Chapter One: Nether Regions, Impressive Mustaches and A Bad Time

                “But Mr. Finnegan, how did you get away?”

                Finnegan grinned at the eager child sitting at his feet, staring up at him with awe. He threw the boy a wink, “ ‘Twas quite simple.”

                “Simple?” the boy asked, his brow wrinkling up as he frowned.

                “Listen close, Luke, and I’ll tell ya how it was done,” Finnegan replied, lowering his voice so that Luke would lean closer in. “Ya see, boy, deep down in that cold soul of his Seamus likes me. He tied my hands in the front to give me a bit more of a chance. What he didn’t know was that I keep me a knife holstered in my britches.”

                “In your britches?”

                Finnegan laughed. “Yep. Right here.” He patted at the knife safely tucked beside his groin. “Not many men are too quick to go rifling through another man’s nether regions. I simply got my knife out, cut the rope ‘round my neck, freed my hands, hopped off my leg stand and took a big swallow o’ whiskey to help me forget my troubles.”

                “You’re amazing, Finnegan! I want to be just like you!” Luke exclaimed.

                  Finnegan laughed and patted the homeless boy on the hair,  “You’ll turn out just fine, boy, I’m sure of it.” 

                Finnegan smiled as the boy launched into a story of his own adventures. While Luke talked, Finnegan thought about the story he’d just told him. He still couldn’t believe Seamus had hanged him, though it shouldn’t surprise Finnegan. That ass was always nearly killing him and yet leaving him the smallest sliver of a chance to get out. Probably to clear the bastard’s own conscience when Finnegan finally did die from one of his stunts.

                Finnegan looked around the small town as he sat on the porch of the orphanage and listened to Luke. Finnegan always made it a point to stop at orphanages when he came to them and this one was one of his favorites. Finnegan loved children but Luke was the one he loved most. The eight year old didn’t deserve to be in this place with no family; then again none of the children did.

                He saw Theo standing down by the road, swishing his tail impatiently. Clearly the horse was ready to be on the move again.

                Finnegan hadn’t been completely honest with Luke about the day he’d nearly been hanged. He had cut himself loose but he hadn’t simply jumped down and went on his way….. There had been a bit more falling to the ground , having the breath knocked from his body and being sure he was going to die from the pain in his backside involved. He had been lying on the ground with his eyes closed, wishing he’d fallen close enough to his whiskey to reach it without moving when he’d felt something brush his face.

                At first it had scared him but then he’d heard the familiar sound of breath blowing out a nose irritably and he’d known it was Theo.  “Ah me faithful steed come to save me,” he’d mumbled as he’d used Theo to pull himself to his feet. “Faithful steed, my arse! Ya would have let me die up there, you flea-ridden beast.”

                Finnegan came back to the present when Luke tapped his arm. “Finnegan—I think those men are looking for you.”

                Finnegan followed Luke’s gaze and saw three men who turned their eyes in his direction at that exact moment,  “Shite!” Finnegan exclaimed. “Luke ya better be gettin’ yourself back inside now.”

                Luke nodded and dashed back inside the door as Finnegan stood and walked off the porch.  “Hello there, Morgan. How are ya this fine day?” Finnegan asked with a smile. If there was one thing Finnegan was good at it was faking smiles to ease tempers.

                “Not good, Finnegan,” Morgan snapped, rubbing his hand over his thick graying mustache. “Where is my money?”

                “I would assume it’s in your pocket. Unless of course you’re like me and don’t have a dime to your name,” Finnegan replied. He was pretty far up shit creek with no paddle just now but he chose not to panic.

                “Where’d you get that nice shiny gun?” Morgan asked as his two pals flanked Finnegan.

                “I uh.. I took it off a man who didn’t need it anymore.”

“Stole it you mean.” Morgan muttered.

“I prefer to call it borrowin’ with no intention o' seekin’ permission or givin’ it back,” Finnegan countered. He jerked away when one of the men moved closer. Was he trying to sniff him?! “Have ya ever heard of a thing called personal space, gentlemen?”

“All you gotta do is give me my money, Finnegan, and you’ll never have to see my face again.”

“It isn’t your face sniffin’ at my hair, Morgan. Your pretty face gives my life so much joy.”

Morgan glared at him and glanced at one of the men beside him. Finnegan saw Morgan nod and then a fist was driven hard into his gut.

                Finnegan doubled over as his breath left in a rush. His vision blurred as he coughed and then rose back up with a winded chuckle, “You’re an abusive man, Morgan. I should really cut all ties with ya but I simply cannot stay away.”

