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A short piece inspired by The Grateful Dead's - Friend of the Devil. The devil, in this case, being our vices or mistakes and struggle to overcome them.

This is a very rough first draft. The second half was rushed because I was tired and just needed to get the concept out. So don't mind that. It will be further fleshed out. I know that I need to explain his motivations a little better, there is method to my (and his) madness, I just haven't had the inspiration to sit down and work on it yet.

But any other opinions are welcome as well.
Contains: Non-graphic murder.


I lit out from Reno, I was trailed by twenty hounds
Didn't get to sleep last night 'till the morning came around.

Set out runnin' but I take my time
A friend of the devil is a friend of mine
If I get home before daylight, I just might get some sleep tonight.

Ran into the devil, babe, he loaned me twenty bills
I spent the night in Utah in a cave up in the hills.

Set out runnin' but I take my time, a friend of the devil is a friend of mine,
If I get home before daylight, I just might get some sleep tonight.

I ran down to the levee but the devil caught me there
He took my twenty dollar bill and vanished in the air.

Set out runnin' but I take my time
A friend of the devil is a friend of mine
If I get home before daylight, I just might get some sleep tonight.

Got two reasons why I cry away each lonely night,
The first one's named Sweet Anne Marie, and she's my hearts delight.
The second one is prison, babe, the sheriff's on my trail,
And if he catches up with me, I'll spend my life in jail.

Got a wife in Chino, babe, and one in Cherokee
The first one says she's got my child, but it don't look like me.

Set out runnin' but I take my time,
A friend of the devil is a friend of mine,
If I get home before daylight, I just might get some sleep tonight.

Got two reasons why I cry away each lonely night,
The first one's named Sweet Anne Marie, and she's my hearts delight.
The second one is prison, babe, the sheriff's on my trail,
And if he catches up with me, I'll spend my life in jail.

Got a wife in Chino, babe, and one in Cherokee
The first one says she's got my child, but it don't look like me.

Set out runnin' but I take my time,
A friend of the devil is a friend of mine,
If I get home before daylight, I just might get some sleep tonight.

~~ Friend of the Devil, The Grateful Dead


"That's four aces, Gents." Four aces, he says, but something jus' doesn't add up here. It's down to just us two, you see. Me and him. Him and me. Everyone else folded early on; right from the deal. And rightly so, given I dealt them each a ripe pile o' s**t. I'd made well sure of that. ...Thing is, I dealt this big lug the same hand of s**t and here he turns around, five rounds of bidding later, to flop four god-forsaken aces on the table. ******** are already running hot. There's been more than a little money lost at this table, and not a bill of it by me. To top it off, there's been a good deal of whiskey consumed this evening, and you can tell the barman's really soaking in the profits by the way he's whistling as he dries the glasses. But, of course, I'd raked in a tidy bundle myself, until this lout decided to try and out-cheat a shark.

"I'll call your bluff," I'd said, as I saw his raise and laid down those three lovely ladies who were going to win me this hand. A twenty dollar pot. Sure I'd bet plenty more than that in the past, but I needed every cent I could get, considering I have a lovely lady waiting for me back home, and twenty bucks is nothing to sneeze at. But Big Pete, as they called him, wasn't bluffing, which brings me back to the situation at hand. "Four aces?" I say. "How can that be, do you think, when I could bet you another twenty dollars that Tony, over here," that's the guy to my right, "has a fifth?" You can really see Tony's brain workin' on that one. In fact, I can't tell which concept's giving him more trouble- the fact that I know what's in his hand, or that there are five aces in play. I leave him to mull it over for another moment or two and turn my attention back to Big Pete who's fairly bristling by now. But I don't let it phase me. I sit back in my chair and shrug languidly. You'd think, to look at me, that I hadn't a care in the world. But a shark is a shark. And being a carnivore, I'm always calculating; planning for my next meal.

"You're accusing me of cheating?" Pete demands heatedly. His chair, shoved back, teeters on two legs and all but falls as he jumps to his feet. The eyes of every man present are weighing on us, and after that enraged bellow, the room is resoundingly silent. "Now don't get me wrong, boys," I reply coolly, despite the charge in the air. - I'm smiling. Thin lipped. As I meet the eyes of the Large man standing across from me. I should be trembling as I stare down the barrel, but my own Colt 45 is already out and ready for any eventuality. Always prepared, that's me. "No, don't get me wrong," I continue. "I'm not from 'round these parts, so if you tell me that you Reno Gents print your decks with five aces, of course I'll take your word for it." You can see Pete's face screw up, much like Ol' Tony's over there, and I take this to mean the b*****d's thinking. A habit which doesn't become him. And I take my opportunity without a second thought. I'm not the man to be caught on the wrong side of a gun when it goes off, and I'm sure as hell not going to underestimate Pete by hesitating. The two pounds of metal courage in my fist kick as I squeeze the trigger, taking Pete's legs out from under him, right above the knee, right under the table. He falls. The chair falls. And his revolver fires as he goes down, but the shot is wild and I'm already on my feet, with Annabelle, my lovely peacemaker, pointed at the big man's head.

