DISCLAIMER – I do not own any Sonic the Hedgehog characters, settings, etcetera (anything copyrightedly relating to SEGA's works). Fang the Sniper / Nack the Weasel is property of SEGA, although some aspects of this story are my own work. Alterations to the Sonic universe in this story are not to be considered canon. Do not steal (forge in your or another person's name) or sell this story in any manner. I have a good lawyer. You may, however, place this on your website without permission. Please ask permission before using aspects of this story in yours. If sections of it look similar to another, please inform me. I'm no thief myself. Thank you, and enjoy.
Bounty Hunter
By Rusty Dillingham
--Chapter Three – Idle Conversation--
Morning came all too soon for Fang.
The very first thing he noticed when he awoke out of the darkness was that it was positively freezing in the building. At first he couldn't tell if he were in bed or taking a bath in a tub of snow, but the feeling did a great job of kicking him right out and onto the bleak gray carpet floor. Grabbing his arms with his hands, he leaned out the room's door, trying to gain his bearings after getting up so frighteningly quickly. "What the hell happened in here, a nuclear winter?"
A quick inspection of his nearly-broken cooler confirmed it wasn't active, so he jutted out into the hallway and looked about for the source of the snowstorm. It was still pouring down rain, though it had probably let up sometime during the night for a few periods. Still, the horrid weather was likely partly to blame for the apparent winter in the middle of his domain. Perhaps he'd left a window open some time before and he'd completely forgotten about it. Whatever the case, he'd have to figure it out, and fast, before he turned into the world's most lifelike snowman.
As he rounded one corner in the hallway, his black eyes darted to and fro until they suddenly encountered the source of the problem. It was indeed a window, but he hadn't left it open in any way. It had opened by itself – sort of. The glass apparently had cracked somehow in the night, and was by now almost entirely shattered. "Damn it!"
That was just great. Now he was charging into the hole, despite that thousand dollars Baker had waved him off with. If he estimated correctly, maintaining his equipment had already taken up half that thousand, and the bills to the apartment building had already nabbed the remaining five-hundred. Fabulous – This was calling it close. He'd have to go out and find more work soon, but first he needed to get the fourteen thousand dollars Baker owed him, and quickly. If he didn't get ahold of that money soon, he'd be in damn deep shit, and he'd been in damn deep shit before. He wasn't about to go jumping right back in all because of some stupid police sergeant whose head was so far up his ass the lump in his big, fat neck was his nose.
He rubbed his sleepy eyes a bit, partially from the cold air coming in through the broken grass. He needed to head on over to that crazy bar, Dead-Drunk Dave's, and get a drink or something. Nevermind the fact he really couldn't afford one with all the stuff he had to do – Screw it. If you were down to your last quarter, go to town. He'd have plenty of money after he got what was rightfully his from Baker, but first he needed to sit for a bit and ponder how he'd go about doing so.
After fixing up the gaping holes in the window as best he could with masking tape, he went about himself, getting ready to go out for that drink he needed to help him think about what to do, along with scanning the bar's patrons themselves. Fang always kept an eye out wherever he went for possible bounties on the run, and on more than one occasion he'd nabbed a good heap of dough thanks to some wanted dimbulb waltzing around in Dead-Drunk Dave's like he was the world's most innocent piece of crap. He could only hope that there was some idiot getting drunk off his ass at the bar when he got there so he could get a little more cash flow. He needed all he could get right now.
Standing in his garage, he hefted his gunbelt off the nearby dusty table and attached it to his furry little belly, then snatched his .45 semiautomatic handgun and admired it for a moment. It wasn't a custom pistol, but the strange little man who had sold it to the bounty hunter supposedly hadn't been able to remember its make, as far as he knew. All Fang needed to know was whether or not it shot straight. The .45 packed a punch, so he didn't need to worry about power much. Not that he would have had to anyway – Any gun in the hands of Fang the Sniper would kill you just as dead.