                Morgan shook his head and his dark eyes flashed with temper. Finnegan thought of reminding Morgan that such anger was hazardous to a man’s health but he was in no hurry to have either of the tweedle brothers punch him again.

                “I’ll make a deal with you, Finnegan. You give me that shiny new borrowed gun of yours and that fine horse you have and I’ll call us even. You’ll never have to see my face again.”

                “Oh but, Morgan—“ Finnegan sighed. “—the sight of your handsome face is all that gets me through the long lonely days… and the nights of course.” Finnegan winked and then took another hard blow to the gut.

                “Shite!” he exclaimed breathlessly as he doubled over yet again. “I think ya got my liver. Good thing the whiskey got it first.”

                “Lawman heading this way,” Sir-Punches-A-lot warned.

              Finnegan straightened himself and glanced down the road to see that there was indeed a man walking there way with a glittering badge on his chest.

                “So what’ll it be, Finnegan? The gun and the horse and I’ll forgive your debt or will I be taking my payment in blood one night while you sleep.”

                “'Twill have to be blood,” Finnegan replied as he edged away from the men and took Theo’s reins. “I would give up me whiskey before I’d give up my Theo.”  Finnegan grinned. “Will ya watch me a while before ya kill me in my sleep, Morgan? Mayhap I’ll be dreaming of ya.”

                Rage contorted Morgan’s features but he quickly hardened his face when the lawman neared them. “Is there a problem here, gentlemen?” he demanded, his voice polite yet stern.

                “No of course not, lawman,” Morgan assured him. “We’re just settling some business.”

                “Whatever your business is you’ll have to settle it outside of my town. I don’t take too kindly to folks throwing punches within city limits.” The lawman turned his attention to Finnegan, “Would you like to press charges on these men?”

                For a split second, Finnegan thought of saying yes but thought better of it. “That won’t be necessary, sir.” He swung himself up into Theo’s saddle. “Truth be told I deserved to be punched.”

                Finnegan saw the relief on Morgan’s face and couldn’t help himself. Morgan already wanted him dead and having them locked up would buy him a bit of extra time to get away. “Then again, officer—“ Morgan’s eyes were hard as stones as they looked up at him. “Morgan and his friends here did assault me just outside an orphanage full of impressionable young folk. I fear teaching them that violence is the way to solve our problems could damage their wee little minds. They should see these men punished for their wrongdoin's and it may just steer those fine young lads and lasses to walk down the path of righteousness instead of fallin’ into the trap of lawlessness that these three gentleman have found themselves lost in.”

                The lawman blinked several times and then nodded. “I reckon you’re right. Let’s get to the jail you three.” When one of the men, the sniffer of the group, appeared as if he was going to argue, the lawman pulled his gun and aimed it at his chest, “I said let’s get to the jail.”

                “Put the gun away, sheriff,” Morgan said calmly. “We’ll come.” Then he turned to Finnegan, “You better hope I never see you again, Finnegan, because if I do you’re a dead man.”

                “Your words of love always cause my wee heart to flutter like the beats of a butterfly’s wings,” Finnegan winked, laughing at the expression of rage on Morgan’s face.

                   Morgan’s cheeks flushed red and the air whooshed out of his nose so quickly that the hairs of his impressive mustache danced around above his lip. Deciding he’d pushed the other man quite far enough, Finnegan kicked Theo’s side and rode off on the beast, knowing he had to put a lot of distance between himself and Morgan.

                Finnegan sighed as he rubbed at his neck. One of these days he was going to wind up killed. He tended to not dwell on that fact of life since it took the joy right out of the days he had left but it was the truth. What he needed was a sack full of money to fall straight from heaven above and land in his lap—though that was a dream and nothing more. He simply had to work hard to stay one step ahead of Seamus and Morgan. They were the only two men that he owed money too that seemed to be actively tracking him down.

                Finnegan had been riding hard for hours when he saw the shack up ahead. It looked as good a place as any to hole up for the night but first Finnegan had to make sure he would be alone there.

                Leaving Theo a safe distance away, Finnegan crept through the darkness and toward the dilapidated old building. He saw a candle burning inside the single window and cursed under his breath. Someone lived here… probably the owner of that half-starved gray mare standing in the paddock.

                Finnegan would have to charm his way inside because it smelled as if a rainstorm was coming and he wanted a roof over his head before it showed up. He walked up to the door, pulled off his hat and ran a hand through his curly dark hair before knocking twice.

                As the door opened, Finnegan prepared his welcoming statement only to swallow his words back down when he found himself staring down the double barrel of a shotgun.

                  His eyes went crossed trying to focus on the gray metal and he somehow managed a shaky smile, “Have I come at a bad time?”