A New Sheriff in Town Ch. 01

I've never written a story set in the Old West, and most of this will be, but this is really a Sci-Fi story. Yeah, I know, BTTF3 kinda did it already, but I'm going to try to steer away from that. And hopefully this will be sexier. Also, I am not a physicist or any scientist of any kind. I saw an article about using laser loops to travel through time and ran with it, so don't bag on me too hard about the feasibility. Fair warning, there will also be multiple time shifts. As always, comments that are constructive are welcome, but name-calling and abuse will not be tolerated, and those comments will be summarily deleted without prejudice. Enjoy!

April 9, 1883

He rode into town on his horse that he had bought the day before for seventy dollars and sat on the saddle that cost an additional three silver coins. The clothes he wore and the extras in his bedroll he had brought with him. That left just over two hundred fifty dollars in his leather fold stuffed into his right boot. The guns, white bone-handled, black-barreled revolvers he had purchased the week prior in Santa Fe and they sat low on his hips in brown leather holsters. Both were loaded and ready for anything, just as he was. He had fired both pistols just twice; once each at a cactus to sight them in, and once more at a rattlesnake that had spooked his horse earlier that morning.

He smiled when he thought of the deadly serpent that he had crossed earlier. The first shot missed, but the second shot had plugged the snake on the top of its head and blown its skull to bits. He had practiced before with similar firearms, but these new guns felt right in his hands, as if they were made for him. For all he knew, they may have been. The transpiring's of the last few months made him believe that anything was possible. He rode on as the April sun blazed high in the blue cloudless sky, while whistling a tune no one in these parts had ever heard.

He had ridden through the Sangre de Cristo Mountains, past Hermit Peak, and saw not another human being the entire ride. Now he neared the town of Las Colinas in New Mexico and caught the faint outline of the up-and-coming burg. This was his destination, and he longed to reach it, but he kept the horse, whose name was Dandy and was the most beautiful mount he had ever seen, at an even gait and loped slowly toward the venerable old city. The railroad had arrived in the town the prior year and he could see the black smoke billowing out of the engine stack from his vantage point.

He entered the dusty town and made his way to the square at the center. Pulling his pocket watch from his leather vest, he saw that he was right on time, or as close as he could figure. He reached the building labeled as The High Plains Saloon on the red and white sign then dismounted. He tied Dandy loosely to the hitching post then checked his pistols one more time. The horse had only been his for a week, but it had been incredibly well-broken and, although it could have run off, it stayed where he had parked it.

Checking his pocket watch again, he saw the minute hand click to five minutes past three in the afternoon. From around the corner of a building adjacent to the saloon, a woman hurriedly strode down the boardwalk. Behind her, a drunken man wobblingly ran to catch up with the woman and grabbed her arm roughly. The young woman screamed and dropped her parasol that had been shading her from the hot spring sun. The inebriated man pulled the woman close to him and tried to kiss her when he heard the voice from down the street call to him.

"You there!" the voice yelled. The drunken man whirled around to see a man in a blue shirt with a tan vest and Stetson slowly making his way toward him. "Let the woman go. Now!"

The drunk pushed the woman, causing her to fall to the wooden walkway. He surprised the caller by swiftly pulling a six-shooter from his waistband and firing a quick shot. His target never knew if it was the sharp April breeze or the bullet fired at him that had made his long dark hair flutter from his left shoulder, but he did not wait for a second opportunity to find out. He pulled the gun from its holster and returned fire. Only one shot was needed to stop the attacker.

He saw the drunken attacker drop his gun and reflexively grab his chest where the bullet had struck him. He stared at the gunslinger down the road for two seconds then fell into the street, his booze-addled life ended with a shot that pierced his heart. A crowd rushed to the scene when the shots had been fired, and the people looked first to the dead man on the boardwalk and then to the shooter still standing twenty yards away.

