“Yeah, sure. Absolutely.”
Everybody in the room relaxed a notch. Fingers were removed from triggers, and barrels shifted aim. Jak removed the blade from Phillipe’s throat, and the man eased his stiff position.
“All right, show’s over,” Cord stated, resting the shotgun on his shoulder. “You new folks already paid, so back to your table, the food will be out soon.
“On the other hand,” he said roughly, “you mercies had better get back to the stables. Ya want to be fresh when the caravan leaves in the morning.”
“You chasing us out?” demanded a burly man, his long greasy hair tied back in a ponytail.
“Not me. This is.” Cord patted the scattergun.
Krysty grunted slightly, but Ryan said nothing, letting the big barkeep handle the problem. His targets were already chosen, and the Deathlands warrior already had four pounds of pressure on the six-pound trigger.
Phillipe touched his throat, the fingertips coming away stained red. “We paid for our drinks, too, Cord!”
Chewing that over, Cord relented. “Fair enough. But that is your last round. Lily!”
“Bar’s closed,” she announced, tugging on a cord and ringing a small brass bell hidden up in the rafters. “Bar is closed!”
“When you men have finished what’s on the table, leave,” Cord said, pulling a chair closer and taking a seat. “I’ll just sit here till you’re done.”
Holstering the blasters, the mercenaries sat back down at the table and started grumbling among themselves.
Their weapons still at the ready, Ryan and Krysty walked slowly along the counter, keeping their faces toward the drunk mercies until reaching their own table.
“My blaster,” Phillipe said, holding out his hand.
Lily clicked down the safety and tossed it to him.
Catching the weapon, he turned toward Jak only to see the teenager’s Colt Python out and pointed at his groin.
“Go for it,” Jak said. His head was tilted forward, the snowy hair masking his face. It was an unnerving sight.
Phillipe felt the blood pound in his temples, then by sheer force of will, returned the blaster to its holster. Turning, he walked to the picnic table as if he didn’t have a care in the world.
“Close,” Jak said, putting away his blaster and shoving the knife up his sleeve again. “Cold man. Solid ice.”
“Too damn close,” Lily stated, resting an elbow on the counter and revealing a tiny .22 derringer in her other hand. “But those damn mercies have been causing trouble since they arrived last week. Stephen is a cheap bastard and hires anybody with muscles to ride blaster duty with his convoy. Damn fool.”
“Thanks,” the teenager said, then pulled the woman close and kissed her hard and long. When they broke, her face was flushed, and she kept starting to smile and fighting it down.
“We’ll do more of that later. In my room.” She placed an iron key in his palm, her fingers warm on his skin. “Top of the stairs, last door on the left.”
Jak tucked the key away. Brushing away his long hair, he picked up the mug and drained the last few drops of ‘shine.
“Now go eat,” she said, openly smiling at last. “Man needs to keep his strength up.” For some reason, she seemed to stress the last word.
Since it finally seemed safe to move, several of the other patrons rose from their tables and headed for the plywood blocking the door, a short cold breeze announcing when each hurriedly departed.
Hiding the derringer in her clothes, Lily went into the aft room and returned almost immediately carrying a heavy tray laden with food. Jak followed her to the table and took a seat between Mildred and Doc. Blasters were lying on the wood slats to forestall any further interruptions.
The mercenaries across the room noticed the arsenal of blasters, and spoke softly among themselves. Phillipe seemed to be holding court, with the others listening closely.
With the tray braced on a hip, Lily dished out the food efficiently, as if this were a chore done a thousand times before, then returned to the steamy kitchen. One tick later, the raven-haired beauty came out again and went behind the bar to start wiping down the counter with a damp rag.