What if...
"Time. Space. Reality. It's more than a linear path. It's a prism of endless possibility, where a single choice can branch out into infinite realities, creating alternate worlds from the ones you know. I am the Watcher. I am your guide through these vast new realities. Follow me and ponder the question... 'What if?'"
"Antiford. 1891. The world is much the same way you or I recognize it. Joel Arnett was a man not well known, although those who knew him will never forget him. However, he was not always this way. You see, out of his entire life he has made some decisions. We all make decisions. However... few have ever been made like these. Some of the worst decisions that had ever been made in his life were made in the time Joel Arnett was becoming a man. However... one decision... one decision was the best choice he ever made in his entire life."
"And it turned a boy, into a man."
"However... in another reality, Joel Arnett made a different decision. Made a different choice. One seemingly insignificant act."
A commotion sounded and broke through the crowd, and Arnett could see a crowd backing away from the front of Argenstrath Medical College. Arnett decided to check it out. Keeping by a public trashcan, he looked over the crowd that was pushing back from the scene unfolding.
An older gentlemen was in the center of it all. With a pair of handcuffs on his right hand, the other cuff dangling at his side, and a large metal poll in his hands, he swung at a group of men and women forming around him. He had on a long brown overcoat and he wore a strange hat on his head, the large brim tucked over his eyes. His eyes were dark under the brim, but Arnett could see them shift from person to person. The only other distinguished feature was a large mustache, salt and peppered with age.
One of the men surrounding him yelled out at him, and rushed forward. The old man swung the bar with such skill, side-stepping the man and slamming the bar into his back. Another man rushing from behind him met a similar face as the old man turned around and slammed the bar into his face, causing his head and neck to fly back as his feet shot up from underneath him.
Arnett gawked in amazement. Maybe this man wasn’t as old as he thought. He was taking on at least four or five other men. One of which Arnett recognized. Arnett snapped his fingers and pointed as he remembered the strange man who yelled at him in the crowd earlier, from the medical cart. Then Arnett looked at the old man. He was on the stretcher… hurt. Damn, thought Arnett, he could fight after that?
The woman from the cart was making her way down the stairs, her head looked bruised but not bad.
“Mr. Flint, please!” she yelled, “Al, don’t you dare hurt him! Step away! Flint, please! Listen to reason, sir!”
The man who Arnett recognized pulled a pistol on the old man, and he yelled out, “Drop it, man, or I’ll drop you!”
Arnett didn't know why…
Maybe he thought it was an unfair fight. Arnett liked a good fight. Maybe his recent display of testosterone fueled him with a lust to prove himself. Maybe fate knew better. Maybe Arnett knew…
Arnett barely had time to think as he brought the trashcan down on the old man with the handcuffs, and the trashcan broke under the force. The old man slumped to the street. His brown hat skidded across the ground, to the pistol man’s feet. Immediately the other guards, or whomever, rushed forward at once. Arnett ducked down for the hat.
The old man was still. The men pulled his arms back and secured his handcuffs. In another few moments, nurses were rushing out with a stretcher.
The pistol man holstered his gun, and turned to Arnett, "Quick thinking, kid. Thanks."
"Oh, it's nothing," said Arnett.
"Excuse me. excuse me," came a higher pitched voice from the gather crowd.
A man with a notepad and pencil was raising his hand, pushing himself through the crowd.
"Excuse me, Walter Tweed from the Ticking Clock! What is going on here?" asked the man, "Another escaped wacko? Was he a danger to the Argenstrath residents?"
"No comment!" said the guard as the other men lifted the old man onto the stretcher.
"Are you cops? Who are you to speak-"
"NO COMMENT!" said the man more harshly, "If you need quotes for your paper, this young man saved the day. He'll take all further questions."
"What?" said Arnett.
"Way to go, kid," said the man, "Enjoy your second on stage. Make it sound heroic."
Arnett offered the old man's hat to the guard. The other guards had already began hurrying the man back inside the hospital. The guard held out his hand, denying it.
