The Secret Western of . . . Sheriff Chippy
MONDAY
Sheriff Chippy walked down the main street of Dodge wearing his badge for the first time since his appointment.
His step was nice and slow. He narrowed his eyes and his pale lips were set in a thin line.
It was high noon. His shadow stretched behind him almost the length of the street and made him look very tall.
He lit a cheroot, striking the match against his jaw. The flame burned down to his fingers but he showed no sign of pain.
But just then a high little voice sang out from the saloon. “He ain’t no different,” piped up Big Baldy Luxon. “He’s just in charge of the same old gang who made a damned mess of Dodge these past six years!”
The sheriff reddened. Fortunately, because of his hair, no one could tell. Sheriff Chippy rode into the deserted and worthless prairies of Australia.
It was his first time out of Dodge on official business and he didn’t want to make a single wrong step.
He observed the local customs. He exchanged gifts. He stood with the sheriff of Australia and they both smiled.
It was a successful trip but when he rode back into Dodge, a high little voice jeered from a drinks stand at the border. “He ain’t no different,” mocked Big Baldy Luxon. “He’s the same old same old.”
The sheriff lit a cheroot, striking the match against his rippling abs. He threw the flaming match into his mouth and smoke billowed out of his ears but he showed no sign of pain.
Tomorrow, he thought. Tomorrow will be the day of reckoning.
WEDNESDAY
It was high noon on the main street of Dodge when Sheriff Chippy strode out with his gunbelt hung low on his hips and faced the evils of the past.
There was a flash of silver and a loud crack as he gunned down the RNZ-TVNZ merger. It fell to the ground without a broadcast. “Thank God for that,” cried the entire town of Dodge.
He drew again and shot the sustainable biofuels mandate dead. It collapsed in a heap, releasing a great many hazardous gases. “Yay, always hated that mandate,” hurrahed the farmers in the saloon.
And then he strode right on up to the Three Waters reforms and the Hate Speech legislation and told them in a low, commanding voice to pack their bags, to scram, to get out of Dodge right now if they wanted to live. They got on their liberal horses and all they left behind was dust. “Don’t come back,” cheered the old white men and women who said whatever the hell they wanted.
The sheriff stopped in at the saloon and ordered the strongest rotgut whiskey they had. It burned a hole in the lining of his stomach and stopped his heart but he showed no sign of regret.
He had shown he meant business. He signalled loud and clear he would overthrow policies that upset the townsfolk, and stood for moving forward, for addressing the day-to-day concerns of the good people of Dodge.
THURSDAY
Sheriff Chippy spent the day familiarising himself with the day-to-day concerns of the good people of Dodge.
FRIDAY
Big Bad Baldy Luxon walked down the main street of Dodge at high noon. He knew the day would come when he would face Sheriff Chippy and have to draw first. He felt confident. He always did. He never let the absence of a single fresh idea bother him none because he was a man who always felt relaxed that he was born to rule.
The sun was in his face. He narrowed his eyes. No one told him that his shadow didn’t stretch very far behind him.