He spun the pistol on his finger, letting it slip into the holster in a flashy move he performed only for personal gratification, and he lifted himself up onto the Marvelous Queen sitting patiently, the airbike waiting for him all the while. In moments, he'd left the garage and was scooting along on the open, empty Station Square roadway amidst the heavy rain.
The streets were entirely devoid of life, besides Fang and the occasional stray mutt. Only did he notice some signs of civilization when he passed the church some ways down the road. There were a few cars parked in its small lot, he noticed. It was Wednesday, but since hardly anyone who had the balls to actually live in this sector of town didn't work, the church usually just held services whenever there were enough people who gave a damn to listen to the poor preacher. As far as he knew, Fang hadn't set foot in there or any church in his entire life. Maybe he'd gone once when he was a kid, but he no longer had use for religion, considering his line of work. He didn't like to admit it, but it would have just gotten in the way.
Taking a sweeping right turn down the long roadway as it curved slightly, the hot blue-yellow neon sign detailing Dead-Drunk Dave's best advertisement flashed in the rain, as though a beacon for unfortunate travelers who had somehow gotten themselves lost in this horrid section of Station Square to curl up and get wasted. Fang slowed the airbike down and gradually let it come to a rest on the ground in the alley next to the filthy looking bar. This place gets lousier every time I come here.
Within moments, he was off the leather seat of the Queen and stepping towards the plush-red front door to the bar, but before he could even lay eyes on it, some laughing fool blasted right through it and landed on the sidewalk, guffawing over some random joke he'd likely already forgotten. Fang tucked his hat down further onto his head, glaring at the drunken jackass, and he quietly stepped over the fellow and headed on into the bar. This probably wouldn't end well, he reckoned.
Loud, smoky, crowded. Three words – No, wait: Trashy – Four words that could successfully describe Dead-Drunk Dave's miserable hiding hole. It was obnoxiously crowded, with random folk talking noisily and smoking and drinking up a storm while watching baseball games or car races on the big TVs in the high roof's corner, but while Fang didn't necessarily like crowds, the more people there were, the higher the chances were of him bagging a bounty while here. Still, he had other things of importance to concentrate on at the moment.
He shuffled over towards the bar-table, since most of the booths were occupied. Only a second after he'd taken a seat on one of the uncomfortable stools, Dead-Drunk Dave himself took notice of the bounty hunter and grinned widely. The rather dirty and slightly imbecilic man came palooking over, shining a glass while grinning like the stupid moron he was. "Well, I'll be damned! Nack the Weasel!"
Fang refrained from rolling his eyes. "Soda – I don't care what kind."
"Man," Dead-Drunk Dave blathered, "I ain't seen you for ages in here! How the hell are you? Catch any crooks lately?"
"Soda," Fang muttered in a louder tone.
"Shoot-boy-howdy-damn, son, what you been up to? Y'hear anything 'bout Sonic the Hedgehog or that Professor Eggnik Robotman lately? Hey, are you here to—"
Fang shifted himself on the stool and held his foot up over the bar so Dead-Drunk Dave could get a real good look at it. "You see this? You know what this is?"
"Uh—" Dead-Drunk Dave blinked.
"This is called my boot. Now, my boot won't look real pretty sticking out of your ass, but that's where it's going to be in a minute if you don't get me a GODDAMN SODA."
Dead-Drunk Dave's eyes went as big as the moon. "Yuh-- Yes-sir! Right away! What kind you want? We got all kinds!"
"I don't care." Fang lowered his leg, his focus leaving the owner of the bar and his stupidity.
"Right away!" And Dead-Drunk Dave went about fixing up whatever urine he chose to serve the bounty hunter. Fang honestly didn't care if it was toxic waste; he needed something to drink and fast. He didn't enjoy drinking alcohol, as he only did it when he had to, nor did he actually smoke. He didn't exactly feel at home in the bar. He was likely the only person in there who wasn't drinking or smoking. Thankfully, no one had noticed he'd ordered nothing but a soda, although he really didn't care if anyone had in all honesty.
