They were the six members of the town council and Shane had not been entirely surprised when they had asked to speak with him. He only wondered that it had taken them so long. ‘It would only be a temporary arrangement, you understand?’ Shane said nothing. The six men were all used to getting what they wanted and it showed. All wore power suits, gold watches and polished shoes. All, that was, except for the lawyer, Boyd, who did not care what other people thought of him and wore an ill-fitting suit, stained and mildewed, his hair unstyled, greasy and unkempt. He smelled of stale sweat and tobacco and cheap gin. The six men were confident, domineering, and Shane took great pleasure in unnerving them with his dead-eyed stare until the point that even Reynolds, the fat rancher, shifted uncomfortably on the edge of his chair. It was Boyd who was doing most of the talking. ‘You’ll be paid five-hundred dollars,’ he said. ‘How you do it is up to you but we want Fletcher out before the end of the week.
