Called Shot (Excerpt)

They met under the sign of a disreputable bar and an inauspicious phase of the moon. They met without fanfare and gave each other no greeting. The one that was scarred across its eye said, "It will be tonight." The one that was armed to its teeth said, "Just as you say." They went in and took a table in the back.

Those they passed noticed them only briefly. They noticed the gun-shaped lump under the back of the man's shirt. They noticed that the woman had a black eye and a broken finger. They noticed these things then determined it best not to notice the couple anymore. Everyone has their private troubles. Best not to poke one's nose in.

There were two bartenders on duty. One surveyed the room from behind the bar. The other, younger-seeming, less confident in his manner, moved constantly around the room. "Why I always got to wait tables," he muttered while placing the couple's drinks on a tray.

"Cause you're the new guy," said the other loudly.

"I been here five years, Jack. I ain't new."

"And I've been here six. Go wait tables, Shane."

The couple accepted their drinks, then returned to their former occupation of watching the room. Despite the puffy skin surrounding her left eye, the woman could see perfectly well, better in fact than anyone else in the bar other than her companion. "Tell me how it will be done," she said.

Despite the gun that sat snug in his belt, the man would never draw a weapon nor need to. He had other methods of enforcing outcomes. "It will be done," he said, "in its own way."

They waited....