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Friday, March 29, 2024

Dust and Sand – Chapter 1- By Sean P. Wallace

            The Texan grinned. He only had four teeth. “Well then, what will we do with this here outlaw, gentlemen?”

            Elaine took a step back. A bad move. “Now, I don’t want no trouble…”

            “Then give us the bottle,” Cut Throat said.

            The Texan nodded. “And… twenty dollars.”

            “That’s…”

            And then Elaine made the mistake of looking back at Dust, as though for support. He didn’t react, was too old to panic like some teenager, but he wanted to swear at her. Loudly.

            “What’re you looking at him for?” the Texan asked. “Is he the local sheriff or something?”

            The barmaid looked at the outlaws in wide-eyed terror. Dust would’ve thought her too old to panic as well. Obviously, he’d been wrong.

            “Hey, ‘sheriff’, you have a problem with us reclaiming what ain’t rightly hers?” the Texan called out.

            Dust slowly brought his glass up to his lips. “I’m just here to drink,” he said before sipping at the hazel glory.

            “Then why does this pig think you can save her?”

            “I don’t know.”

            “There must be a reason,” mid-West said. Which was a shame; Dust felt certain he could’ve eased the situation with someone as stupid as the Texan going at him but Mid-West was much smarter than that. “Barmaid?”

            Elaine swallowed. “I thought he… might… be a good man…”

            “Clearly he isn’t. He’s not even a man,” Cut Throat said. The Texan laughed like a mule.

            Dust sipped his whiskey again.

            “What’s that on your hand?” Mid-West asked.

            “There’s nothing on my hand…” Elaine replied.

            “No, not you. Him.”

            Dust looked down at his hand. For the second time in five minutes, he wanted to swear; his wandering tattoo had slunk up his arm and was sitting on the back of his wrist. Again, Dust was too old to blink or panic but that’d probably settled it.

            There would definitely be some trouble.

            “A tattoo,” he said.

            “That weren’t there a minute ago,” the Texan said. At least all of the cocksure sass had drained from his stupid voice.

            Mid-West stood. “I know.”

            The worst thing about Dust’s abilities was how much they tempted him. He knew he could pull his pistol and down the three of them before they could so much as blink, without spilling a drop of the good whiskey. That knowledge was like a woman in heat, dancing naked in front of him. But he couldn’t kill in cold blood, not even outlaws.

            If he did, he would deserve his reputation.

            “I’ve heard about someone with a vanishing tattoo,” Cut Throat said, standing as well. “I’d thought it was just a myth.”

            The Texan pulled his gun from his belt and twirled it around his finger, a ridiculous move. Then he stood. “Seems it ain’t no myth.”

            At this, the locals decided to leave. It was a wonder it’d taken them so long. They charged out of the door and left Elaine and Dust alone with the three outlaws. Nobody paid them any mind as they ran and they certainly wouldn’t be going to get help.

            Mid-West kept his eyes on Dust the whole time. Then he led his two friends around the bar and over to Dust. “It seems, my friends, that what we have here is the infamous ‘Wanted Man’.”

            Okay, maybe the worst thing about his abilities was that damn nickname.

            “You’re mistaken,” Dust says.

            Cut Throat pulled his gun on Elaine. “Is this The Wanted Man?”

            Elaine looked at Dust, tears forming in her eyes like morning dew. Then she nodded. Dust couldn’t really blame her for giving him up.

            Mid-West drew as well. He placed the cold steel on the back of Dust’s neck. “Now there might be a price on our heads but it’s nowhere near the size of the one on yours. Quite a few people would pay quite a lot of money for you.”

            Dust swilled the glass around under his nose, enjoyed the rich, varnish-like scent. “No, they wouldn’t.”

            “Pardon?”

            Another sip. “They wouldn’t. Pay, I mean. They’d kill you. Then take me.”

            “We’ll just have to see about that,” said Cut Throat.

            “Stand, you son of a bitch,” the Texan demanded.

            Dust shook his head and smiled. “Can I finish my drink?”

            Mid-West shrugged; Dust felt the gun at his neck rise and fall. “You might as well. We’ll bring the bottle for you. Call it your last request.”

            “Thanks.”

                     He downed the whiskey and let it slide down his throat. It really was damn good whiskey. Being stolen explained how Elaine could get a hold of something that fine. He put the glass down and made a note to ask Elaine the make next time he was there.

            “Stand, you son of a bitch!” the Texan repeated.

            “You’re not too bright, are you?” Dust asked.

            The Texan growled. “What did you say?”

            “Easy Clarence,” Mid-West said to the Texan. ‘Clarence’. What a name.

            To Dust, Mid-West said “Nice try. But it won’t work. Now stand up.”

            Dust eased himself from the stool and stood. Cut Throat moved in at his side and pressed a gun against Dust’s arm. Clarence did the same to his other arm. They had him pretty well covered, it had to be said.

SeanPWallace
SeanPWallace
Sean is an editor, writer, and podcast host at Geek Pride, as well as a novelist. His self-published works can be found at all good eBook stores.

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