"My name is Daniel Jacob Cooley!" he announced to the crowd. "I'm the new sheriff in Las Colinas. This type of behavior will no longer be tolerated! Anyone who would perpetrate lawlessness in this town will end up like this poor bastard!" He placed his gun back in the holster then walked into the saloon. He knew the mayor would be in the bar, drunk since before noon. He would have a shot of whiskey himself then have the mayor show him to his new office.

++++++++++

"The job pays sixty-five dollars a month plus two dollars for every arrest you make," the town mayor, who Daniel came to find was named Jed Wright. "There's a room in the back with a nice soft bed, no charge. It comes with the job. Or you can rent a room at The High Plains for three dollars a week."

"The room in the back will be just fine," the new sheriff assured him. "Our agreement was for three months salary up front. That's a hundred and ninety-five dollars, Mayor."

"Oh," Wright said, "Right. One hundred ninety-five. I have two hundred here. Can you make change?"

"You can take the extra five out of my fourth month's pay," Daniel said as he took the money from the mayor's hand and stuffed it into his pants pocket. "Anything else?"

"Here," the mayor said as he reached into his own pocket and pulled out a silver star. "Your badge. It might scare some of the younger troublemakers around town, but the real bad elements don't much care for the law around here. Best watch your back, Sheriff."

"Thanks for the advice," Daniel said. "I'll need to hire a deputy or two. Any suggestions?"

"Jimmy Young has been filling your shoes till you got here," Wright revealed. "He might stay on, but that job only pays forty dollars a month."

"If he's competent," Daniel answered, "then I'll make up the difference myself. Anything else I should know?"

"Where'd you say you were from again?" the mayor asked the new town lawman with a questioning look. "You don't sound like you're from around these parts."

"Michigan," Cooley answered truthfully. "Gravel City to be precise."

"Never heard of it," Wright revealed. "But as long as you can keep the peace then it doesn't much matter, does it?"

"Suppose not," the sheriff answered absently. "What's the situation in Las Colinas?"

"Excuse me?" Wright said, not understanding what Cooley had asked.

"The outlaw situation," Daniel clarified. "How bad?"

"It's usually pretty quiet here most nights," Wright admitted. "But Friday and Saturday nights get pretty rough after sundown. Lots of drinking and cavorting. That critter you plugged earlier wasn't one of the worst ones, but he caused enough trouble to warrant his fate."

"He'll be an example to the rest, Mayor," Daniel said matter-of-factly. "I didn't want to kill him, but he left me no choice. I won't stand for any tomfoolery as long as I'm in charge around here. From anyone." He looked at Wright sternly as he finished his statement.

"Yeah..." the mayor said nervously. "Well, I gotta get back to town hall for a meeting with the Women's League. Ain't no telephones here yet like back East. They'll be stringin' the wires in July but probably won't be done till sometime next year. Till then, you can just have whoever come get me if you need anything."

"Thank you, Mayor," Daniel said then quickly shook Wright's hand. He knew the mayor would not be going to Town Hall, only back to the saloon for more whiskey and a date with a hostess from Boston named Patty. He paid neither the mayor nor his business in the saloon no more attention and began to unpack his bedroll on the mattress in the back room.

The roll contained two extra shirts and a pair of brown pants. He would purchase a good suit in the next few days for formal meetings with dignitaries and funerals. He hoped for few of either. The rest of the contents in the bedroll were inconsequential except for two items. Daniel James Cooley smiled when he held them in his hands. One was a small grey rectangular plastic brick with a metal piece protruding from one end. The other was a flat metallic device, a black piece of glass covering one full side and an opening on the bottom where the metal piece from the brick would attach. Of course, the items were a cell phone and a fully powered block charger.

++++++++++

Present Day

"DJ! What the fuck?!" the giant young man hollered from down the hallway. "We're gonna be late. There are women and cold beers waiting for us!" The behemoth opened the door to his friend's room and peered inside the dwelling cautiously. "You jerkin' off in here?"

"You wish, perv," came a voice from the corner desk. "Just tying up a few loose ends on this paper."