"Keep it, kid," said the man, "You've earned it."
Arnett looked down at the hat. It was a wide brimmed hat with a pinched crown. It looked worn. Sun bleached in places. And in the inside, the sweat band looked stained. Arnett winced at the look of it.
Looking at the pile of rubbish that had spilled out on the ground, Arnett allowed the hat to fall on top of the pile.
He turned to the reporter, and the small crowd of people. Apparently they had been waiting for him to start talking. He spotted a beautiful young lady with short, spiked hair in the crowd, and a smile formed on his face.
"Well where do I begin?" said Arnett, "With the crazed lunatic or the beautiful citizens he was trying to harm?"
Arnett winked at the young lady, before turning to the reporter and recounting his overblown side of the story.
Joel Arnett was shocked to see it had been such a light news day. Somehow, the story of him taking out a crazed patient hit front page of many smaller Argenstrath newspapers while being second page on papers such as the Ticking Clock. It felt like overnight he went from a nobody to a somebody.
This lead to a letter, weeks later, from Arnett's father. It was short and simple, congratulating him on his take down, and asking him to come home to talk.
Arnett was hesitant, but agreed. For the first time in years, Arnett went home and visited his family. In the course of dialogue, his father asked him to step outside. Sheriff Carl Puckette joins them.
"Look," said Manfred, "I... I feel strongly it's time for you to stop all this... wandering."
"Excuse me?"
"Look, kid," said Sheriff Puckette, "I read the articles. You obviously have some form of drive to step in and help out the little guy."
"Well... I am the little guy," said Arnett.
"Joel," said Manfred.
"Look, kid, we're just saying," said Puckette, "There's a solid opportunity for you. There's training. There's ciam in it. There's a future. Kid, there's a purpose."
"Look," said Arnett, "Stop with that kid stuff. It's Joel or Arnett, or both. Never kid."
"How about I put this into perspective for you," said Puckette, "Why risk losing your job and your life stopping a crazy old man?"
Arnett shrugged, his eyes darting to the ground, "Oh, it was no problem like that. I kinda... drift."
"Drift?" asked Puckette.
"Yeah, I do odd jobs. Sometimes it's fixing up stuff. I got a solid line of work at an airship dock."
"That's no life," said Manfred, "And I am willing to bet there's no ciam in it worth writing home about."
"So, if you have these skills than, why put them to waste?" asked Puckette, "Why are you hopping around? Are there no industries that catch your fancy?"
"It's not like that," said Arnett, "I'm not going to get tied down somewhere. I'm just... seeing the world currently is all. For years I was stuck in this town..."
Arnett turned to see the hurt look on his father's face.
He sighed, but continued, "I never wanted to be stuck again."
"That's stupidity talking," said Manfred.
"No... that's not stupid, that is inexperience talking. That's a child," said Puckette.
"Hey, no it's not," shot back Arnett, "Is it so wrong to want freedom? To want more?"
"Wanting more is what drives us forward through life, Joel," said Puckette, "But aimlessly throwing yourself into the future creates an empty half life. You need to think, plan, anticipate. Right now you have a real shot of doing some good. Is that something you can see yourself doing? Could you protect the week? Take a stand for the little guy? Stand for something bigger than yourself and get paid while doing it?"
Arnett crossed his arms and looked out over Sorditudo. He frowned at the dusty homes and ragged looking people.
"It's good work," said Manfred, "And it's not mining."
"It's dangerous work," said Puckette, "There could be gunfights and death..."
Arnett looked back. At the worried look his father gave Sheriff Puckette, Arnett could not hide a smirk on his face.
Death Toll Joel
"Oh, stop goggling yourself, Joel," said Officer Shelby, "Good lord, half of Astam could get away with murder while you're falling in love with yourself."
Arnett turned away from the shop window, his finger dug into his neckline as he itched at the Bobbie's uniform he wore. His face was sunburnt and sweat came down his brow.
"How can they expect us to stand these things," said Arnett, "Feels like we're wearing razor wire."
