FRANK ( C by Charley )

For several years, Nightshade has been tracking a rogue recruit, known only as Outlaw. He came to our attention during a search for new members in 1999, and though his background was spotty, the men felt he would be a good fit. In fact, since Outlaw appeared so eager to join, a decision was made to hang one of our finest officers, Patrick Frost, in order to create a vacancy. What we didn't know was the back-story. Frost and Outlaw were old friends who had a falling-out when Frost decided to join the San Francisco Police Department (and subsequently NS) rather than continuing to work with Outlaw outside the scope of the justice system. During their association, Outlaw and Frost invented a scheme to lure unsuspecting young men with a taste for serious bondage into terminal scenes involving methods of execution such as hanging, beheading, garrotting and firing squad. All told, they disposed of well over a dozen college students as well as several older convicts who were having trouble re-integrating after their release from prison. They got off on the rush created when these men realized they were in too deep and were going to play out their final fantasies for real. Outlaw took a lead role in Frost's hanging, placing the noose himself, and Frost kept quiet for fear of his past being revealed. After Frost was suspended from the gallows and his struggles were slowing, Outlaw excused himself to choose some celebratory cigars from Nightshade's walk-in humidor. When he did not return after a few minutes, I went to find him, but instead found an envelope addressed to me, propped up on a box of La Gloria Cubana Serie R #7 Maduros...his favorite cigar. The envelope contained graphic accounts and photos from Outlaw and Frost's criminal escapades. The last few lines of the note read: Now that my disloyal accomplice has been punished, and Nightshade has been reduced in numbers, I will take my leave of you. I expect that you will try to find me, but I have taken care to make sure that this will be no easy task. I do not think that we will see each other again, Captain Heath, but if you are smart enough to find me, I know that there will be a noose at the ready to extract payment for what I have done. May the best man win. Sincerely, Outlaw. Outlaw's trail had grown ice cold after Patrick Frost was hanged on Christmas Eve, 1999. Even though Frost was not what he seemed, in my mind, his good work for Nightshade outweighed his criminal past. The night that Frost died, I made a promise to myself: to bring Outlaw to justice at any cost. Being a career law-enforcement man, I knew this would require patience and determination. I relished the challenge. Each day since Outlaw's disappearance, I scoured the internet during my off time, hoping to find a clue to his whereabouts. After a hiatus of several years, a story of a presumed suicide caught my eye. A student at UT Austin had been found hanged from a large Oak tree on campus. Mike Davis, aged 22 years, had every reason to live. He was about to graduate with a degree in English Lit, had a teaching job lined up at a high school in Dallas, and had recently become engaged to marry. He worked evenings, weekends and summers at a pipe shop near the campus, and it was common to see him puffing one of his many pipes as he burned the midnight oil studying in the Student Union. The thing about this suicide that struck me was the fact that there was no note, but there was a message of sorts. Mr. Davis' body, dressed casually in jeans and a button-down dress shirt, was found to have one personal item besides his driver's license: a La Gloria Cubana Serie R #7 Maduro, tucked into his shirt pocket. I felt that this must be Outlaw's signature, as Mike's friends, professors and family quoted in the media could never recall him smoking anything other than a pipe. I knew then that I was on to Outlaw, and my interest was piqued. I knew it was only a matter of time before he would surface again. It didn't take long. This time, the victim was a student at UNLV. Las Vegas...Outlaw was getting closer to San Francisco all the time. His Las Vegas victim, Lowell Reed, was nearly a carbon copy of Mike Davis, but this time a grad student in philosophy. Reed too worked in a pipe shop near campus, and was found with an LGC #7 Maduro in his shirt pocket, though he was never known to smoke cigars. The most striking difference: Lowell had been tied into a high-backed chair and garrotted slowly. Clearly, this was no suicide. I flew to Las Vegas immediately to view Lowell's body before burial, and found something that the police had missed. Buried in the pouch of pipe tobacco he carried in his jeans pocket was the band of yet another LGC #7, with a short message: Grady's Pipe Shop, 2/24/04. I immediately headed for Grady's, my favorite shop in the Bay Area, to wait for Outlaw. Several young men who worked at the shop fit the profile as possible upcoming victims, so I knew I must stay close and visit often. I made my way to Grady's Pipe Shop on Market Street in San Francisco just before 10:00am yesterday, 2/24/04. As