Joseph Harjo sat alone in the dark at the desk. In his hand was a blade that looked decades old. He was carving a symbol into the desk when the door opened and Barnes stepped through it. He was tall, standing at six feet one, and his shock of brown-red hair stood out against his pale white skin. The light from Central City illuminated the dark office and he spotted the Native man sat at the desk. There was a flicker of shock in his eye but he attempted to steel his nerves and shut the door to his office behind him. He flicked a lamp on and the warmth of the lamp chased the shadows away into the corners of the room.

“Who are you?”

Harjo lifted his knife from the desk, wiped it clean of some wood scrapings, and then slid the knife into the inside of his suit jacket.

“My name is Joseph Harjo.”

“I was told I would be meeting with Mr. Peterson personally.”

Harjo shook his head.

“Mr. Peterson is otherwise indisposed. I have been given leave to speak on his behalf in this instance, Councilman.”

Barnes let out a disappointed sigh as he took to the seat opposite the Native. Harjo’s eyes lit up like a predator eyeing his prey and the light of the lamp bounced along them threateningly. 

“Is something the matter? You seem disappointed.”

A titter left the Councilman-Elect’s lips.

“I only agreed to this meeting so that I could tell Peterson he could shove his money up his behind.”

“Then your disappointment is understandable.”

Barnes leant forwards, prodding his finger into his desk as he spoke, as if to hammer home the seriousness of the point that was to come.

“You tell Peterson that I am not for sale, Mr. Harjo. You tell him that I will not besmirch my father’s good name, all that he achieved for this city, by allowing Peterson the whip hand over me. I intend to vote in the interest of the people of Central City – not to further another man’s political ambitions. Have I made myself clear enough?”

Harjo smiled insouciantly at the young man’s fervor.

“You have, Councilman, but it would appear you have been misinformed some. Perhaps you were too young to understand. Mr. Peterson considered your father a close friend and an ally in transforming this city of ours from a small, squalid saloon town into something more, something better than it is. They worked together often, in fact.”

The Councilman-Elect’s cheeks grew red with ire. 

“You would have me believe that my father was Mr. Peterson’s thrall? You go too far this time, mongrel.”

The last word hung in the air for several seconds after it left Richard’s mouth. It was a word Harjo had heard many times over the years, from simpleton and educated man alike, though more often than not the man known as “Injun Joe” to the denizens of Central City punished the slight with extreme prejudice. In the Councilman-Elect’s case, it wasn’t an option. Instead he glowered in his direction.

“What?” Barnes said with a smile. “Do you intend to do me harm? Go ahead, be true to your savage nature, and resort to violence when faced with a truth too pure for your simple mind.”

The glower passed and Harjo gestured towards the entrance.

“You may take your leave, Councilman.”

[center][b]*****[/b][/center]
Barnes muttered profanities under his breath as he replayed his conversation with the Native in his head. The implication that his father had been in cahoots with Peterson still made his blood boil. “Duckie” Barnes had hated Peterson’s guts. He’d spent every waking moment trying to undo the damage that charlatan had done to Central City and here was some savage rubbishing his father’s legacy – it would not do. Had he not feared for his safety in that room he might have been minded to lay hands on the man.

The Councilman-Elect took a turn down a pathway and heard footsteps hastening behind him. He looked over his shoulder to see a young boy, no older than thirteen, stood behind him with a blade in hand. Another climbed over a small fence and stood in front of him.

“Hand over the watch, mister.”

An incredulous look appeared on Barnes’ face.

“What?”

The boy brandished the blade in Richard’s direction with a smile. His teeth were yellow in parts, black in others, and there was dirt along his cheek.

“You heard me.”

Barnes backed away from the boys, his hands extended in front of him to keep them at a safe distance, as he looked from one to the other with a scowl.

“Did Harjo send you?”

The boy shook his head.

“I won’t ask again. Hand over the watch before you get hurt.”

A flash of courage ran through the Councilman-Elect’s heart. His impotence at the prospect of violence with the Native had gnawed at him ever since he’d left the office. Now faced with the prospect of correcting that wrong and proving his worth as a man, Barnes chose to stand his ground. They were only children after all and he was Councilman-Elect Richard Barnes, son of Duckie Barnes, and his family’s hard work had helped to build this city up from the ground. They could not harm him. There was nowhere they could lay their head if they were to lay a finger on him. They had to know that.

“I will do no such thing, I am a C-”

One of the boys lunged forward and plunged their blade into Richard’s stomach and he staggered backwards against a wall. His hand pressed against the wound that bled freely down his front. He gurgled in disbelief as he began to slide down the wall and the second boy plunged his knife between Richard’s collarbone and neck.

Richard’s pale white skin turned paler still as the boys rifled through his pockets and reached for the watch on his wrist. He felt his limbs go heavy and his blood run cold as the giggling adolescents cantered away from him.

His thoughts drifted to his young wife at home, the infant son that desperately awaited his return, and slowly the life drifted out of the Councilman-Elect’s eyes. His lifeless body slumped over and his face fell into the bloodstained dirt beneath him.

Duckie Barnes had given Central City his blood, sweat, and tears. All his son had managed to give it was his blood.