gun is a peculiar one. It begins with a young stranger called Sam Taylor.
Sam met the gun of his dreams for the first time at a local gun show in Atlas. At age seventeen no one asked any questions. He looked twenty two or older due to the scruffy black beard, his tall bag of bones appearance, giant like features, lumbering forward awkwardly as if in a drunken stupor, elephant sized in his stride and movements, being the towering figure that he was on the streets and having the stature of a would be man and that goofy smile which followed him so far through his lack luster life as part of his permanent character, imprinted forever on the minds of any one he came in contact with..
No one knew him or cared about his motives at the time. What was the difference? He stood nearly six feet four inches tall, looked almost human, adult like, sporting those alligator boots and belt, bought for the occasion to make him look worldly. Most importantly, he had cash and cash makes people look twenty years older in a pinch or a minute, which ever comes first.
No sooner had he purchased the colt 45 for ten dollars along with an accommodating holster for a mere $5.00 plus tax, he immediately stepped outside the circus like tent, where he was confronted by two ugly men who shot him dead on the spot without as much as a hello or how do you do. They took his newly acquired gun, holster, life and wallet. They stole away into the already formulated cobalt night of Atlas in a whisper of the wind and dirty sins they had just committed. They gave the gun a new home in their dingy shack outside of town. They would give it new purpose too by employing it day and night, robbing little old ladies and gas stations as they so desired and when such occasions presented themselves.
The gun sat idle for many hours on a counter top. It was always fully loaded and ready for action at a moments notice. There was an endless supply of bullets to keep them happy and it busy. Crime being the growth industry that it is, kept the authorities occupied around the clock. Life was good, full of purpose and never boring for the criminals and their heinous undertakings.
One day while the two killers were on their way to a little convenience store in the valley for some personal reasons for sure, a wicked wind and rain storm kicked up from the west. It was a loving tender touch being dispensed, measured out by mother nature at this hour. She showered the men with her not so gentile ways. The bad boys rarely cleaned themselves, as in never.
They were the epitome of rancor. Their ugliness was exceeded or maybe complimented their malevolence, malignancy to stink. They were the very essence of filthy pigs in every way, shape and form, stinking to high heaven. This storm evolved perhaps for just such reasons; to purify man and the beast in them, to change their thinking, if not their nature. These men were more beast then man to be sure.
Bad luck stepped in to save the day. It was the slippery foot of fate on the road to success. For the first time in ages things did not go their way. They had experienced a long string of successes while they killed and stole from many victims on their way to glory. Their small truck was pushed over a cliff by a swift harsh wind. The sharp curve proved to be too much for the driver who could not negotiate it. It turns out that the curve was sharper and quicker than the vehicle. Justice had been served.
A drug addict gypsy woman found the remains of the mangled truck and equally mangled men at the bottom of a ravine at day break. She discovered the Colt 45 and the two of them became immediate friends. Gypsy Ginger had bright red hair and bright ideas. The hair was not her own but suited the career path she had chosen. She happened upon it. You could say, borrowed it off the head of an elderly dead woman rotting in a ditch along side a dirt road a while back in her travels. The dead person was in no position to barter or argue or even complain about the ownership of the wig.
The transaction happened so quickly. The gypsy became the rightful owner of the hair from that point on.. The fact is, the red color made her look worldly and sophisticated.
On this particular occasion she had equally good luck and timing. She was a believer in luck over fate, which on this day proved to be true since she is now in possession of this handsome new gun.
It was exactly three days after this incident that Gypsy Ginger, (Her friends called her Gypsy Red) ran into one Jim Cork. Jim was simply walking or stumbling down the road, out for a walk to while away the time just outside the village when she approached him. They exchanged pleasantries and Ginger got down to business. She knew a mark when she saw one. Jim had sucker written all over himself. She wondered if he had enough brain cells in that thick oval shaped head of his to power a small flash light. She marveled at his apparent ability to speak and walk at the same time. She wanted to sell him some pots and pans or silk scarves. She had the bright idea to sell the gun for a serious profit. She told the man that she bought it at a wild west show in Europe and that the owner of the Colt was a world famous sharp shooter and Indian fighter called General George Armstrong Custer and that Custer originally bought it from Wild Bill Hickok for $100.00 and an Indian scalp.
Jim was dazzled, actually spellbound and captivated by the story. He appeared to be more interested in the Indian scalp. He could not imagine as to what lengths or extent a man would have to go to in order to perform such a procedure.
When the old gal brought out the gun for show and tell, Mr. Cork was like a baby with a shiny object being waved in his face. He was all in with ear to ear smiles.
The gypsy told the man a sob story about her mother being ill and in need of medicine and about her baby girl being in need of shoes. Shoes always works when playing the heart strings. It is the best offense and defense for women in divorce cases. As soon as you mention to a judge that your child is without shoes, the judge throws the book at the guy and makes him pay up big time. What kind of father does not see to it that their child's feet are not covered by Gucci Shoes or a simple pair of Prada Derby Shoes at all times for crying out loud!
The gypsy ended up selling it at a $10.00 loss due to her medical cost needs and shoe deficiencies.
Jim Cork forked over $90.00. This deal was contingent on Gypsy Ginger turning over the scalp the next time they met. She promised to do just that and even crossed her heart and hoped to die. Needless to say they never crossed paths again.
As for Cork; giving a man with mental deficiencies a loaded gun is not very bright. He went on to slaughter many people. Talk about issues. When the police came to arrest him at his home, he shot them too. He was very sensitive to sudden movements. Anything could set him off. He loved his gun. He had the body count to prove it.
To this day he ponders. He wonders what might have become of Gypsy and the missing scalp and her mom and her shoe-less daughter. It is a crime to think that someone is going around with naked feet. What kind of a creep would let that happen?
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