The Bounty and the Briefcase (Cattlepunk) [WIP]

12 - The Steel Arm

Gears could be seen through the bullet wound. Steam poured out, and, if Frances wanted to get close enough, she could peer through Foster's hand and see out the other side.

Frances didn't lower her weapon as she kicked the gun on the floor to Alo. In a smooth motion, he snatched it up and raised it to knock out Foster's own. From his place on the ground, he aimed up at Foster's head. Thank God he had seen her. And even better that she had come in time.

Now two guns were trained on the bigot. He wouldn't try anything.

Foster raised his hands up, and lifted his foot, then the other, repeating this until he was facing the sniper. The man's face was ripe with contempt, yet he grinned rather sadistically. "Well played. You did it, you trapped me."

Frances' hand kept steady. And it wouldn't waver.

"You know what I want from you?" she said. "More than an apology, for sure. I want your cane."

Foster raised an eyebrow.

"Why? Because the top half is made of Mazium. I could use that to make some more bullets, or simply sell it. Because nothing is more satisfying than stealing from the rich."

"Foolish girl. Observant as you may be, you still seem to not know what all of this is about."

Her grip tightened. "It's about a dumb-ass who chose to meddle in others' affairs. It's always the fucking rich folks. I suppose you eventually got tired of running things and decided to have a glance at what things are like for those of us without our heads in the clouds."

Foster persisted. "Tell me why I'm here. What am I here for?"

"I know you're here for my brother's brew, but it seems like you want to do more than that. You didn't need to bring a entire troop into a mechanic's store." Frances squinted. "I think you're just looking for trouble."

He frowned. "No--"

"Or you're too stupid to organize a decent strategy."

"Oh, but I have. It's still being employed."

"You literally have two guns pointed at your head."

"Yes, I said you trapped me. And you did it fair and square. Luckily, the 'fucking rick folk' have money. They don't have to play fair and square."

Then Frances heard it. Noisy shouts, shattering of glass, gunshots fired God-knows-where. A gang of some sort was approaching. The sniper swore under her breath.

"Yes, 'shit' indeed. Now, I can call all of this off with one whistle. All I need to do it. Is the damn bottle."

"You are fucking obsessed. This bottle," she barked, pointing one hand at the glass, "this bottle is nothing. It's essentially a game of Russian Roulette. Even Alo doesn't even know what the hell it's capable of! It could kill you in an instant. Or faster."

"Then why don't you let me take it off your ha--"

Gears and springs flew everywhere as the cuckoo clock seemingly exploded on Foster's head. The man fell to the ground, out cold. Alo and Frances simultaneously turned to Martin, standing down the aisle, finishing following through with the motion.

"What'd you do that for?" Alo asked, dropping his hands by his sides.

"Earlier, he tried to attack me with the cane. But it's made out of Mazium, and I got away. It still annoyed me though. So I got revenge by tossing something at him." Martin frowned. "Also, I was saving you."

"We didn't need to be saved." He stood up, brushing dust off his knees.

"Didn't sound like it."