The Shootist Page #2

in Abilene, Kansas.

Ma,

Wild Bill Hickok

was shot

before I was born.

We got

J.B. Books here.

He's killed 30 men.

Gillom, go to your room.

Go on. Go to bed before

you wake the house.

Good night, Ma.

Whoo.

Come in.

Mr. Books?

Oh, my clothes.

Thank you, m...

You are J.B. Books.

That's right.

May I ask

how you found out?

My son.

I've been up all night

because of you.

I demand that you

pack and leave.

That is not possible.

And why not?

I don't

propose to say.

So you won't go.

No.

And that's

your last word?

Mrs. Rogers,

you have a fine color

when you're

on the scrap.

Central, give me

the city marshal's office.

Thank you.

Come in, Marshal.

My name's Thibido,

Marshal

Walter Thibido.

I'm told...

you are J.B. Books.

You were told right.

Have a seat.

Don't think I will.

Breathe easy, Marshal.

You're closer to your gun

than I am to mine.

Books, Carson City's

full of hard cases...

Is your head cold?

Huh?

Oh.

Books, Carson City's

full of hard cases

who'd sell their souls to

put your name on the wall.

You'll draw trouble like

an outhouse draws flies.

I checked my bulletins

before I come over

and didn't find nothing

I can hold you for,

but I want you

out of town...

directly, today.

Maybe I'm not

so inclined.

Then, by God,

I will incline you.

I can badge

as many men as I need.

We'll smoke you out or

carry you out feet first,

so you say which,

Mr. Gunman.

It's your funeral.

Soon, yes.

Huh?

I can't go.

Can't?

I'm going to die

right here in this room.

Ha! That's too thin.

I wish you were right.

Would you believe

Doc Hostetler?

That's his verdict.

You don't say?

You don't sa...

goddamn!

Whoo!

Whooee!

I tell you

the truth...

Coming through that door,

I was scared.

I know what a man

like you is capable of.

I wondered

who'd get my job,

if the council would give

my wife a pension,

and if it would snow

the day they put me under.

Excuse me if I don't

pull a long face.

You talk too much.

Much as I damn please.

How long does

Hostetler give you?

He doesn't know.

Do me a favor.

I owe you one...

or Hostetler.

My being here...

maybe that's news,

but dying

is my own business.

Keep it under your hat,

will you?

Just don't take

too long to die.

Be a gent and

convenience everybody

and do it soon.

You've worn out

your welcome.

Scat.

The day they

lay you away,

what I'll do

on your grave

won't pass

for flowers.

You damn little sneak.

How long

were you there?

I was just

passing by.

You spy on me,

and I'll nail you

to a tree.

You've told your mother.

Who else have you

blabbed to?

Jay Cobb.

Are you all right,

Mr. Books?

I can't abide

a skulker.

You want to see me,

knock on my door

like a man.

Sure you're all right?

If there's anything

I can do for you,

just let me know.

It's an honor to have you

in this house.

Your mother

doesn't agree.

She doesn't know

how a man feels.

You're the most famous person

ever in this town.

When I was a boy,

I heard about your shootout

at the Acme Saloon.

I never thought

I'd meet you.

There's more

to being a man

than handling a gun.

Don't you have

something to do?

I was just headed over to

Cobb's Creamery right now.

I help Jay with

deliveries sometimes.

That was

the nice gentleman

you were with

yesterday.

Where's your mother?

She's in the kitchen,

I think.

Well, goodbye, sir.

It was real nice

meeting you.

Good-bye.

Mrs. Rogers, I, uh...

hope you'll forgive me

for taking Hickok's name.

I thought it was

pretty funny at the time,

but after reflection...

it wasn't such a joke,

and I apologize.

You should.

The only way you can

show your repentance

is to leave.

Well, that

I cannot do.

Mr. Books, you are

a notorious individual

utterly lacking

in character or decency.

You're an assassin.

That's according to which end

of the gun you're on.

You lied to me,

made a fool of me.

This house

is all I have.

If my lodgers

find out who you are,

they'll leave.

I have a cancer.

I'm dying of it.

I know what

you'll be thinking...

That I'll be

a lot of trouble.

Well, I won't.

You just

bring me my meals,

and I'll see

to the other needs.

I promise you

I won't be a burden.

Mrs. Rogers, I'm

in a kind of a tight...

I'll make it

worth your while.

I can pay $4.00 a day

for the room.

Oh, Mr. Books.

Most pleased to meet you,

sir, and honored.

What did you want

to see me about?

The name is Dan Dobkins.

I'm with

The Morning Appeal.

Mr. Dobkins,

sit down.

Thank you.

Um...

we ran the story

this morning

that you were here

at Mrs. Rogers'

and enjoying our

salubrious winter climate

and so on and so forth.

Have you seen it?

No.

It's page one,

I assure you.

I bought your paper

when I arrived.

Still reading about

Queen Victoria dying.

Oh.

What can I do for you?

That's what

I came to discuss.

Well, that's

what I figured.

You must

appreciate, sir,

that you are the most

celebrated shootist extant.

Extant?

Uh, still existing,

alive.

Thank you.

Yes, and your reputation

is nationwide.

My story went out over

the wires this morning.

Every daily of consequence

will run it,

but they'll want more,

the papers in

the East, in particular.

Between us, Mr. Books,

we can really put

Carson City on the map.

Mr. Dobkins, you're going

the long way around the barn.

Yes, sir.

I would

like tremendously

to do a series

of stories on you.

A series?

Yes. Uh, how long

will you be with us?

Not as long

as I'd like to be.

Oh, well, we could

start today, right now,

then get together

again tomorrow.

You see,

there's been so much

cheap fiction about gunmen.

I want to get down to

the true story for once,

while you're available,

before anything

happens to you.

I mean,

I hope nothing does.

Go on.

I want to cover

your career factually.

The statistics,

you might say.

Then I'd delve into the

psychological aspects...

What turned you to violence

in the first place?

Are you by nature

bloodthirsty?

Uh, do you, uh, brood

after the deed is done,

or have you lived

so long with death

that you're used to it?

The death of others?

The prospect

of your own?

Make like

that's a nipple.

One fit or fidget

and Mrs. Rogers is going

to be scrubbing your brains

off the wallpaper.

On your feet.

Back up.

Now, we're heading

for the front door.

Now, don't you shake,

shiver, or sneeze.

Mr. Books, what in heaven's

name are you doing?

Ma'am, we have

a touchy situation here.

Out.

Turn around.

Mmm.

Turn around.

Bend over.

Yes, sir.

Dobkins, you are a prying,

pipsqueaking ass,

and if you ever come

dandying around here again...

That was

a savage thing to do.

Maybe...

Mr. Books?

I'll tend myself.

First things first, Doc.

I almost forgot

to ask you.

How much do I owe you?

You're a man after

my own heart, Books.

Most of them ask

that last, if at all.

Well, let's see.

We'll make it $4.00

for the two visits

plus $ 1.00 for that.

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