The barkeeper was back within seconds, having probably broken some kind of world record. "Here y'are, Nack."
Fang sighed, took the drink and started to take a courageous sip.
Dead-Drunk Dave cleared his throat. "Um, that'll be four dollars."
Fang slammed the drink down onto the bar. "FOUR DOLLARS!?"
The barkeep leapt back sheepishly. "ONE dollar! One dollar for you, good sir! One! Just one."
Frowning, Fang reached back onto his gunbelt and flipped two dollar bills onto the bartable out of his own good graces. Damned inflation. It'll be ten dollars by the time I take my next breath.
Snatching the bills, Dead-Drunk Dave turned without another word and wandered away from the bounty hunter, likely feeling himself lucky to even be standing after such an incursion. Fang was glad to see him go – He needed to concentrate.
Up until that point, the only way he'd reckoned he'd be able to get his money back would be to barge right into Baker's office and strangle him until he coughed up that fourteen thousand. It was a damn police department; he couldn't just crash in and start shooting up the place. The peaceful approach would have to do unless he thought of something better – Walk in and ask to see Baker, then tear the man limb from limb when they were alone. Chances were, though, that Baker had by now ordered his underlings to keep Fang from entering the office. That would complicate things.
Perhaps he could frame Baker in some way. Blackmail was always entertaining, especially on imbeciles who thought they knew what they were doing but in reality didn't: People like Baker. He didn't have much to go on, though. Perhaps he could break into the man's office during the night. The rest of the department would be busy with shifts and everything, but Baker would be home in bed by that time. He could sniff around the office for those lovely little incriminating pieces of evidence – An affair with some big celebrity or some such nonsense that the man would be willing to fork big bucks over for. That would work nicely, since Fang could get away with even more money than the fourteen thousand, but that all rested on whether or not Baker was honest or dishonest – And he clearly wasn't the former. Still, it was risky enough breaking into the department, and then Baker may not even have such "evidence" at all.
He could always break into the man's bank account, though. That would require much more work, though, and Baker probably didn't have fourteen thousand stashed away in the account anyway. And that would require a horde of computer tools that Fang didn't have access to at the moment.
Ransom? That often worked, but Fang already had a dismal relationship with the law already, and he wasn't some pitiful kidnapper who nabbed little girls off the streets and held a gun to their heads unless he got a big sum of cash and plane ticket to some lame third-world country. That was out of the question.
And then he could always do things the – cringe – honest way. Nab a bunch of bounty bullshits and lug them into Baker, and get all friendly with the fellow and get that fourteen thousand the nice way.
Fang sneered. Not if his success rested on the biggest meteor in the universe not crashing into Earth.
"Hey, is that who it looks like?" he heard a sly voice utter from somewhere behind him, amidst the bar as flashes of lightning from outside flew through the windows, thunder rumbling through the bar. At first, Fang didn't think the comment had anything to do with him, but then, he got a bad feeling that didn't feel like it was about to go away.
"I'll be a sonofagun. That is who it looks like," the voice continued.
Fang hesitated a moment, then gave into the temptation and turned around slightly to peek at whoever was talking to make sure the fellow wasn't speaking about him.
His eyes narrowed, and he turned himself more in the seat, resting his arm on the bar.
There, at a circular booth not ten feet from where he sat, Smiley the Kangaroo's eyes centered dead on him, seated next to his two miserable kangaroo cronies, Shifty and Speedy. Smiley and Shifty were grinning, although Shifty didn't really look as though he understood what exactly was going on. Speedy, however, was giving the violet bounty hunter a most distasteful glower.
"Lookie at that, fellas," Smiley noted in that funny little voice of his. "The widely-acclaimed most notorious bounty hunter in the world."
