FicWad

James Cross, heard the commotion out in front of his office, but he didn’t bother to look up. What ever was happening was no concern of his, he was more interested in balancing the books and finding out how much money he had made that week. The noise out in the street grew louder and he found that he couldn’t concentrate.
“Holly,” he barked to his secretary and she rose instantly from her desk.
“Yes sir,” she said.
“Found out what all that racket is about,” he ordered and sneered when she ran out like a frightened mouse.
Only two things impressed James, that was money and power, if you didn’t have either then you were beneath him.
Holly rushed back in, looking almost tearful.
“What’s going on?” He demanded rudely.
“John Franklin and Bridget Johansen are dead,” she wailed, “and they think something happened to Hector Higgins. His horse just came tearing into town with blood on her hooves.”
“John is dead?” James said in a stunned voice, “you can go home now Holly,” he said quickly.
He got up and closed the door after her, locking it and pulling down the shade on the window in the door. For a moment he stood there, then he began to laugh. This was better then anything he ever hoped for, with John dead he could buy the bank and become richer. Not only that, but with John out of the way the position of head chairman would be his. Soon he would be the most powerful man in the town. He laughed for a moment longer, then opened the door and walked out into the street with a somber expression on his face.
He walked toward his house at the edge of town, sneering inwardly at the expressions of grief on people’s faces. They had found Hector’s body, he had been trampled by the hooves of his horse. No one could believe that two prominent citizens had died in one day and even though not many people truly liked either men, the townspeople were in mourning.
“Nothing makes a despised man a loved one faster then death does.” James muttered, before crossing the street and entering his house.

He crossed to the sideboard and fixed himself a drink, before going into his private domain, his study. No one was allowed in here, not even the maid, James did the cleaning himself. He didn’t trust the hired help not to help themselves to some of the financial records he kept here. He sat on the high backed chair and marveled in the knowledge that more money was in his grasp. Then he looked at the paper he had laid there that morning and gasped in astonishment.
“America about to go into financial depression,” the headline screamed at him. He grasped the paper with shaking hands and stared at it.
“This can’t be right,” he said, then jumped up and ran out of the house. He ran to the small newsstand and looked at the headlines. “America going bankrupt!” one said, “will money become obsolete?,” another asked.
“Are you alright, Mr. Cross,” the newspaper man asked, but James ran toward the bank as if he didn’t even hear him.
He ran to the bank and began pounding on the doors, a young red haired man answered.
“I’m sorry sir, but the bank is no longer in buisness.” The young man said sadly, “America has gone bankrupt.”
James paled and the young man took a step forward, speaking so only James could hear him.
“This is your punishment for your sins Mr. Cross.”
James took a step backwards, “it can’t be,” he said. Then screamed, “It can’t be!” He took another step backwards, right into the street, but didn’t notice. “The headlines are wrong! It can’t be true!” He screamed again.
Suddenly a voice on the sidewalk shouted, “James look out!”
James turned and saw the stagecoach bearing down on him, he didn’t have time to scream or move out of the way, before he was crushed under it’s wheels. The newspaper that was still in his hand, was quickly covered in blood.
“What did he say about the headlines being wrong?” One of the gathering crowd asked, “what’s the headline.”
The stagecoach driver, jumped off his seat and picked up the newspaper and reading it, before shaking his head.
“It says America’s financial state at an all time high, why would that upset him?”
The crowd looked at each other and began to murmur, but no one had any answers.
As the crowd began to grow larger around the crushed remains of James Cross, no one noticed the young red hair man, smile triumphly, then disappear.

Zeke had to admit that had be the most fun one of all, James Cross had been a mean bastard. One who had deserved to die. Zeke chuckled quietly to himself, before disppearing from the quarry. There were eight men left, each had to pay for his part in Zeke’s death. Zeke would have his revenge.