The door slammed open, the sheriff dragging in a boy with his left eye shut by the neck and arms.
"Get your sorry ass in there, ya little shit!" The sheriff shouted.
"Easy now!" The boy said in a teasing manner before he got shoved and locked into a cell.
You can tell the sheriff was pissed that this boy was probably messing with him all day. You can tell by how the sheriff dragged him into the cell—he was already cuffed; he wouldn't have done anything in the first place.
"C'mon, mister, quit bein' such a sourpuss!!" The boy said, leaning back into the wall.
The sheriff scratched his ass and then spat on the floor. It was pretty gross. He sat down on his chair, the chair creaking under his big weight.
The boy lunged toward the bars of the cell, holding on like his life was on the line. "Misterrr...! I ain't lyin'! I work for the B.O.A. im tellin' you the truth!"
The sheriff held his newspaper and scoffed, "So you're tellin' me a little runt like you is a ranger of the Bureau of Occult Affairs? Hah! Sonny or girlie, whatever the hell you are, that's gotta be the sorriest excuse I have ever heard from a fool in a cell. And believe me… I've heard some foolish excuses."
The sheriff turned in his chair, setting down his newspaper, an amused look on his face. "What was it you said you were tryna do before I clapped cuffs on ya?"
"First off… I'm a man!" The boy straightened up, brushing dust off his vest. "And there's a demon in town, mister! A big and mean one too—hell, he could wipe this town clean off the map with the snap of his fingers!"
"Uh-huh." The sheriff said, leaning back with an unconvinced look on his face. "Anyways, if he's such a big and mean demon, like you say, why hasn't he done anythin'? And tell me somethin', son, how'd you even come to know there's a demon in this town?"
The boy smirked, tapping the side of his nose "My nose, mister. It can smell a lotta things you can't."
The sheriff continued giving him a flat look. "Uh-huh, your… nose," He squinted at the boy, leaning closer, then paused, a slow frown forming. "Don't rangers from the B.O.A. carry silver badges…? Where's yours?"
The boy's smirk faltered. "Err… you're really not gonna believe me…" His shoulder sunk slightly. "Today's my first day… I was headed to B.O.A. headquarters in New York till I caught a whiff of a demon here and figured I'd stop here and check it out."
The sheriff laughed, a dry laugh. "Ahh… I think I've had enough of a good laugh today; I better get to patrollin' before your nonsense starts gettin' to my head."
The sheriff got up from the chair, putting on his jacket and hat.
The boy gritted his teeth, irritated that the sheriff wouldn't believe him; he was concerned about his first impressions with the Bureau of Occult Affairs.
"Could I atleast get my hat back?" the boy asked.
The sheriff paused by the door, glancing over his shoulder. "This ratty thing? Thought it was a dead animal." He walked over and passed it through the bars. "Here'ya go, cowpoke," he smirked before leaving.
The boy brushed the hat; it was difficult with the cuffs around.
"Haah…. Damn it," he muttered before sliding his back down till his butt felt the hot stone floor.
His light brown hair, dark and slightly tangled, fell over his face, and he pushed it back with one hand, showing his red right eye. His left eye stayed shut.
He leaned against the wall, staring at nothing. Even though his face looked soft and almost pretty, there was something strange and calm about him, like he didn't belong here.
—------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
SHERIFF POV
The sheriff lit a cigarette on the porch, the lighter illuminating his face in the hot western night. He took a drag, scanning the outside, before stepping down the steps.
He walked down Main Street; the air smelled of whiskey and brass, and the wind sounded like piano keys and laughter.
He kept walking.
"Ergh…~"
The faint noise made his head snap left to a dark alley, his hand on the butt of his revolver. His fingers brushing on the cold metal. The street was empty, too empty.
He took a deep breath and stepped into the dark alley.
He crept deeper…
"Who's there?" He gripped his revolver, though it was still strapped in his holster.
No answer.
He heard something scurrying; he gasped and aimed his revolver
A rat…
It bolted across the alley, hiding behind a crate.
"God… Damn it…!" He exhaled, relieved.
"Ergh~"
He froze.
That sound wasn't from a rat or deeper in the alley…. It was behind him.
He slowly turned aro—CRACK!
The sheriff stepped out of the alley, fixing his hat and clothes.
He looked at the saloon in front of him; he smirked.
Then, without a word, he pushed through the swinging doors.
Inside the saloon buzzed with the nighttime chatter, laughter, and the creaks of chairs filled the air.
"Evening, Sheriff!"
"Good to see ya, Bill!"
He moved to the counter, scanning the crowds, a blank look on his face.
The bartender slid him a glass filled with his usual before he even had to ask.
He lifted the glass to his lips, sipping it all.
"Tough night? You look outta of it," the bartender said.
"Yes. Tough night."
The bartender nodded awkwardly and went back to wiping the counter
The sheriff's eyes gazed to the second floor; he felt a woman staring at him.
He set his drink down and went upstairs to her.
"Well, ain't'chu you a sight tonight?" she said, leaning against the railing and wearing her suggestive dress.
"Perfect," he said, the corners of his mouth twitching up.
She smirked, biting her lips as she grabbed his hand. Taking him to a room with intimate lighting from the lamps and a bed.
She sat on the bed undoing her dress. "Betcha ya wanna loosen up. Do as you please."
He stepped closer, grabbing her shoulders and pushing her down. "Kya! Be gentle with me, darlin'. Ain't no need to rush."
He gripped her shoulders tight, real tight, to the point where it started to hurt.
"O-Ow… Bill, stop holdin' me like that."
He didn't listen; he leaned down to her neck and bit it, bit it real hard.
"KYAAA…!!" She screamed as blood soaked the sheets and her clothes.
BAM!
The door slammed open, and a figure stepped in. It was the boy from earlier, his face darkened out by the lighting in the room.
The demon snapped his head toward the boy, his mouth dripping with blood.
"Back off, filthy meat!" The demon hissed
The boy kept stepping closer.
BANG!
Just as the demon lunged, the boy whipped out his LeMat revolver, engaging the shotgun attachment with a practiced click. Smoke curled from the barrel as he fired, the blast tearing through the demon's head.
Blood splattered on the ceiling, on the window, and on the boy's face. It left the sheriff's head mangled and disfigured; you could see parts of his brain.
The boy's eyes moved to the prostitute; blood was soaked all over her neck and sheets. Just by a glance you could tell she was dead.
Then his eyes moved back to the sheriff's body, watching as the blood poured down onto the wooden floor and seeped into the wooden cracks.
The boy wiped his face, his hands slick with gore, his breathing steady.
"What a great first day." He sighed, sitting down on the bed next to the dead whore. He holstered his LeMat.