Flash Fiction: Bill

John Garrett brushed the dust off his jacket as he leaned against the hitching post. With the midday sun, the burg’s few residents were off the streets. Trying to use what little shade the saloon porch offered, he took the handbill from his pocket and unfolded it:

“William “Waddling Bill” Stanton, wanted for rustling.  $100 reward offered by the Lone Star Cattle Consortium, signed by Circuit Court Judge Erasmus Lauderdale of Prescott, Arizona.”

Stroking his unshaven chin, he pocketed the wanted poster and entered the saloon.

With the shutters closed, shadow filled the interior, except for the dim lamps on the walls, and where sunlight entered through the open door. The bartender’s attention was focussed on the glass he polished with the end of his apron. The floorboards creaked as John approached. In the grimy mirror behind the bar, he could see one patron hunched over in a corner table. The man was pouring a drink from a half-empty bottle of whiskey, but mostly over his hand. His hat was pulled low, so John didn’t see his face.

“Whiskey.” John placed a quarter on the bar. The bartender filled the glass he had been polishing and pushed it along. John unfolded the wanted poster, along with a dollar bill, weighing them down with the glass on the counter. The bartender shook his head and walked away. John grabbed his arm, and pointed to the sketch on the poster. He said nothing, but glanced over John’s shoulder, towards his other customer.

John heard the sound of a toppling glass. He grabbed the Remington in his holster. In the mirror, he could see the patron scrambling for his gun.

Gunfire and shattering glass resounded through the room. John inhaled the powder smoke and tried to keep sight of Bill, oblivious to the irritation to his throat. He pressed against the bar. His heart raced as a wild shot embedded in the wood. He fired at the vague human shape enveloped in the smoke. There was a cry of pain, and silence.

“Did you get him?” The bartender emerged through the clearing smoke. The bounty hunter saw the vacant frame behind the bar. Looking back towards the door, he sighted the blood trail leading outside.

“He won’t get far.” John cocked the Remington and walked out.

“Find him. You’re paying for all this.”