Disclaimer: I don’t own the Magnificent Seven…some really rich people
do. I don’t even make any money off them,
despite all the time I spend thinking about them. It could certainly constitute a full time
job. Life’s just not fair, you know?
The August
Challenge 2004 (the Song Challenge): offered by Jen Brooks
Write us a story inspired by a song. I don’t know about anybody else, but I
have a whole list of tunes I associate with the boys and their adventures. Let’s
compare Magnificent soundtracks! You don’t have to use
the lyrics in the story – we’re not looking for songfic
here – but please do include the lyrics at the end of the fic,
with due credit.
Universe:
ATF
Major
Characters: Chris…but all the guys are here
Rating: G
Spoilers:
None
Note:
First, this is not a betaed story…the mistakes are
mine and I’m sure they’re there. Apologies in advance.
This fic doesn’t have much plot just a little
speculating yours truly had, inspired by this challenge, about the history of
the ATF Magnificent Seven. I hope it
brings some enjoyment.
Archive:
yes, https://www.angelfire.com/ct2/jesmag7fanfiction/aug2004.htm
Email
(reviews greatly appreciated): jesfrealo@yahoo.com
Legacy
By Jesfrealo
KNOCK!
KNOCK! KNOCK! KNOCK!
Chris
Larabee was perfectly aware and confident in the fact that very few people had
the unique ability to make knocking at a door a shrill sound. That fact notwithstanding, JD Dunne was one
of the few who could succeed at it with ease.
Chris,
though, had been caught unawares by the knocking. Looking up from the papers and pictures that
had entirely caught his attention on that Sunday afternoon, he looked at his
watch and then his calendar. To the best
of his memory he did not recall any reason why JD or any of the others would be
there that day. Still, he knew from the
knocking that it had to be JD because he had most certainly never encountered
anyone who knocked a door like that. He
recognized that that was a damn stupid way identify someone but there it
was. He knew it had to be JD.
He moved
briskly to the door opening to find exactly the person he was expecting. JD’s face was brimming with his usual big
smile and Chris could see the others, even Ezra (who looked like he’d once
again been forced into attending the extra-circular group activity) behind
him.
“What are
you guys doing here?” Chris asked, resigned to the unexpected visits by the
guys.
“Sorry we
didn’t call ahead, Chris,” Nathan answered not bothering to actually address
Chris’s question.
“Thought
we’d come over to watch the game,” Buck spoke as he walked past Chris and into
the ranch, looking back over his shoulder at the ATF team leader he added,
“What with the nice TV and set-up you got here.
The Broncos always look so damn good on the big screen.”
Chris,
really in no position to protest, and secretly not really wanting to, moved
aside to let the rest of the guys in.
They had brought all sorts of food and various alcoholic beverages. Chris couldn’t help but smile at the things
the guys brought and how those items reflected their various
personalities. Nathan had brought fresh
vegetables and organic dip, always looking out for the health of the team in
spite of (or maybe because of) the lack of regard they seemed to usually have
for it themselves. Ezra of course came
equipped with all the good, expensive liquor, while Buck had a case of
Bud. Josiah had a pot of his chili—for
which Chris was very grateful. Vin had in both arms paper bags that Chris had little doubt
were full of every sort of junk food known to the human species. JD carried something similar to Vin because the only person in the universe that could match
Vin’s rather disgusting ability to consume all things
artificially flavored was JD.
Chris would
begrudgingly admit that he liked it when the guys came over even though he
always acted like they were a nuisance (truth be told, they often were a nuisance). Chris supposed that they were his nuisance and he actually did like it
that way. They filled his normally
lonely home with so much noise and laughter that it filled the emptiness that
always seemed to scream at him when he was idle there for too long. With a smile on his face, he walked through
the foyer in time to here JD’s always rambunctious voice, “Hey what are these
things?”
Okay, so he
didn’t always like having the guys around—funny but whenever he considered how
much he really did appreciate them…they had the most obnoxious way of annoying
the crap out of him. “Nothing,
JD.” Chris said.
“Aw, come
on, Chris.” The Kid persisted.
It wasn’t
that he didn’t want the kid or any of the others to know about it, he just
didn’t like having to explain private things to people…especially when the
explanations weren’t given in his own time, weren’t given voluntarily. Then it just felt like an intrusion on his
privacy. Chris hated intrusions on his
privacy. Still, Chris really didn’t want
to bite the kid’s head off over what amounted to nothing. “JD…that stuff—“
“Looks like
an awful lot of nothin’,” Vin’s way of saying that he, too, was interested.
Oh, great.
Vin was one of the few people in the world that Chris just
couldn’t cut down. For some reason the
Texan just found a way under Chris’s skin and Chris had a hard time treating
him in the gruff way he treated most everyone else.
By now all
of the guy’s were looking at the things on his table, engrossed, “Chris, these
things are authentic…”
That was
Josiah…he seemed to be alternating his tone between question and
statement. A student of history and
anthropology, Chris could see Josiah’s eyes light up at these artifacts and
only nodded, almost imperceptibly, at the big man.
“How did
you come to have these invaluable artifacts in your possession, Mr. Larabee?”
Ezra spoke.