"Paper?" the big man queried the repeated. "Paper? You mean your dissertation, Doctor Cooley?"

"Yes, that's what I mean," DJ replied. "And I'm not a doctor yet, so don't call me that, ya dumb jock!"

"Yeah, yeah, Brainiac," the dumb jock responded to the insult. "Your dissertation isn't due for three more months. You mean you're done with it already? What am I saying? Of course you're done with it. You're such an overachiever!"

"If I was done with it, dumbfuck, then I wouldn't be tying up loose ends, now, would I?" DJ corrected the massive athlete. "And what the fuck are you talking about- women and cold beers?"

"Uhhhhh, we're meeting Jenna and Ashley at the pub tonight." The big guy revealed. "S'posed to be there in like four minutes"

"It's a three-minute walk," DJ said. "Well, three minutes for me. For a fat sack of shit like you it'd probably be at least ten!"

"Damn, it's a good thing I like you, smart guy," DJ's verbal sparring partner responded to his insult. "I crushed the last guy that called me fat."

"Did you sit on him?" DJ asked then began to laugh. "If the weight didn't get him then the emanations from your porthole definitely would have finished him off."

"Fuck you, dillweed," the large man answered as he joined DJ in a chuckle. "C'mon, man. Let's go. Jenna. Ashley. Beer. A great combination, dude."

"One more minute, Brett," DJ begged. "I just caught a typo." He grabbed his cellphone and thumbed the voice recorder app. "Page two sixty-seven. Third paragraph. Twelfth word should be proton, not porton. There," he said slipping his device into his back pocket after standing from his chair, "now we can go meet the girls and beers."

"You actually made a mistake?!" Brett said and emoted his faux shock by clutching the left side of his chest.

"If you're going to die, then at least have the decency to do it in the hallway," DJ joked. "I'm not dragging your big ass through that door. And, yeah, I make mistakes. The most recent one was keeping you as a best friend, peckerhead. Let's go before Jenna comes to her senses and dumps you. That way I can have them both tonight!"

"In your dreams, inchworm dick!" Brett shot back then the two started laughing uncontrollably until they both doubled over. Then DJ swiftly swung a low punch into Brett's midsection. He connected solidly and an audible thud echoed throughout the sparse room. Brett smiled as his friend's fist bounced harmlessly off his rock-hard midsection. "Good punch, man. That one almost stung. You been working out?"

"I've got a friend in the athletic department," DJ stated with a wink. "So, they let me use the weight room whenever I want. Come on, let's get to the pub. I could use a beer."

The two friends left the house they shared, the rent paid for by Brett's monthly athletic stipend and DJ's part-time job at the university's science library and swiftly made their way to the pub to meet their ladies. Brett asked DJ the same question he had always asked him when the subject of his doctorate came up.

"Do you really think it's possible, DJ?" The big man said as they double-timed it down the sidewalk. "I mean... Dude. Time travel?"

"It's not only possible," DJ disclosed, "but it's already been done. Granted, only with photons, but it happened regardless. I won't go into the boring details. If you could see it like I do, then you'd know how simple it could be with matter. It all boils down to bending light. I don't mean simple refraction. I'm talking about bending light back on itself. If that can be done, and I believe it can, then the power it could generate would be sufficient to..."

"Dude, you lost me at 'refraction'," Brett interrupted. "But you're the smartest person I've even known. If anyone could figure it out, then it'd be you. You or that Hawking guy."

"Hawking was a genius," DJ admitted, "but he was wrong on it being impossible. Anything is possible. What he didn't understand is that it's not just light that's bending, but the flow of time itself. As long as the light bends just right then it will create a laser loop. If that loop rotates correctly, then it can be done. Not with a cyclotron, and certainly not with some car driving a certain speed." He reached into his back pocket. "If the rotation is calculated perfectly, then I could do it with this cellphone. It would take only a second or two to trigger the loop and travel back in time, but it would drain the battery in the phone instantly."

"So, take a charger and charge it back up when you get there," Brett replied.

