Free Shotgun by Courtney Joyner

and since I never learned to read or write properly, my cellmate is setting all of this down for me, using the best language in his capability.
    â€œYou were barely in long pants when I left Virginia, and Ma and Pa had long before decided you were the favorite. You were smart, took to school, and looked like our father. I hated school and don’t resemble either of our parents, and those differences have been between us ever since.
    â€œI was in jail for robbery when you were getting out of school. That was not my first time locked up, but the first time you were able to visit me, which I appreciated. When you were studying medicine, I was on the other side of the law in the wild country, and was then in jail again for the manslaughter of a miscreant. You did not visit me then, but I understood that mama refused to give you her permission, so I hold no grudges.
    â€œWith the war came your commission and my own difficulties; I killed my fair share, but was not in official uniform, and so I am now to be hung. That uniform makes all the difference doesn’t it? As do the rules, which you have always respected, except that one time.
    â€œThat one time is why I now regard you as My Brother John
    â€œSince my death is now a thing of yesterday, it is my desire that you should keep all of the Army gold that we hijacked together from the troop train coming from Richmond. I don’t know why you threw in with me on this, but I am glad that you did, brother. This fortune has always been our secret, and since you were the only one to know its final location, it was also our trust. Despite the end of conflict, the government will never stop looking for that money, and I know you have the strength to keep it safely hidden. I thank you and respect you that you did not spend it, as I knew you would not, but now all of it is yours to do with what you will.
    â€œOne half of a million dollars is a great deal of money, John, and I am facing the hangman with at least the good feeling that after a life of doing wrong, I helped a good man provide a special life for his wife and son.
    â€œI look forward to the day when we are joined again on the Streets of Glory.
    â€œYour older brother, Devlin Bishop.”
    Widow Kate read the last paragraphs aloud a second time, then leaned back in her overstuffed velvet chair, her fat fingers locked together in pause. She wiped away a small moustache of sweat before speaking.
    Kate said, “That’s what you’ve been chasing all these years, Beaudine?”
    â€œPilfering that letter from my jacket was a foolish mistake. I remind you, again, of my rank and the consequences of disrespect.”
    â€œOh, no disrespect intended, but you should be glad I read it. You owe me quite a sum, and this gives me some hope of being paid.”
    â€œMadame, you’ll get yours.”
    Beaudine sat opposite the large, dark oak desk that hid half of Kate’s massive body, adjusting himself on a stack of fine silk cushions that had been sewn to the seat and back of a finely carved rocking chair. Like the desk, the chair was highlighted with streaks of lamé, while the rest of Kate’s bordello office was all silk wallpaper, carved ivory dragons, and Chinese vases on thin pedestals. Heavy drapes killed the sun, and the oil lamps around the room burned low.
    Kate removed the glass flute from the small lamp on her desk, turning the flame down to a blue burn as she said, “The chance at half of a million dollars in one fell swoop is a hell of a thing, if it’s there. I’ve had my chances to grab quick fortunes, but let them pass. I prefer to amass my fortunes a few dollars at a time. That way, I know it’s real.”
    Beaudine leaned suddenly forward. “Now you don’t think it’s real? Dev Bishop was my cellmate.”
    Kate smiled, shaking her head. “I know you wrote the letter, Major. It has your exaggerated flair.”
    â€œYou compliment and