"You'll be happy you have it if someone tries to choke you from behind," said Shelby, "Now come on. We got work to do."
"I can't wait to get out of this grunt uniform," said Arnett.
He was walking down next to Karla Shelby, his partner for today's beat. They were patrolling an area of Astam Junction where there had been several rough characters lately and a few reports of muggings and gunshots meant the local police office wanted more on tour Bobbies in the area.
Arnett's eyes locked onto a clothing store down the road, and he picked up his pace to peer into that window.
"The uniform is important," said Shelby, "The clothes we chose to wear say a lot about us. It speaks to other people, Joel. What does this uniform say to them?"
"Look at those two squares," said Arnett, "I bet they either want to start trouble or ask for bribe simos."
"Joel!" said Shelby, backhanding him lightly on his arm, "It's one of the few reasons I put up with your chanka shit. You aren't like that."
"No, but if I'm stuck here much longer..." said Arnett.
"Oh, hush, we all know what the deal is," said Shelby, "Officer Arnett's daddy will come around right before our next assignments and then you'll be carted off to sit at the right hand of the Department Chief himself."
"That is not known! You don't know my father," said Arnett, "He'd see me posted out in the wasteland squatting on a Demon camp shooting bottles all day just to toughen me up."
"I don't believe that for a second," said Shelby, "He'll swoop in. You'll be a Sorditudo copper, and you'll be out of the dress code before you can blink."
Arnett approached the clothing store window. He eyed the various suits and waste coats, but his eyes fell onto a nice, silk top hat in the back. He smiled at it.
"Soon, maybe," said Arnett, "People aren't going to look at me like some copper grunt or some street urchin. I'm going to be dressed for the Horne District. When people look at me, they'll see someone..."
"Dressing up in how they think rich people dress," said Shelby, trying not to laugh, "Look, Joel, Clothes can tell people you are proper, you are mature, you are smart, you are dignified, you are tough, you a smooth.... anything. You should pick them carefully."
Shelby leaned close to the window and eyed a few price tags, "And on an officer's salary you best look somewhere the gloves won't be out of your means. Ugh."
"Yeah, but nothing makes a woman's legs wobble like a nice suit," said Arnett, "Don't get me wrong, I get many blushes and winks in this uniform, but laying a few nice girls has been real tough. It's almost like-"
"Ugh! Joel! I really wish you wouldn't talk like that," said Shelby, "You are a nice guy sometimes but then you turn into another coyote when a nice bustle walks by you and you.... are just disgusting."
"Hey, I thought you found me charming," said Arnett.
"You misheard 'tiring', Joel," said Shelby.
That's when the gunshot rang out. Joel leapt into action. He grabbed his revolver and was already halfway down the street when a figured stepped out of an alleyway.
He looked down the street toward the two Bobbies. He had a gun in his hand.
A Bobbie whistle blew. Arnett lifted his revolver and leveled it at the figure. The figure turned and took a step to run down the street.
BANG.
Arnett shot. He began pulling the trigger as quickly as he could. One after the other. Four shots when down the street. The figure seized before falling to the ground, clutching at their back.
By the time Arnett and Shelby arrived, the figured lay still.
"Officer Arnett," said Shelby, "Why? You just..."
BANG.
A burst of blood sprouted from Shelby's chest. She fell to her knees, clutching at her bleeding chest.
Turning around, Arnett saw a second figure, running to toward them. The figure let out a scream as they fired off a second shot.
Arnett lifted his revolver as the shot went past him. He fired his own gun, the bullet digging into the assailant's chest. Without a second thought Arnett put another bullet into them, and they fell.
In the distance, more Police whistles began to blow. Screams were heard as other patrolling Bobbies took up the call and were running towards Arnett's position.
Arnett found himself kneeling over Shelby, as she blinked into the sky.
"Hey, you going to be alright?" asked Arnett, "Hey? Shelby! Sergeant Shelby! Come on, now. Stay with me."
"Oh, Joel..." she murmured, as the color drained from her face.