“Family
heirlooms, you’d call them, I guess,” Chris answered slowly and quietly.
“Who are
these people to you, Chris?” Vin
asked, holding up one picture in particular.
It was of a man wearing a long black duster—Vin
pointed to him particularly. In the
tattered old black and white it was vaguely hard to make out what the colors
would actually have been but it appeared that the man was wearing all black
except for the pearl white handles on the handguns he carried.
“According
to my Dad, he would have been my great-grandfather.”
“Really?”
JD spoke eagerly. “He looks like a
gunslinger.”
Chris
shrugged, “I guess he was. But, my Dad
told me that he was also a lawman…or maybe a hired gun. Hard to say after so long.”
“I could
see you being a descendant of a gunslinger, Cowboy.”
Chris
smiled despite himself. He could see
that too. “What else did your dad tell
you about him, Chris?” JD asked.
“Probably
just tall tales…” Chris trailed off.
“Tell ‘em anyway,” JD urged.
Chris looked to the others who appeared in their own ways to be equally
willing to hear the tales.
“Well,”
Chris sat down to begin his narrative.
“I’m named after him. My dad told
me that at one point he was a member of a group of hired guns who ended up protecting
a small Mexican village from desperados.
Heard some of them died to protect that little town. But he lived.
Went on to work in various places. Sort of sounded to me like an old west Robin
Hood. One story went that he was
watching over a jailhouse one night…keeping watch over a man about to go on
trial for a murder. Now the townsfolk
weren’t overly interested in this guy getting a fair trial. Word was he’d killed an entire family, even
though the man vehemently denied any involvement in the murders. Anyway, a mob gathered outside the
jailhouse…looking for a lynching. They
threatened to kill my great-grandfather.
Most men would have backed down right then, but I guess he didn’t. He told them that they would certainly be
able to kill him but that he would take some of them with him. That soured the mood of the mob apparently
because then it looked like some of those folks were ready to bolt. It didn’t last a whole Hell of a lot longer
when he started calling out certain, prominent men from the town. The mob backed down and the man who had been
arrested was later proved innocent. He went
on to live a long and productive life, as the story goes. Never forgot what he did for them either.”
Ezra had
been listening avidly to Chris’s short narrative. He was surprised that their leader had
volunteered any information but was glad he had. Ezra had also been rifling through more of
Chris’s old photos. He found a close-up
of a man.
“Is this
the man, too?” Nathan asked Chris.
“Yeah,
that’s him.” The man in the photograph
had a hard glare that bore directly into the camera.
“My Lord,”
Ezra commented as the photograph was passed around. “It’s genetic.” As all the men saw the photo they saw what
Ezra was talking about; Josiah laughed outright. The resemblance between Chris and his
great-grandfather was not overwhelming but the eyes and the glare that Ezra, in
particular, had gotten to know so well were clearly identical.
“This is a
wonderful history, Chris,” Josiah commented.
Chris
smiled, “Yeah, I always loved it as a kid.
The stories my father and grandfather told. The code of ethics that my
great-grandfather believed in.
The fight for justice in a lawless land…it’s such a romanticized idea
but it still gets to me. I think it’s
why I pursued a career in law enforcement—I wanted to be like my
great-grandfather, catch the bad guys and make them pay for those things that
they’ve done.”
THE END
Note: As I’m sure everyone realized, I didn’t draw directly from the old west magnificent seven
that we’re all so used to. I drew from
the original movie for some of stories that Chris relates and the jail story is
a variation on the story told at the end of the movie about Wyatt Earp with Kevin Costner.
BEER FOR MY HORSES
Toby
Keith and Willie Nelson
Well, a man come on the 6 o'clock
news,
Said somebody's been shot, somebody's been abused.
Somebody blew up a building, somebody stole a car.
Somebody got away. somebody didn't get too far, yeah.
They didn't get too far.
Grandpappy told my pappy: "Back in my day, son,
"A man had to answer for the wicked that he done.
"Take all the rope in
"Round up all of them bad boys, hang them high in the street,
"For all the people to see that:
"Justice is the one thing you
should always find.
"You got to saddle up your boys,
"You got to draw a hard line.
"When the gunsmoke settles, we'll sing a victory
tune.
"We'll all meet back at the local saloon,
"We'll raise up our glasses against evil forces,
"Singing: 'Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses.'"
We got too many gangsters doing
dirty deeds,
Too much corruption, too much crime in the streets.
It's time the long arm of the law put a few more in the ground.
Send 'em all to their maker and he'll settle 'em down:
You can bet he'll settle 'em down 'cause,
Justice is the one thing you should
always find.
You got to saddle up your boys,
You got to draw a hard line.
When the gunsmoke settles, we'll sing a victory tune.
We'll all meet back at the local saloon,
We'll raise up our glasses against evil forces,
Singing: "Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses."
"Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses."
You know that justice is the one
thing you should always find.
You got to saddle up your boys,
You got to draw a hard line.
When the gunsmoke settles, we'll sing a victory tune.
We'll all meet back at the local saloon,
We'll raise up our glasses against evil forces,
Singin': "Whiskey for my men, beer for my
horses."
Singin':
"Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses."