Jeremiah Haversthon sat at his desk, accross from him say his "Buisness" associate. Both men were sharply dressed, wearing suits that were actually clean. There hair combed back and well groomed. His facial hair trimmed to just a mustache that was waxed and trimmed. He folded his hand in front of him on the desk. The other man sat with his hands in his lap, his face was clean shaven as he kept his hair a bit messier though, he brushed his some dust from his pants as he spoke

"And is everything on schedule?" he asked.
"It is, though we have had reports on the outskirts, some bounty hunter causing trouble" Haversthon replied
"You may need to keep an eye on that. My people have reported that some one of great annoyance has been seen in the area." He paused for a moment. "Though I'm more troubled by the actions Mr. Brier. Killing the sheriff will cause problems."
"Yes, he has become more of a troublesome then he is worth. But for now, everyone is focused on him. I may be able to use this to my advantage though. Any man I support will be placed into office, we can have him deal with him, with out our support Brier won't last long and the sheriff will be a hero to the people. That serve to take there minds of their lives and make them feel more secure."
"See to it, The people I represent placed you here for a reason, don't let them down."

With that the man stood up and started to walk out leaving the office. Haversthon brought his hands to his head rubbing his temples as he leaned back in his chair. Manythings were becoming more annoying then there worth it seemed.

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Soon the bounty hunter rode his horse into the town of Solomon. Steely blue eyes looked around the place as his horse rode into the town. He made his way over to the local Saloon, usually the best course of action when ever you entered a new town. Tieing his horses reigns he walked into the place. Pushing open the swinging doors as few picked there heads up as some one new walked in. He walked over to the bar sitting down on a stool. "What will you Have?" the bartender asked him as he looked up "Whiskey" he said as the glass was poured in front of him. "Looking for work I take it, you don't much look like a miner. You a bounty hunter or some other sort." He lagued some "If so need me to direct you to the undertake it. Get your measurements, make you a real nice coffen." The bounty hunter took his drink as he laughed some "I don't plan on diein any time soon."

Soon though a group of men entered the saloon. They were loud as they kicked some people off out of a table to sit down. The bartender looked down coursing some "who are they?" He asked "Bandits...their leader killed the sheriff a few weeks back. Now they have grown more bold, no one to stop them." The bounty hunter returned to his drink, it was bad luck to kill with in your first hour.

Dustin was sitting near the piano. She liked the way it sounded, but did her best to look disinterested. She sat where she could see the pianist strike the keys, but made sure her eyes glazed over and peered out the window more often than not. She was dressed in a button down shirt with a loose leather vest shrugged over it. She had sewn it herself, it was in the style of her tribe, it had plenty of pockets. She wore pants strapped with belts, and leather boots made in the style of her vest.

She was fresh off the trail and still had dust in her ears. She was cooling off with a short glass of warm whiskey. She had been a guide for a group of gold hunters earlier that day. She had to take them on an unusual route. The new group of outlaws were roaming, she took care to avoid them. The trip was a bit longer and the trip was not as profitable as usual, but it was worth avoiding the trouble. The man had killed the sheriff, her customers understood and appreciated the precaution even if it made their pockets a bit lighter at the end of the run.

The piano player hesitated as that very same group she had spent the morning avoiding walked through the saloon doors. Dustin did not pay them any mind when they arrived, however, after killing the sheriff they set everyone on edge. She missed the Sherri, she paid him a bit of gold and herbs to overlook her line of work. As a guide what she did was sometimes illegal, but, was fairly harmless. The sheriff had had an ache in his back that her herbs seemed to sooth. Now he didn't have that ache no more. She wondered if the new Sheriff would be replaced, no one seemed to want fill a dead mans shoes. She didn't blame them. Bad luck.

"Keep on." She urged the pianist, who seemed to consider leaving. She knew better than to show a predator fear, but, most people did not understand animals. She tipped him with a coin that she left on the piano top then walked toward the bar.

