Smoking Guns pt 1

Note: This started back with Big Red's Hodge Podge post. He wrote a little beginning to a story we decided to continue on together. This is that first part after I tweaked it alittle. Later I will post the next section as will Red.

Snake turned his ear up to the gunfire coming from outside the dingy saloon – the kind of place where a man's boots always stick to the floor no matter how hard the barkeep and waitress scrubbed each night after closing to remove the alcohol and chew stains soaked into the oak floor boards – before dealing out the cards for the next hand. He didn't think much of the commotion though. It was Coleta; there was always some sort of trouble on the two dusty streets lined with honkytonks, saloons and four churches. Besides, he had more money to win from the four greenhorns fool enough to sit at his table an hour before.

As the bets went around, Snake ordered another shot of whiskey while staring at the pair of ladies in his hand deciding if he could bluff his way out. Pfft, these guys are idiots. "I raise," he said as they cowered back into their seats.

Just then the Saloon’s doors split, smacking the walls with a thunderous clap as they were thrust all the way open. A dark figure, wearing a dirty brown wide-brimmed hat and a Colt Single Action Army revolver still smoking in the holster at his hip, appeared in the doorway. For a moment the piano player stopped, the tramps quit dancing; the old drunks at the bar couldn't help but stare. After a quick survey of the landscape, he let the doors snap back into place and headed to Snake's table. No one seemed to recognize him but figured if he was going to cause trouble he would have already started.

Snake knew who he was though. In fact, he more than knew him. In their youth, the two had run a lot of trouble together – a lot of fun. His name was Big Red, at least that is what Snake always called him by. Trouble makers like them never used their Christian names out here. Ten years before, the wild man had put his guns away and handed his pack of lucky cards to Snake saying, "I think I'll try my hand at farming that untamed land." Snake knew it was a fool idea, but didn't try to deter him. When an idea caught in Red's mind, there was no use fighting him about it.

Snake stared at Big Red as he barked an order for a whiskey bottle at a passing waitress. As he drew closer, Snake could see the blood dripping from Red's finger tips and the way his chest heaved in and out in exaggerated fashion. He didn't have to ask what was going on. Deep inside, Snake knew this day would come. He knew Red couldn't leave the life, just as he never did.

"You got my lucky cards," he said not asked.

"Sure," Snake said. Pulling the pack he never played, never even took out of the case, from the pocket inside his vest and placed it on the table.

"Good," he said spitting on the floor and then pushing the idiot next to Snake out of its chair (the idiot didn't deserve the pronoun of he). It scrambled off to the far side of the Saloon not wanting any trouble. Not such an idiot after all.

Sitting down, Red slammed his large calloused paw down on the table with a startling bang and slowly lifted it. Shining on the green felt was a familiar gold star with what looked like a bite mark at the tip of one point. Snake knew the chest that star usually hung on, which forced him to look back outside toward the dusty streets bathed in sun.

"Now this is how it's going to be." Red in a gruff voice sounded.

Snake and even the idiots leaned forward. Part of Snake was scared, but he dismissed it. When Big Red came into the Saloon with eyes glaring in that way, you had to listen. There was adventure (and likely trouble) in his ideas. Once one took hold of him, he didn’t let it go. Outside of that farming bit, Snake had loved getting caught up in Red's plots. The two had always worked well together.

This is going to be fun, Snake thought. One hell of a lot of fun.