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What has to be done |  |
Whitehorse and I are sitting on a bench outside the Sheriff's Office; he's smoking his pipe and massaging his leg, while I'm just waiting.
He breaks the silence with a question, one I've heard him ask before. “You ready to do what needs to be done, Cor?” It's the first time he's called me by name, as far as I can remember.
I look at him and sigh. “I want him taken alive. I want him to go back to Bastion and stand trial for his crimes, and if a Justicar says he's to be hanged, then I'll see that happen, too. But that's not what you're asking, right? You want to know if I'll shoot him if it comes to that. And I can't answer that question yet, Whitehorse. I don't know.”
He nods, leans forward and blows long, twin jets of smoke from his nostrils before speaking again. “I can respect that answer. It's easier to shoot a man if you don't know him. But I'll tell you what, I met this fucker once, and he broke my damn nose and stabbed me through the leg. I ain't got the kinds of moral issues you're wrestlin' with. If I see him again, I'll tell him to stand down, like I been trained to. If he don't, I'll put a bullet to him without thinkin', 'cause that's just my way.”