She sat a few seats down from another newcomer. She put out her empty glass for the barkeep to refill, which they did after attending the stranger. She did not want to bother him but wanted to make her presence known. He was a potential client if he needed a guide, he might be in town looking for gold, or as the barkeep suggested, a person. Newcomers in town usually could guess that she was a guide, it was a common line of work for natives in the west. She would give the newcomer a nod as she got her glass refilled. She wouldn't say anything. She did not want to catch his attention if he wasn't looking for a guide after all. She certainly did not want to seem desperate for work, but when the outlaws killed the sheriff everyone got nervous and it was affecting business badly. So she was indeed a little desperate for work.

She didn't look, but kept an ear on the outlaws as they took over a table and began a game of cards. She would not show them any care, but they were unpredictable. It would be unwise to forget them.

Thick black bussiness suit? Check. Well groomed hair? Check. Greased? Definitely. Contempt for the natives and locals? Do you even need to ask at this point? A Social Savant of the East, one, Mr. Polly stepped off the carriage and took a deep sniff of the dry air. Yup, definitely the smell of hill billy hicks waiting to be exploited.

"Uh- sir the fare?" The old carriage driver quietly inquired.

"Hmm? Oh yes. But no. No money for you. Now before you cry foul, I will state my grievances against you." He cleared his throat, "We arrived precisely an hour later than expected, of which you verbally previously stated we would 'Arrive on time or your ride's on me'.

"But you insisted on stopping at a broth-"

"Item two, you have deposited a well known and influential son of a Senator on a sandy embankment, and now said son's shoes are filthy. Finally, you smell. GOOD DAY SIR." Manny quickly entered a nearby saloon before the old man can protest.

It was filthy, drunken rabble and the sorts littered this establishment. He resolved to buy this place out just to burn it down. For now, he was intent to start small, get a lay of the land; to poke at the soft, rotten, easily bent minds of the locals.

"BARKEEP My good man, a shot of your finest brandy, and please don't try to water this down as you did that good man's whiskey," nodding towards the man with a some sort of poster in hand. Manny slyly slouched on the stool using the counter as a back and arm rest, surveying the bar.

Ah, there it was, drunkards gambling. And with cards too! At least this place has some sense of propriety. He took the drink placed behind him, leaving what he assumed to be the asking price for this backwater town. He took the shot, decent enough for where it came from, and sat at the gambling table.

"Gentlemen, may I partake in these festivities?" More a statement than a question, but they nodded their approval. "So whats the game men?" Poker, simple poker. Easy. Blinds were laughably small, and antes even more so, but this was like taking candy from mentally handicapped man-children.

Now, Manny wasn't one to cheat, it never crossed his mind to, but did he sure know how to bluff- and card count, that helped too. He never lost a game yet, firmly believing that such games were 99% social and 1% luck, and boy was he social. He cleaned house, he patted himself on the back, easy as pie. Might as well have just given me their pa-

"CHEAT!"

Excuse me? Did he hear that right?

"Sir, we all played fair here, and I simply was luckier than you fine gentlemen. You can even check me, not a single errant card or devious contraptions." That shut him up- now to go for the killing blow.

"If anything sir you insult me and the fine men that you played with. Now that's the real sin." His former enemies turned against the man...

Manny smiled.

This town sure was a strange one. With folks cut from many different cloths and funny characters who contrasted like night and day. This was only supposed to be a hideaway town for John Ryder. A place he could live in solitude, live anonymously for a few weeks until taking off again, heading further north. Yet the simple town of Solomon had seen three years of the two faced outlaw. To the public, he was a blacksmith. Mostly fixed firearms and equipment. But who could survive on that? When the public eye was turned, John would take to the plains to do his own dirty work. The only thing being in a gang had taught him was that he didn't need one. It was safer to keep a low profile and run solo.

This is precisely what John was doing that day in the Solomon saloon, amidst the smokey air and drunken gamblers. At a table in the corner, his feet up on the table and a glass in his gloved hand. His eyes shifted from behind the brim of his hat. Observing, intaking, understanding. Nothing escaped this outlaw's eye. The voluntarily naive bar tender, the quiet native by the piano, the group of drunken gamblers near the door. And the stranger who walked through the door. John could tell just by one glance, there was something different about this stranger. He was not threatening nor pleasant. It was some bizarre mixture of the two - something you didn't see a lot of in Solomon.