Officer Joel Arnett was found clutching the hand of Shelby's body, surrounded by the corpses of both perps. He had acted quickly, and taken down two suspects.
He was given an commendation while Shelby got to be buried in a pine box.
The saloon was full today. Good for business. Karl was working diligently behind the bar, trying not to upset any patrons or upset Mr. Henry again. If he started an incident on the best chance at profit they've had in weeks, Mr. Henry would have his tail.
So when Captain Dufraine Carlow walked through the door with his crew, even Karl's face drained of its color. Karl, like most of the other patrons who noticed, couldn't help but have his eyes shoot to the back booth. There the bounty hunter Joel Arnett sat. Captain Carlow followed the gazes, and he marched his way through the saloon over to the table.
Joel Arnett was currently laughing and flirting with some of the lady entertainers. He was talking through the cigarette hanging from his lips, and looked as if he had not a care in the world.
Arnett didn't even give Carlow a glance until the man slammed his fists on the table, causing some of the ladies to jump. Even then, Arnett lazily rolled his eyes over toward him, and gave him a sly smile.
"Capatin Dewey!" said Arnett.
"Cut the shit, D.T. Joel. Outside, now," said Carlow.
"No offense, Dewey," said Arnett, "But you're being a little rude. Sit down, can I buy you a drink?"
"Blast you!" shouted Carlow, "Now, you chanka ass! You. Me. Outside. Guns drawn."
By this time the saloon had gone silent to listen to the altercation.
"Dewey," said Arnett, "You're being a little rude for someone with a hundred ciam on their corpse."
"You killed my brother!" shouted Carlow.
"A known murderer and extorter," said Arnett, "And worth a payday the likes you can't-"
"The gods be damned!" the Captain drew his revolver, aiming it right at Arnett, "I'll blow off your head right now!"
"Now, now," said Arnett, "If you feel this strongly, I suppose we can do this right. I must still ask you put the gun away and sit-"
"Shut that forked tongue up, Death-Toll Joel!" said Captain Carlow, "You killed my brother. Shot him dead in front of his family. Your fancy clothes and silver words won't have a lick of effect on me or my boys. I demand satisfaction!"
"You are entitled to none," said Arnett, "But if you insist on a dance what is a gentleman to do? Put away your gun while inside, Dew, and-"
"Enough!" said the Captain, "You've murdered your last on the Copper's simo. Your reign ends today. Out. Now!"
"If we must" said Arnett, raising his arms, "After you, boyo."
"Oh, no," said Carlow, "I ain't taking my eyes off you for a second."
"Do you think that'll save you?" said Arnett, "You'll magically see me coming from a mile away? You'll best the man they call 'Death Toll'?"
"You will never take another life," said Carlow.
"Not unless your men can stop that guy," said Arnett, pointing with a nod.
"What guy?"
Captain Carlow's head, as well as that of his crew, whipped around incredibly fast. Carlow's gun was aimed squarely at the bar. Men ducked out of the way or shot their hands up. A lady screamed. Karl stood his eyes wide. He was shivering. Carlow's head came back to Arnett.
Arnett had two hidden derringer's in his hands. He had already cocked the hammers. Carlow's thumb went up to cock his own gun's hammer.
The first pistol shot right into his skull. Arnett moved the second one, shooting it into the back of the head of the closest crew member. This brought the attention back from the bar. Arnett shot the third crew member, unable to react to what he was seeing. The fourth's eyes went wide as the second derringer's shot went right into his nose.
Before Carlow's body fully fell, Arnett let go of his derringers and awkwardly grabbed the falling revolver of Carlow. His last crewmember reached for his revolver, fiddling with the clasp on the pistol.
Arnett awkward twirled around Carlow's revolver, and with the assistance of his second hand, aimed it at the last crewmember. Two more shots rang out, earning a wheeze from the final crewmember as he collapsed.
Arnett quickly backed up, and surveyed the room. Hands were raised or were on top of cowering heads. The whole saloon was either hiding, terrified, or had cleared out when trouble was imminent.