I waited outside the shop, puffing on one of several LGC Serie R #7 Maduros I had selected from my personal humidor, I examined the cigar band with Outlaw's message neatly written on the back. The handwriting was the same neat, controlled printing I had seen on Outlaw's written application to Nightshade. The band still smelled of the pipe tobacco in Lowell's black leather pouch. Dunhill 965, a sturdy, traditional English, most in keeping with the conservative young philospher so recently deceased at Outlaw's hand. Other details worth noting from my visit to the morgue in Las Vegas: Lowell Reed had clearly experienced an incredible orgasm as he was slowly strangled. Under enhanced lighting his black jeans bore copious amounts of semen stains, as did his denim workshirt, and even the lower part of his well- trimmed goatee. Clearly, he had shot forcefully and with many more contractions than would be normal for a man of twenty-four years, and his cock had certainly been pulled out of his fly in order to give Outlaw the best possible show. As one would also expect in such a case, his body also gave off a strong aroma of sweat, urine and feces, indicating that he had voided completely as the garrotte did its work. His neck showed a definite rope burn, consistent with 1" manila hemp. When a professorial-looking, bearded and balding man with salt and pepper hair arrived to open the shop, he greeted me and said he hoped I hadn't been waiting long. I assured him that I had not, and we proceeded into Grady's. I told him I was expecting to meet a friend there, and he invited me to relax in one of two leather chairs in the walk-in humidor. I got comfortable and kept my eyes fixed on the door waiting for Outlaw to make his entrance. I didn't have to wait for long. I was in the process of lighting up a fresh #7 when I looked out of the glass- doored humidor to see Outlaw enter Grady's. He was dressed in his usual biker attire, black leathers, leather jacket and harness boots. The only difference from his usual clean-cut appearance was that those leathers were covered with a lot of dirt and dried mud, and his black harnessed boots were filthy from days of riding. Clearly he had ridden fast and furious to get here today. I also noticed that his usual goatee had filled in to a fine, full beard, the same light brown as the close-cropped hair on his head. The professorial gent behind the counter was involved in lighting his pipe, and gave a little nod to Outlaw as he entered. Outlaw nodded in response and headed in to the humidor, meeting my gaze as he slid the glass door aside to enter. I stood up to shake hands with Outlaw. His grip was strong, and he looked me square in the eye with a hint of a smile. "It's good to see you again, Captain Heath. I've been looking forward to this for a long time." "Good to see you too, Outlaw, though I wish the circumstances were more pleasant. I always liked you, and had great hopes for your future, Son." Outlaw replied "I have always respected you, Sir, and while I'm not sorry for what I've done, a small part of me hated to disappoint you." "I can respect that, Outlaw. And I respect your decision to turn yourself in peacefully and with no fuss. It's not every murderer who can voluntarily turn himself over to the man pledged to see him hanged by the neck until dead." "I'm tired of running, Captain. I know that you can see me out properly, and I'm ready to go." "That's right, Outlaw. I think you'll be pleased with the arrangements I have made. We don't have a lot of time to spare, but why don't you pick out a cigar before we go?" Outlaw surveyed the shelves of the humidor and picked something a little different from his usual, a Hoyo de Monterrey Excalibur #1 Maduro. Outlaw seated himself in the leather chair opposite me and proceeded to clip and light his cigar in the most expert manner. I enjoyed watching him, and my cock was starting to throb with the excitement of his impending demise on the gallows. Outlaw broke his silence to say "I expect that we'll be heading to Nightshade to wrap things up, Sir?" "No, I have arranged something I think we'll both enjoy much more. Are you ready, Son?" "Yes sir, let's go". We rose and I gathered my lighter and cutter, as well as my small, black leather-bound notebook. I walked out into the shop where the tobacconist was helping a young, blond man choose a fancy Italian-made pipe. I placed a $20 on the counter to cover Outlaw's cigar and thanked the shopkeeper for letting me pass the morning in his humidor. The bearded man paused and looked over through a cloud of just-exhaled pipe smoke "I see you found your friend. You men have a good day and come back soon." "Oh, I'll be back soon, but my friend here has a long journey ahead of him." He walked over to Outlaw and extended a hand, speaking with his pipe firmly ensconsed in his bearded jaw, "well then, have a safe trip." Outlaw shook hands with the man and replied "I will, I'm certain of it. Thanks for the cigar". Outlaw followed me out of the shop and we got onto his motorcycle, cigars clenched in our mouths. I wrapped my