Midtown

Cool nights and sweltering hot days. Blue skies with gilded sunrises and painted sunsets. Rolling hills and piles of rocky ridges stretched out in an endless expanse of freedom. It had been a long time since James had seen people. He had spent the spring cow-punching a herd up North East from New Mexico to Wyoming. That job had finished a month ago. It wasn't his usual line of work but he felt like he needed some change and it paid just enough to get him by. After he got paid for the cow punching job he had decided to set out for the west coast and hadn't seen a person since.

Living off of small game was alright and it kept the wad of dollars and small pouch of coins in his saddle bag from dwindling. He liked being out on his own. Not that James didn't like people or nothin, people were great, most of ‘em anyways. Just something about being the only one under the stars at night and doing things his own way, turning wherever he felt like, taking whatever trail he decided looked best. Nobody to give a damn whether he lived or died, and if he did either it was on his own head; no one else’s. Something about that much freedom gave him peace of mind, and he needed it every once in a while. It gave a man a chance to look over his own life and make decisions.

Where he was now was dusty. Lots of low thorny bushes and cactus. Nothin but coyotes, rattlers, jackrabbits and vultures out here. Three days of this stuff. Riding water hole to water hole. He knew it would be about two more days of slow riding and takin it easy on his poor horses. He wasn't in a hurry now. Not running, not chasing, and plenty of time to see that big ocean.

The sun was minutes from dipping down below the horizon line. James found a good place to camp. He settled the horses and then settled himself. Made a small cook fire and roasted jackrabbit. After that was done he stoked up the fire, sat down on a rock next to it and took off his belt rig. He cleaned the fine leather and then went to work on his gun. It was a 45 Smith&Wesson. It was black with Purple Heart wood in the handle. In the center of the grips on each side was a small abalone shell circle, about half an inch in diameter. An absolute one-of-a-kind piece of master craftsmanship. It was low profile. Not too flashy, but if you gave it more than a cursory glance you could see it was unique. And if you gave it a closer look, you would see that it had been well used. For many many years.

James cleaned the piece, unloaded and reloaded. Flicking the cartridge in, giving it a whorl with his left hand, and then spinning it on his right finger so fast the two actions happened together. Then he stood up, picked up his belt and holstered the gun. He stood for a second, squinting into the flames. Suddenly he whipped around facing his horse Sammy and drew, hand blurring. Spun it. Holstered it. Drew! Holstered one more time. His horse slowly turned its head to look over at him and practically said, “Did you say something?”

James snorted. “All that showing off and you weren’t even looking?” He went over and gave her white neck an affectionate firm pat. Then he said goodnight to his pack horse, Red. He walked over to his bed roll, took off his belt and boots, curled up in his blanket and watched the heat and smoke from his cook fire coals wend their way up through starlight.

Late the next day James squinted off at the dusty horizon line. His brow furrowed, a slight frown on his face. He could see the heat rising off the ground, in certain spots making it look as though there were shimmering pools of water in the distance. He could also see buildings between these delirious oceans of heat. That’s what he was glaring at. James studied lots of maps before he left town, and this town wasn’t on any. Somehow he never forgot a map. He didn’t know why, just always been that way. Surprised him when he found out most other people couldn't do that.

So James knew what was ahead of him and what ground he had already covered, and there was no town anywhere near where he was moving through. Yet there it was. Standing there in defiance of the map and Jame’s knowledge of it.

He looked about. Back over his shoulder. Checked the direction of the sun and his shadow. He thought back on the slow days that had rolled by. He knew what heat exhaustion and dehydration could do to a man, but he had taken care.

It was probably at least fifty miles from the low rocky ridge James was on to the nearest speck of any civilization. That speck had been a mine, but it didn’t yield much. Certainly not enough to built a bank, inn, saloon, jail, and all the other fine establishments prescribed to a respectable sized town. It was a few buildings that were used as an outpost for travelers moving out west. Its only real usefulness was that it had a small well that the miners had dug up so they had a way to stay alive in this climate. Other than that there were the occasional watering holes.

He squinted again at the distant town. The heat was playing with his vision. It seemed to waver and disappear. That would stop as he got closer, and it did. The closer James got the less delirious the little town on the horizon line appeared. Not a mirage then, but not on any map. James wasn't lost. This little town was. And it deserved investigation.