Taking a sip of his drink, John kept his eye on the stranger, trying to read him. It wasn't long before a new set of characters entered the saloon. First it was the posse of infamous outlaws, practically stumbling into the establishment and claiming a table for themselves. John's eyes narrowed at them. They were foolish, clumsy, irresponsible, obnoxious. He had met men like them, he had run with men like them. And he knew they were only going to get themselves killed. Sooner or later, their arrogant demeanor would come back to haunt them. It was men like them who made problems for him; corrupting deals, dishonoring boundaries. They would get theirs.

Next was the ego in a suit. John didn't even have to hear the man speak to know the kind of man he was. Watching from his corner, he watched as he charmed the gamblers and bartender alike, cleaning the gamblers out of their money and getting them to turn on each other instead of him. All this and more was captured in the outlaw's eye. And then he took another sip of his drink.

'He was a good man, he didn't deserve this. I know you two were close Baker, but you must show restraint. People could get hurt if we retaliate.'

The mayor's words echoed in Baker's skull as he walked out of the public office and deeper into town. A man was dead. A good man. One that had only tried to do the right thing and protect the people he cared about. The town that he lived in. And what had that gotten him? A bullet in the heart by some brigands. Sure, that was just the law of the land out here sometimes, but not in Solomon. Not when he was in charge.

'He always wanted you to join up with him you know. Be a deputy. Get some more manpower so he wasn't doing it all himself. That's also why I can't have you act rashly here. You're one man, do you want to bring these outlaws in full force down upon us? Think rationally about this, Baker.'

The Mayor had called him in earlier to talk about the state of affairs in Solomon. Even now he was thinking back to their words. What had happened. The town needed a new Sheriff, but Baker wasn't sure he was up for the job. The mayor agreed with this sentiment, but all the same the mayor wanted him to look into this. He needed to find out what the outlaws were after, why they had gotten so bold lately. Amidst it all, Baker just wanted to put a bullet into the man that had killed his friend. If he had to go through every single outlaw in this side of the country to do that, he had didn't have much of a problem with that.

---------------

After a few minutes of walking, Baker caught wind of some ruckus from the saloon. He saw a few citizens leaving in a huff. Some were scared, but the others were perturbed. He moved towards the saloon as he overheard a conversation.

"...first they killed the Sheriff and now they're taking over! Just you watch, before long they'll take over the whole town!" One of the former patrons cried. Were they here? Was he really that lucky so quickly? Only one way to find out.

Baker moved into the saloon and took a glance around. They were several interesting characters here today, but he couldn't quite find the ones that fit the description he wanted. As he looked towards the bar, he noticed the bartender was keeping a watchful eye on a group of rowdy men in the corner.

'Bingo.' Baker thought as he approached the table. Yep, these were the guys. They must have been the ones who had run the other group of people out. He hoped he was right, otherwise he was going to cause a scene for nothing.

"Gentlemen, happy hour's over. Get out." Baker said. He wasted no time on an introduction or more clever dialogue. His voice cut through the conversation the outlaws were having before they sneered and then snickered at the men.

"Who are you, new Sheriff? Didn't you hear what happened to the old one? Beat it." One of the men chuckled as he reached for a bottle. Instead, Baker picked it up first and examined it.

"Hey! What the hell do you think you're doing?!" The man stood up from his seat. Baker glanced down at the bottle and then shot a single glance back up at the man.

"Last chance. Get. Out." Baker said. The outlaw was a little bit taller than Baker and certainly smelt much worse. Still, Baker showed no signs of fear. The outlaw cracked his knuckles and moved forward.

"Now listen here you little sh-" The man's curse was cut short with a sickening crack and breaking of glass as Baker brought the bottle across his skull. The man was knocked cold onto the floor as a bloody mess of cuts was left where the bottle had impacted. Baker took a step back and looked at the table of remaining outlaws.

"Next?" He said. And with that, it was on.

