Traveling on foot, Joe made his way through the Richmond streets. They were in the more densely populated part of town, and he could see shops everywhere. However, in these times most of them were empty or simply closed up. He noted the many men and women standing around, trying to sell old newspapers or hawking junk that they pulled from dumpsters. Anything to make a buck for the day. It brought that sinking feeling back to Tornado Joe, the feeling that things had gotten far too bad to handle in this country. He couldn’t explain it, but it felt almost supernatural. In a Resolute state, he could sense all the despair of abject poverty. It all came to him, all at once. The sum total of the energies of the world painted a picture of everything around him, unseen but for Resolve, and this part of the world was deeply diseased. It was like a sick animal, limping around slowly, waiting to be put out of its misery.

  Billy Baird had taught him how to deal with the flood of energy in urban environments, where so many people with so much feeling all at once hit him. When they first took a trip to New York City, Joe thought he was going to pass out. Now, he had the facilities to handle the flood of energy. He knew he would still be focused enough to take down the Skinwalker; but in his mind he would have preferred to battle one in the middle of the woods, away from all this poverty.

  Behind him the two witches floated along. Ivy curiously surveyed the streets around her, while Winona was more focused on Tornado Joe. She knew this place was bad for his Resolve, this concerned her. As prepared as he was, there was too much suffering here for her to feel comfortable with the situation. Her attention was drawn to a long line of men standing outside a building with large windows. The sign above the windows read “FREE COFFEE – FREE MEALS – FOR THE UNEMPLOYED”. The line ran all the way down the street, hungry men standing in the crisp November morning air with coats on. Shame colored their faces, their eyes curiously surveying the floating witches. When Winona’s eyes met theirs, they averted their gaze.

  The sight of a witch in Virginia was not unheard of, where the Roanoke Coven resided. Roanoke represented one of the large Covens in the United States, though they were considerably less involved in the affairs of the Six-Guns than the Green Coven. It was not unheard of for Roanoke witches to form pacts with Six-Guns, but it was not so ubiquitous as the sight of a Green Coven witch traveling alongside a man with a wide hat and a pistol on his hip.

  “Are they waiting for food?” Ivy asked, an eyebrow raised in curiosity.

  “Food, or work.” Joe answered, puffing on another cigarillo. This one filled with energy-enhancing material.

  “They don’t have any work to do?” She was not familiar with the troubles of the time.

  Joe nodded, flicking the butt end of the cigarillo. “Yeah, that’s the big problem around here. I don’t really know why, not my bag, but the problem is that nobody can find a job. No job, no money, no food. Simple as that.”

  “We don’t have money either, though. I don’t get it…”

  “We do. I have it. You ladies from the Covens meet all your needs yourself, without having to make money. Grady’s Posse makes money in some other ways, but mostly we make what we need too.”

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  “How do you make money if there’s no work, Tornado Joe?” Ivy floated alongside him, earning the unhappy gaze of the silver-haired witch behind her.

  “I don’t make it, the Plaids make it. I hear it’s made by selling stuff they actually make, or the silver mines. There’s silver in some of our bullets, but I think they take extra for the funds. All I do is kill the monsters and dissolve curses. Nobody pays me for that, I doubt these days anybody could.”

  He chuckled, “Imagine if we charged for this work. It’s not Grady’s way to let people get maimed, eaten or worse just because they can’t afford our work.”

  Winona smiled, hearing Joe’s true feelings on his voice. She knew that’s who he was, he would put his life on the line for free. She admired this about all the Six-Guns, they refused to let people go unprotected no matter who they were. In this, the lowest time in America since the War between the States, the Six-Guns were as active as ever protecting people from all walks of life. A Hooverville would go ignored by the police, but it would not go ignored by Tornado Joe.

  The Hooverville in question came into view as they approached what used to be a large park in Richmond. It had become known as Somner’s Palace. The ramshackle town was a mass of shacks and tents, untreated wood nailed together crudely to form an amalgamation of dwellings separated by jagged alleyways. This Hooverville was well organized, which Joe was finding to be more and more common as the times they had taken to calling the Great Depression continued on. Standing just outside the park gate were two men in patchwork clothing and rags, one holding a pipe and the other a fire iron. It appeared to Joe that these men were guarding the Hooverville. He approached slowly, boots clapping the stone walkway.

  “Hold it, Six-Gun.” The man on the left told him. “This here is Somner’s Palace. State your business or beat it.” The eyes of the Hooverville guard held an intensity Joe found common among this class of men, down on their luck yet still holding to their pride. He admired it. Furthermore, Joe detected in this man the tell-tale signs of a military veteran. He was one of them, the Bonus Army. Had to be.

  “You should know why I’m here.” Joe maintained his stoic tone, as was appropriate for the wandering gunslingers of Grady’s Posse. “Your leader called for a Gun. I’m here for the Skinwalker.”

  The guards looked to one another. Even though he was not in a Resolute state, Joe could feel the anxiety coming off of them as he mentioned the Skinwalker. They looked back, the one on the left nodded to him.

  “Let’s see it.” He told Joe, “Anyone can put on the Hollywood getup.”

  Joe kept his composure, though he wanted to laugh. He wondered how many cowboys this guard had seen running around with two witches floating alongside him. Nevertheless, he presented the item he knew the guard needed to see. His membership card. Everyone knew that a Six-Gun carried a card around, identifying their status as a gunslinger-sorcerer and what level they were operating at. In his mind Joe challenged the need to see a playing card which might also be forged, like the getup the guard suggested he might be faking. He presented his card with the flick his hand, holding it between his index and middle finger. The guard looked at his card, the King of Diamonds.

  “Thank you, Six-Gun. Sorry, it’s my job sir.” The guard nodded.

  “Not a problem.” Joe grunted, making the card disappear into his sleeve. Such a trick was Tornado Joe’s style, unnecessarily flashy.

  “The Major is gonna want to meet you.” The guard straightened up, “Come with me.”

  He and the other guard opened the park gates. Joe and his witches followed them into the Hooverville. What he saw was much different than he expected. Somner’s Palace was a vibrant place, full of children playing and people moving along. There were gardens where ladies chatted with one another as they tended to the produce, and men were everywhere on makeshift ladders nailing more boards from crates and other scrap to the dwellings in an attempt to reinforce them. So surprised, Tornado Joe decided to enter a Resolute state. He discovered the energy here was bright and sunny. It calmed him, steeled him for the coming fight. He had to smile, trying to hide it with his hat.

  Six-Guns like Tornado Joe can feel the despair and the poverty in the currents of energy. That negative energy gives space for horrible things like Skinwalkers to prey on people. It was a very tough time for Grady's Posse too, for this reason.