James Axler – Road Wars

“Miss Satana and her wild animals will be appearing here at noon, three and six,” she announced to the crowd of drinkers in the bar of the Shangri-La.

“Drop your panties!” yelled one of the buffalo hunters, a huge mountain of a man in a fur coat, a jagged scar disfiguring one side of his face.

“Show us your tits!” screeched another of the hunters, involved in an expensive game of draw poker at a corner table.

Ellie tapped the quirt on her boots, keeping her smile going at full radiance. “Gentlemen out there seem real interested in what I got to show that I’m not showing right now.” There was a roar from the crowd, overlaid with whistling and table-banging. The tall, bald barkeep looked around worriedly.

“Show us, lady!”

“Well, now, there’s times that I do and there’s times that I don’t. But what I will promise to show you” Someone bellowed something inaudible, and she dropped a curtsey in his direction. “Forgive me talking while you’re interrupting, mister.” The quip drew a burst of sympathetic laughter. “I promise to show you animals that none of you will ever have seen. A royal tiger, the meanest and most powerful carnivore in the entire ever-loving history of creation. A proven man killer with over thirty corpses to its name.”

Ryan glanced sideways at J.B., who was standing at the bar with him and with the three daughters. “Good at it, isn’t she?” he mouthed.

“Should see her when the shills are difficult,” Julie said, downing a shot glass of whiskey in a single gulp.

“Shills?”

“The crowd, Ryan. Ma’s at her best when her back’s to the wall. This bunch is blind kittens for her.”

Ellie was winding up her spiel. “Lions and bears and a tiger. Plus a dozen rattlers.”

“Snakes?” asked J.B., who wasn’t known for his love of crawling reptiles.

“Sure. Katie milks ’em every other day, but they got the fangs and Ma does get bit now and then.”

“Out back!” Ellie shouted. “You know the times. Be noon real soon, friends. Come and be amazed.”

WHEN RYAN and J.B. strolled over to their wag, they found four of the hunters standing around it. Another one was up on top, looking like he was trying, unsuccessfully, to lever open the turret hatch.

“What are you aiming to do if you manage to get inside?” Ryan asked, his voice friendly and gentle, his hand on the bun of the SIG-Sauer.

“Nothing, friend,” the man by the turret replied. He had a straggling beard and wore a necklace of what looked like the skulls of minks. “Just sort of checking. Wouldn’t object to that, would you now?”

“Yeah, we would,” J.B. stated, noisily levering a flechette round under the hammer of the shotgun. “Anyone touches our wag could get hurt.”

“Two of you outlanders,” another man said, looking uncertainly at his companions for support. “There’s plenty of us buffalo boys in town. Could be you and your one-eyed friend there that gets to be hurt.”

Ryan had plenty of experience of this sort of prickly situation. Trader used to say that if you took one foot backward, then you’d likely end up with six feet of cold clay lying on your breast.

He didn’t hesitate for a moment, utterly confident that the Armorer was ready for him to make the move and would back him all the way.

Ryan stepped in closer to the man, sizing him up. He was just on six feet tall, with his two hundred pounds centered around the belly and hips. He wore a torn vest, and a home-built single-shot flintlock pistol on the hip. His eyes were bloodshot, and Ryan could smell the ‘shine on his breath.

“Hey, now” the hunter said, seeing the cold anger in Ryan’s face.

He was watching for the automatic that lay under Ryan’s right hand and never saw the wickedly curving left jab that didn’t travel more than about fourteen inches before it exploded into his midriff.

Having delivered the punch, Ryan immediately took three paces back, finally drawing the SIG-Sauer, covering the man on top of the wag as well as his shaken companions.

The other reason for moving out of the way was to avoid the spurt of stinking vomit that fountained from the injured hunter’s mouth as he doubled over in the dirt.