Wild Wild West Port City: Chapter 1

 

Chapter 1: Two Men Walked into a Saloon

“Have you seen it?” Jackson laid a wrinkled-up piss-colored poster on top of the

waist-high light-brown bar counter. Said counter had seen its fair shares on lean-ons and circle imprints from the lack of coasters over the years.

“I reckon I haven’t,” Sally-Mae raised an eyebrow as she set down the translucent cup she was polishing with the frilly ends of her white n' red saloon dress and picked up the poster. “What is it anyways?” She couldn’t quite understand what she was looking at. The poster was blurry and all she saw was a forest-like backdrop with a brown blob occupying the center.

“The Bear,” Jackson wolfed down a shot of liquor and he leaned heavily on the counter.  “A bear?” Sally couldn't help but eye the small trickle of liquor that ran down the Black man's chin and will no doubt stain his tan-colored pants.

“Not just any bear – The Bear.” His hoarse voice deepened at the ‘The Bear’ portion,

“You’re probably wondering what’s the story behind it?”

Sally-Mae quickly shook her head, swinging her blue box-braids side to side.

“Oh, please no. Just ‘cuz I work at the counter, don’t mean you gotta spill your guts to me–”

“No worries, I don’t mind,” Jackson picked up another shot and downed it before licking his chapped lips, “It all started in East Port City. That's where me and buddy Jiminy strolled in from.”

Sally couldn't stop herself from rolling her brown eyes as Jackson gestured to the chubby, much shorter white man that had a bald patch that resembled the Red Sea when Moses split it; it ran from his forehead and ended at the back of his head. Yet he had hair that dangled like loose grass blades just a few inches above his shoulders. Jiminy was busy chatting it up with another fella across the saloon, most likely getting a lay of the land.

“You see, I was married on three separate occasions. And every time without fail, The Bear,” Jackson jammed his pointer finger at the blob in the poster, “ate them.”

Sally-Mae paused her counter wiping, “Ate them?”

“Yep,” Jackson pounded his chest with a brown fist and let loose a low acidity burp – the kind that burns the back of your throat and you still can feel it hours later. “That’s why me and Jiminy are at this here West Port City. We got a lead that The Bear was roaming around.”

Thankfully, Jackson’s friend Jiminy pulled up to the counter, recusing Sally-Mae from the man’s rambles. 

“Hey, Jackson. This kind fella said he got some spare rooms at a farm some ways from here. Wanna check it out?” Jiminy pointed to the fella in question.

Sally-Mae recognized him as one of Joanna’s sons, she thinks his name is…Billy-Bob. She can tell by his dirty tanned feet from the lack of shoes, the wash-out yet grass-stained blue overalls and the dirty blond sideburns that’s sheltered beneath his slightly wilted straw hat.

“Check it out without me.” Jackson hiccuped, “I haven’t had my fill.”

With that Jiminy leaves with Billy-Bob while Sally-Mae is still stuck with him. After a second or two of silence, Jackson turned his bleary brown eyes back to Sally-Mae. Said women reminded him of his second wife, Krysta. Both of them carried this 'I'm too tired to deal with everyone's bullshit' look in their silently judging, always narrowed eyes and scrunched up eyebrows. Though that's where the similarities ended as Krysta was a petite woman with brown skin and sandy-blonde curls, Sally-Mae was a tall woman – maybe just half a head shorter than Jackson – with midnight-blue box-braids resting on her wide, dark-skinned shoulders. She was closer in complexion to Jackson, though he was a bit darker due to the ever-present Sun during his non-stop travel to West Port City.

“Where’s the Sheriff anyway? Went down to his office, and couldn’t find anyone there.” “The Sheriff will be around these parts in a minute or so.” Sally-Mae eyed the wooden

and gold cuckoo clock that rested on the top shelf behind her. Suddenly, a red-head man wearing a beige cowboy hat, dark trench-coat, and red bandana –with huge haphazardly cut-out eye-holes– pushed open the swinging doors.

Sally-Mae knew this man too – this was Riker.

