How to die by the rules...

"Oh, of course," said the Horseman. "I intend to win fair and square!"

"So to insure greater fairness, we should both renounce use of our guns."

"Well... If you say so," said the Horseman. "I want a fair fight."

It wasn't until this point that I suspected things might not be completely kosher. Funny that a crooked duel should seem more remarkable than the fact of the duel itself. I guess that's because single-combat in some form is a barroom tradition. Not every sot carries it out to ten paces with seconds, but men of stature are apt to take things more seriously.

Men such as the Horseman, a gentleman in every respect: courtly, cool, courageous. The white stetson he never failed to tip for the ladies hid a full head of rich brown hair, and the bright twinkle of his eyes and proud strength of his body belied the lines of age carved into his skin. Men such as the Spy: demure, detached, deferential. His black fur hat and the turned-up collar of his heavy overcoat made him seem like a man on sentry, in solitude, on a frigid night.

"Yes," said the Spy. "You will give up your gun. I will give up my gun. Then neither will fear the other's gun. That will make things fair."

"Well...," said the Horseman. "Okay." He put his six-shooter on the ground beside the Spy's submachinegun.

The Spy pulled a long knife from the breast pocket of his overcoat. "Do you have a knife?"

"Why, no," said the Horseman. "I just brought my gun."

"Well, then. Since you do not have a knife, you will not have to renounce the use of it." He put the knife back into his overcoat. He stuffed his hand into a side pocket and pulled out a blackjack. "And do you have a club?"

"No, no," said the Horseman. "I don't carry a club."

"So you do not have to give it up." He put the blackjack back into one pocket and pulled a smaller knife from the other. "And do you have another knife?"

"I don't have any knives."

"Then you have no knives to give up. How lucky for you."

The Horseman said, "I only want what's fair."

The Spy had returned the knife to his coat pocket. From his waistcoat he drew a small pistol. "Do you have another gun?

"No, no. I only brought one gun."

"That is well for you," said the Spy, "since you would have brought it only to renounce use of it."

"Yes," said the Horseman. "That's only fair. But I do have a bullet-proof vest."

"...you do?"

"Yes. Don't you?"

"No," said the Spy, shaking his head regretfully. "In my country we do not have the technology to produce such weaponry."

"Gee... That's too bad."

"Yes. But don't you think wearing that weapon gives you an unfair advantage in this duel? You have a vest. I have no vest."

"Yes, yes, you're right," said the Horseman. "It's not right for me to take advantage of your country's hard luck. I'll take off the vest. That's only fair..."

"...!," I said. I had been content to be an uninvolved observer, but sometimes you just have to step in. "Are you crazy?!?"

"What...?," said the Horseman. "Are you talking to me?"

"Yes, you moron! You have no weapons. He has a blackjack, two knives and a gun. You cannot hope to win this fight. Your only hope to live through it is to keep that vest!"

The Spy said: "That would be very unfair! Think of what the people would say if you destroy me in an unfair fight!"

I said to the Spy, "And if you destroy him in an unfair fight...?"

He shrugged.

"He's right," the Horseman said to me. "We can't have a fair fight if I have an unfair advantage over him. That's only right..."

"Right? By what code?"

"By the Code of the West, Son. The Code of the West..."

"And if he has an unfair advantage over you...?"

"But I haven't!," insisted the Spy. "He has a vest. I have no vest. How is that fair?"

"Yes," said the Horseman. "How is that fair?" He shucked the vest. "I'll win this fight without it!"

"...will you?," I said, but neither seemed to hear.

"Now then," said the Spy. "We will stand back to back, take ten paces, then turn and attack."

The Horseman looked from one empty hand to the other. "...okay."

They stood with their shoulders touching, then the Horseman began to loudly count off his paces. The Spy did not pace; he turned in place and waited for the Horseman to finish. He pulled his other gun from his waistcoat.

The Horseman turned and said: "Human Rights abuses!"

The Spy shot him with the derringer. It caught the Horseman in the sternum.

"Oof!," he said. "Forced labor camps!"

The Spy pulled the large knife from his overcoat. Taking careful aim, he threw it at the Horseman. It stuck in his belly.

"Arg! ...treaty violations!"

The Spy pulled the small knife from his pocket. He closed on the Horseman and planted the knife in his rib-cage.

"Awk! ...global hegemony...!"

The Spy pulled the blackjack from his other pocket. He used it to club the Horseman. There was the sickening sound of crumbling skull.

"Urk! ...Sakharov...!," the Horseman hissed with his last breath.