The magma spheres of Wrath burned high above their respective volcanoes and cast an orange glow across the ring. This light served as the only form of illumination in the bar, where I played a game of poker with some not-so-friendly faces. Then again, friendly faces rarely existed in these parts. When I entered I was only served scowls by everyone present; and ever since they dealt me in those scowls came with some more violent gestures, which I quickly deterred with a flash of my pistol. I never started trouble, but I'd gladly finish it should the need arise.
Right then I was one of the few people left sitting at that round dusty table, the others having folded one after another being dealt their unfortunate hands. Soon after, another joined the rest. A hairy wolf-like fella who threw his cards onto the table with a frustrated, whisky-laced, growl before shooting straight out of his seat. He was big on his feet and he knew it; he came over to me with a hint of murder in his eyes. I made sure he got a good look at my weapon like the rest, and upon seeing it he let out another snarl and moved past me to the saloon's double doors, tail between his legs. This left just me and one other.
Directly across from me, eyeing the pile of money centered on the table between us, sat a disgusting little rat by the name of Lenny Lucky. Now I call him disgusting not out of any hatred for the man, but because he was honestly horrid. Sweat, unnatural even for the heat of Wrath, matted his fur down to a gross black sheen and soaked his olive-green shirt. A set of buck teeth stood prominently at the end of his mouth, saliva occasionally dripping off them to the table below. And with his hat set on the table I even got a good look at his scarred face. He may have had the luck of the draw, but that face told me that was where all his luck lay. White pupils slashed through red eyes which seemed to pierce the cards that sat in his grimy pink paws.
I waited patiently for him to make his move; so far he hadn't folded, always confident he held the better hand. As if to prove my point, he let out a snicker between his chittering teeth before he proudly displayed a straight flush of hearts. Pretty impressive, especially since we went all or nothing on this hand. I almost felt bad when I laid my royal flush of spades. But seeing the look on his face made that feeling go away, and with a satisfied sigh I leaned forward to take my winnings. Of course that wasn't the end of it, otherwise I wouldn't be telling this story.
"Cheater!" he barked at me.
The accusation got my attention, and that of the others who stuck around to see the game play out. I looked up from the pile of coins and crumpled bills to give him a smirk, "It does nobody any good to be a sore loser, Lenny. Although you should probably change your name, on account of your luck having run out."
This remark must've really got under his skin, because he slammed his fists on the table and gave me the nastiest glare I saw that day. He leaned over the table, and if I thought he was ugly before he was even worse closer up. When he ran out of room to lean, he spat out the beginning of his last mistake.
"I challenge you to a duel, you cocky, cheatin', sonofabitch!"
My smile grew, and I shook my head. "Oh boy, you can't be serious."
"Oh, I'm deadly serious," he said before he drew his pistol out from a holster looped loosely around dirty, beige pants and placed it on the table.
"We're gonna draw outside at the stroke of noon, otherwise I'll just shoot you right now. Unless yer yella, and you wanna admit to cheatin' all these kind folk out of their money. Then I might just let you go, although I wouldn't be able to speak for the others here on what they might do with such information."
I looked at the revolver lying on the table with amusement before turning to look at the audience that grew around us. I could tell from the looks they gave me that they would have happily torn me apart where I sat should I not accept the challenge. Not that that was ever in any question.
So I stood up from my seat, now placing myself at eye-level with the rat, and I told him, "I ain't yellow, boy, and I ain't no liar. I'll take you up on your challenge."
Lenny's sneer morphed into an almost sinister smile at my response, and he re-holstered his pistol before grabbing his black hat and placing it atop his head. I turned and left the winnings sitting at the table, making my way over to the saloon doors; I could feel the rat following close behind me. Nobody was going to mess with the stack while we conducted our business, of that we were both certain.
Pushing through, I made my way over to the middle of the street, careful not to make it look like I was trying to run. Lenny seemed as likely to shoot me in the back as shoot me in the front. But out the corner of my eye I saw him walking out, making sure he took a position at least twenty paces away from me. Once we were centered in the street and at our respective positions we turned to each other, a crowd of onlookers gathered on either side of us. In Wrath the people possessed a supernatural sense to know when a duel was going to happen, and they were always present to see it.
I kept Lenny in the center of my view, making sure his hands were by his sides, while I scanned the buildings around him. I got a good look at the entire town as I rode in, and I knew the general store had a large clock on its front for me to spy at. I soon found it, its hands had just turned to 11:59, the seconds ticking through the final minute until showtime. I made sure I didn't spend too long looking at it, my eyes darting back to the rat ahead of me. Still his hands hadn't moved.
For that entire minute not a single soul spoke, the only noise came from the dry wind that blew burnt tumbleweeds between us. My eyes narrowed, focusing on the figure ahead of me. While his hat cast a dark shadow over his face, his red eyes pierced through to return my glare. Although I couldn't see it, I could tell he was sweating, the hand that hovered over his holster shook ever so slightly. Was the heat getting to him, or his nerves? I had ten seconds to find out. Ten seconds until the clock rang out high noon, and the bullets started flying.
