Jake pulled the pistol out from the inside of his tweed jacket. It was small, small enough to fit inside of his palm. It was a Remington Derringer, he explained, handed down to him from his mother who used to carry it in her purse when they lived in Wilksburrough – the most lawless town this side of the teardrop river, some said. It had a wooden handle with an embedded design made in the shape of a skull and cross bones, only the cross bones weren’t cross bones, they were roses, white roses, his mother explained to him one time, the same color of roses that Jake’s father had given her on they’re very first date, although Jake had never knew that roses came in any other color expect red.
“Heavy,” Adam remarked as he took the gun from Jake, letting its weight weigh down his hand. He offered it to his wife, Anna-Bell to hold, but she refused, trying to conceal a frown which signified that she disapproved.
Jake nodded in agreement.
“Double barrelled. Boy, I bet that could do some harm.” Adam said as he took the gun by the barrel, doing his best not to show his discomfort with holding the gun. He closed one eye and aimed at the silhouette of a tree stump that was flickering in the fire light. He opened and closed the barrel, trying to make it look like he knew what he was doing, pulled the hammer back with his thumb and took aim again. When he squeezed the trigger he made a POW sound, mimicking what the shot would have sounded like.
“That’s the gun that killed her, that’s the gun that killed my wife.” Jake said after a moments silence.
Surprised, Adam looked at his wife and then back at Jake, the fire blazing between them. “I thought this was your gun…I…” he started, the words trailing off.
“Nope,” Jake replied as he took off his cowboy hat, sat it on a near-by tree stump and ran his fingers through his oily hair. “That’s the gun that Mr. Whitechapel used to gun down my wife, and his own daughter.”
Adam handed the Derringer back to Jake who took it and replaced it within his coat pocket.
“I’m sorry, I didn’t know. This Mr. Whitechapel sounds like the scum of the earth.”
“Nothing to apologize about,” Jake said, “that’s why you’re going to help me kill Mr. Whitechapel.”
Shocked, Adam shook his head “No sir, I’m sorry, we hired you to take us safely across The Forgotten Forest, not to become bounty hunters. There has been some kind of misunderstanding here. . .”
Jake withdrew his six shooter from the holster on his belt, cocked it and pointed it at Adam and Anna-Bell.