Chapter Three
I apologize for the tardiness of this chapter. The creative juices are reaching their drought, I'm afraid, thus this continuation of "Wanted Dead or Alive: Death the Kidd" might be frankly disappointing. Nonetheless, please review, and I accept honest critique and volunteered ideas from everybody and anybody. Even nobodies, or bodies without heads.
Kidd drew his second gun from its battered sheath as he rallied round the curve of the porch of the saloon, still engrossed in a comical battle.
His golden eyes settled on the startled five out of eight men, three of them holding the saloon girls. He glared.
"Come any closer," their leader, who was clearly outraged, pointed the tip of his pistol at the long haired blonde's head. She winced.
"And this girl's brains are blown to kingdom come!"
Kidd remained silent. His expression was hidden beneath the rim of his hat and his gloved hands were flexing anxiously on the handle of the twin guns.
"Why are there..." he muttered, catching the bandits' attention. "Why are there only five of you?"
The captive saloon girl shrieked with streaming tears as the pistol was shoved further into her hair. Kidd risked to look up. "Deathly asymmetrical," he muttered, "it's a pity that you're my enemy."
He raised his pistols in awkward formation, held upside down and the trigger fated by his smallest and supposedly weakest finger, a grim smile stretching over his features. "What made you think that hostages work against me?"
Before his prey had less than a second to bat their eyelids, ten consecutive shots rang through the town, silencing the bar, and forever silencing the cattle thieves. Spared by mere inches, the shivering brightly dressed girls huddled against one another, eyes staring at the retreating figure who blended in with the darkening sky, feelings of awe and fear continuously washing over them.
"Wait!"
Kidd risked to turn, his left hand warily fingering his gun as he did so. Though surprised to find the short blonde, blue eyed, short very petite and overly dressed young lady staring at him bravely, he made sure that it hadn't shown on his impassive countenance. He remained silent as she addressed him.
The defiance n her tone and hint of desperate need had at first made him think she was crazy. Her words assured him that she was insane.
"Take us with you!"
He couldn't help but smirk. From their expressions though, he could tell that it was a mocking one.
"Don't be ridiculous," he started with a growl, "why would I need three—or judging by the brunette's expression—two giggly females following me around this god forsaken country? Unless you plan on selling yourselves, look for someone else."
He turned away, walking towards the barn to retrieve Midnight. He heard no sound from behind him, and when he and his steed rode from the town, he dared look back and witness a shocked stiff town circle the five dead men.
"You heard of the gunshot fight in the town a couple towns over?"
"Ya mean, Saloon Town? That quiet lil' place?"
"'ain't no place quiet 'round this country."
Kidd woke up to find himself half asleep in a public bar, tucked away in a corner and unconsciously listening to a pair of card players' conversation. He sighed roughly, shaking himself.
"You all right, sir?"
He looked up to the plainly dressed, eager-to-serve waitress, in her late twenties approximation."
"Better," he muttered sitting up properly and rubbing the back of his neck. "Uh, miss," he called as she edged to move away. She looked at him with half patience. "Yes, sir?"
"About my horse, where...?"
She looked at him with half surprise (she clearly didn't devote herself to emotion), "Your horse? You and that black beast rolled in'tuh this town like a tumbleweed over the savannah. After mah son looked af'tuh that thing, you fell asleep in this 'ere cor'nuh and haven't moved since."
"How long?"
"What?"
"How long have I been here?"
"'bout a couple hours," she replied. "Ah sure hope you 'ain't drunk," she muttered walking away. "I've had to deal with enough drunkards 'round 'ere. 'S'if mah useless husband wasn't enough, ol' God had to go an' send a bunch of witless ol', stupid, useless, monkey related, no good..."
Kidd turned away, amusement in his smile as he looked beyond the foggy, greasy window. The sun was high up, judging by the shadows, and a smart guess left him at the time to be late morning. Trustworthy Midnight had pulled him by three towns. He smiled. A horse was better than three, correction, two blondes following him...
He looked up when the door open and the bell rung obnoxiously. Shady characters stepped into the boarded house, dustily dressed and eyes travelling about as if searching for something, or rather, someone.
Kidd dipped his face beneath his hat, one golden iris observing them as they sat and watched about the pub. Their sketchy appearance was suspicious, as were the black, intricate tattoos on the left side of their necks which seemed to snake down their arm... he then realized that the tattoos of themselves were deadly vipers, and asymmetrical at that. Kidd looked away, imaginary illness restlessly swelling at the pit of his stomach.
His concentration on quelling his nauseating feeling distracted him from the moving par, who appeared before him and seated themselves, unwelcome, at his table. Caution replaced Kidd's edginess.
"Mornin'," one of them greeted. Handsome enough, over fifty, dusty, uncombed and unclean mess of hair and scruffy shallow beard that matched his loose, gunfighter attire. "Min' if we sit here?"
Kidd glanced around at the other empty tables, switching between the notions of using an accent, or speaking in his.
"Yeah, actually," he answered, glaring at the two of them. "Dozens 'o other tables for you and yuh frien' to settle 'round, 'nless, 'o course, you plannin' on speaking with lil' ol' me."
The first speaker signalled to the second with a subtle nod and, returning the action, the second character drew his gun with lightening speed and shot several times in the air. "Everyone out!"
Kidd remained seated and silent, eyes flickering between the scruff man before him, and the more youthful (though still older than him), more tidy looking gunfighter a few steps away.
"You don't seem too surprised," the older gunfighter said, seating himself once the pub was empty. Kidd didn't respond. "The name's Barken, and that boy over there 's my brother, Sandrake."
"You might have gotten the names confused, judging on ya'll's personality," Kidd remarked rudely.
Barken chuckled. "What are you known as? Or should Ah make a name up for ya?"
"Ah'm sure you already know me," Kidd responded, keeping his wary gaze on both brothers.
"True enough," Barken shrugged, then stood drawing his pistol and pointing it directly at Kidd's forehead. He blinked emotionlessly, fear suddenly gleaming in his eyes.
"Death the Kidd," he said, still smiling, "You are under arrest."
Like I said, this one might be a bit dry, but I'd like to hear your comments.
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