Sitting at the bar the Stranger heard the men behind him. Soon a native american woman was near him, He glanced at her but at the moment paid her no mind. She looked to be some kind of tracker, though not really much other work for people like her out side the tribes. She could be useful, himself he was a good tracker, but nothing beat knowing the land. Soon a businessman, from the looks of him he was new to the town as well, and the shady sort. He might actually come in handy later on, he looked like the sort who might be able to acquire hard to find things. Next was a man siting in the corner, keeping to himself. He was a gunman, any one with a trained eye could tell. The saloon seemed to be getting crowded, as people were leaving the personalities seemed to be increasing. Though people that stood out tended to do so for a reason.

Despite the awkwardness things were going smooth. Drinking his whiskey the stranger got his glass filled as he sat there, more disinterested then anything else. Though the relative peace was soon ruined. Another person came barging in, making demands and telling the men to leave. It however was about as effective as one might expect. Soon things started to heat up as he looked down at his whiskey, finishing off his glass he looked up at the bartender "I guess the undertaker will be getting some work today" he said to the man before standing up. "should of took me up that offering to get your measurements to him" The stranger simply laughed some turning around. He flipped his Poncho over his left shoulder as he pulled out a small cigar putting it in his mouth. He pulled out a match and striking it as he lit it before shaking out the match. He looked over at the man holding the bottle, Baker, as he spoke "That's enough boy" he said to him.

Walking closer to the the group he chewed on the cigar some "Don't you to idiots know who we are?" One of the men said as He shrugged "Nope" he said as he pulled out his gun moving his hand smacking the hammer back quickly. In an instant all the men were shot stumbling back and falling dead. Some still in here seats still slumped down. Walking closer the man knocked out as he groaned and he shot him to finish him off. Bringing his gun down it spun some as it slipped back into it's holster. Looking at Baker he brought his poncho back down over his front "Picking a fight like that is a sure way to see the undertaker boy" he said as he turned walking back towards the bar. He pulled out a fist full of dollars and placed it down on the the bar counter. "I need a room as well" he said speaking the bartender "As long as you don't fill the place with corpses" The stranger smiled "I'll try" He said as he soon walked out of saloon. He could feel the area, there was more going on here then he originally suspected, there were demons in the area, and more. He had spent months investigating and it all lead to this place.

the town on the outskirts of Wel'Chi's territory, Solomon, had felt different as of late. More so than what was usually expected of any settlement really. Towns expanded as the population demanded in this new world, and it was all the elder could do but try his best to adapt to the frequent changes. The death of the towns lawman had invited a feeling of lawlessness, people going around doing as they pleased with no resistance and he could only hope order would be restored soon before it became necessary for him to intervene.

With all the uneasiness the spirits had been demonstrating the shifter's attentions had been elsewhere lately. Hell, even the wildlife and vegetation had be acting differently as of late. He had been granting Solomon a wide berth, avoiding the town, only drifting trough when his supplies began to dwindle. It just so happened that this morning a drifter had arrived. From the moment Wel'Chi laid eyes on the man he knew something was different about this one and his interest had be peaked as he was tending to his horse. Packing the saddlebags with supplies in preparation for the journey back to his dwelling half a days ride from down.

Naturally the stranger had wandered into the saloon and Wel'Chi had left town before seeing this man again but the shape shifter had no doubts that their paths would cross again soon when the time was right. Just a short distance out of town he heard the gunshot echo and smiled to himself. Maybe change would be coming sooner than anticipated.

Her cheeks were rosy as she began on her next drink. She had enough coin to stumble out of the saloon and still have money leftover for flour. That's how she figured it anyway. She looked away from the escalating scene. They were strange men looking to prove something to one another in a town that belonged to none of them. She thought that this was a thing she would never understand...

Gunfire. She flinched and stumbled off her bar-stool. She looked to see the men fall one by one with each crack of the pistol. Then she vaulted over the bartop and ducked under for cover. She broke a few glasses on her way over, so gave the barkeep an apologetic look as they crouched and waited for the gunfire to pass. It was like waiting out a storm.

The barkeep stood first, and arranged for the killing-strangers room and board then that man left. Most people left. The barkeep looked at Dustin. The barkeep looked around the quiet nearly empty saloon, then looked to Dustin. "Boy, next rounds on me boy if you help me cleanup. And I wont count you for the glass you broke neither." The barkeep went looking for a mop.

