Vicious Roost was a dried out town. Like the town was perpetually parched. Tumbling weeds ran through deserted streets.  Not much of a  town for a man like Roscoe. He was used to the finer things that the West had to offer; fast horses, fine drinking and quick guns.

Unluckily for one Neil Roscoe, that made him an exceptionally easy man to find. Among the aging and decrepit homes only one’s chimney still spit smoke. There was only one home that still had bright curtains that curled and flowed with the breeze from open windows.

Kicking the door in, Victor brandished his gun. He was ready. He had been ready to kill Neil Roscoe for months now.

With a tilted head and a humorous smile Roscoe lifted himself from his dining chair, leaving his oats to grow cold. Roscoe was a tall man, even compared to Everett who had been made of as a child for his stature. “Hello boys. Victor.” Roscoe smiled but it didn’t reach his eyes.

“Roscoe. I see you heard about your fallen partners.” Victor hit back with a sarcastic smile.

Turning his head towards Everett, Roscoe spoke as though he forgot Victor was there, “Somethin’ ain’t right with him. He’ll shoot you in the back once you're out of ‘ere.” Maybe if Everett was a different man he would’ve been inclined to believe Neil but there was something wrong about his eyes. With an almost twinkle of humour in his eyes, as though even from in front of the barrel of Victor’s gun he analyzed him. As though this was all a game to him.

“We do this like proper men. A good shootout.” It wasn’t a question, ever the demanding man Roscoe was . When Victor didn’t respond immediately, Roscoe continued, “Now, now don’t be a yellow belly.”

But Victor didn’t catch his bait, shaking his head he responded, “I don’t have anything to prove to you.”

Roscoe just smiled, he brandished his yellow and rotting teeth, “ Don’t you? That’s why you came isn’t it. It's why you enlisted a law man to watch you take your revenge. Ever the child, Wiley, always hopin’ someone will give you their attention.” Pain flashed over Victor’s features, for only a second before dissipating with the gusts of wind around them.

Everett interjected, “You really shouldn’t talk like that to a man who is about to put a bullet through yer chest. Ain’t good etiquette.” He leaned against the wall.

“Oh? And ye got him ‘round yer finger. I gotta hand it to ya Wiley. It will be fun to kill you and make him watch.”

“Touch him. I dare ya, Roscoe. ‘Cause there ain’t no one who's gonna stop me from killin’ you. Cross and Armstrong are dead alongside a whole mess of your lackeys. ” His fear had run out, replaced with a burning anger in his chest.

Placing two bullets in Roscoe’s chest, smoke billowed from the edge of his metal barrel. He holstered it slowly, waiting, watching to see if Roscoe would jump back at him.

Neil Roscoe sat dead, gone like a burned through cigarette. Acidic whimpers of his stomach made Victor swallow hard.

Everett watched Victor's face, scrutinizing every move.

“Are ya gonna’ stare at me the entire time?” He turned towards Everett, throwing him an icy stare despite his reddened eyes. They stared at each other for a beat longer. Everett looked away, equally staring at Neil. Weaving his fingers through Everett's, Victor held on tight. Everett squeezed back.

Taking a big sigh, Victor spit on Roscoe’s body before leaving, still holding tight to Everett’s hand as they left the house.

No one spoke but both knew they needed a minute alone, “I’m taking a walk.” Everett said, Victor nodded in understanding.

“I'll get the horses and meet you at the front of the town.” Sykes nodded and tipped his hat back on.

Digging into the loose sand, Everett formed a small hole in the ground. Pulling out his badge he dropped it into the ground without another thought.. Good riddance. The world beyond his badge was much more complicated, as he’d seen it well, but much simpler. The rules of the law he’d upheld went after Victor and could scarcely do without men like Victor by his side.

The fire crackled bright orange beneath the twinkling dark of night. The cold had set in, making the two push together.

“I ain’t going back to the Rangers.” Confusion wrinkled Victor’s forehead. The Rangers had pulled him away from his family, his life. He knew that now. The title of Ranger Everett Sykes had curdled in his mind, no longer usable.

“What? What‘re you gonna do now?”

Some more crickets chirped the perpetual melody of the desert, “Not sure, but I do like the sound of a farmhouse. Don’t ya?”