Not a man moves. They're all tense and stiff as mules in a thunder storm. I'm not sure my analogy makes sense, but now's not the time to worry over such matters. I grab the gun laying loose on the floor as Pete clutches his leg, cursing obscenities. Sure, I'd cheated first, but I was damned if I'd be swindled by a less adept cheat than myself. But I'm a forgiving man. I don't make him suffer with that leg of his for long. I grab my hat and scoop up the twenty bucks (and the remainder of a bottle of whiskey), before blowing my would be assailant's brains out --all over the floor and table leg.

The barman's not whistling, and no gambling is taking place as I stroll out into the street.
No one dares react until I'm on my horse and headed out of town.

I know that within the hour there'll be a group of men, hounds and all, on my trail as I ride out toward Utah to the east. But I'll never get far without some quick thinking. It's when I reach a set of railroad tracks that it strikes me. Reno's a fair sized town. There'd be trains in and out throughout the night. So I set the horse galloping and hop on the next chain of box cars to come by. The horse, bless its hide, carries on in his own direction, and who knows, maybe he'll buy me some time. I'd pray that that the sheriff and his men aren't clever enough to catch onto my devices, but considering the little guy on my shoulder all these years, enticing me to cheat at cards (culminating if the murder of Big Pete), it would seem a little hypocritical, so I resign myself to counting on luck over divine intervention. I'm not a superstitious fellow, but if crossing my fingers might help-- well, I can sleep that way if need be.

That is, I could if I could sleep at all. But between the noise of the train as it clatters along, the lurching of the car, and my nerves slowly fraying, I'm having no sort of luck getting any rest. By dawn I've had enough. I hop off at the first sign of slowing and drag myself off into the hills. It's in a tiny cave, off the beaten path, that I finally find some peace. I can't afford more than a couple hours rest, but I take what I can get, and spend it fitfully. My thoughts are on Anne Marie and I realize that, while it seems that I'm running aimlessly, I'm headed back to her. I'm in danger, no doubt about that, and I'll be bringing it to her door, but love makes you do crazy things. When I wake from my all too brief nap I discover that my whiskey is gone. In the saddle bags. Back in Nevada. This will not do.

Luckily the train is slowing, which means there's a town not too far on ahead, and if I plan to stop, the sooner the better. I'd already lost precious time dawdling up in the hills. I brush the dirt from my clothes as I stroll into town, and dabbing the sweat from my brow, I make my way to the nearest saloon. I don't plan to stay for more than a drink, and I really don't plan to gamble, but we all have our compulsions and that little voice in my ear is ever so convincing. Just a hand or two, straight playing, what's the worst that could happen if I keep it clean?

But it's not long before I realize that, without cheating, I can't win a hand to save my soul. And while my soul doesn't hold much value to me, that twenty dollar bill, which I just boozed and gambled away, did. Cursing my weakness and the devil on my shoulder, I hit the road again. I remind myself that, if I make up lost time, I'll spend tonight with my Anne Marie, and that's all the incentive I need. A small nagging memory creeps into the back of my mind, the faces of two wives left behind, but neither if them hold a candle to my sweetheart, and the memory is quickly extinguished. Snuffed out.

It's well past midnight when I get back to my angel. She's asleep when I knock, but after a timid peak through a cracked door, she lets me in. She's joyful to see me safe, and with renewed love we fall into bed. I know that we'll be awakened by altogether less happy knocking, in just a few hours, but I tell her nothing. No need to worry her pretty little head tonight. I'm home and neither of us could ask for anything more.

Despite it not being my favourite type of story, I did quite like it. At a few points it lost that drive I felt it needed to hold my attention, but if you hone it a bit, I'm sure you can rewrite some for better effect.

The only bit that really bothered me was, 'They're all tense and stiff as mules in a thunder storm. I'm not sure my analogy makes sense'. I don't feel that metafiction slotted into that story too well. It just broke it in half, where it was placed, and made it seem clumsy. Up until then, you had us immersed in realism, but when you throw in something like that, you've really got to be careful.

I'd say that it's definately worth fleshing out, because there's a good story there. The only real criticism is that sentence I mentioned in the other post. Other than that, if you can keep it tightly wound, it'll be fantastic.