Dustin shrugged and nodded. She walked over to the pile of bodies by the card table. They already stank. They looked blankly upward. She took the first one by his boots and dragged him out into the streets for the crows of the undertaker to take care of him. Whichever got there first. Most likely the cloths. She doubted anyone would pay the undertaker for this lot to be properly put to rest.

She would have to tell the Old Man about this. She wondered what he would say, or if he would be to tired for even this news.

Baker had been prepared to unload into the men if they had tried to make a scene but someone beat him to it. Baker glanced over at the man with the smoking gun and frowned. He didn't feel the need to thank this man nor did he really feel the need to correct him on the "boy" comment, but after it was said and done he sighed and checked the pockets of the dead men. There was nothing of use here, nothing that could give him any of the information he would have needed. The guy in the poncho had really put a dent in his plan at this point. What Baker did do was take the money from the dead outlaws' pockets and go to the bar counter, where he placed it all before the bartender.

"Sorry about that, they'll pay for the mess." He said before leaving the saloon and tailing after the man in the poncho.

He soon caught up to him in town and spoke clearly to him.

"Nice wet work, but I needed one alive. You mind telling me who you are?" Baker asked, in more of a tone of a demand rather than a question.

Frank Langley sighed and checked his pocket watch when the suit wearing man finally arrived in town. Frank had been sitting on the general store’s porch for nearly two hours now, waiting. The agent was surprised the businessman had arrived at all. Frank stood and replaced the watch in his coat pocket, then began approaching the man.

A loud “Good day sir!” came from the man who had been previously arguing with his driver and he quickly entered the saloon, long before the frustrated Pinkerton agent could reach him. Frank let out a grumble and followed him inside. He found the man had already managed to enter a card game with a group of clearly drunk and rather loud patrons. Frank didn't bother trying to get the businessman's attention. Instead, he just turned around and walked back outside. He would wait outside until the man was done.

It wasn't long before gunshots sounded inside the saloon, and Frank, leaning against the building near the entrance, leapt up and drew his Smith & Wesson. He kept it at waist level, raised at the entrance until a couple of men walked out, followed by another person dragging a limp body. Frank slowly slid the weapon back into the holster and stepped over the body, heading into the saloon. Hopefully his man wasn't among the dead, that would cut his job a bit short.

"There a Mr. Polly present?" He grumbled, loud enough to be heard, if not clearly understood, by those around him.

His ever-present scowl and narrowed eyes scanned the room.

Despite being able to read people like a book, John did not foresee the scene that played out infront of him. At best, he expected the stranger to fire a few bullets into the ceiling before sauntering out just as calmly as he came. But no, he emptied his revolver on the outlaws, causing everyone to file out of the saloon in a panic. But not John. He remained in the same position, appearing unshaken by the conflict, as he watched the stranger exit the saloon and the bounty hunter stomp out after him. The native from before was now dragging out the bodies of he outlaws. For the first time this afternoon, John showed a sign of expression. The corners of his lips twitched upward in a dark but light smile. He knew those boys would get what was coming to them.

Seeing as it was now just him, the barkeep, and the native still left in the saloon, John decided now was the time to exit the scene. There was no point in sticking around. Emptying the contents of his drink down his throat, his stood from the table and then placed the empty glass on the bar counter. He gave a brief nod to the barkeep, then the native, before sauntering out of the saloon.

By the time he got outside to the bodies, all valuable possessions had been taken from them. John just glared down at them, examining their death ridden faces. He would remember them. After a good few minutes he continued on down the dusty road. He knew this was only the beginning of bigger things for the town of Solomon.

And here Manny thought everything was coming up his way, but some idiot just had to go and start a fight. Do you know how hard it is to get angry, drunk, or trigger happy men into a gambling mood? Pretty damn hard. At the very least the whole mess was resolved before anybody important got hurt. Namely him. He sighed, the bar was a mess and his victims- I mean- playmates had all but deserted the gambling table, chattering and hollering instead. He'd have to try something again tomorr-

"There a Mr. Polly present?" A well, at least relatively well, dressed man inquired over the din of the excitement.

