Gunslinger

"I know I don't look like it...but I'm a good guy," he told the little boy.

"Are you here to make the bad men go away?" the boy asked.

"Yes," he said.  "I am."

He was a tall man with a broad chest.  He wore jeans and a t-shirt and heavy boots.  He had a kevlar vest on and metal shoulder and wrist guards on.  He had a gas mask covering his face and a suave looking rimmed hat on his head.  He wore a belt that held bullets all along it and a holster which held his trusty six-shooter.  He was dusty and worn looking.  He did look a lot like the slavers and raiders that roamed the wastes.

He had come into town the day before, just passing through.  He never stayed long anywhere.  It just wasn't his style.  But the people here had a problem.  His business was solving problems, and in this world, usually with his gun.  A particularly nasty gang of raiders had decided to take up pestering the small town and its inhabitants.  So now he was waiting in the saloon for the raiders to show up so he could deal with them.  The town's lawman was too frightened to take them on alone.  The lawman had offered to help but he had refused.  He worked alone.

"Care for a drink while you wait, stranger?" asked the lady running the bar.

"No thanks," he said, "I don't drink in public."

"Why's that?"

"I'd have to take this mask off."

"Trying to hide your face or are you afraid of breathing in the air?"

"The air is fine to breath I'm sure."

"I see...why hide your face?  Are you like disfigured or something?"

"My face is quite lovely thank you very much."

"Then why hide it?"

"I don't like people to see it.  Only one person's seen my face since I started wearing this mask five years ago, and she's dead.  No one knows what I look like now, no one ever will."

"So, did you kill her?"

"Who?"

"The lady who saw your face?"

"No.  She was murdered."

"Oh, by who?"

"Raiders.  Who else?"

"I see...she was someone close to you wasn't she?"

"She was my wife."

"I'm sorry for your loss."

"Me too."

".........so no drink?"

He turned and stared at her.  His expressionless mask made her uncomfortable and she walked away.

"She's just trying to be nice," said the little who was still sitting and watching him.

"I know. I'm not very nice though.  I'm good but I'm not nice."

"Well I like you"

"Thanks, kid."

The sound of breaking glass and screaming from outside signaled the arrival of the gang.  He cracked his neck and then got up and headed for the door.

"Wait, mister!  I want to know your name in case you die!"

"I don't have a name...mister will do just fine."

"Good luck...mister."

"Thanks, kid."

He walked outside into the dusty street.  There were six men.  Perfect.  He had six bullets, that was all he needed.  They were walking up the street towards the bar.  He stood between them and the bar and the six men stopped and looked at him.  They were all dressed in dirty clothing with various bits of armor on.  One man a simple sheet of metal over his chest.  Another had a bullet proof vest.  They all had tattoos and many scars.  The man in the front who must have been the leader spoke up.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm your own personal delivery man."

"And what are you delivering?"

"This."

In a fluid motion he pulled his revolver, pulled the trigger six times in the blink of an eye, and watched as the six bodied of the raiders fell to the floor.  He opened the cylinder of his gun and emptied the shells into the road and reloaded his gun.  He holstered it and then walked on down the road.  His job was done.  It was time to leave.  Time to move on.