arms around Outlaw's dirty jacket. "Just ride, Outlaw. I'll direct you." Outlaw and I headed down Market Street and down surface roads to the Golden Gate Bridge. We crossed the bridge and I directed him Northward to a small town a few hours away. Jackson was a bona-fide Old West ghost town, complete with 1840s buildings including a fine old jail, and a well-used gallows in the town square. Outlaw surveyed the empty streets and found a place to park his bike. We dismounted and Outlaw looked around with an expression of approval. "I like it, Captain. Where to?" I pointed a few buildings down the street to a storefront marked "Williams and Sons, Undertakers". Outlaw swallowed hard and set out with a firm step. As we neared the shop, Outlaw surveyed the windows with interest. A number of fine, handcrafted caskets were on display. Everything from a plain pine box to a rather ornate dark Mahogany with brass handles. Outlaw opened the door and walked inside, and I followed closely. Outlaw looked around and saw a vast array of choices. Just then, a friendly- looking redheaded fellow in his early 20s came into the open area from the back of the shop. "Hello, there. I'm Mr. Williams. You must be Outlaw. Captain Heath told me I should expect you today. It's a pleasure to meet you, Sir." Outlaw and Mr. Williams, the young undertaker, shook hands with a firm grip. Williams gestured to a parlor-like seating area just off the main part of the shop and invited us to be seated. As Outlaw and I sat down, my eyes were immediately drawn to a handsome desk-sized humidor on the coffee table which was nestled between our upholstered settee and the one opposite us where Williams had seated himself comfortably. "May I offer you gentlemen a cigar before we get down to business?" Outlaw and I gladly accepted, and Williams opened the humidor to reveal a full layer of La Gloria Cubana Serie R #6s, Maduro naturally. The #6 is a little shorter and fatter than Outlaw's usual #7...a fine mouthful, and always a great smoke. We each chose a cigar, and handed them to Williams, who produced a cutter from his dark suit-jacket and clipped them for us before handing them back. The young redhead then chose a cigar for himself and lit it with several outstandingly smoky puffs, using the table lighter which sat between us. Outlaw lit up next, and then I puffed my own cigar into life, enjoying the stiffness of my handlebar stache as I wrapped my lips around the very fat stogie in my mouth. We all sat and puffed in silence for a few minutes, then Williams asked, "So, Outlaw, what kind of casket do you have in mind? As you can see, I have something to suit most any taste." Outlaw replied: "Something traditional, not too fancy, but more than just a plain box. I'm not sure what kind of budget Captain Heath is working with." I interjected "don't worry about the cost, Outlaw. I am kicking in a little extra for your funeral expenses because you turned yourself in." "Thank you, Sir. That is most kind of you." said a clearly appreciative Outlaw. "I have just the thing" said Williams. "Would you like to see?" "Hell yes" said Outlaw with enthusiasm. I was glad he was caught up in the excitement of his execution. Williams led us back out into the main part of the funeral emporium and showed us to a very simple, elegant dark Walnut casket with a most unusual lining...soft black leather. There was a small leather head-pillow, brass handles, and the open lid had a small, brass nameplate suitable for engraving. The casket sat on the floor rather than on the usual sawhorse supports. Outlaw walked around the casket from end to end, puffing on his cigar, and indicated his approval with a nod. "I like this very much. This is perfect." "I had a feeling you would agree with my choice, Outlaw." said Williams. Tell me, what would you like on the nameplate? Something other than Outlaw?" "My name is Frank. That's what I'd like it to say, as long as Captain Heath agrees". "Frank it is then" I replied. "Why don't you try it on for size, Frank" offered Mr.Williams. Make sure it's a good fit. Outlaw agreed with a big smile "Great idea, Sir." With that, he placed a booted foot into the coffin and stepped in. At first he looked a bit reticent about placing his filthy boots onto the pristine black leather, but he knew it was what we all wanted. Frank laid on his back, cigar in his mouth, and adjusted himself until his head rested comfortably on the pillow. Frank instinctively placed his hands behind his back, laying on them. He knew he would buried still-pinioned after the hanging. "Comfortable, Frank?" I asked. "Yes Sir", replied Outlaw with the cigar clenched firmly in his mouth, a thick cloud of smoke escaping his densely whiskered lips as he spoke. "Very good then" said Williams. "The casket is yours, Frank, with my compliments. I hope it will give you a good rest after Captain Heath hangs you." "I have no doubt about that, Mr. Williams. It feels good to be setting things right." said Outlaw, still laying in his coffin, cigar still clenched in his teeth. He was sporting an enormous erection, clearly