Fang just sat there, but he was already on edge. Shifty's eyes widened, suddenly understanding quite well what was going on. "Boss, you mean that's Nack the Sniper!? D'ah, I mean, Fang the Weasel? Uh, Fack the Sneasel—"
"SHADDUP." Smiley's hand went topside against the other kangaroo's skull.
Fang leered at the lot of them, no rival smile adorning his mug. These bastards. The trio of bounty hunters before him might have seemed pleasant enough, but he wasn't fooled. They were ornery, mean, and they looked it. Smiley was wearing his brown Stetson-style hat, as was Speedy, though the latter's was black in color and he had a foul look on his face instead of one of Smiley's stupid grins, effectively making him out to be the most unhappy-looking of the three. It made the two of them to look like damned posers, as far as Fang was concerned. At least Shifty wasn't trying to imitate Fang's dress code – He was wearing a big funny-looking red bandana over his head while rubbing the back of his noggin thanks to his boss.
All were silent. Fang had nothing to say to them.
Smiley eyed the weasel-wolf. "How ya doin'?"
Fang was silent.
"Good, eh?"
Still no response.
"You look like you've had a rough last coupla days."
Fang just sat there, stone-faced.
"What's that? Oh, yeah, we're doin' great. Thanks for askin'."
"I don't feel like talking," Fang muttered. Not to you assclowns, anyway.
Smiley was on him like a predator to a meal. "You givin' up the ghost? Gettin' too old for the game? I figured as much. You'll be happy to know that in the untimely event of your retirement, the three of us are movin' up in the world. I think we've just about earned it, by now."
Fang rolled his eyes.
"Something wrong?" the kangaroo queried in a condescending way.
"Last I heard, you all were doing jobs for Bountech in Capital City." The weasel-wolf hybrid smiled ever so slightly – a very rare and unnatural thing to see on the face of Fang the Sniper. "Your little sissy poser asses get fired?"
"Nope, not at all." Smiley grinned that funny grin of his. "We just got a little tired of the way the bigwigs did things, so we requested a position change. They were a little too slow in issuing bounties for us to test their devices on, so we offered to nab the crooks on our own terms while still doing the testing. Bigger payload all the same, you see."
"They were really nice about it!" Shifty commented.
"No one CARES," Smiley blared, shutting his stupid friend up – at least for a moment.
Speedy's eyes still shot daggers at Fang.
The weasel-wolf took notice of the fact that all three of the kangaroos were packing heat – two guns for each of them, in hip holsters. Illegal as it might have been, the world was lawless enough for people like them to get away with it – not that Fang really cared about that, since he did it too. It was a kind of insurance. Fang couldn't determine what their makes were, but he knew to be a little more concerned about his personal safety now. Taking a quick sip of his drink beforehand – and making a face upon realization of the taste – Fang once again focused on the three weirdoes, specifically Speedy. "Hello, princess."
Speedy said nothing.
Quiet as he might have normally been, Fang couldn't resist flicking the guy's nerves. "Still practicing your aim on kids and stray dogs?"
Speedy the Kangaroo did not budge even an inch from his position in the seat. "I'll be testing my aim on you in a minute, Tinkerbell."
Fang didn't respond. The Kangaroos enjoyed irritating him, and silly threats against his life was one way to get under his skin. Speedy in particular was obnoxiously in love with threats, and unfortunately, he loved backing them up even more. It got on Fang's nerves that he had to contend with such monumental dilweeds as these three, but he had little choice in such a matter by that point.
"Ah-ah-ah. Try not to get my pals mad, amigo." Smiley's grin still hadn't faded at all since it had slithered its way to life. "Even I get a little bit wary around Speed' here when he's pissed off."
"And he'd get a little bit dead around me when I'm pissed off." Fang reluctantly took another sip of the vile drink, outright glaring at the Kangaroo gang as he did so. "You three lookin' for trouble or something?"
Speedy flexed his hand. "You lookin' to help us find some?"
"Yeah!" Shifty laughed. "You lookin' to—"
Smiley whacked the nosey kangaroo a good one. "QUIET."