“Hey Sal,” Riker made his way over to the bar stool next to Jackson’s. “You're never gonna believe this. I saw this dopey fella with a bald patch leaving with Billy-Bob on the way here.”

“Wait a minute,” Jackson made sure to down another drink before he grabbed Ricker’s trench coat, bringing the red-head closer. “That dopey fella is my buddy and I don’t take kindly to those who talk shit about him.”

“Get your filthy hands off me!” Riker gritted his slightly yellow teeth while clenching Jackson’s hands, “Unless you're looking for a barrel to the head, sonny.”

“Hey you two!” Sally-Mae narrowed her black eyes, “Sheriff’s ain’t gonna stand for this." Everyday Sally-Mae goes to work hoping – no praying that no tomfoolery happens at her saloon. Some days are good, peaceful even. But others, like this one, always end in her and the Sheriff filling out an incident report.

“Well, the Sheriff ain’t here now, huh?” Riker smirked before throwing a punch, hitting the darker man’s cheek. Jackson stumbled a few feet back, but still stood on his two feet. He felt his cheek, wincing at the blossoming soreness and inevitable bruising.

Riker, cowboy hat lounging on the wooden floorboard, raked a hand through his drooping red hair, “There’s more where that comes from.”

Jackson flung his black jacket towards Riker. The red-head, perplexed, side-stepped it, but Jackson used the distraction to lunge at him, bringing them both down – along with a few circular dining tables. Trapped between his knees, Jackson began throwing shiners, but after taking two to the face, Riker caught his fist and flipped them over. Suddenly, Jackson could hear a distant cuckoo sound coming from inside the saloon. And before Jackson could even blink, Riker was pulled off him. Feeling dazed from the liquor and the punches, Jackson tried his hardest to stand back up only to find he was hog-tied.

“Hey, what’s going on here?” Jackson grunted. He was soon met with a peeved Sally-Mae hovering over him, rope still clenched in her hand as if she was gonna use more.

“C’mon Sal.” Riker whined from somewhere out of Jackson's peripheral, “It was just a silly tussle. We didn’t mean it.”

“You can tell me all about it at the jailhouse.” 

Sally-Mae picked up both men one at a time, lugging each over her shoulders. She then kicked the swinging doors of the saloon and trudged her way down the compacted city's red-orange dirt-patch ground for a minute or two. It was a good thing the jailhouse was three establishments away from them.

“Jailhouse?” Jackson perked up, “Does that mean the Sherif’s finally in?” 

He hears Riker snort from Sally-Mae’s other shoulder.

“You must be new around here. This lass here is the Sheriff.”

“You’re the Sheriff?!” Jackson said as he heard the sound of a door being kicked in and then he was unceremoniously thrown to the ground with a big THUD. Sally-Mae untied him and Riker before closing the jail cell behind them.

“Yep.” Sally-Mae answered, as she propped her feet on top of the desk and rested her folded arms behind her head. 

“But you didn’t say you were when I asked you earlier.”

“‘Cuz I was on the clock for the saloon. I alternate between Sheriff and bar maiden every 30 minutes.”

“How–What–Is there no one else around to fill the Sheriff position?” 

Sally-Mae shrugged, “Nobody wanted the responsibility, so I took it.”

“I wanted to be Sheriff.” Riker grumbled next to Jackson. Both men were gripping the metal bars like a chokehold.

“You can have it when you can beat me at quick draw. Until then, you’re Deputy Sheriff.” “You’re Deputy Sheriff?”

“The one and only,” Riker does a tipping motion near his forehead as if he forgot his hat was still resting in the saloon.

“You fought me earlier. That wasn’t Deputy Sheriff like at all.”

“You started it. If I stand corrected, you grab me.” Riker jabbed a finger into Jackson’s once white, but now dirt-stained button-down shirt.

“Only because you were talking shit about my pal.”

“I almost forgot about that,” Riker’s eyes widened before he doubled back, cackling. “What’s so funny?” Jackson crossed his arms.

“Your pal is in for a rude awakening.”

“What do you mean?”

“He’s with Billy-Bob.”