The sun was well along its descent, probably about four in the afternoon when James entered the town. Small, maybe ten buildings or so. Stables, bank, a blacksmith, and the saloon looked alright. Looked like there was an inn too. Almost a respectable sized town, James half smiled to himself. All of the buildings were plank wood. Some two story, but not all. Something was missing… No jail house. No sherif. Well, James supposed that not being on the map might have something to do with that. No people yet, but there were plenty of signs the place was kept up and he could hear some noise over by the stables.

There was a post for him to tie up his horses at the saloon, but he figured they would appreciate it if he put them up in the shade of the stables with something to drink. He patted Sammy on the neck, “How about some shade and cool water?” She seemed to approve of the idea and steered herself toward the stables of her own accord, as if there really wasn't another choice. “Somehow I knew you would choose the lap of luxury,” He said dryly.

He dismounted and gave a whistle as he approached. A boy came round the corner of the open door frame and looked them both over.

“How much for a cool place and some water for the rest of the day?” James asked.

“Oh good,” the boy said, “You gonna visit the saloon n’ the inn?”

“I was thinking about it,” said James.

“Let them know you got two horses in the stable. You pay inside,” said the boy holding out his hands for the reins. James tossed his horse’s reins to the boy and walked away. “I hope you can sweet talk,” he said over his shoulder. As if in answer, Sammy reared on the boy as he was leading her into the stables. James made his way to the saloon with a few coins and bills in his pockets.

The bar keeper’s damp rag slid across an already perfectly clean counter. The windows were mostly shuttered and the place was cool and dim. As yet unlit ornamental brass oil lamps hung from the walls. There was enough light to see, but much dimmer than the hour or two of sunlight that remained to the world outside the saloon doors. The hollow sound of well made boots traveled across the porch outside, but the metallic jangle of riding spurs was missing. The swinging doors parted and James cut a tall shadow across the room to the bar. Travel worn and dusty as hell, yet he looked like his clothes were nice and well maintained not all that long ago. He tipped his hat back and took in the empty room at a glance as he casually walked to the dark hardwood bar lined with glasses, mugs and cups of wild variance. He naturally gravitated to the cut glass bottle of whisky that had a clean empty glass next to it as it looked familiar to him.

The room was empty save for the bar keeper behind the counter. It was a clean place. James was disappointed no one else was around. The saloon was the best place to go if you wanted to pick up loose information without having to ask questions. People liked to talk to each other, and the more they drank the louder the conversations always became. A man could learn lot just by sitting by and listening. The only trick was sorting out the false from the true. Lots of it was just hot air. It was something he had gotten good a sorting through.

He looked up at the bar keep about to ask how much for a glass. The bar keep with a black apron, white pressed shirt and perfectly cropped mustache held up two fingers without a word. This was an odd setup. But James shrugged it off. He wouldn’t find out much if he insulted the bar keep. It did at least make it easy to see the drink he knew.

James poured himself a glass and put two small silver coins on the bar. Then stepped over to one side of the bar, to be closer to the corner, as he smelled the spirits in his glass. He sat on a hardwood barstool and pulled a small cigar from his pocket. The barkeep slid a glass ash tray across the bar to him.

“Welcome to Midtown, Slinger,” He said.

The flare from James’s sulfur match reflected in his eyes as they leveled on the bar keep’s own and he drew in smoke.

“You look like you been riding two weeks straight, but your belt and gun are cleaner than my polished oak counter top,” he answered the unspoken question.

Smoke swirled up from the match in the ash tray. James just nodded and sipped his whisky. It was damn good. The bar keep nodded back as if to confirm it all for himself and went to put a new clean glass where James’ had once been.

Just a few minutes later wood sandals clunked on the wooden porch outside at a short even gait and the doors swung open to mix rays of sun with aromatic cigar smoke on the side of the room near the bar. A man in a kimono and wooden sandals walked in and paused a moment before subtly tipping his big straw cone-shaped hat back slightly and locking eyes with the gunslinger.

James was practiced at looking disinterested it what was going on and who was coming and going while in fact keeping very close tabs on what was going on and who was coming and going. When the new comer first walked in James was very struck with the strange outfit. It wasn’t a poorly made outfit by any means, but it was completely unusual. Then the stranger tipped his hat back. The Slinger’s hand was already near his side from habit and what he saw in those eyes almost made him twitch. There was a stillness there.