"A good idea," DJ admitted. "But what if my calculations are the tiniest bit off and I end up in some time period that has no charging capability? A block charger!" he voiced his revelation as he smacked his palm against his forehead. "I'll just get a block charger and take it with me!"

"Well," Brett said as they neared the bar, "do it tomorrow. Tonight, we're gonna get drunk. And I'm gonna get laid. Not sure about you though."

DJ smiled as he opened the door of the bar for his friend. "I'll get mine too. Just try not to crush that poor girl tonight. Maybe you'd better make sure she's on top, big fella.

Brett smiled back and winked as he squeezed his massive frame into the entryway. "That's just the way we both like it!"

++++++++++

Ashley awoke at half past eight the next morning, nude and holding her head. "Geez..." she moaned. "We gotta quit drinking that cheap draft shit. My head feels like it weights forty pounds..."

"Everything in moderation, my dear," DJ said as he flashed her a smile then kissed her pink lips. "What time is your poly sci final?"

"Nine-thirty," Ashley answered groggily. "What time is it now, DJ?"

"You have fifty-eight point two-five minutes to get there," he replied as he lay next to her on his double bed. "It'll take you approximately seventeen minutes to get to the Mason building. You have enough time to shower, drink a quick mug of coffee then swing home and grab your bookbag."

"You're such a nerd," Ashley playfully teased him. "And you're obsessed with time. You have two watches and the clock on your cell. Why the fascination?" she asked as she stood from the bed and teetered on alcohol-weakened legs.

DJ watched her as she rose from the mattress. He thought her body was nearly perfect: long auburn hair, milky white skin, firm C cup breasts and long legs that met at the sweetest honeypot he had ever seen or tasted. He looked her up and down as she waited for his reply.

"Hey!" she shouted then winced at her own raised voice. "You gonna answer me or just lay there and stare at my tits?"

"Given the choice," he responded, "I'd rather stare at your tits. But I don't think you're giving me that choice, so... I've always been fascinated by time. How it works. How it marches forward no matter what mortal man does to this planet and to each other, the clock just keeps on ticking. People always talk about turning back time, going back to right their wrongs. But as far as I know, no one's ever actually done it. That's where I come in."

"It's an amazing theory, DJ," Ashley admitted, "but right now, it's just that. How are you going to get the funding to prove it?"

"I'll think of something," DJ replied. "haven't you always said that I have the intelligence and the wherewithal to make a lot of money?"

"You do," she answered. "But you need startup funds to get going. Where does that come from?"

"I have a few ideas,' he disclosed. "And when I do get it, I don't want you asking a lot of questions about where it came from. You... may not want to know."

"Are you going to steal it?" Ashley asked just above a whisper. "You could get in a lot of trouble if..."

"I told you not to ask questions you don't want to know the answers to," he reaffirmed as he stood from the bed. "Don't worry. Everything will be OK. And you're running late now. Down to forty-nine point four eight minutes. You may have to skip the shower and coffee."

"No way!" she yelled. "I need both and quick! I'll jump in. You make the coffee!"

"The timer is set to go off in twenty-nine seconds," DJ said. "It'll be ready to drink by the time you're finished."

"Such a nerd..." she said playfully then left the room and padded naked down the hall to the bathroom.

When she returned from her shower, Ashley saw the familiar blue coffee mug with the white lettering announcing GCSU Tigers Football! On DJ's night table. Steam emanated from the brim, and she inhaled deeply before taking a long hot drink. "Mmmmmmm... just what the doctor ordered." She exhaled then kissed DJ, who was sitting at his desk on the other side of the bedroom. "Thank you, Doctor DJ."

"Not a doctor yet," he corrected her. "Maybe in a few weeks if this dissertation pays off."

"Well, I think it's brilliant, even if the committee is skeptical," she said then kissed him again. "And you're brilliant too. So, what are your plans for today?"

