I made my plans. Told my boss as much as I could and packed up whatever I still had. Waiting, after so much practice with it, was no longer a problem. Thinking to the moment when we would next meet was agonizing. My heart lurched every time I pictured him taking the gun, looking at me briefly, and then walking away. If he did walk away, it could be the last time. I hoped I wouldn't have to beg.
Nim had said he'd been looking for me. That was something, wasn't it?
No. I had the gun. The hunk of metal wedged under my pillow. He was coming for that, not me.
After Nim, I would closed the shades at night and take it out, looking it over in the muted moonlight. Unloaded and toothless, I'd run a hand over the barrel. The chrome was coming off around the well used trigger and handle. The dull steel underneath shining a much bluer sheen than the rest of the gun. Used lovingly over the centuries, it must have preformed miracles. Working in harmony with the Stampede. There were times when I envied it.
There was a bullet scar along the barrel that would have taken off a lesser man's fingers. A small scrape, but still a scar.
Scars.
I knew Vash had scars, vast amounts of them. Or I at least thought I did. I had started having other dreams. Nick and Vash and sometimes a bed. You could do all sorts of things with scar tissue. And that bastard preacher knew I was jealous.
I had been in training with the kid who was going to replace me, so I hadn't seen him come in. I did wonder why it had gotten so quiet, but I had guessed it was Ernie, our piano player, who always took a break at 6.
I was tapping a new keg of beer and aligning the spigots when the kid started poking my shoulder.
"Mr. Preacher? W-What do I do?"
"What does he want?" I asked.
"He s-says whiskey."
I raised up, wiping my hands on my apron. I nearly jumped when I realized who I was looking at. I nearly jumped again, when I saw the whole bar was looking at us. The off-duty deputy had a hand on his standard-issue revolver. The boss was trying to figure out which shotgun he should lunge for, and everyone else was trying to figure a way out.
Vash's eyes were hidden behind the sunglasses, which seemed to be blazing with their own light. His expression was serious, but relaxed. Still, the package would make a statue wince.
"Don't worry about it kid. Go get another case of brandy out of the basement; the Boss'll give you some chores to do after you're though with that." The kid didn't seem to want to move, so I added. "Go on, get along now."
The kid bolted. The boss made his way to the stairs, but didn't go down them.
"Do you want the drink, or should we just finish this now?" I asked.
"Actually, I could use a glass of whiskey. If you don't mind."
I poured him three fingers of the best stuff we had. "Start on that. I'll be back." By the time I had packed up the rest of the stuff in my room and got back downstairs, one or two of the guys at the bar were working up the courage to talk to him. It didn't look like it would be a friendly conversation. I gave a nod and a sorry smile to the boss, before I grabbed his arm and dragged him outside. I saw him pay as we left.