"Hmmm? That would be me sir. Pleasure to make your acquaintance, now may I ask who I have the honor of speaking to." The man looked civilized enough: combed, bathed, a functioning set of teeth, a understandable accent, pretty much nothing Manny expected from the town.

Which is precisely why he didn't quite trust him, why exactly was he here and why did he know he'd be here.

"I don't suppose you know my father do you? Or are you a... unsatisfied customer?" If the latter Manny might be in a bit of a bind judging from the manner this man handled that repeater of his.

Walking away from the Saloon through that dusty path, trying to get a sense of the place. He could feel the corruption, the evil, but there was something else under. It was burried under the corruption though. More so, how did a place like this grow so large with out him noticing. The boy who started the confrontation came up behind him, weather or not he could handle himself wasn't really the question. "Nice wet work, but I needed one alive. You mind telling me who you are?" He needed a body though, and this seemed as good of a time as any to get one, of course that wasn't really something you just told another. He knew a man named Briar was in charge of the outlaws, his own investigation told him that. Now would be a good time to fill in the gaps "What can you tell me about Briar, and his gang? and Why are they so bold? Where is the real law around here? or are they to incompetent?." He drew on that cigar of his before taking it out of his mouth to ash it.

Baker frowned at the response of the man. He seemed to be wrapped up in his own little world. Either that or he was just a cold blooded professional. Baker wasn't the most cultured man himself but he knew that when someone asked for your name it was courtesy to give it before you went into a series of questions.

When he asked about Briar's gang, Baker did stop to think for a moment. He didn't really know much about them other than the basics. They had been raiding isolated settlements for awhile and slowly making their way up to larger time crime. Their murder of the Sheriff had been the breaking point, it was to show Solomon that they weren't messing around anymore. The killing of those outlaws back in the saloon was probably going to have consequences, not that Baker minded too much. If it got Briar to come into town himself and face him, he was fine by that.

"The real law is dead, murdered by Briar." Baker said simply. He crossed his arms and gave the man a quick look over. He seemed like bounty hunter or drifter material. Not the type of person that formed connections with people for longer than convenience's sake.

"I'll ask again, who are you? Why are you here? Are you an outlaw taking your picking or someone else?" Baker said.
@GhostReaper

Dustin watched as a man looted the bodies. It was a wonder to her how eager men were to take from the dead. For Dustin, this feeling was one of superstition rather than morality. It was nothing but bad luck that such men stuffed their pockets with. Dustin was eager to wash her hands, she didn't take anything from the men, but bad luck was sticky all the same.

She was about to do just that, turn and walk on home. But the barkeep spoke up. "Don't leave 'em to rot out in front of my place! No one will come back once they start stinking. Take 'em over to the morgue, boy." That man vanished back into the Saloon. Oddly enough a new customer strolled in. Another stranger.

Solomon had its fair share of travelers, but this seemed like to many new folk all at once. It was bad luck. The more there were the more bad luck they brought with them.

She could at least get rid of these. So she grabbed one of the dead by his boots and began to walk toward the morgue. It was not far, being a one road town had its advantages. The body dragged behind her. A hungry crow landed on the dead mans chest. It began to pick at the wound on his neck.

Walking through the streets he listened to the boy. So the law was dead, and this boy was stepping up. That was a noble statement, one that will lead this boy to an early grave. If things were normal it would be fine. But it was not normal, this town echoed out calling for things unknown by man. This boy was way over his head, So a decision had to be made: Either Bring him in or let him die. He had been doing this to long by himself and things were growing faster then he could control. It was time to let the world of man defend it self, and this boy would have to be the starting point. But telling him would be pointless, he would have to show him. "Someone Else." was all he would say in those regards as he stopped at a building Haversthon Mining Co. He looked at that building furrowing his brow. The name meant nothing to him, but that didn't stop the odd since of familiarity.

