Click. The safety of Johnny's Smith & Wesson 5906 slid to the firing position nice and smooth, well-maintained despite its age.
It was made before the Gate Disaster, long before Johnny was born. 2004, in fact. It was older than anyone Johnny knew.
This would be easy. The bounty was some store-robbing punk, only 50,000 Woolongs. Not a large bounty, in fact it was tiny, but Johnny loved work.
As he followed the target from 2 blocks away, he slowly started to slide his pistol out of its holster.
Suddenly, he felt a pressure in the small of his back. A gun barrel.
"You might want to put that away, pal." a familiar voice whispered in his ear.
"Spike?" Johnny asked, surprised.
"Johnny. Thought that was you." Spike chuckled, and lowered his gun.
"What are you doing here, Spike? Thought you didn't go for the small fries."
"We need the money." Spike said, sighing slightly.
"Jet run out of bell peppers and beef?" Johnny asked, smirking.
"Don't tease, I haven't eaten for two days." Spike growled. Or was that his stomach?
"What do you say we work together and split it? Like the good old days."
"Deal."
"He's headed to a bar, two blocks past Caiphon. You know the place?" Johnny asked.
"The Lone Star?"
"That's the one."
Spike slid his pistol back into his shoulder holster. Johnny laughed.
"You still using that old Jericho, Spike?"
Spike shrugged.
"It works."
The bar was almost deserted, seeing as how it was 4:30 in the morning. Only the pathetic and the criminal drank at this hour, it seemed. Spike hung back at the door, while Johnny headed for the bar.
"What'll you have, champ?" the bartender asked.
"Just a Pippu." Johnny replied.
"You sure you're not out past curfew, young man?" the bartender sneered.
"Nope, just on the job."
There was a flurry of movement at one of the tables as the bounty realized who Johnny was. He pulled a gun, a compact machine pistol, no time to ID it before the perp opened fire.
He was a terrible shot, thankfully, the light weight of the gun doing nothing to stabilize the weapon.
Johnny dove to the floor, pulling his Smith & Wesson as he hit the ground.
"YOU'LL NEVER TAKE ME, COWBOY!" the bounty yelled, running to the door, and straight into Spike's fist.
Johnny exhaled heavily, the action always made him feel alive, reminded him he was cheating death every time he dealt with a perp like this.
"Good going, Spike. Just like it used to be. Speaking of..."
Spike shook out his hand, and looked at Johnny quizzically.
"Where's this going?" he asked, smirking. "You homesick, Johnny?"
"Having to sleep on Martian streets kind of makes me sick, if that counts."
Spike laughed at that one.
"Yeah, sure. Glad to have you 'til you pick up and leave again."
"Just 'til I'm back on my feet."