Jack's pistol had a single bullet left. One shot, if you will.
Over time, the previous shots had been liberated on various targets: the first had been to punctuate a point during an argument at the Green Dragon pub. The second had been directed at the boots of an irate pirate who had tried to board Jack's ship after being repeatedly reminded that the Pearl was not a pleasure vessel. The third had been an accident. The fourth shot was fired because Jack had arrived in Tortuga, and – unfortunately for the seagulls that circled overhead – it was customary. The penultimate shot had somehow managed to escape during a particularly blurred night that he could not remember. But it had been no matter, really; Jack still had all of his appendages.
And now, Jack Sparrow and Will Turner were faced with the very difficult task of deciding what to do with that all-important final shot. They were sitting on a bench by the road.
"You could use it to clear out a bar," Will suggested. "I hate crowded bars."
Jack was lazily spinning his gun on his finger and watching people stroll by. "I could certainly do that, mate. Quite certainly."
"You could shoot the cap off of one of the officers in the square."
"Mmm hmmm …"
Will turned to face his friend. "Are you taking any of my ideas seriously?" Jack twisted away from the meandering crowd to offer him a grin.
"'Course, lad. Only, try and realize that I know something very important about you." He bopped Will on the nose with the barrel of his pistol. "You've never fired anything like this in your life! I'm not inclined t' take you more seriously than any other wet-behind-the-ears apprentice smithy that – "
In one smooth motion, Will was on his feet with Jack's pistol in hand. "Oh really?"
The pirate's mouth fell open. "I cannot believe … that you just interrupted me." He settled back against the bench and continued to study the people passing by. It was Will's turn to be surprised.
"But I just – "
"Shush. That's not the point. You see? For all your hard work, we're no closer to deciding what to do with my last bullet. If I were you, I would be less pleased with myself and a little more disappointed," replied Jack pointedly. Will sat down, looking slightly crestfallen.
"Then why don't you just save it?"
Jack looked startled. "For what?"
"An emergency?"
The pirate captain snorted. "I thought you knew me better than that, William."
The afternoon yawned in red and gold, stretched, and settled into purple evening. Tavern lights began to punctuate the street, and soon the two men settled on the bench by the road became two silhouettes. One silhouette leaned close to the other. "It's getting late," Jack yawned. He brought his pistol up to his eye and looked down the barrel. "Too bad about this last bullet. I'd hate to have to go and buy five more instead of a nice even six …."
Will stood and stretched. "Yes. I can see how that might waste an entire day." Jack smirked.
"Well, no more than you've wasted today on this bench with me."
"Too true." The blacksmith watched his friend flick the pistol chamber open and shake out the last shining bullet with a sigh. "I still don't understand why you refuse to just save it."
"And I don't understand why you refuse to see how potentially hilarious this entire day might have been," Jack responded glumly. He studied the small metal slug in his hand – then suddenly flipped his palm upwards. The last shot went sailing over his shoulder and into the night.
In the near-darkness, Will was smiling. "You know, Jack, with that display of responsibility, I think you may have just saved the world."
"Smashing, my boy. Now we've something to vandalize tomorrow."