Just like when you put wood under a carpenters hands and he can tell you what kind it is. He can tell you what the grain is like, how old it is, how hard it is, or how long it will last and therefore what it is good for. Well, James could tell the same about men.

No doubt about it, whatever this man wore, and whatever weapons he had, he was a gunslinger. No, he didn’t carry a gun, he had a sword of some kind, but that didn’t matter. He had learned the craft, the art; he had burned it all down to a simplicity that worked and from experience worked over all the finer details. This man’s trade was in its essence: death.

But from there this man had come to an understanding just as James had. People deserved to live. Plenty of good people made mistakes. After arriving at the height of such and art you realize that the most important part of it all is telling whether or not you have to use your deadly skill. And at the risk of one’s own life you never drew first. You always had to give them a chance to make the right choice and yet somehow never get suckered by truly evil men.

James could feel it, he could see it in this man’s eyes. Clear and dark. This man walked into a room and did the same thing James always did. This stranger knew exactly what James was. He might or might not understand James’ weapon, but he knew. The room seemed to be far too small for the both of them. The tenth of a second that passed seemed to stretch out. Smoke from the side of the bar and sunlight from the swinging doors did a slow dance. Each man was stiller than stone.

James gave a nod to the stranger. The man bowed slightly in reply and the room seemed to return, despite no real physical changes, to its larger more spacious self. The new customer looked to the drinks lined up on the counter. He found what looked to James to be a small porcelain vase with a matching porcelain shot glass, and moved to it. He looked at the bar keep behind the counter, matched his two fingers with two coins, which the bar keep was happy to accept, and then moved off to the other side of the bar to sip his drink. He seemed a little confused by the bar stools, took a glance at the gunslinger in the other corner and made like him.

“Interesting customers, Keep,” James muttered as he took another drink from his glass, still baffled by this town’s odd appearance and even more unlikely customers.

“That’s Midtown, Slinger.” Said the barkeep in a slightly bored and brushoff manner.

“What does that mean?” James started prying.

“We ain’t exactly on the map.” He was coming out of boredom.

“I noticed that. You ain’t givin me straight answers.” James pushed again.

The barkeep put down the glass he was cleaning and slung the damp rag over his shoulder. He placed his hands on the bar and gave James a level look. “You won’t believe it until you go outside and look around a bit more. Really have a look. Most people that pass through here justify everything they see. Take a real look, Slinger. See what is in front of you without trying to make up why it must be this way or that way.”

James just took a thoughtful sip of whiskey.

A few minutes passed with James thinking about what he said before the next guest announced his presence with the sound of heavy boots on the porch. A huge figure strode through the doors and took several huge steps into the room before pausing to let his eyes adjust to the light. The Slinger had turned toward the bar, and the Samurai was pretending to be engrossed in his drink.

Once his eyes adjusted to the light, the huge chain-mailed and steel-clad figure moved over to a large tankard of ale on the counter as the only normal thing in the saloon, looked to the bar keep and fished two coins out of a leather pouch. He turned with his drink in hand and walked to a far corner of the room, noting the samurai, the gunslinger and looking around the place while moving off and muttering under his breath to himself, “Rather strange.”

“What’s the deal Keep? These locals?” James asked, amused with the odd company, figuring he already knew the answer. The newest addition to the saloon probably had sixty or seventy pounds on James and moved his huge body with certainty.

“We don’t have many ‘locals’ here in Midtown. There’s only eight of us,” The bar keep said dryly. “But don’t worry I know what trouble looks like and these guys are tough but seem alright.”

James had finished his drink and just put out the last of his smoke. He was about to move on and see what else there was around here when two pairs of footsteps sounded on the porch along with some loud voices.

“Busy day,” said the bar keep.

Two men walked in, “I tell ya this is as good a place as any, and it ain’t on no maps,” The first man said. The barkeep looked over at James and the look in his eyes was quite easy to read. These guys were trouble.

The two newcomers barely took note of who was in the room as they swaggered up to the barkeep at the counter. They had similar clothing to James. Cow punchers or something like it. Sounded like they were from farther South. They had a bit of a drawl. James liked to give people a chance, but he was sure the barkeep was right.