By then the conversation was attracting attention from not only Dead-Drunk Dave but from a few of the bar's patrons seated near the four of them. Fang would have preferred to keep this sort of thing under wraps, but around a couple of psychos like the Kangaroo gang, it couldn't have been helped. They loved attention anyway – especially Smiley. Him and that big, stupid, bullseye smile of his.
"So," Fang muttered, not necessarily interested in what these nutcases had been up to until then but asking anyway to spite their egos, "what have Larry, Curly, and Moe been busying themselves with as of late? The bottom of the barrel?"
"Welp, I think it goes without saying that we've been up to more than most folks out there – even you. Bagging only the best, I'd say. You've heard of Messy the Mongoose, haven't you? You know, that knucklehead who drove a car straight through six food stands on Station Square Boulevard? We caught up with him yesterday 'n' turned his lilyputtin' ass into the fuzzballs. Twenty-five thousand dollars for each of us!" Smiley stretched his fingers so they read two and five.
Fang's focus hardened. These dregs of society may have been screwing around with him, but the Kangaroos weren't known to be pathological liars. "Seventy-five thousand? For him?"
"Yep," Smiley uttered pleasantly, still leering at the rival bounty hunter. "Seventy-five grand for that useless hoser. And to think that somebody like him is actually worthless in reality. Bounty hunting's weird, like that, isn't it?"
"It tends to be," Fang agreed, however much he didn't want to with a bastard like Smiley the Kangaroo. "I should know."
"Yeah, of all people, I guess you should. I heard you picked up Hemorrhoid the Hippo and got a holy whopping fifteen thousand." Smiley's vile grin grew wider, his odd eyes beaming with a grotesque mixture of pride and prejudice under the brim of his own brown outback hat. "I'll be damned if Nack the Weasel has fallen on hard times. There's a lot to be learned from your life, friend."
Fang suppressed an urge to roll his eyes. "I'm not your friend, you insignificant little ego-trip."
"You oughta be." Smiley's trademark name-sake didn't leave his mug in the least. "With those hokey old legs of yours, you'd probably feel a little safer with us. Bountech could use a fellow like you workin' for them."
"I don't work for anybody but myself," Fang grumbled. "I work for personal gain only."
"That's silly talk." Smiley propped his elbow onto the table for comfort. "A person can only get so far in this world by himself. You literally need a helping hand to get through life these days. As far as I know, you ain't got no friends, Fang the Sniper."
"Don't need none." Fang took another sip of the drink and tried to enjoy it. He couldn't.
"Not even a gal? Plenty'a gals at Bountech." Smiley giggled. "What, you some sort of backdoor baron? Never figured you as one-a-them."
"Your mother gives me enough to do as it stands." Immature as it may have been, Fang hadn't been able to resist.
"Ouch." Smiley's arms waved in the air. "I do believe my dignity has been tainted. This calls for another drink."
Speedy smirked – also an unnatural-looking facial expression for him – at the purple weasel-wolf as he let an arm hang from their seats' backrest. "Bountech doesn't need a worthless little sadsack like you. You couldn't handle it if you tried."
"No," Fang corrected, "I could handle it. If anything I'd be ahead of all three of you combined. That would be the reality."
"Would it, now?" Speedy seethed. "You think you can keep ahead of me?"
Fang knew what he was talking about.
"That's a given," he eventually remarked, looking straight at the crazy kangaroo. "An aborted fetus could shoot a gun better than you, you piece of garbage."
Speedy's cheeks burned in frustration and he started to stand. "Well, why don't we just see about that—"
"Cool it, Speed'. My show." Smiley's grin turned into a smirk of his own as he rested a gloved hand on the fellow bounty hunter's furry gray shoulder. "The guy ain't interested, understand? He thinks he's better off without bein' by our side. He thinks he can handle the workload nowadays, but he's nothin' but a washed up has-been. It's been a long time since we heard about you last, weasel. Ever since that fighting tournament where you got your ass handed to you by that echidna fella, I'd say. If I recall correctly, you didn't even last ten seconds. Where in this frickin' world have you been since then? A little town called Nowhere? That sounds like fun-- ... damnit, hang on." He kicked out viciously at the shifty, snickering kangaroo sitting next to him. "SHUT... UP!!"
