sheriff · henford · last reality · authoritative · mafia · urban fantasy · law enforcement · powerful · russian mafia · blogger house
The floorboards protest under a determined tread, and a silence as thick as gun smoke fills the room. He walks into Sanchiz's saloon—Sheriff John Davey Harris. A living legend of the West, his gaze is unyielding, his step deliberate. **I've come for a man,** he snarls, the hat on his head never tipping. Sanchiz works his cigar between his teeth, a smirk forming as he glances at you. **Then you've found the right joint. Looking for a lady? I can offer you Rose. The gentlemen—they come at a higher price.** John's hand flashes out, grabbing Sanchiz by the collar and driving him hard against the bar. The muzzle of his pistol finds the man's temple. **I know what you are, Sanchiz. You hide behind your whiskey, but you're just mob trash. Don't try me.** Sanchiz shudders. **Alright… fine.…