"More editing and proofreading mostly," he confirmed. "Gonna go to the shooting range to practice a bit. Clear my head, y'know? I also need to do a little shopping. Thinking I'm going to need a new cellphone soon. This one won't hold a charge very long."

++++++++++

Ashley knew of DJ's theory, the basis of his doctoral dissertation, but only his best friend Brett knew that he planned to use a simple everyday cellphone to prove it. His current phone, although it was less than eighteen months old, would hold sufficient charge to power the application he had developed, but he reckoned it would only work once, leaving him trapped in whatever time he ended up.              

In truth, his doctoral thesis laid out plans for an elaborate particle accelerator to generate the power needed to create the laser loop and sustain the rotation. DJ knew an accelerator that could generate that much power would cost billions of dollars, and that funding like that would never come. But he also knew the giant cyclotron was a ruse. He could do it with an ordinary cellphone. He knew it would work because he had already tested it.

DJ created the application and focused the phone's flashlight to a nearly imperceptible beam of concentrated light. The app then triggered the formula to bend the beam back on itself to create the loop and start the rotation. On the first try, DJ only triggered the loop for a nanosecond, but it was enough to dishevel the contents of his room and drain the phone's battery to less than five percent. But the app had worked, and DJ caught a brief glimpse of the loop rotation before he killed the device's power, saving the phone from burning out permanently.

He decided to test the application again the next day, this time in the safety of the outdoors where his home would be protected from possible destruction by the loop. With the phone fully charged once more, DJ stood on the fifty-yard line of the GCSU football team's practice field then triggered the app. This time, he let the loop continue and witnessed the laser rotation at full force.

With trembling hands, he keyed the final sequence that would transport him back in time. He felt the ground under his feet rumble when the loop rotation reached terminal velocity. He first saw the streetlights begin to streak and bend then noticed the stars in the sky leave arced tracers before a blinding light flashed around him. DJ shielded his eyes with his hand to save his retinas from the flash just before a deafening thunderclap exploded around him and he vanished from the field.

DJ awoke flat on his back on the practice field. A light rain fell, and he shivered at the chill in the air. He sat up and looked at his surroundings. Everything looked just the same as before he had triggered the final sequence of the loop, and he reasoned that his trial run had failed. But a few things were quite different. It hadn't been raining when he left. In fact, it hadn't rained all week. DJ hadn't checked the weather report before he tested the app, but he was quite sure there wasn't any rain in the forecast. He searched the surrounding area and found his cell phone. The device was completely drained of power and blistering hot to the touch. He let the phone cool then slipped it in his back pocket.

DJ made his way from the football field to the gas station across the street from the athletic complex. A young man with greasy brown hair and bad skin sat on a stool behind the counter, eyes closed and chin resting on his chest.

"Hey!" DJ yelled. "Wake up! What day is this?!"

The young man stirred and rubbed his sleepy eyes before uttering a groggy, "Huh?"

"I said, what day is it?!" DJ repeated. "The day, genius!"

The tired worker eyed DJ for a few seconds then looked at his cellphone for the answer. "Well, since it's after midnight, it's Thursday."

"Yeah, I know it's Thursday," DJ impatiently stated. "The date. What's the date?!"

The attendant looked at his phone again and answered, "the twenty-sixth."

"The twenty-sixth?!" DJ mimicked. "That's not possible. I couldn't have gone forward. The rotation... it was set for..." he stopped his vocal pondering when he spied the calendar behind the clerk's right shoulder. "Wait, did you mean MARCH twenty-sixth?"

The cashier took another hard look at the possible lunatic on the other side of the counter and said, "Well, yeah. March twenty-sixth. Three days until my birthday. Looking forward to drinking a few beers with my buddies and seein' some tits and ass at that strip joint cross town. Y'see, I'm turning twenty-one and..."

DJ interrupted him with a primal scream of joy then shouted, "March twenty-sixth!! A week!! A full fucking week!! I did it!!" He then let out another scream and gave the rotating comic book rack by the door a hard spin, sending the colorful magazines flying throughout the store's lobby.