“So?”

“So? Boy, you really are new around here. Billy-Bob is the son of Joanna and that crazy woman is gonna make a groom out of your pal by tonight.”

To say Jackson was confused was an understatement. On one hand, he found it weird that this woman who barely knows Jiminy would try to marry him. Don’t get him wrong, Jackson loves his friend like a brother. Jiminy was the wind to his tumbleweed. While Jackson excels at talking with his fists, Jiminy excels at talking them out of trouble. And though Jiminy is a smart fella, he often thinks with his heart. Jackson couldn’t tell you how many times he had to save Jiminy from ‘donating’ his money to deadbeats, scammers, gamblers and drunks.

“There must be a mistake here. Jiminy wouldn’t marry someone he just met.”

“Oh, it’ll happen whether he wants to or not. Joanna is known for luring men to marry her and then they mysteriously disappear after the reception.” Riker said this so casually that Jackson wouldn’t have believed the genuineness of the statement had he not been staring at the red head’s bruised face.

“So what I’m hearing is,” Jackson turned to Sally-Mae, said woman was chipping her nails away with a filer, “my pal is about to die by a known serial killer, and no one seems the least bit concerned about…I don’t know…capturing her.”

Sally-Mae spoke up, “We have actually, but Joannna found a loophole.”

“Loophole?”

“Yeah, her farm is out of our jurisdiction. We couldn’t arrest her if we wanted to.”

“So Jiminy is going to die!?”

“Maybe…or maybe not unless someone helps.”

“I’ll help, Jesus Christ! Get me out of here!”

Sally-Mae checked the clock hanging over the door, “Guess your time is up.” She opened the jail cell, pulling Jackson out before slamming it in Riker’s face.

“Hey! What about me!?”

“You literally escalated the situation at the bar, Deputy Sheriff. I’d have half a mind to put you on probation,” Sally-Mae tutted, making Riker pout his bruised lips. It was as red as his hair.

“Where’s Joanna’s farm?”

“You gotta keep heading straight, then take a left at the frog statue, turn the corner at the Boots Galore shop, trudge across the Stream of Misery. If you see a swarm of gnats, you went too far, so you’ll have to–”

“Hold it right there, lassie. I ain’t gonna remember all them directions. You gotta come with me.”

“I can’t. The town still needs a Sheriff for the next 19 minutes.”

“So put him in charge,” Jackson gestured to a perked up Riker.

“Yeah Sal, put me in charge.”

Sally-Mae groaned before pulling the rusty jail bars to the left. She then tossed a small gold star with the words ‘Sheriff’ at Riker, “When the town burns down, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Jackson couldn’t give a flying fuck if Riker somehow flooded the city. His top priority was his friend Jiminy. The man who stuck by his side since the last bear attack. His only family. Ironically enough, it was through his third wife, Quinn, that he met Jiminy – the two being siblings.

“Well, we need my horse. Walking there would take an hour. By horse, we can get there

in 8 minutes flat.” Sally-Mae stuck two fingers in her mouth, letting out an ear piercing whistle.

Seconds later, galloping sounds could be heard as a white horse with a pitch-black mane trotted up to them. They both sat in the large saddle, Sally-Mae in front holding the reins while Jackson held on to her saloon dress.

“Onwards, Buttercup.” And like that, the bear hunter and the bar maiden rode into the evening sun, galloping past tightly knitted shops and hopping over a river stream. During their journey, Jackson spoke up.    

“So, did I tell you the story of how I met my wives?”

“Oh, you most certainly did,” Sally-Mae quickly said. “No need to talk about it anymore. We can just ride in silence.”

“No, I don’t think I told you,” Jackson threaded his hand through his kinky afro. “I only told you about The Bear. Don’t worry, this one has much more detail. So you see, my first wife, her name was Jessy, and she was a dancer. And boy she could dance. We met during one of her shows…”

With that man’s ramblings hitting her ears, and the Sun beating on her dark skin, all Sally-Mae could think is, Boy, this fella can surely talk. Maybe that bear did his wives a favor.