Across the room, a group of four men are playing cards and whistling tunes. The game has gone on all night, and the bartender has been paying close attention, figuring something is going to snap, the tension grown explosive.
The barmaid, a fiery redhead that's aged a bit past youthful innocense (a rare virtue of the wasteland) and would still be beautiful except for the long scar that goes from the eye and to her neck, leads over to the bartender and says, "them's raider's a cheatin." But the bartender ignores her. Ever since a raider took a broken bottle to her, the barmaid has shown a prejudice. Spilled blood mixes with liquor, it's the nature of the business. Don't matter whose' as long as its not yours.
Three of the players are raiders, dusty and worn from spending too much time out on the wasteland. They should be making their peace with whores, but they need the money the stranger has taken from them. They're short on time, food, water. Deseperate to get their money back they turn to desperate measures. The pile of bottlecaps in the middle of the table is wager, but the fourth player knows there's more than money at stake.
"Come on, Grimey, let's play diz h'ere game." Says the raider sitting across from him, a fat, toothless, foul smelling cur name Shank. The other two chuckle, knowing that the game is up.
The stranger, a tall, lanky man, long dark hair under his hat, spits into a cup, and puts in on the table, doesn't say anything else. Under his overcoat, he's got a revolver but only two bullets left. He looks at Shank, but its not Shank that he's after.
He looks at his card. Full house, Aces and Kings. But it don't matter, for he's sure that one of the raiders has a four of a kind, just like he knows that the dealer knows his hand.
The other two Clovis and Reed. Reed, wearing a leather jacket over his chair, a shotgun his favorite weapon, in a sling over his shoulder. Reed has an long circle earing with what looks like a bird sitting on the bottom, that used to belong to a teenage girl. He's a little drunk, too much booze, so probably is not the one with the cheating hand. Clovis, the oldest of the three but the least wise, s wearing a pendent that belonged to woman on a farm, only two days ride from here. A farm that was pillaged and robbed.
Sometimes Grim regrets giving up the badge. Sometimes its easy to collect a bounty.
The sherriff said dear or alive.
Better than a card up a sleeve is a knife.
"Name's Grim, friend," in a voice, that sounds like gravel, spoken from a man who rarely speaks. "That's a fine looking earring you got, there might if I take a look."
"Don't mind, maybe you'd like to buy it, d'pendin' on wha ya got ta trade, an all." Reed leans as Grim reaches out to touch the earing, his other hand on the revolver.