“Got any whisky, son?” Asked the second man in a voice that was a little too loud and over bearing. This kid was probably only twenty and the bar keep was nearer to twice that age but the kid was bigger than him. They also both had holsters on their right. James kept his position at the bar and turned the base of his empty glass back and forth. He could feel the atmosphere in the room change. He didn’t like these two.

“Yeah I got whisky, Stranger, two for a glass,” the bar kept his voice cheerful and held up two fingers out of habit. He hoped that these two would make it short and move on.

The second man slapped four pennies on the bar, “Two whiskies.”

“That’s not quite the right color coin, friend,” the bar keep said gently.

The first man reached across the bar and grabbed the bar keep’s clean clothes in his filthy hands and pulled him close to his face. “You tryin to rob us or somthin? These here are good coin, son,” he bared his teeth a bit when he said it and they looked to have several shades of yellow, brown and black. James could only imagine that his breath smelled fouler than shit.

“Easy friend, I don’t want any trouble and I didn’t mean any harm by what I said,” The bar keep was doing a pretty good job of keeping calm.

“I think you is right Kyle, this little shit was gonna get us drunk and then rob us blind!” The second man drew his dusty, greasy gun and leaned against the bar to wave its muzzle in the bar keeps face as he said it.

Now the bar keep was starting to sweat a bit and was loosing his composure. “H-hey, Slinger, how about a little help here?”

One of the bar stools made a loud noise as it was moved back. The samurai stood four and a half feet from the first man leaning over the counter with his hands on the bar keep. He stood perfectly straight with both arms loosely at his sides looking dead straight into the eyes of the man who had drawn the gun.

The room had frozen. Everything was dead quiet. The two men, Kyle and whoever the second man was, stared at the samurai. His clothes might have looked comical to them, but the power of his gaze was not. And the look in his eyes was extremely displeased.

“Not sure I need to lift a finger, Keep,” James said quietly.

This broke the silence. “You keep out of this!” The second man shouted, reaching over his partner to jab his gun in the direction of the samurai. “He was going to rob us blind, so you just mind your god damn business!”

“What kind of a stinking shit-hole is this place?” Kyle said turning back to the bar keep, jerking him slightly, “Your customers are crazy, rotten scum! Threatening to hurt decent, honest folk like us!”

The samurai had not moved an inch and continued his level gaze. The second man didn’t seem to be able to turn back to what he was doing with the bar keep.

“You just stay out or I will make you eat shit!” He jerked his gun at the samurai again as if stabbing the air in front of him with it was supposed to threaten or affect the samurai in some way. “I’ll blow you away!” He looked like he was getting a little bit pale.

“Give us your money, son! You thought you could rob us honest payin’ customers! It’s only fair you get what you tried on us!” Kyle shook him again.

“I’ve heard quite enough,” rumbled the huge knight as he strode out of the shadows from his side of the room. His left hand rested easily on the hilt of his broad-sword and he glared at the two holding guns drawn.

The second man looked like a small dog that realized he was surrounded by wolves, “YOU FUCK OFF, FREAK!” He screamed hysterically, now jabbing his shooter in the direction of the armored knight. He lost what color remained in his face when he saw his huge new opposition and his gun was becoming less steady by the second. Kyle growled under his breath and made a sudden movement. There was a loud explosion and Kyle let out a yell of pain! Kyle had drawn to shoot the knight but as Kyle made his move the samurai had drawn and cut up on the muzzle of Kyle’s gun in one motion! The strike bent the muzzle before the bullet could exit and caused the gun to explode in Kyle’s grasp! The hysterical gunman next to Kyle flinched and let out a high pitched involuntary squeak as it happened. The gunslinger, samurai and knight didn’t bat an eyelash.

“Shit! shit! Fuckin shit!” Kyle was swearing violently and holding his bloodied right hand with his left.

The second gunman seemed to forget that he was armed and was staring open mouthed and pale faced at his partner.

James made a quick move of stepping forward and leaning over to remove the six-shooter from the second man’s loose grasp, “You shouldn’t play with guns, kiddo.” He said, skillfully twirling it in his right hand.

The huge knight took his cue and grabbed an enormous fist full of the front of the second man’s collar, “Out with you two,” he said grabbing Kyle by the back of his shirt collar as well. Kyle swore at him and tried to spit on him. The knight promptly cuffed Kyle in the face with the massive back of his hand, knocking a few rotten teeth loose no doubt, and grabbed him again. He hoisted the second man off his feet, drawing another involuntary squeak from him, and pulled Kyle off balance and dragged him across the wooden floor while holding the other man in the air.