"Actually," Fang contradicted, "I've been a lot busier than any of you for the past few years."
"Oh?" Smiley's smile was all pleasance.
Fang frowned at him. "Apparently, none of you read the newspapers. I've probably bagged more crooks than any of you have in your whole lives."
That was bull, but it worked. Speedy's cheeks flushed, his muscles tightening, and he nearly began to froth at the mouth. "You're a damn liar. You're just a broken-down cripple."
"I don't lie." Fang turned his gaze to the violent-looking kangaroo. "I wouldn't need to around someone like you anyway. The three of you couldn't catch a snail on a saltbed."
His frustration nearing the boiling point, Speedy curled himself out of the booth and barked at the rival bounty hunter: "I'll show you who's a snail, and then I'll show you a goddamn newspaper: The obituaries, and they're gonna have your name tomorrow. Get your ass off that stool."
"Speedy," Smiley growled, his grin beginning to fade, "knock it off."
"Yeah," Shifty murmured, growing uncomfortable, "knock it off!"
Smiley frustratedly shoved his palm straight into Shifty's face, emitting a deep whack sound. "Mmffgh!"
Speedy wasn't listening. Not that he would have with anything related to reasoning anyway. "It's been a long time comin', y'sack of purple trash. Throw down and grab iron so I can kill you."
The other patrons in the bar – the crazy ones, anyway – finally really began focusing on the argument, and some of them began to get riled up themselves.
While he didn't let his emotions get to him often, Fang could only take so much verbal abuse from an ignorant fellow like Speedy the Kangaroo for so long. He slipped off the stool and stood upright on the dirty tile floor, facing the three of them as he let his hand drop down towards the .45 pistol in his gunbelt's holster, and the look in his eye was suddenly much darker. "Sit down, or I'll air you out so much, you'll look like a popped balloon."
Speedy stepped away from the table slowly, silently. His gloved hand drifted towards one of his own sidearms.
The murmuring among the other customers collapsed entirely. Half the patrons almost instantaneously rushed up and hurriedly shuffled away from the argument that was by now looking to turn deadly. Smiley's eyes bulged and he scooted to the edge of the booth's seat, staring at his companion, growing very quiet as he spoke. "Speedy, cool down."
"I've had enough of this nickel 'n' dimes stuff," Speedy snarled.
Fang said nothing. He only stood there, hitting the kangaroo with one of his hardest looks.
"We don't get nothin' fer offin' him, Speed!" Shifty gripped the edges of the table, ready to duck under them at any moment for cover if bullets flew. "Watch yer temper!"
Speedy's hand rested an inch from the gun's black grip. Fang let his fingers hang so close to the .45's grip it was impossible to tell if he was actually touching it or not.
Dead-Drunk Dave swallowed hard and lowered himself under the bar. The rest of the people occupying the sleazy joint backed away further, many choosing to simply leave at that point, obviously deciding they were very lucky to even get out of there with their lives that day.
"Listen to me, we don't get nothin' fer killin' him!" Shifty repeated, lowering himself in his seat slightly.
"Who gives a shit?" Speedy hissed, his eyes remaining on Fang the entire time. "I'm doing us a damned favor. Sonofawhore's gonna die someday anyway. Might as well be now."
Shifty – nor Smiley for that matter – had much of an answer. Their lips locked up tight as they watched and waited.
The entire bar was shadowed in silence. By now at least half the patrons had taken off and the rest were either hiding under tables or in the bathrooms, not caring what the sign on the outside of the doors stated. This was no time to worry about being a man and setting foot into a girl's bathroom or vice-versa.