The bartender was crouched down, obviously reaching for some type of weapon, but he slowly rose with his hands raised at Arnett's gaze.
Arnett smiled, "Someone should call a Bobbie. I think I'm owed some Ciam."
Out With the Old Sheriff
"Sadly, turning a single person into a heartless killing machine isn't easy. It takes years. It takes many adventures. At first, one tells themselves its for a good cause. Soon it's in self defense. However, there comes a time where the power corrupts. A name becomes a legend. As the legend grows, it could become harder to recognize the man underneath it."
"Soon, even we may not recognize who once was, or who could have been, from what is..."
Arnett broke through the crowd and began walking up to a small group of Bobbies. In the center of them stood a man with a large ten-gallon hat with a wide brim. He stood straight with his hands resting on dual pistol holsters housing matching revolvers. His hair was white, but it wasn't as noticeable in the large, walrus mustache he had.
The man turned from talking to Manfred Arnett, nodding to Joel when he spotted him.
Death Toll Joel wore a prominent black top hat, with a blue band. His shirt was a pearl color and his vest an expensive model, detailed and embroidered with care. He carried two revolvers with ornate handles, decorated out of Skuttlekovy shells. Around his back was slung a lever-action rifle with a large, expensive scope. To finish off, he had pinstripe pants and a pair of leather boots that appeared to be snake skin.
"Well, hello there, 'Death Toll'," said the Sheriff, "I should've known from that frown on your dad's face."
"Hiya, Sheriff," said Arnett, "I assume there's a good reason for a groveling telegram my way?"
"I hope so too," said Manfred to the Sheriff, "I would figure we'd discuss failings with our department. Perhaps going on tour was not the right path for Joel. Why is this monster not in chains?"
"Please," said the Sheriff and Arnett together.
"Carl, surely we don't have room for someone who thinks they are above the law," said Manfred.
"Surely, you aren't discussing me," Arnett scoffed, "I believe it was the very law, nay, your department that posted many of these warrants and bounties I collect. You seem squeamish at the methods but you fail to bitch about the results."
"Manfred, perhaps we need to have a talk," said the Sheriff, "I think now isn't the time for such a talk. We have to move now and I would appreciate his help."
"What's the situation?" asked Arnett in a lower pitch voice, "And what do I get out of it?"
"We need to move on Lorenstein now," said the Sheriff, "If we miss him now, he could disappear."
"And how is this in relation to me?" asked Arnett.
"You mean besides somehow still holding onto a badge?" grumbled Manfred.
"As an Officer, Joel Arnett," said Sheriff Carl, "I have a right to give you dispatch orders. However, I know you cooperate better with incentives."
"Which you promised to bring me back," said Arnett.
"So here's the offer," said Sheriff Carl, "Lorenstein's Bounty, plus your salaried doubled for today. Ontop of this, there's a nice stack of complaints, violations, and other forms of demerits on my desk with your name on it, 'Death Toll'."
"Not to mention a few outstanding cases," Manfred crossed his arms and narrowed his eyes.
"I'll sweep them into the fireplace, personally, if you do this," said the Sheriff.
"Carl!" exclaimed Manfred.
A few murmurs started up in the Bobbies surrounding the group.
"This should... be well to your liking," said Sheriff Carl, "But it's to act now. Door is closing on Lorenstein and my patience for your antics. Agree now, or you'll be my next fixation after this."
"You drive a hard bargain," smiled Arnett, "But I am no dust rat. I can see a good deal when it comes my way. Lorenstein will not see the sunset again."
"Now, cover that up. I want him alive," said Sheriff Carl, "But if anything goes down... I cannot risk a massive shootout harming the folks of Astam Junction or any of my officers. I need you to... intervene should bullets start to fly."
"I'll do my part," said Arnett, giving a large smile to his red-faced father.
"What's the idea, Carl?" said Manfred, "We giving badges to bandits and assassins now?"