visible through his dirty riding leathers. Williams extended a hand to Frank, "Come along, my boy, let's get you out of there...for now". Outlaw stood and stepped out of his soon-to-be-final-resting-place, holding onto Mr. Williams' hand for balance. Mr. Williams was also sporting a big, hard cock in his dark suit-pants, and presently he pulled it out and started stroking, he moved to the center of the open casket and got right up against the side, so that his cock stood out directly over the soft, black-leather lining. Outlaw and I exchanged a look of surprise as Williams puffed his cigar and stroked. Williams explained: "This is a little something I like to do to personalize a casket before a hanging. After I shoot, I'll massage the cum into the leather...makes it very supple and soft. Will you join me, Captain Heath?" I signaled my agreement by standing next to Williams and joining in. Outlaw asked "What about me?", to which I replied "No, Son....you need to save your seed for the gallows. It won't be long now." Outlaw had seen enough hangings to know that the condemned man invariably experienced the most incredible orgasm of his life as he expired. He mustered all his self-restraint, and concentrated on his cigar while watching Williams and me stroke hard and fast. After what must have seemed like an eternity to Outlaw, the two of us reached orgasm. Williams came first, exploding a great rope of semen all over the soft leather below, then it was my turn, and I shot in several short but powerful bursts, watching with great pleasure as they plopped onto the leather head pillow. Outlaw instinctively dropped to his knees and I walked over to let him lick the last few drops from my shaft. Williams followed suit. "Thank you, Sirs." said Outlaw as Williams and I zipped up. Williams set immediately to work, massaging our creamy, white semen into the black leather in measured, circular strokes with a chamois cloth. "My pleasure, Frank" said Williams. "I'll be there tonight to watch you hang. I'm looking forward to it". "So am I", said Outlaw. "Come on, Frank. It's time for out next stop", I said as I grasped Outlaw's left shoulder and guided him out of the shop, back onto the main street of Jackson. We discarded our cigars onto the packed-dirt road and walked down a few doors to John's Barbershop. John's was something straight out of the gold-rush, with the most fantastic antique barber chairs lined up in a row. Just then, John appeared from the curtained-off area at the back of the shop to greet us each with a firm handshake. "Hello Captain Heath, a pleasure to see you again so soon. And Outlaw, I'm glad you stopped by. I want to get you spiffed up for your big day." Outlaw recognized John. He was the bearded, professorial-looking man behind the counter at Grady's. John saw the realization flash across Outlaw's face and smiled to let him know. John gestured to the nearest chair, and Outlaw seated himself comfortably. I produced a pair of handcuffs from my leather jacket, and pulled Outlaw's hands behind the chair, cuffing them tightly. "Just a formality, Outlaw, since John works with a straight razor." "I understand, Sir. No problem." "So, Outlaw, what did you have in mind? Are you keeping the beard?" asked John as he took his place behind the chair. "No, Sir. I'd like to go out with just a goatee, nice and neat". "Very good, my boy" said John as he set to work mixing up some lather with a mug and brush. John paused and pulled a big, bent pipe from his vest pocket. He'd been smoking it earlier, so it just took a few big puffs to relight. Next, he took the shaving brush and applied a thick coating of lather to the sides of Outlaw's full beard, as well as below the jawline under his goatee. I seated myself in the next chair to watch. Working quickly but carefully, John sharpened the straight razor on the leather strop attached to Outlaw's chair, then began the shave. It took surprisingly few strokes to reduce Outlaw's flourishing beard to a fine, thick goatee. Outlaw enjoyed the sensations of the shave, and as John leaned close to pick off a few stray hairs, he took a deep whiff of John's swirling pipe smoke. John toweled the remaining bits of lather from Outlaw's face, and applied a splash of Bay Rum to his cheeks to finish off the shave. He gave Outlaw's cheek a little slap, then leaned in to feed him a big mouthful of smoke. Outlaw exhaled the smoke slowly and said "Thanks for the shave, John." John grinned and said, "I like a man to look sharp when he dies, Son" I paid John for the shave by giving him a new tin of his favorite tobacco, Dunhill Nightcap. He was an old friend, and I knew what he liked. "Thank you kindly, Captain. I was running low. Now I'll have plenty of tobacco for the big event. "We'll see you there, John. Have a good afternoon" I replied. I uncuffed Outlaw so he could get up from the chair, then recuffed him for our walk to the jailhouse. As we neared the door, we heard a loud crash...the gallows trap being tested. Outlaw didn't have much more time to wait before paying his debt. "Sounds like everything is in order, eh