The gray kangaroo's breath rate lessened, as did Fang's.
Fang knew that if the crazy bounty hunter went for his gun, Speedy wouldn't be the only one in a heap of trouble. The purple weasel-wolf would likely have to contend with the psycho's dirty, mangy dog of a boss, along with Shifty – maybe. Smiley the Kangaroo wasn't about to watch one of his miserable cronies get gunned down and sit there and do nothing, no way. Everything depended on Speedy's actions. Either the place would be saved and peace would reign again or the bar was about to have some construction done thanks to the itchy trigger fingers of the four bounty hunters.
A stone-faced Smiley carefully let his hand rest on his own gun's grip. Shifty nervously performed the same action as discretely as he could.
Fang's eyes remained locked on Speedy's counterparts, frequently focusing on the kangaroo's hand instead. Wait for it. Wait.
Speedy spat onto the floor, obviously mimicking the weasel-wolf's careful movements. He was watching – waiting as well.
Seconds passed.
His eyes fluttered ever so slightly. Fang remained entirely motionless.
Speedy glanced between his companions, Fang, the bar's patrons, and again Fang.
"I suppose we won't get nothin' for it," the kangaroo finally said. "If I'm gonna kill you, I oughta be able to have somethin' to show for it. You're just a poor old cripple. Probably don't even carry a wallet."
Smiley's attention stayed right on his comrade. "That's right, we won't get anything. You won't get a damn thing, amigo. 'Cept maybe a big pain-in-the-ass court proceeding where we try to get you off the hook for blastin' him. Ease up and spare us the trouble."
Hesitation echoed from Speedy the Kangaroo. Finally, after a tense few seconds, he relaxed. "Yer one lucky little son of a bitch."
Fang said nothing, but remained on a high level of personal alert all the while. For all he knew, the wily kangaroo could whip around on him after getting a returning dose of courage and try his luck with the draw. That wouldn't turn out particularly well if the violet weasel-wolf crossbreed weren't focused at the time.
But that wouldn't happen – At least not today. Speedy still gave Fang a hideous scowl as he shuffled away from him towards the exit. Smiley watched his companion leave, and that grin of his returned as he slithered out of the booth. "I guess that's our cue."
Fang watched he and Shifty sort themselves up from the table, the bandana-adorned kangaroo being forced to pay the tab and tip. Smiley turned slightly and leered at Fang. "I'll let you in on a little secret. I stopped him because I don't think you really understood my offer. You can join us at Bountech and get a little extra moolah, if you play your cards right. You can't work for Bountech if you're dead, so play those cards carefully. Fifteen thousand for a useless hippo doesn't amount to much these days, does it? In our line of work, that'd last folk like you and me about two months. Not nearly enough to keep all that equipment of yours up and running, and that hole you live in furnished and kept. Do yourself a favor and join us before you end up in a ditch somewhere."
"Get away from me." Fang stared blankly at the kangaroo.
The rival bounty hunter's expression didn't lose color. "Yer loss."
Fang kept his eyes right on Smiley and Shifty as the two of them shuffled away from the table and towards the exit after Speedy. Smiley tipped the brim of his hat to Fang. "Adios."
And with that, the Kangaroos took their leave. The bar again slowly turned back into the usual, life-filled circus that it was, Dead-Drunk Dave slowly rising up from behind the bartop to survey the surroundings and make sure everything was clear so he wouldn't have to throw anyone out like the big, brave, manly man he was. Fang stepped backwards and sat back down on his stool, watching the three of them head out the door.
What a couple of screwballs, he concurred to himself. What sucked was the feeling that he wouldn't be seeing the last of them anytime soon.
He reached up to take a sip from his glass, but as he laid a hand on the bartop, he realized it wasn't even there anymore. His eyes took focus and he realized that somewhere during the ruckus, his drink had spilled over somehow. Fang hissed loudly and knocked the glass away behind the bar, firing it into the wall.
So much for that drink I needed.