"Hey, man!" The kid behind the counter cried. "I gotta clean all that up!"

DJ looked at the comics on the floor then to the clerk, "Oh, sorry! It's just that... It worked! It's amazing! It actually fucking worked!"

"You OK, buddy?" the wary clerk said staring at the raving DJ with a hint of fear. "You need me to call someone for you?"

"No, no!" DJ shouted as he picked up a few of the comics from the gas station floor and put the back on the spinning rack. "I gotta get home! I need to check on me. I mean, someone!"

DJ ran through the automatic door and out into the rainy March night, leaving the bewildered clerk shifting his gaze from the doorway to the remaining comics strewn about the tiled floor.

++++++++++

April 10, 1883

The sheriff heard the door slowly creak open and light footsteps traipse across the hardwood floor of the office. He did not rise from the bed and feigned sleep. He heard the footfalls enter his sleeping area and felt a presence near his bed. He quickly opened his eyes and raised his cocked revolver to the figure standing over him. To his surprise, the intruder was not an outlaw looking for revenge for the previous day's events, but a short Mexican woman holding a tray of food and a cup of coffee. Her eyes showed parallel surprise but there was a smile on her face.

"Buenos Dias, Alguacil!" The older woman greeted him. The sheriff uncocked the hammer and lowered his pistol but kept the firearm in his hand as he sat up.

"Good morning to you too," he replied warily. "What's all this?"

"Desayuno," she answered. The sheriff looked puzzled at her response then she spoke in heavily accented English. "Breakfast."

"Gracias," he thanked the woman, "but I don't remember ordering any breakfast."

"Compliments of Mister Harold Deacon," she informed him. "Mister Harold owns el restaurante down the street from the saloon. His daughter, you saved her yesterday from that ebrio."

The sheriff stood from the bed and slipped his boots on to his feet. He had foregone undressing and was still in the clothes he had been wearing when he arrived in Las Colinas. "Please give Mr. Deacon my thanks. You can please set it on my desk out front."

"Muy bien, Alguacil," the woman responded then took the tray to the place he had asked.

"What's your name, ma'am?" the sheriff asked as he followed her to the front room.

"Mi nombre es Lupe," she replied and bowed slightly at the tall figure with the star pinned to his shirt.

"Pleased to meet you, Lupe," the sheriff stated and returned the shallow bow. "My name is Daniel Cooley, but most folks just call me DJ."

"Encantado de conocerte, Alguacil DJ," Lupe returned the pleasantry. "I hope you enjoy your desayuno. Que tenga un buen dia, Alguacil!" With that she left the sheriff in peace to have his breakfast and begin his first full day of his new job.

After breakfast (DJ always said it was the best breakfast he had ever eaten, even if the coffee was a bit stronger than he preferred), the new sheriff left his office to begin his first day on the job. Las Colinas was not a big city, it paled in comparison to San Francisco or even Santa Fe, but he reasoned that it was big enough for troublemakers to perpetrate their deeds and then find a haven to escape from the law. He spent the first two hours of his working day walking the unpaved streets and internally mapping out possible hiding spots. After he had traversed the town twice, the sheriff paid a visit to his morning meal benefactor.

The sheriff entered the restaurant, the name on the faded sign out front announced the place as Deacon's Feedbag, and the dozen patrons all stopped their chatter and stared at the stranger wearing the shiny tin star on his vest. He paid no attention to the gawking diners and strode to the counter where an older, smaller man stood on the other side.

"Are you Mr. Deacon?" the sheriff asked as he pulled a hand-rolled cigarette from his shirt pocket.

"Yes, I am," the shorter man said and extended his hand, "Harold Deacon, owner and proprietor."

The sheriff took Harold's hand and shook it. "Daniel Cooley, Mr. Deacon. Most folks call me DJ. Pleased to meet you. Just thought I'd stop in and thank you for the wonderful breakfast that Lupe delivered this morning."

"It was my pleasure, Sheriff," Deacon replied. "It was the least I could do after what you did for my daughter yesterday."