Nine seconds, and I calmed myself. Stilled the beating of my heart into a dull lull, my hand confidently keeping its place over my gun. Ready to kill.
Eight seconds, and Lenny's hand faltered, dipping low to his gun before raising back up.
Seven seconds and the wind stopped, the silence was palpable now.
Six seconds and Lenny stumbled in place. I didn't move.
Five seconds and I could see Lenny's other hand flexing, while the one over his gun remained as unsteady as he was.
Four seconds and I knew something wasn't right. I readied myself to draw.
Three seconds and Lenny took a hard step to his left, his holster shifting around his back. To everyone present it made him look clumsy, but I saw right through the trick.
Two seconds and the gun was now on Lenny's left. We drew at the same time.
One second and we fired. Cracks of thunder that pierced through the red skies of Wrath.
At noon Lenny fell to his knees. A hole in his head to match the one he put into the ground.
I deeply inhaled the sulfur air and breathed it out cool, placing the gun back in my holster. I gave a nod to the crowd by the saloon to let them know the show was over. Then I let out a loud whistle and my horse came cantering over to my side. Together, we walked to get the body.
See, Lenny Lucky wasn't some random rat I happened to anger over my holding a better hand. Hell, I expected the challenge. My interest never lied in the cards on the table, but the man who dealt them. I was hired to get Lenny, dead or alive, although the client preferred dead, then bring him in for the real score. A large bounty my client put on his head, and although I didn't care why he put out such a hefty sum he wasted no time explaining his sad tale.
Lenny didn't get his self-appointed last name from his pulls at the tables. Like most, his success in gambling was rather mixed. No, his luck of the draw came from a gun, and even then luck was a stretch. He would always play the same gambit, make his dueling opponent think he couldn't even use a gun. He would play nervous and shaky, stumbling in place like a man who believed he was going to die. They'd take him for an easy kill, but before the clock would even turn to noon he would shift the gun to his real shooting hand and blow a hole straight through their chest. By the time they figured out they got tricked, they were already dead.
So was the situation what happened with my client's brother. He witnessed Lenny kill him right in front of him, and described it all to me just as I did to you. So when I walked into the saloon that day and saw him at that table, I was ready.
When I got the poor bastard saddled up, I got back on my horse and left the town behind. As for the card money, hell if I know what happened to it. My guess is that bar got a little busier than usual once they realized I wasn't coming back.
"Anyways, that's the story of Lenny Lucky, a lesson you should play your cards close to your chest," I said with a laugh to my current audience.
A different saloon and gambling table. Some were clearly entertained by my tale, grateful for the break in the loss of their funds; others were unimpressed, having heard similar stories before from an assortment of bounty hunters like myself. But one in particular took none too kindly to my yarn.
"Bullshit," he spat, and I gazed over at him with a smile.
"Something bothering you, friend?" I asked the man.
A white rat shifted in his seat. Unlike Lenny he wore cleaner fur, covered by a maroon shirt, and his hands held his cards delicately. Yet he leaned over to me with an all-too-familiar scowl, red eyes narrowing at my presence. But beyond that glare, I could see something else. Worry? Fear?
"You expect us to believe you managed to beat out everyone in a game of poker, playing a perfect hand almost every time, all for a ploy to draw out one man? And on top of that you fired a perfect shot in the duel, putting a bullet between his eyes?"
I shrugged. "What can I say? I'm pretty great at everything I do."
The rat huffed out a laugh, "Or maybe you've just been wasting our time cause you have a garbage hand, and you told us this story cause you want us to believe otherwise. Well, I'm calling your bluff."
He laid down his hand: a straight flush. Upon seeing this, several others folded. A pair of twos, a full house, and a three of a kind hit the table in frustration, then all looked to me for my hand. I considered them each in turn, then cocked my head with a smirk.
"Well, believe it or not, it's all true. In fact, the story ain't over," I said, looking back over to the white rat in front of me, noticing him tense under my stare.
"See, when I delivered the body to my client, he was so impressed by my work that he immediately asked me to pursue another bounty. While I was away, he found out a lot about poor old Lenny. Like how he had a brother, who also had a penchant for gambling and dueling. I guess the coincidence was too big for him to ignore, or maybe he feared falling victim to revenge much like Lenny did. Like I said, I don't care about backstory. Point is, I accepted and I managed to track him down right to this very table."
I laid my hand down on the table for all to see. A royal flush. Suddenly, the rat didn't look as confident, the apprehension I sensed earlier became plain on his face. If it weren't for his fur I'd expect he'd have turned downright pale. Kicking back in my seat, I threw my legs onto the table to balance myself, and I flashed him my widest smile.
"So I hope y'all are ready for another round. I'm feeling lucky."