Back in Time: Bulletstorm [Book 1]

Prologue

Tombstone, Arizona, 1881

"Hey, you there! One Whiskey and a Cactus Wine for the table in the right corner. Quick, please."

The middle-aged bartender who had fallen asleep against the bar itself, immediately woke. Slowly, he tilted his head - which was once laying on his arms - upwards. With some difficulties he finally managed to stand straight on his feet, without faltering. He was blinking heavily when he realized that there was a woman standing in front of the bar, confusion crossing his face. Her left, blonde brow was tilted in a questioning manner at the absent-minded man, a colleague that she were to call her boss. With a heavy sigh, she plainly repeated the order to him. She spoke slowly and pronounced everything with emphasis, so she knew for sure that he had understood it. Without waiting for an answer, she walked away to fulfill her next task as a waitress. 

The bartender, clothed in a white button-up blouse with a brown gilet on top turned around, only to come face to face with the liquor shelves. All the ingredients like herbs - for the drinks served in the saloon - were kept in the big cabinet next to all the different sorts of alcohol. Tequila, peyote tea, Mule Skinner, whiskey and blackberry liqueur were mixed together, shaken and poured into one of the glasses. The second tumbler glass was mainly being filled with whiskey, before some ammoniac, turpentine and gunpowder were added to the mix. Both of the glasses were placed on top of the bar: ready to be served out. 

A saloon girl with a tight red dress covering little of her body, had enplaned the drinks on her tray and was making her way to a little table in the corner of the well-visited pub. It was one of the most crowded evenings she had ever seen. Most of the population in the saloon consisted out of men: both women and children stayed at home. Which was quite logical considering the strong liquor and the presence of lots of drunks and prostitutes. 

The Golden Eagle Brewery, as the barroom was called, was the place to be when in Tombstone. It was by far the best saloon ever known to the town's citizens, fast becoming their favorite haunt. With the extravagant swaying of her hips, the waitress arrived at the table where she was about to deliver the order. The loud sound of folks laughing and chatting, mixed with the acoustics of a country music band made for a cozy atmosphere. The woman placed the beverages on the wooden table.

"Thanks, darling!" Cried the obviously drunk man who was sitting at the table. His glazed over eyes lingering a bit longer on her revealed skin. The hiccups that interrupted his speech made it very clear that he was indeed intoxicated. 

After shooting him a tempting look and a quick wink, she hurried away. While walking, she passed a big table in the middle of the room. Five men were seated at the table, all with poker cards in hand. Spectators were focusing on their friends with hopeful faces, the thought of a fellow winning some extra cash imprinted in their minds. Money equaled alcohol, matching the meaning of pure freedom: living carefree with enjoying the wild life as your only responsibility.