The knight walked to the door and James followed a few steps behind him unloading the second man’s six shooter into his palm. The knight tossed Kyle through the doors onto the porch outside. He timed the doors to be in the motion of swinging back inward before he threw the second man head first out of it so that they made very solid contact with his head as he went through them.

James stepped through the door after the knight and tossed the empty gun into the second man’s groin. The second man was sitting up on the floor and his hands and attention were busy with his head, so he caught the full weight the metal object where James had intended. He stepped forward and bending his knees to get level with them, he straightened the collar of the second man who was holding his head with one hand and his groin with the other, “You kids run home now.”

They both scrambled off the porch and got back to their horses staked near by. Once Kyle was mounted he regained some of his previous ferocity. “You’s jus’ made a big mistake there, son!” Kyle spat with fire and hatred in his voice. The bar keep had come up to the door and Kyle was addressing him. His broken mouth formed an evil smile and blood showed all over his blackened rotting teeth, making him look like some foul, filthy demon. He spat out blood and wiped his mouth, looking at the back of his hand. “A HUGE FUCKIN MISTAKE!” He screamed. He laughed without mirth. “Comon Connor,” he waved to his partner. They put spurs to their horses hard and took off running.

James turned to the knight. He was watching the pair leave for a few seconds, looked briefly at James and then turned back inside. James followed him back in. The samurai was waiting inside with his sword still drawn. James nodded. The samurai put his sword away and went back to his drink. The knight had already gone back to finish his.

James walked back up to the bar keep and sat down, “You got a place I can stay here for tonight? I’m of a mind to make sure those two don’t come back with friends.”

“I’ve got an extra room upstairs, Slinger, but I don’t think those boys will be back. We don’t get the same people more than once here in Midtown. Though, all the same, I would appreciate it.”

The next morning James was eating a large stack of flapjacks at the bar counter. He moved his head slightly to hear something better, “Hmm.” He said putting his fork down mid meal and finished chewing. “You don’t get the same people here twice?” He asked the barkeep.

“No,” the barkeep furrowed his brow, ”well, maybe once or twice.” He took a rather elaborate, complicated looking pocket watch out and looked at if for a few seconds. James’ attention was outside. He was listening to something.

The barkeep muttered, “I suppose they might still have some time, depending which way…”

“You got a gun behind that bar, Keep?” James asked casually. The barkeep looked at him a little surprised. He nodded. “And how thick is this here counter?” The barkeep was getting the idea. He heard the horses approaching. Several riders had just reined up outside.

“This is the shit-hole!” It was Kyle’s voice outside.

“Get down behind the counter, Keep. It’s gonna make this simple,” James said as he turned back to his flapjacks to take one more bite.

The stamping of five sets of boots thumped on the porch and Kyle led his little gang of fearless companions into the saloon. James kept his back turned and took another delicious bite of flapjacks. Glorious morning sunlight flittered through some of the half opened shutters and showed the fragrant steam rising from his well earned breakfast.

“Hey Shit-head! Where is that filthy criminal that tried to rob me?” Kyle yelled, again overly loud, as the bar was perfectly quiet except for James chewing. They always seemed to pick the wrong person for the fight, thought James, the bar keep hadn’t even really done anything to him.

James turned, looking curious. “Mmm!” He said, putting down his fork and chewing. The gang of five looked picturesque. Kyle was in the center and the others were fanned out two and two on each side. The last one to James’ right had a rifle out and cocked. Him first, James noted, if it came to it. James was feeling more and more that it definitely would. “You boys come for breakfast?” James asked through a half full mouth as we swallowed.

“Cut the fuckin crap!” Spat Kyle, “Where is he?”

“Fine,” James said as he stood up and faced them. Connor took a small involuntary step back and put his hand on his gun. “The other gentleman left me in charge,” said James flatly, glaring at Kyle.

“That so?” Said Kyle with a venomous half smile showing his filthy teeth. They stood for a minute in silence.

“Last chance to get out, Kyle,” James said quietly.

Kyle snorted in distain. James stood there calmly, arms loose at his sides. He was still, like a fully compressed steel spring. Kyle went tense just before he reached for his gun.

