The Man with No Name tried to push the door man out of the way. He wanted to look
for the owner of the place with his own two eyes. The door slammed against him
before he could brace himself. He fell back from the blow.
He checked the cards in his belt. One of them glowed blue. He was at the right place.
He had to go in and deal with this.
He hoped the person who had given his mission was okay with the collateral damage
he was going to have to do.
Pythonic probably had a horde of minions inside the house. He might have to shoot
them up to serve his warrant. He doubted the locals would understand unless he could
prove something bad was happening.
He pulled his pistols and kicked the door. He winced and stepped back. The door had
a metal core under the wood face. He shook his head. How many people needed that
kind of extra protection?
He pointed his pistols at the doorknob. He blasted away. Hellfire struck the area,
heating it up to a pleasant red glow. The knob fell off after a few more blasts.
The dead man kicked the door. It swung out of his way on heavy hinges.
“Pythonic?,” he called. “I have a warrant for you. Don’t make this any harder than
it has to be.”
“Let’s make it as hard as we can,” said a voice from above the man with no name. “I
don’t know who you are, but no bounty hunter is going to take me in.”
Men in suits dropped from the ceiling. They carried umbrellas and walking sticks for
weapons. Something was wrong with the way they stood. They seemed off-balance
to the dead man.
“I’m only here for Pythonic,” said the man with no name. “Stand aside and you
won’t get hurt.”
“You won’t be able to get by us,” said one of the men. He stood on his toes, weasel
face grimacing at his enemy. “We’re here to protect the professor. Turn around and
leave. We don’t respect any authority you may represent.”
The dead man looked at the squad. They spread out around him. They walked oddly.
He wondered what was going on. He needed to get by them.
He planned to shoot the center two out of his way. Then he could work the sides
while he tried to punch through to whatever door they were trying to keep him from
opening.
Maybe his quarry was behind that door. Then he could serve his warrant and move
on to the next one.
He just had to be ready for any tricks they might try to spring on him while he was
moving.
He wondered how many other dead men had to put up with this crap.
The men attacked, kicking with their strange legs. He tried to move away but they
landed some heavy blows while he was trying to avoid them. He lost one of his
pistols as a foot jostled his arm. He cursed as the firearm was sent sliding under a
chair.
A foot landed and he hit a wall. The kickers lined up to do their best. He hated to
think he was going to die again before he really started his job.
The group spread out so he couldn’t hit all of them at the same time. He had already
lost one of his weapons. Once they made him drop the other, he would be easy
pickings.
The dead man blasted away with his remaining pistol. Hellfire sent the group running
for cover. He frowned at the speed they moved with their weird gaits. They almost
danced around the blasts he sent after them.
He could retreat, but that would let Pythonic escape if his minions weren’t already
providing cover for him to head out the back of the place.
He had to change the odds if he wanted to serve his warrant.
The dead man charged the weakest looking member of the opposition. The smaller
man swung his umbrella out to try to divert the rush. He grabbed the black suit and
bore him into the wall. He fired into the man at point blank range. The hole in the
Unauthorized duplication: this narrative has been taken without consent. Report sightings.cloth burned at the edges as he let the corpse fall to the floor.
“He killed Davy,” called one of the other men in suits. “We have to make him pay for
that.”
The man with no name waited with the wall at his back. He was about to take a
beating, but if he could latch on to any of the remaining fighters, he could take them
apart with the hellfire from his pistol.
Would they break?
If he could make them run, he could serve the warrant and let someone else deal with
them. He doubted the powers that be cared about them one way, or the other.
He didn’t. He didn’t have a card for them. He wouldn’t be fighting them at all if they
got out of his way and let him pass. He supposed that was what his quarry wanted in
a group of henchmen.
He waited for them to make the next move. He couldn’t charge into them. They were
individually faster on their feet than he was. They would kick him silly if he tried to
take the fight to them.
“You killed Davy,” said the spokesman. “You got anything to say for yourself.”
“I asked you to move out of the way,” said the man with no name. “You don’t want
to do that. There’s nothing else to say.”