He turned back looking at the boy "Meet me tonight at the Undertakers. You'll have your answers, just before midnight." He turned back heading towards the saloon leaving the boy behind. He needed time to prep, get the proper ingredients he would need. He may need to bring more people in though, problem is not many will stand up like the boy did. There was another man of interest to him. An outlaw by the looks of him, sitting in the back of the room and quite, didn't even flinch about what happened. Then there was the Indian woman, tracker. Her there was a chance he could simply tell her, the natives of this land seemed more open to such things they lived more connected with everything. The bartender, well he was already a part. The real question was what side was he on.

Walking back into the Saloon he saw the bodies being dragged by the Indian woman. Stopping he looked at her "Girl, you're a tracker right. He paused for pulling out a some money and handing it to her, it was roughly two hundred dollars. "That should cover a few weeks. I'll come to you when I need your help. He said as he walked back to his horse, pulling off the saddlebags before going into the saloon looking a the Bartender he pulled out a gold going set it down sliding it over to him. The bartender looked at it picking it up. There was a bit of surprise on his face once he got a good look at it before he put it in his pocket. At least that confirmed that he was right about him already being involved. Once up in his room he set down his bags as he prepared.

Frank extended a hand towards Manny to shake his hand.

"Neither, name is Frank Langley, I'm with the Pinkerton National Detective Agency."

He paused, giving the man a moment to register his statement and looking for any realization in the man's face. Frank wouldn't be surprised if Mr. Polly didn't remember or even know why a Pinkerton man was here. Maybe Frank would even get a chuckle if Mr. Polly thought he was working for one of the man's "unsatisfied customers."

"Someone contracted the Pinkerton Agency to ensure your safety on your current...business venture was it?" He continued a few moments later.

She was surprised to be interrupted by the stranger. She had the blood of the men he had killed on her hands as he handed over his money. Her face was stone still. It was rare to see so much in one place. Where had this man come into his wealth? She nodded and watched him leave.

Her money for her skills, that was a fair trade. She did not need to meddle further into his personal business.

She stuffed the money into her pockets quickly. Finished carrying the bodies, then headed straight home. She would get home after the Old Man did, and tell him all the strange events of the day while she washed her hands of blood and bad luck.

Having stabled his horse at his residence, Wel'Chi had taken to he skies as he often did, circling the forest and Solomon. Everything looked different from above. things were stirring in this town. The spirits were restless and thus it made The shifter restless as well.

He landed on the branch of a tree towering over the outskirts of Solomon for a moment to rest his wings watchful eyes passing over the streets bellow. Dustin had been left to tackle the dead bodies alone so typical of this town. the rest of the folks would be the first to complain at the sight of the gore, but the last to lend their services to the actual clean up. Well he couldn't very well leave her tot he clean up alone so he let out a cry as he flew out of town, circling back into the forest so it would be less likely for someone to see him shifting forms again. The level of superstition was ridiculous within Solomon and this caused the Shifter to tread lightly in order to avoid upsetting the folks.

A few minutes later he crossed the streets to help Dustin with he clean up. The gore didn't bother him for his eyes had seen so much during the years it was nothing to him.

"Do you need a hand with this mess? he asked Dustin quietly. "I doubt any of these folks will be helping you."

Pinkerton agents? Now, if Mr. Polly didn't know any better it would almost seem like a nationally recognized investigative corporation had been contracted to keep HIM safe. Let me say that again, somebody on God's green earth wanted him to be the opposite of dead without Manny knowingly doing anything on his part to ensure it. There must be some great genius- or fool- that believed in Mr. Polly's new enterprise, and who was Manny to disappoint such an expectant partner.

He grinned, while this seemed far too good to be true, the fact that neither his father nor his old (known) associates were involved with this man consoled some of his apprehensions. Additionally the man seemed the honorable sort, at least not the type to stab Manny in his sleep, which means he would be a valuable asset (which may be deserted if the need arise.)

"Well, Mr. Langley, if that's what you came here for be my guest- or guard, rather- and it's fortunate of you to be here for I believe I have something in mind to begin my little venture." He shifted about, the muck of human viscera had dampen the sandy earth beneath his shoes,

"For now, why don't you get yourself a room drink at the nice piss hole over there, I need you and your rifle bright and early tomorrow."