"How should I cooperate with you, Mr. Callander?"
Dr. Ben Calloway hesitated before asking.
His partnership with the O'Driscoll Gang had never been pleasant. They took most of the profit while leaving him with only scraps—barely enough to justify the risk of breaking the law.
That was why he had gone to the police in the first place.
But when he learned that the sheriff's office was also involved, he'd given up on resisting.
Now, faced with Davey's confident tone and frighteningly precise knowledge, Calloway saw a glimmer of hope.
"It's simple, Dr. Calloway," Davey said with a calm smile. "All you need to do is file a report. Tell the police what's been happening. I'll handle the rest."
Calloway still looked uncertain. As one of Davey's suppliers, he knew the man was running a moonshine operation.
Anyone daring enough to brew illegal liquor in these times clearly had both brains and guts—and even Benedict worked under him now.
And truth be told, Calloway was tired of living under the O'Driscolls' threats.
"Alright, Mr. Callander. I'll do it," Calloway finally said through clenched teeth.
Davey raised his glass. "To our cooperation, Dr. Calloway."
...
After dinner, Davey secretly ordered John to follow Calloway.
He trusted no one completely. If the doctor betrayed him to the O'Driscolls, Davey would rather have him dead than risk exposure.
Calloway did consider snitching—but in the end, he didn't.
Davey's composure and access to sensitive information had convinced him that the man wasn't alone.
He assumed Davey had informants everywhere—inside the police, maybe even within the O'Driscoll Gang itself.
Otherwise, how could he have known about the threatening letter?
That line of thinking saved Calloway's life.
Had he gone anywhere other than home that night, John would've shot him dead on the road.
...
The next morning, Calloway opened his clinic as usual. Around eleven o'clock, Davey arrived with Mac and John.
From the window, Calloway gave Davey a discreet nod.
That was the signal—the O'Driscoll men were inside.
Davey didn't rush in. Instead, he strolled toward the deputy sheriff who was "patrolling" nearby.
"Officer," Davey said, sounding slightly out of breath, "I just came from the Helton Inn. There's a fight going on—armed men."
"Goddamn it," the deputy muttered.
He glanced back at the clinic, decided nothing looked suspicious, and quickly gathered a few officers to head toward the inn.
As a deputy, he couldn't ignore a public report in broad daylight.
Once he was gone, Davey motioned to the others. The three of them entered the clinic and quietly shut the door behind them.
Calloway stepped out from behind the counter. "The secret room can only be opened from the inside, Mr. Callander. Be careful—they're armed. Don't let them see you."
He walked to the back of the clinic and knocked on a hidden door. "Hey, boys—it's me. I brought you some food and drink."
A small window on the door slid open, and one of the gang members peeked out cautiously.
Davey, Mac, and John waited silently in the shadows.
"Hey, it's just me," Calloway said in a friendly tone.
The man inside relaxed and unlocked the door.
The moment it opened, Mac burst forward—just as Davey had ordered earlier: shoot first, no hesitation.
Mac's revolver barked three times in rapid succession. The O'Driscoll thugs barely had time to react before they hit the floor.
When Davey entered, only one woman remained.
Maybe Mac thought she wasn't a threat—or maybe he just didn't want to shoot a woman.
But Davey knew better. She was one of them—and her hand was reaching for something beneath her skirt.
Bang!
Davey shot her dead without a moment's hesitation.
John frowned. "Davey… maybe she was just an innocent woman."
The memory of Blackwater flashed through his mind—Dutch had done the same thing once, killing indiscriminately. The thought made him uneasy.
"Mac, lift her skirt," Davey ordered.
Mac hesitated, then did as told. Sure enough, there was a revolver strapped to her thigh.
A woman who could hide a gun like that wasn't nearly as harmless as she looked.
"Sorry, Davey," John said quietly. "I misjudged you."
Davey smiled faintly. "It's fine, John. When I came in, I saw the look in her eyes—and her hand was moving toward her skirt. She was about to strike. I just made sure none of my brothers got hurt."
This wasn't a game. Getting shot here didn't mean losing health—it meant dying for good.
Even the best gunslinger in the world wouldn't survive that.
...
(40 Chapters Ahead)
p@treon com / GhostParser