It was like chain lightening flashed and thunder roared! James’ hands were a blur. His immaculate 45 came out of his his holster only as far as it needed to tilt the muzzle up and aim from the hip. It was an extension of his body, something that was a part of him in every way his hand was. His left hand moved over at the same time to cock each successive shot. All the while he sidestepped, fast.

The rifleman didn’t get time to level his weapon and the bullet slammed the floor five feet in front of James. Two shots hit the counter where James had been standing sending splinters everywhere and a glass object far off to the right behind the counter had exploded, that last one from Connor who was running out the swinging doors.

James reloaded the four empties in his gun and holstered it as he stepped back over to his breakfast. He inspected what was left of it for fragments of glass that might have landed in it. Finding none, he picked up his fork and took another bite. Damn good food. The barkeep looked over the counter wide-eyed.

“Midtown have an undertaker?” Asked James casually through a mouthful of pancake. The barkeeper shook his head.

“Well, sorry about the counter top. How about a tour of the rest of town? I like it here.”

…

The air was hot as golden rays of sunlight burst through the blue sky and lit the tan dusty ground and wooden porch as James and the bar keeper stepped out of the saloon.

“Listen, Slinger. If you stay here I ain’t able to say for sure you will get to where you meant to go before you came through here.”

“Keep, I ain’t got any reason to be anywhere other than where I want to be when I want to be.”

The bar keep just looked at him for a moment, then finally nodded and headed off the porch, James by his side striding easily with his head up.

“I like you Slinger, but I don’t run Midtown, so it ain’t up to me whether you stay or not. You’re gonna have to meet the Maker.”

“Maker of what?”

“Midtown.”

James didn’t waste words trying to understand everything. He was going to find out shortly. He supposed the questions of why Midtown wasn’t on the map and who those other fine but strange lookin gents were that helped throw out Kyle and Connor yesterday might even be answered.

The bar keep was taking James to the other side of the small town. They walked by a fountain that James hadn’t noticed before. It was quite something. All done up in black and white stone. Simple and angular in design and pattern with three tiers, but quite beautiful. James looked at it for a few seconds and then put his attention back on where he was going. But something made him look back, something wasn’t quite right. Just before the fountain left his view behind another building he saw what it was.

The fountain was done in sections. Like you cut up a pie. If one section was white the next was black. The white sections looked normal, but in the black sections the water was running in reverse, or at least that is sure as hell what it looked like.

The bar keep just continued on even though James slowed a bit and James sped up to stay with him. Another question that needed answering.

They stopped at a two story building with a very large double door on it that looked more like a barn door. The bar keep knocked.

“Come in Bradley, bring your new friend,” a woman’s voice came clearly through the wood paneling.

They opened the door and walked in. The room was very large. It was a sort of black smith shop, but not at all like James had ever seen. There was a table at the center of this well lit room. It was made of beautifully carved wood and metal bracing. It was a workbench. On it were stacks and stacks of well organized metal coins of all kinds and sizes and colors. And at the table stood the most beautiful, radiant brunette James had ever seen. She was in a dark dress but also wore a black smith’s apron.

“Hello, James. It’s good to see you at last.” Her voice was pure and musical.

James tipped his hat.

Her eyes danced with life. She was so radiant. James was staring. She was literally radiant. He could see it now that his eyes adjusted from the glaring sunlight. There was a soft light that seemed to come from her. James wasn’t awe struck, but he felt better than he ever had in his life standing in front of her.

“I wondered which of you would stay. I suppose it makes sense that you would. I do love your time period.” She smiled. “I have employment for you.”

James had a good feeling about this. Something told him this was the place to be, and she was the one to work for.

James nodded.

She picked up a belted shooter and handed it to him. He gripped the fine leather and looked at it a moment. The grip pieces were made out of the biggest black fire opals he had ever seen. The metal felt like nothing he knew existed. It was dark, almost black, grey.

He took off his rig and belted the new one. He rubbed the palm of his hand on the grip for a second, let his hand drop down, and then drew!

The balance was perfect. He spun it, unloaded it and reloaded it. It was the smoothest action he had ever felt. Precise, beautiful, lethal.

“Did I do well?”

“You made this?”

“I did.”

“This is the finest weapon I have ever held.”

She smiled again. “I need your help, James.”