"Just part of the job, sir," the sheriff answered. He lit a match and set fire to the tobacco and paper tube in his mouth. "I'd like to propose a business deal. I'll pay you seven dollars a week to have Ms. Lupe bring me breakfast every morning."

"Seven dollars?!" Deacon repeated. "The breakfast I had Lupe bring you only costs twenty-five cents. For seven dollars a week, I'll have her bring you all three meals. And a slice of chocolate cake with dinner. Best in Southwest New Mexico!"

"I'm sure it is, Mr. Deacon," the sheriff responded, "but the deal is for just breakfast. I'll pay for lunches and dinners as I go if you don't mind."

"S-sure," Deacon stammered as then shook hands again to seal their new deal. "If you have a moment, Sheriff, I'd like you to meet the woman you saved from that drunken fool yesterday." Deacon left the counter without getting the sheriff's response and went to the back of the building. A moment later, he returned with a beautiful woman a couple inches shorter than her father and presented her to the tall lawman. "Sheriff Cooley, this is my daughter, Danielle. Danielle, please say hello to our new sheriff."

The sheriff held out his hand to greet the pretty woman, but Danielle stepped to the side of his outstretched arm and threw her arms around his neck in a thankful embrace. She stood on tiptoes and lightly pecked his lips.

"Thank you, Sheriff," Danielle said as she peered into his eyes, her arms still around his neck. "That man... I... I don't know what he would have done if you hadn't been there. He might have..." she began to cry, and the sheriff held her against his chest.

"It's OK now, ma'am," he reassured her. "I'll make sure no one ever tries anything like that with you or any woman here in town again."

Danielle released the sheriff then smoothed her dress and wiped the tears from her eyes. "Sheriff Cooley, I was hoping you'd join me for dinner tonight. Here at the restaurant, after closing. If you're free."

"I believe I'll be free later tonight," he replied, "as long as the rest of the townspeople decide to behave themselves."

"Today is Sunday," she revealed. "It's usually quite peaceful here on Sundays. How does eight o'clock sound?"

"Eight o'clock sounds just fine, ma'am," he confirmed. "Now I must get back to my duties. Ma'am. Mr. Deacon," he tipped his hat to them both then left the restaurant. He walked around the corner into the alley then leaned against the side of the building. She's even more beautiful than I imagined, he thought. Pulling his watch from his pocket, he checked the time. Ten thirty am. He had a long day before dinner. Time for at least one more trip around the town before the heat of the New Mexico day would rise. He also wanted to scout the surrounding area outside of the city for a clandestine place to trigger the app on his cellphone just in case he needed to make a quick getaway.

++++++++++

"Who's this new sheriff Mayor Wright hired that killed that idiot McAllister?" the bearded man in the rocking chair asked the dirty drover standing before him in the dimly lit parlor.

"Name's Cooley, Mr. Delton," the subordinate answered in a barely prepossessing drawl. "He got off one shot and plugged Billy straight through the heart. Eckers down at the High Plains said the shot weren't less than sixty-five feet. Says it was a helluva shot. He also says..."

Delton held up a hand for the rambling man to cease his babbling diatribe. "Where does he come from, Davey? I don't recollect any lawman 'round these parts named Cooley."

"Heard tell he's from back East," Davey replied. "Heard some folks say Chicago, maybe even New York. I gotta cousin lives in New York. He works on the docks unloading ships from England and such. He told me once they had a whole ship full of just ladies' undergarments. He says..."

Delton held his hand up once more and Davey stopped his familial rambling. He reached into his pocket and pulled a stack of large coins from its depths. He counted out five silver dollars then handed them to Davey. "I want you to go down to the High Plains. Buy a few bottles for the folks down there and see what you can find out about this Cooley. And make sure you have a drink or two for yourself, Davey."

"Gosh!" Davey exclaimed, excited at his windfall. "Thanks Mr. Delton! I sure will!"

