Smoke danced with piano notes in the dim, dingy saloon, a perfect place to plan a job. Gerald Declan kicked his feet up on the rickety wooden table, lighting up a cigar. His left hand gal Sadie brought him and his right hand man, Salem another round of whiskey while they talked shop.

Gerald went over the plan again. "Real simple stagecoach heist, done it a million times. Cargo is rations for an army outpost, we're gonna steal those and give em to the indians in exchange for them helping us ambush the train that runs through their valley.

I approach the driver and gunman on foot, they'll trust me due to my reputation. I'll weave some story about an ambush up ahead, take em on a little detour to the real ambush. Once they're boxed in I'll pop em both. You two watch my ass. Strip em down, put on their uniforms, ride the hell out of there. Easy as pie." Gerald smiled, a voluminous puff of smoke emanated from his lips.

Sadie chuckled. "Must be nice being seen as the hero after all the shit you've pulled."

Gerald took a gulp of whiskey "I still maintain my image. Heroic gunslinger that always shoots the bad guy dead at high noon, all in the name of frontier justice. What a crock of shit. Ain't no fucking justice out here."

Salem raised his glass. "Boss sees the big picture. All these jobs string together, play our cards right, we'll have this whole county under our thumbs. Soon enough, whole damn state. Little later on, whole damn country. Lotta sheep in this country willing to vote for the wolf wearing their clothes."

"Damn it's gonna be fun when we're sitting at the top, once we get political power we can really get away with some good scores. White collar crime, that's where it's at. If you write the dictionary you can define justice however you want."

The three clinked their glasses together, another empire being built in a bar, like the old saying goes, if you love what you do you never work a day in your life.