The West Lives On
A Citizen's Profile
By Piper Wright
In the third installment of "Citizen Profile," I examine one of the members of the Kingsport Lighthouse's security team. It's hard not to notice the gunslinger doppleganger that patrols our city, but I'll be taking a look under the ten-gallon hat to see what makes our staunch protector tick.
Name: "Jarrod Henry Winchester."
Appearance: He met me at the bar for our interview. He wore the Cowboy hat that's gained him his reputation. His face was red and pock marked from life in the wasteland, and he stroked his goatee as he contemplated my questions. A wad of chew sat in his lip throughout the interview, and he'doccasionally punctuate an answer with a spit into dirt. At 6'2" he towered over me when I shook his hand. His wide profile was intimidating, but it's easy to feel safe in his presence. His six shooter hung on his hip on a pistol belt adorned with ammunition and a large belt buckle. After taking a seat across from me he kicked up his boots on a nearby chair and leaned back.
Background: "Not much to tell. Grew up with my parents on a trade caravan, Pa taught me to shoot. Ma taught me to drink. Never been much for book-learnin' so made a living with my hands, manual labor and such. Not glamorous, but kept me fed. Escorted trade caravans for a while, made a name for myself and a gun for hire. Didn't much like being told what to do. Killed as many raiders as I could during the war. Obviously not enough. Worked alongside the minutemen on a few occasions. Got along well enough. They asked me to join, but I'm no soldier. Settled down here about a year ago. Made it my home. I help keep the buildings from falling apart when I'm not patrolling."
Parents: "Pa was mean. Ma was meaner. Taught me how to not die. Not sure where they are now."
Skills: I asked him for a demonstration of his skills that I'd heard about. He smiled for the first time since the interview started and invited me outside. He grabbed six empty bottles on his way out. He set up five about 15 feet away from us on a makeshift shooting range, and set the sixth on the ground at his feet. He drew fast, shooting from the hip to hit the first bottle. He put one foot back and aimed down his sights for the second. He fanned the hammer to break the next three lightning fast. He holstered his weapon and handed me the bottle at his feet, and asked me to throw it hard as I could. I looked at him, looked up, and threw the bottle as high as I could. I saw it smash to pieces about 30 feet in the air, and by the time I looked back to him his gun was already holstered again, a wide smile decorating his face. I couldn’t help but smile too. He seemed to loosen up a bit more after that, and took a swig out of a flask from inside his coat as we walked back inside.
What's with the Hat? "Keeps the sun out of my eyes."
What weapons do you prefer? "Lever-action and revolvers. Big baddies out there in the wasteland, need big bullets.I don't go in for those lasers either. Keep a knife and a hatchet on me if I think I'll need 'em."
What's next for you? This question seemed to give him pause. He looked away for a few moments, took a swig from his flask, and spit into the dirt. "Off the record, I've grown to like our little slice of paradise. I don’t want to move on, but prosperity is a thing that seldom lasts out here. More killing is coming. Just like it always does. What's next for any of us? Ahh, I'm rambling. Still a little drunk from breakfast. And I swear to god if you put any of that [Expletive deleted] in your little article I'll deny it. Then I'll march up to your little shack and [Redacted].
I thanked him for his time and we parted ways. Buying him a few drinks throughout our interview paid off in the end, and proved that there is more to our antisocial cowboy than meets the eye. The romanticized era that he seems to have sprung out of may be long gone, but he proves that the spirit of the west lives on. If your reading this Jarrod, I'm sorry for the last bit, but I think you will thank me later on. It's time your neighbors know there's more than meets the eye behind the guns and whiskey. Join us next time as we get to know Simon Crowder. Father, minuteman, and neighbor, we get the real answers from our head of security.