"Just a few, Davey," Delton cautioned him. "I don't want you getting drunk and forgetting everything the good folks down there tell you."

"Yessir, Mr. Delton," Davey sheepishly responded. "I mean, no, sir! I won't get drunk, sir. My daddy used to get drunk near to every night. You know one time he..."

Delton's hand went up a third time and Davey fell silent once again. "That'll be all, Davey. On your way. And send Mr. Murtaugh in on your way out, please."

Davey said no more, only stuffed the silver coins in his pocket and went out the door. Two minutes after he left, another man, not quite as dirty and twice as big, came in and stood in front of Delton as he rocked back and forth.

"Ben," Delton addressed the new visitor, "this new sheriff. He could be trouble for us."

Murtaugh looked at Delton, chuckled slightly, then pulled a slim hand-rolled cigar from his shirt pocket. He looked at Delton for approval. With a nod, Delton acquiesced. Murtaugh flicked a match, lit the cigar, then blew out a long draft of smoke before he spoke.

"He killed McAllister, Mike," Murtaugh confirmed. "My brother's little girl could have killed McAllister in the state he was in yesterday. Sounds like he had it comin.' Also sounds like it was a lucky shot, from what I hear."

"You ready to take that chance?" Delton asked the large smoking man standing before him.

"I don't take chances, Mike," Murtaugh answered. "But you already know that."

"Yes, I do," Delton said as he looked at Murtaugh coldly. "I sent Davey down to the High Plains to see what he could find out about this Cooley. I want to know what we may be up against."

"Don't bother," Murtaugh said then took another lungful of tobacco smoke in. He ran his fingers across his bushy mustache before exhaling the white fume then patted the six-shooter hanging from his left hip. "I have a feeling he won't be around long enough to cause us any trouble."

"I don't know, Ben," Delton stated as he stood from the rocker. "That's pretty gutsy, taking out a duly appointed sheriff."

Murtaugh smiled with the cigar clamped between his dingy teeth. "Mike, who do you think took out the last sheriff?"

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Present Day -1 week

DJ crept lightly up the stairs to his home the tiptoed to his room. He had used the last five percent on his cell phone to call his mother to see if he could stay with her for the week. He needed to lay low and let time progress so that he could take his own place in seven days' time. Quietly, he made his way down the hallway, passing Brett's room. Just before he placed his hand on the doorknob to enter, he heard his best friend's voice behind him.

"Hey, man," Brett's groggy voice echoed through the hall. He was clearly drunk. "Thought you were in your room fuckin' Ashley?"

"Uhhhh... yeah," DJ stammered as he turned around. He placed a finger to his lips to shush his friend. "Quiet, ya big oaf!" he whispered. "She's... she's got a rape fetish," he thought up a lie quickly, "and I'm gonna sneak up on her and tie her up first. Take your drunk ass back to bed before you ruin it!"

"Fuckin' freaks," was all Brett replied then staggered back into his room to pass out. When his friend's door closed, DJ slowly turned the knob then cracked the door slightly. The only noise he heard from the room was Ashley's mouth giving his past self a sloppy blowjob. He recalled that they had partied with her sorority sisters that night then come back to his place for a night of drunken sex.

He crawled into the room and stayed low, out of the ambient light from the streetlight shining through the window. He saw his past self tense up then thrust his hips forward, sliding his hard cock nearly all the way down Ashley's throat as he came hard in her mouth.

"Mmmmmmm..." Ashley said as she licked her lips. "Now, fuck me like you hate me!" She rolled over and got on her knees, pointing her pretty ass up for DJ's taking. Before he could watch himself take his girlfriend, DJ silently crawled his way toward his desk and grabbed his wallet. He slipped his credit card and driver's license from the billfold then put it back where it had been. Crawling back toward the door, he took one last glance at his past self grabbing Ashley's hips and violently thrusting his hard dick in and out of her. What he didn't see before he left the room was the black smoky entity billowing outside the window watching the entire scene with its fire-orange eyes.

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