Frank?" I said. Outlaw nodded and we walked out onto the street, turned right and walked directly toward the gallows and the jailhouse. There was a small crowd gathering near the gallows, comprised of leather-clad men, clean cut, mostly clean-shaven, but with the occasional goatee thrown in for good measure. Many of the men were puffing big, fat cigars as they watched my assistant hangman, Brian, test the gallows again and again. A sandbag stood in for Outlaw, stretching the thick Manila hemp rope taut with each drop. As we walked past them and into the jailhouse, a couple of the men said hello. One of them pointed off to the side of the gallows to a freshly-dug grave and said "we're all ready here, Captain." Outlaw glanced over to his waiting grave and said "Thank you, Sir." Then Frank turned to me and said softly "I'm impressed. This is just the way I want to go, Captain" "I've been planning this for a long time, Frank. No reason why we shouldn't all enjoy what needs to happen". I pushed Outlaw from behind, urging him into the small jailhouse. The walls of the jailhouse were filled with black-framed photographs ranging from the old days to the present. Each featured a portrait of a previously- executed man, a small brass name plate showing his dates of birth of death, and a wide shot of him hanging from the Jackson gallows. Outlaw surveyed the rogues gallery with interest, and stopped at his own frame. The portrait was his ID photo from Nightshade. Naturally, the other portion of the frame was still empty. Since his hanging was to be anonymous, the name plate read only "Outlaw". "Do you want to clean up now, Frank?" I asked. "No, Sir. I'm ready. I want to hang right away. My neck is itching for that noose to do its work." "Well then, let's get right to it, Son. We're all ready here". I guided Outlaw into the condemned-man's cell and opened a drawer in a small wooden chest that sat in one corner. Outlaw seated himself on the lone cot, the only other piece of furniture in that room which had hosted so many men before him. I returned to Outlaw with two cigars in hand. They were the usual LGC #7s, but the band had been replaced with a special one, emblazoned with a coiled Hangman's noose. I clipped them, and placed Outlaw's into his mouth, since his hands were still cuffed. I used my own lighter to fire up Outlaw's cigar, and then lit my own. Just then, my assistant, Brian, entered the jailhouse and walked into the cell wordlessly. He was in fine shape, perhaps 30 years old, dark-haired and goateed. Brian grabbed a cigar from the drawer, clipped it and lit up slowly. "On your feet, Outlaw. It's time" said Brian as he pulled several leather straps from the drawer and approached Outlaw, throwing the straps and a couple of lengths of rope onto the cot. Outlaw stood at attention...as did his cock...and stayed motionless as Brian put his hand on Outlaw's neck to feel the muscles. "I'm making sure you can take the drop we've selected for you, Outlaw. You will do just fine." said Brian, clenching his cigar in his mouth as he spoke. I turned Outlaw to face away from me, uncuffed him and replaced the cuffs with a binding rope, securing his wrists tightly behind his back. As I finished, Brian slipped another rope through Outlaw's elbows and secured them tightly together behind him. Next, he took one of the thick leather straps and wrapped it around Outlaw's torso, then buckled it into place. Brian grabbed the remaining straps, looked Outlaw in the eye and said "Let's go". I grabbed one of Outlaw's shoulders, and Brian the other, and we marched Outlaw out of the jailhouse, all three of us puffing deeply on our cigars. We walked past the crowd, and Outlaw spotted a couple of familiar faces: Mr. Williams was there, as was John the Barber, both changed into their leathers for the occasion. One of my Nightshade officers was there passing out cigars, making sure that everyone was kept supplied. The leather-lined casket was in place next to Outlaw's grave. Outlaw approached the 13 steps to the gallows, and before mounting the first one, looked up at the coiled noose awaiting him. Brian dropped back, and I guided Outlaw up the steps one by one. His step was firm, and we reached the top quickly. Outlaw and I moved to a painted-black "X" on the trap door and Brian followed a few steps behind. Outlaw puffed his cigar calmly as Brian wrapped a leather strap around his ankles, then another around his knees. I pulled a black-silk hood from my jacket pocket and showed it to Outlaw. "You want a hood, Son?" "Yes Sir" replied Outlaw, and I complied with his request, drawing the hood down over his rugged features. When I reached his mouth, I took Outlaw's nearly finished cigar and dropped it onto the plank floor of the gallows. Outlaw exhaled one last cloud of smoke as I brought the hood down the rest of the way, covering his face completely from view. Next, I placed the 13-turn noose over Outlaw's head and tightened it so that the knot rested snugly behind his left ear. Brian reached down and fished Outlaw's raging cock out of his leathers. It stood straight