Al took a long drag on his cigar, and let out a perfect smoke ring that floated lazily out into the open air before disappearing. He watched from on top of the balcony of his hotel room, running a callused hand through his combed auburn hair. He massaged and stretched his arms. Sunlight beamed down on his rough, tanned skin, littered with the occasional scar.
The mid-morning sun was high up in the air, and the squat town was awake with the sound of daily business. At the marketplace the various vendors hawked their goods, and entered into bargaining matches with their customers. The sounds of various animals, of cows, chickens, pigs and horses pervaded the air. Screaming and laughing children ran down the streets and byways, chased by scolding mothers. The sound of clanging iron and forged steel emanated from the town blacksmith.
He checked his pocket watch. Time was of the essence, and he had work to do. He let the cigar drop to the floor, and ground the embers into ash with the heel of his boot. He silently strutted back inside to the dark and dank hotel room with its curtains closed.
In one corner of the room sat a short and stocky man who had been tightly bound, gagged, and tied up to a wooden chair. He seemed to have fallen asleep. Al grabbed a bucket of cold water on top of a short table and splashed the man with it. That seemed to do the trick. The man's eyes flew right open, sputtering awake.
"Hello there, my good fellow!"
"Mmph! Mmfph! Hmm!"
The man looked at him with narrowed, angry eyes, yelling muffled, intelligible curses through the fabric of the gag.
"Good to see you too!"
Al grinned at the man.
"You may yell all you want. I've already paid off the hotel manager and his staff."
He slowly walked closer, and suddenly drove a hard fist into the man's stomach. A strangled cough came out from behind the gag that turned into hacking noises. Then, he pulled the man up by his head.
"My good sir, please tell me. Where. Is. Sebastiano?" he said, again.
The man almost imperceptibly shook his head. Al smiled coldly and the man's eyes widened as unsheathed a long hunting knife. He hummed as he lazily cut bloody lines and traced bloody circles and dug his knife deep into muscles and through flesh, taking care to avoid critical veins and arteries. Slice. To the tune of the man's muffled cries and shrieks. Cut. Slice. He stepped back to admire his handiwork as the man moaned in pain and crimson liquid dripped in slow rivers to stain the hardwood floor.
"I don't believe you're going to look so pretty for the ladies now, friend."
"Now..."
With a flourish, he pulled out a silver-gray steel Colt revolver. He briefly unloaded and reloaded it, showing the dull luster of six deadly bullets chambered and just waiting to be fired.
"No more games, my friend. I am going to ask you one more time. Where. Is. Sebastiano?"
He pushed the cold steel muzzle of the revolver into the side of the man's head. The man trembled slightly.
"I can either kill you now and find him myself, or you can make this easier for both of us. Tell me where he is going, and you'll live. Deal?" he hissed.
The man finally broke with a sigh and a fall of his shoulders. Al removed the gag and pulled away his revolver.
"Sebastiano is with fifteen other men. They are headed for the railroad to the north that runs to El Paso past this town. They are all heavily armed and you are a fool to think of fighting him." the man spat, angrily.
The man slumped back into the chair again.
"That is all I know. Now, will you please let me go?" he said weakly.
"Good sir, thank you very much for your information! Now, wasn't that easy?" Al said smoothly, with a cheerful smile, as he pressed the revolver back against the man's temple.
The man's face widened in horror and betrayal.
"Wait! Wait! WAIT! I already told you where he is going! LET ME GO YOU...!"
BLAM!
He didn't get to finish. The lead round pierced through his head, sending crimson red and bone and flesh splattering in a spray all over the floor and furniture. His eyes stared in glazed astonishment before his head slowly slumped over and his prone body collapsed in the chair.
"Apologies, sir, but we didn't shake on it." Al muttered, as he cleaned the gore off his pistol with a handkerchief.
He changed out of his bloodstained clothes into a fancy suit, tie, pants, dress shoes, and hat, picked up his pre-packed suitcases, and lugged what appeared to be a large guitar case and left the room, making sure to jam the door lock once he shut the door behind him. By the time the hotel staff found the dead body, he'd make sure he was long gone.
He walked downstairs, greeting the confused hotel manager and staff and pressing a small bag of pesos into the portly manager's hands.
"For your trouble, my friend." smiled Al. He tipped his hat to the maids and politely gave his goodbyes before he closed the door behind him as he exited the hotel.
Alastor (Al) West, was the deadliest gunman-for-hire west of the Mississippi River, for a reason. He boasted legendary sharpshooting skills with a gun (he was said to have been able to shoot a dove out of the air from a thousand meters away), fighting skill (he was said to have killed a wolf with his bare hands) and could positively maintain the façade of an esteemed, entertaining gentleman all the while.
He drew many employers. He did not discriminate. Anyone could hire him, and anyone could die by his hand. Men, women, elderly, settlers, natives, officials, criminals, lovers, friends, ex-lovers, enemies, were all the same to him. They all fell to his gun.
Gangsters loved him because he held no loyalties. He'd comply with one man's assassination request and on request (given enough money), shoot with no hesitation the same man who had previously bought his services a week later. The government loved him mostly because of his one rule: a shaken hand was a promise that meant that the deal was good to his grave. His handshake was a guaranteed kill. In and out. A couple bullets to the head, proof—of—death, and cold hard cash in return.
He never let any emotions touch him, love or fear or anger. Al West was a coldhearted killing machine. And he was vicious and cruelly efficient at what he did.
This time, it would be no different.