- START -

"Barkeep!" the Man in Black yelled out with his drawled voice. "Gimme soma yer finest hootch!"

He took off his hat and placed it on the bartop, wiping the sweat off his brow. Most of the Arizona Territory was dry, but this far south, where the Empire could be spat on, was much more humid than most places. Warmer at nights, though. The Man in Black got his shotglass of liquor, and swilled it.

"Yep," the Man in Black said to no one in particular. "that hit the spot for sure."

Taking his hat and replacing it on his head, the Man in Black pulled out his hankie and wiped the rest of his face, making sure to be tender around his scars. He looked around the bar. Some faces he knew. Others, understandably, he didn't. What he saw too much of, were vermin.

"Who done let the filthy savages in here?!?" the Man in Black roared. He'd been gone for almost three weeks. How had things gone to pot so quickly? "Go on, you Goddamn buggers, get your asses outta here before I blast them off!"

The three Indians sitting in the corner had been there almost all day. Their reservation was in peril, and they had hoped to talk to the Territorial Govener to get things worked out. Two of them were warriors, stone-faced, but wary. The third, old, silver-maned, with the glint of craftiness and intelligence bright in his eyes. The old one could almost smell the liquor on the breath of the scarred man with the hard-calibers. The demon drink didn't make him mad. The desert heat did, which the old one knew both well.

"We came here to see your Master. We won't leave until we do." The old one, whom his People called Grey Fox, was one of the most stubborn Elder's his tribe had ever produced. The People said that Mother Night was turned back twice because Grey Fox didn't think it was his time to die.

The Man in Black wanted to say more, drive them off, even shoot them, but he couldn't. No Injun could make it here, to the Yuma Inn, without permission. The Old Man wanted to see them? Not before he did. No Injun would stink up the place he had to be. The Man in Black smiled.

"Well, well, well. That so?" He smiled his insane smile, the scars on his face tweeked a little, but that was good. He knew it unnerved people, and an unsettled person was an easily cowed person. The Man in Black continued. "Let me tell the Old Man you're here. He might see you. He might tell me just to shoot you, too." The grin got bigger.

The two warriors faces never budged, but he saw they were restless. Good, thought the Man in Black. All the better. The old one never changed, his cool gaze on him was a thousand-wheel stare. That kind of aggitated the Man in Black, but he vowed not to let the old bugger get under his skin.

The Man in Black sauntered up the stairs, walking up to the door with the plate -Boss- nailed right into it. He grinned at that sign. If anyone had cojones in this Godforsaken land, it was the Old Man. He knocked.

"Come in!" The voice on the other side bellowed. The Man in Black did just that. "Well, hello, handsome." The Old Man said, pointing at an available seat.

"I'm back." The Man in Black said, with panache. "Went off without a hitch. Poor Pat Dillenger and his wife have suffered," he added with effect. "...an untimely demise."

"Good." The Old Man said, going back to the map that was laying in front of him. Papers, reports, and accounts were all in front of him. "The less help they have and the more we get, the better and easier thing's will go." The Old Man looked up to the Man in Black and stared. "Think you can hire some more muscle? Don's lack of progress has been trying. Shoot him and get me thirty more men, we'll more than equal any force anyone can move on us."

"Consider it done." The Man in Black said. "What of the Redmen downstairs? Can I shoot them?"

"Only if they don't agree to my plan, and maybe even then." Which sent the Man in Black and the Old Man laughing.

- END -

01/08/2004

Author's Note: Explainations: hootch - whiskey. Empire - at this point in time, Mexico was still an Empire, under the French.hankie - hankercheif, or a snot rag. The People - what Indians refer to as themselves. cojones - (Spanish)Balls, or guts.

Posted on 01/08/2004
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