JSM Story Slices Vol. 2

I said SHRIMP, not SHOOT!

"You can only SHOOT when I say SHOOT!" Raemus drawled.

Armando Cruz undid the flap over the gun at his hip with his black gloved hand and held his arms akimbo, opposite the dark hooded figure with the black bandana around his face.

Raemus stood between them on the sidelines. The air was dry, and a vulture was circling overhead, as if it already hungered for its next meal, waiting to see which gunslinger would drop.

Raemus itched his nose and stood planted in the stone paved street.

"SHED!"

Nobody moved.

More unbearable seconds drifted by, and I clutched the sleeves of my dress, waiting for the worst to unfold with the sudden flash and bang of pistols.

"SHIP!"

Even I flinched this time, expecting someone to squeeze the trigger, but nobody did. Armando and the cloaked figure were absolutely motionless.

Raemus rubbed his white mustache, and attempting to fake them out, shouted, "SHRIMP!"

I counted on one hand. Three words. Eventually, Raemus was going to run out, and then the real quickdraw would be inevitable.

★

It started when I was cleaning off glasses in my bar. Raemus was at the counter, as usual, making casual conversation with the other patrons. A table of card players sat on the left most table, a couple chatted in the center, and a man with his black hat drawn low over his eyes rested his boots below the table on the opposite chair in the far right corner, directly behind a few cattle ranchers. I was collecting a tip and slipping it into my dress pocket when an absolute stranger walked in. He was clad in a dark cloak and bandana, concealing his identity. His clothes were bulky, his spurs jangling, and the gleaming pistol across his waist bulging in the settling light seeping in from the expiring daylight outdoors. A few card players cast cautious glances at the overdressed vagrant, and I shifted eye contact elsewhere.

The cloak drew up to the counter and settled next to Raemus, who, in character, had to ask who the devil he was.

"Who the devil are you?!" he asked, twisting at the waist.

The dark figure turned towards Raemus, paused, and turned slowly towards me. He held up a gloved hand, his fingers showing from the cut tips, and raised his index finger, the nails of which weren't encrusted with dirt as I expected them to be.

"You want a drink?" I asked bluntly.

The shadow only kept the finger raised until I threw up my hands and said, "Right, I hope you like whiskey, because that's what you're getting."

The finger dropped his hand and waited patiently.

"I asked you a question: who the devil are you? What's with the clothes? I gander you look like you're tryin' not to attract suspi-cian. You wouldn't happen to be here to cause any trouble, I take it?"

With my back turned on Raemus, I could only hope he wasn't stupid enough to provoke this masked patron into pulling his gun. I've only had three incidents with guns in my bar, and I'd like the number to remain at three.

I set the sloshing glass down in front of the shadow, and I couldn't lie when I thought he turned his gaze directly at me.

"You have to pay for that you know," Raemus pointed for the fellow.

The cloaked figure didn't move.

"He's right." I kept my grip on the glass. "If you don't pay, I'll gladly hand this to somebody else a heck of a lot less shady than you."