The Morgan Gang

Chapter 3: Memories

Kilgore often pondered what the gang used to be like. Before it all went to shit. Originally, it used to be only him and Morgan. They would do petty crimes like pickpocketing the rich or holding up stores. He always remembered one particular memory from when he and Morgan were in New York City and they robbed a gunsmith and a general store at the same time.

"Alright, Kilgore. You go to the gunsmith and hold him up. Don't forget your damn bandana this time, eh? We don't need another shootout like in Boston when you robbed my cousin and he recognized you" Morgan said with a chuckle. "Yes, I know I know" Kilgore replied. Kilgore walked into the gunsmith, bandana equipped, making sure it was tight so it didn't fall off his face. "Sir, I need you to remove that mask from your face, you're giving me the chills!" said the gunsmith nervously. "No, I don't think I will. You see, I want your money", Kilgore said in his raspy voice. Kilgore unholstered his revolvers and pointed them at the gunsmith, "I want all the money in that register, now! If you don't do it quickly, I will lose my fucking temper!" Kilgore yelled. "Al-alright sir! Here's all of it!" said the gunsmith nervously. "Huh. You had a lot more than I thought. Here, I'm sure me and my business partner don't need three-hundred dollars. Keep a hundred and this never happened. Okay?" Kilgore said, his smile hidden by his mask. "Why, that's mighty kind of ya. Thank you I will make sure no one knows about this". The gunsmith retreated to his basement. Kilgore met Morgan outside the nearby saloon. "How much did you get, Kilgore?" Morgan asked. "Only two-hundred dollars". Kilgore said with a sigh, even though he knew the real amount. "That's not bad, but not ideal for us but you can't help how much a gunsmith makes with this being a civilized area, no one in the damn city likes having guns since they're all pompous asses" Morgan said with a disgust in his voice. "Well, how 'bout you, Morgan?" Kilgore asked. "Ah. Not too much. Just a hundred dollars". They never split the money, whatever they got from a store robbery, they kept on themselves. Now, if it was a bank, it'd be split between them evenly.

Kilgore remembered when him and Morgan met Webber. It was in Illinois, a few weeks away from the bank heist. "Hey, wanna get a drink and some food, Kilgore?" Morgan asked. "Yea, sure". Kilgore replied. They walked into a nearby saloon and there was a fight going on. "Sam, you get back to camp, we don't need you getting recognized" Kilgore said. They met Sam a few weeks earlier. Sam was an orphaned fifteen year old kid. When Kilgore and Morgan found him, he was covered in blood, he had just killed a police man chasing him for robbing some lady of a thousand dollars. "Alright, I'll head back". Sam said. "YOU DON'T TALK TO MY WOMAN LIKE THAT, YOU INBRED FUCK!" yelled a random man. "YEA WELL, GIVEN HER REPUTATION AROUND HERE, SHE IS ONE FUCKING WHORE AND BOY IS SHE GOOD AT HER JOB!" Webber yelled. The random man swung and missed Webber. Webber pulled out a knife and stabbed the man. Morgan was impressed but Kilgore wasn't, he didn't like people that killed for fun. Though Kilgore has only killed one person and that was his own father because he beat his mother all the time. He never regretted that. Ever. "Hey you, kid, come here" Morgan said to Webber. "How'd you like to join my gang of miscreants?" Webber pondered this for a bout, ten seconds. "Yea sure, why not? Who are you anyway?" Webber asked. Morgan tipped his black hat and said, "Robert J. Morgan, pleases to meet you". Webber's jaw hit the floor. "I admire you, Mr. Morgan!" Kilgore rolled his eyes. Kilgore took Morgan aside and gave him a concerned look and said, "are you sure you want this demented fuck in this gang? Think about it hard. He's unstable, you saw!" Morgan grinned and replied, "well, he's just what I've been looking for nowadays, a man that can cause a fuckin' scene in a second!" Kilgore sighed.

The last memory Kilgore thought of was the day his best friend, Robert J. Morgan, died. It was a cool, summer day and the clouds were nowhere to be seen. They were riding towards Illinois from their camp when a shot hit Morgan's horse, Betsy in the leg. "What the fuck was that?!" Morgan yelled. Snickering came out of the woods. Morgan and Kilgore fired their revolvers into that area and heard someone groan and shout, "I'M FUCKING HIT!" Morgan now remembered who's technique that was, it was the Vagabond Gang. Patrick Vagabond appeared like he was ghost but more devilish. He was dressed head to toe in all black. Even his guns reflected his clothing. "Well, well, well. Look who it fucking is boys!" Patrick yelled in his thick, Scottish accent. "Hello, Patrick. What'd you want now?" Morgan moaned as he rolled his eyes. "What do I want you bastard?! I want you six feet under with Lucifer himself!" Patrick said. Before Morgan could get his next rebuttal out, Patrick shot Morgan in the heart. They let Kilgore go so he could wallow in his misery. Kilgore rushed back to camp to inform the others. "I don't know how to tell y'all this but, Mr. Morgan is dead. Patrick Vagabond killed him". The gang was shook with sadness and anger. "Well, lets go kill them Scottish fucks!" Webber said angrily. "No, we will do the heist in Illinois and run off like Mr. Morgan said we would. I'm in charge now". Kilgore said, even though the last four words sounded foreign to him.