“We’re going to dance on your face until it comes out the back of your head,” said the
spokesman. “All right, boys. Time to do the waltz.”
The dead man waited. He had lost his hat somewhere and wasn’t happy about that
either. It was one more irritation on a flow of them.
The dancers came in, their weird gaits accentuating the dance moves that went with
them. He took a couple of kicks to the body, felt a rib almost give way. He put a bolt
of flame in the foot of one of the enemy, smiling at the hopping he caused.
A fist knocked the smile off his face. He hit the wall. Another punch came for his
face. He blasted away at point blank range. The boxer staggered back with burning
holes through his chest.
The dead man grabbed the body and shoved it toward one of his unwounded enemies
as he shot the hopper in the other leg to make him fall on his face. He shot the man
he shoved the body on with a backhanded move.
Now there was only one left out of the group. He pointed the pistol at the last man.
“Kill me,” said the last man. “You’ve done for the others.”
“Your friend with the holes in his legs will live if you carry him to someone who can
look after him,” said the dead man. “What do you want to do?”
“Why should I believe you?,” said the survivor.
“I have a hundred cards to serve,” said the dead man. “I don’t get anything extra for
dealing with riffraff. Take off if you want to live.”
The dead man waited patiently for the two last members of the group of silly walks
to leave before he went and got his other pistol and holstered the both of them. He
hoped he didn’t have to burn a hole through any of the inner doors to get where he
wanted.
He wondered about the speed of his attackers, but decided he could investigate that
after he had done the job.
He wasn’t hunting people to satisfy his curiosity. He wondered about the remembered
deadline but let it pass for now. It was the only thing that prompted him to keep
moving.
He investigated the inner door and found it folded out of the way. He found a small
chamber with a switch handle sticking out of the left wall. He stepped inside the
room. He pulled on the handle and the room descended out of sight of the battlefield.
He nodded at the appearance of a tunnel leading down. How much of the city was dug
out below the small house on the surface? Did Pythonic have another line of defense
in his lair?
The gunfighter kept one hand on his gun as he waited for something to happen. He
was in a small room with only one entrance. All it would take to deal with him now
was someone with a bow and arrows.
He didn’t plan to make it easy for them.
The room stopped moving to let him step off in a large room that resembled a shack
full of junk. Lightning sparked between two of the junkpiles. What was going on
here?
“Pythonic?,” said the dead man. “Where are you?”
“Wouldn’t you like to know?,” said a thin voice from behind pieces of equipment on
the other side of the room.
“I have a warrant card,” said the dead man. “Come out. I give you the card. I leave.
You leave.”
“What if I don’t want to do that?,” said Pythonic.
“Then I have to do whatever I have to put the warrant card in your hand,” said the
dead man. “Don’t make this any more difficult than it has to be. I already had to kill
some of the men that felt indebted to you for whatever you did for their legs.”
“I let them walk again when no one else offered them a chance,” said the unseen
Pythonic. “I gave them replica legs that worked.”
“And they died when they didn’t have to do that,” said the dead man. “Step out so we
can finish our business.”
Something clanked into view. It looked like a knight in black armor. It carried a
sword in its hand.
“A black knight?,” said the man with no name.
“I’m not going back to Lobster Bay,” said Pythonic. “Now, buzz off.”
“Are you sure you want to do this?,” said the bounty hunter. He pushed his seraphe
out of the way.
“Never more sure,” said Pythonic.
The dead man pulled both of his pistols. Hellfire blew holes out of the suit of armor,
dropping it on its back. Burning oil and cogs fell out of the wounds. He put holes in
the equipment, working his way left to right. He ignored the sparks of wild lightning
running loose.
“You’re wrecking everything,” said an elderly man as he stepped into view. Half of
his visible body seemed to be metal.
Hellfire lit his normal flesh up before he could do more than protest. One pistol went
into its holster as the bounty hunter pulled out his deck of cards. The glowing one
burned up as he stepped back.
The dead man put the stack back as he turned away from the carnage he had
committed. He still had some more fugitives in the city, then he could move on. Let
the normal authorities deal with the mess he had created.