wild west viginette

"Last I heard, you was dead," Merrick said whilst turning his head towards the swinging saloon door and fixing his eyes on the man who had just entered the bar.

"I guess you heard wrong, Merrick," the man said meeting the others gaze and locking eyes.

The other patrons in the saloon sat up and started to pay attention - the barkeep twitched like a frightened rodent and took a swig from the bottle of sour mash he held in his right hand. "I don't want no trouble in here, ya'll hear me? No trouble."

A bang, a cloud of smoke and the bottle in the barkeeps hand exploded showering him, the bar and the two men leaning on the bar in broken glass and wasted sour mash whisky. "Trouble is my middle name, barkeep, and I got it in spades."

Merrick rose to his feet. He turned to the barkeep, gave a nod of his head and turned back to face the man. "Ya'll can't be comin' inta my town, inta my bar and shooting your mouth - or ya gun - off without payin' ya dues, Billy boy," Merrick slurred, reaching for his own gun, drawing it and aiming it at the head of Billy.

"I can do what I damn well please, old timer." Billy aimed his gun and squeezed the trigger. Merrick fell to the ground - dead. "Now, who else wants some?"

Nobody moved, nobody made a sound.