"Later, Manfred. I need you to follow me," announced the Sheriff, turning to walk through the crowd, "Now, Lorenstein is packing for his train at a known whore den down in-"
The Sheriff was cut off by a group of men forming a wall in front of them. The Sheriff stopped cold, his Bobbies and Manfred forming their own line. Confused faces looked to each other. The opposite line of men were Bobbies as well, only with black respirators over their mouths and rifles slung over their shoulders.
In the middle of them, their leader, was an older gentlemen in a black suit. He wore a saturno hat, a hat with a wide brim and a rounded crown. Despite this, he still had on a pair of smoked glasses. His hand rested roughly on a shining, silver pistol while he held some rolls of paper in his other hand.
"Sheriff Carl Puckette?" Announced the man, his voice loud and demanding.
The crowd of the street dispersed, either willingly or unconsciously. The man took two steps forward and the Sheriff mirrored him.
"That would be me, sir," said the Sheriff, "And to whom do I owe the pleasure?"
"Allow me to introduce myself," said the man, removing his glasses and squinting at the Sheriff, "I am the Honorable Judge Sandoval."
Sandoval stood slightly taller than average. He was an older male, but with a strong build. His skin was not as tanned or leathered as the Sheriff's, but he showed the browning of a typical Antiford citizen who had lived under the blaze of Demetrious for many decades. His eyes weren't beady, but they seemed small compared to his furrowed brow. His dark eyebrows seemed to accentuate the lines of his face.
The Sheriff allowed himself a smile, "Judge Sandoval? Your reputation proceeds you. I am a fan of your justice, sir."
"I am thrilled you are," said Judge Sandoval, a small smirk coming across his face, "It'll make what comes next easier."
Judge Sandoval selected one of the rolls of paper and presented it to the Sheriff, who took it and opened it swiftly. As the Sheriff began to read, the Judge continued.
"I'm afraid that as of now you are no longer the Department Chief of the Sorditudo Police Department and the lands they oversee," said Sandoval, "You are to step down and transfer all your duties to me, immediately. I am now Chief Sandoval of the Sorditudo Police Department and the lands they oversee."
Arnett grinned. Manfred took steps forward to read over the Sheriff's shoulders. The Sheriff frowned, but passed the paperwork to Manfred who quickly read it over.
"How interesting, Chief Sandoval," said the Sheriff, "All seems to be in order. May I ask what the reason for my removal from office?"
"Certainty, Mr. Puckette," said Sandoval, producing a separate document, "Mr. Carl Puckette, you are under arrest for suspicion of corruption including coercion, bribery, cronyism, and intention to ignore crimes."
Two of the masked Bobbies stepped forward. This set off a few of the Sheriff's Bobbies, including Manfred, reaching for their sidearms. Reacting, rifles were slipped off soldiers and quickly raised. One Bobbie had pulled his pistol, cocking back the hammer.
"STOP!" demanded the Sheriff, who spat the words quickly, looking around at the men, "What the sam-hell are you boys thinking? Is it your first day?"
The Bobbies stood awkwardly. At a glare from Sandoval, the masked Bobbies lowered their rifles and the two approaching Bobbies took a step back. The Sheriff glared at the Bobbie with the pistol drawn, causing him to slowly put away the pistol.
"What? Were you boys going to fire on fellow officers?" asked the Sheriff, "You going to shoot Sandoval in the street?"
The Sheriff opened the document and read it. The color drained from his face. With a large sigh, he passed that document to Manfred as well, who read it quickly.
"It's an official warrant for my arrest," announced the Sheriff, "I am to be taken into custody. You boys are now under the command of Chief Sandoval. I am now removing my weapons and surrendering them to an officer."
Tensions were high as the Sheriff reached down and undid his gun belt. Expertly he wrapped it up in itself, and held it out to the closest, masked Bobbie, who stepped forward and took them from him. He then removed his large, copper Sheriff's badge and piled it atop the gun belt.
The Sheriff grabbed the warrant he held in his hand and handed it to Sandoval, "We need to move on Lorenstein, now. If you don't move on him soon, we'll lose him. Send me back with one of your guys. Take these men and get him, quickly."