out from his body,dripping with precum. When all was in readiness, I whispered in Outlaw's left ear "Do you have anything to say before your sentence is carried out and you are hanged by the neck until dead, Frank?" "Only this, Captain Heath. I stand by my actions, but I thank you for making my hanging everything I could ever want. Thank you, Sir. I have only the highest respect for you." I replied so that only Outlaw could hear "and I have new found respect for you for conducting yourself so calmly. Die like a man, Son. Make me proud of you, Frank." "I will, Sir. I will." Brian had taken his place at the large lever at the edge of the gallows, ready to spring the trap on my command. I joined him and the assembled crowd grew silent, knowing that the moment of truth was at hand. I took a moment to enjoy the scene. Outlaw looked marvelous trussed up and ready to hang. The black silk hood billowed in and out with Outlaw's hurried breathing. It looked as if he was trying to get as much air as possible before it would be choked off forever. Next, I looked over the crowd of men assembled below to watch Outlaw swing. There was a palpble smell of cigar smoke as each of them puffed silently, waiting. I turned to Brian and said loudly, so that all could hear me, "Brian, you may execute the sentence at will." Brian placed both hands on the lever and pulled it firmly toward him. There was an instant of silence, then a crash as the trapdoor opened, and Outlaw dropped through the opening. In a split-second, Outlaw reached the end of his rope and his neck snapped with an audible crunch. Brian and I moved to look down through the trap for a better view. Outlaw's struggles were epic. His bound feet flailed vainly, looking for support, and every inch of his body fought the bonds which held him tightly. His cock grew larger and harder, and as his thrashing began to slow, he ejaculated with a force reserved only for those men fortunate enough to die by hanging. I knew that Outlaw was experiencing the orgasm of a lifetime. Many of the men in the crowd were also beating off, and the sight of Outlaw's exploding ropes of cum caused a mass-orgasm in the crowd. Next, a slow stream of piss dribbled out of Outlaw's cock and down his leather pants, onto his mud-caked boots, and dripping onto the earth below. Taking that as our signal, Brian and I headed down below, to be close to Outlaw at the moment of his death. As we approached his body, the struggles had nearly ceased. Only the most subtle twitching of fingers and feet betrayed any signs of life. I noticed a growing bulge in the back of Outlaw's pants, where his colon had voided. Outlaw was hanging just a foot or two off the ground, and I placed an ear to his chest to listen to his fading heartbeat. The slow, erratic beating grew slower and fainter, until nothing could be heard. Outlaw had paid his debts for the murder of Frost, Davis, Reed, and many others. I congratulated Brian on a clean hanging, and the assembled men took turns coming up to examine Outlaw's corpse. We took the long shot for Outlaw's execution portrait, then settled back for an hour or more to talk amongst ourselves. I took great pleasure in going down on Outlaw's still-hard cock, draining the last bits of cum and piss from it, and smearing it on my stiffly- waxed handlebar. After I was satisfied that Outlaw was dead, I signaled to Brian to cut him down. He mounted the gallows and sliced the rope cleanly. Outlaw fell to the cum and piss covered earth with a thud, landing flat on his face. Brian, Mr. Williams and I hoisted Outlaw's body onto our shoulders and laid him face down, still hooded, pinioned and noosed, into his leather-lined coffin. For the next hour or so, any interested men filed past the casket, and several of us paused to piss or shit (or both) onto Frank's body. The normally- reserved Mr.Williams took great pleasure in leaving a huge load square on Outlaw's back, and Brian followed suit, squatting directly over Frank's firm buttocks and covering them in his dark, smelly shit. John the Barber raised Outlaw's head to cram one final LGC #7 into his mouth right through the silk hood, closing it again firmly and placing Outlaw's head in a sideways position on the leather pillow, the cigar jutting out in a most provocative fashion. The cigar stayed put as rigor mortis was already setting in. John was clearly pleased to make this final gift to Frank. The noose's coiled knot draped down between Frank's shoulder blades, putting all of its considerable weight on his now-snapped neck. I thought it right that the noose would continue to squeeze Frank's neck until both the rope and the body were eventually reclaimed by the passage of time. Once we had all finished paying our respects to the hanged man, we closed the lid on Outlaw, and laid his coffin into the shallow grave near the gallows. Williams, Brian and John each took a shovel from the graveside and began filling in the hole. I took a whiff of my piss and cum-stiffened mustache and smiled to myself as I exhaled one last puff of my nearly-spent cigar. Outlaw had died like a man