Sandoval opened the document and read it over. He looked at the Sheriff and nodded. Carl Puckette nodded to the Bobbie with his weapons and began walking towards the jailhouse. The bobbie followed him away.
Sandoval walked up to Manfred, who was still going over the documents.
"Deputy Arnett, I presume?" announced the Judge as he approached.
"Mmmm," answered Manfred, before he looked up and realized he was talking to Sandoval, "I am, Mr... Sandoval?"
"Adrian Sandoval," he answered, "Pleasure. So I'll need you to take charge of these men and lead the way to this guy."
"Huh?"
"You are Manfred Arnett, correct?" asked Sandoval, "Deputy of the Sorditudo branch of the Antiford Police force?"
"Yes sir," said Manfred.
"Then, unless you are unable to continue your duties, I am requiring you to fulfill the needs of your position," said Sandoval, "As the new Department Chief I am calling on your services."
Manfred shook his head, his eyes coming back into focus. Arnett watched him take a breath in, stand up straighter, and hand the documents back to Sandoval. He nodded at him.
"Of course Mr- Uh," Manfred paused a moment, "What will your title be? Chief? Sheriff?"
Sandoval thought a moment, "I am unsure. It seems irrelevant for now. Deputy Arnett, for now please refer to me as Judge Sandoval for the time being. It is still a valid title and I find it easier in the short term."
Sandoval returned the warrant of Lorenstein to Manfred, who opened it and confirmed its contents. While he was doing that, Sandoval looked to Arnett and frowned.
"And who are you? Not in uniform."
"I don't wear a uniform, I'm not a Bobbie," said Arnett, "I was just hired to assist."
"Sorry, Judge Sandoval," said Manfred, "This is Officer Joel Arnett."
Sandoval's face went stone for a moment. Then a small smile spread and his eyes fixed to Arnett. Arnett noticed the change, and he stood a little straighter to prepare for a challenge.
"Joel," Sandoval said under his breath before clearing his throat and speaking much louder, "Am I correct to be addressing the one known as 'Death Toll' Joel Arnett?"
Arnett didn't feel right, but it felt good to watch Manfred look from Sandoval to Arnett in disbelief.
Arnett nodded at Sandoval, "You have the one and the same."
"Interesting," said Sandoval, smiling bigger, "Word back East is you have slain a hundred men, and you are deadly with a pistol. Some call you a murderer, but your record shows you are just good at bringing in the worst of the worst."
Arnett lost whatever small worry had built up before, "I don't... think it's murder to remove the filth of the desert."
Sandoval's smile was unchanged, "No, I think your goals and my own are aligned. As long as criminals and murderers are the ones being removed."
Leaning forward, Sandoval squinted at Arnett, "You by any chance wouldn't be interested in a well paid salary under my command?"
Arnett cocked an eyebrow, "Some would argue I already am. However, I would love to hear what you have in mind."
Sandoval nodded, "I bet you see many incredible things on your travels. I could use such experience, if you apply it in the correct way. Come with me, catch this criminal, and we should sit down over a meal and discuss your options."
Arnett blinked a few times and stammered his answer, "I... am not engaged. I would love to help, Chief Sandoval."
"Uhh, Mr. Sandoval," started Manfred.
"Brilliant," said Sandoval, "As you heard, We're a little busy right now. However, I do hope you could provide insight into the state of the Istoki Desert."
"Sir, I-" started Manfred.
"Deputy Arnett, I believe we have a criminal to catch," said Sandoval, "Time is wasting. Officer Joel Arnett, I look forward to our future conversations, but we've wasted enough time."
With that, Judge Sandoval made a gesture to Manfred and Arnett. Manfred looked to Arnett, before turning and heading through the crowds, the Bobbies falling in behind him. Arnett smirked while falling in line. Sandoval returned his smoked glasses back over his eyes and turning into the crowd.
Arnett removed his rifle from his shoulder, and ensured it was ready to fire. Perhaps if he was in as much hot water as Puckette suggested than he should work harder to get into this old man's good graces.