Big Iron

The bartender glances upwards for about the fourth time since the man came in; about six-foot, black hair, black hat, black clothing, black boots, a .45-Colt hanging from his waist, and a long face. The man had only been in town for a day and a half and people already had a name for him, "Honcho", for he walked around and talked with a remorseful sternness that showed a distinctly strong will within Honcho. However, it was unknown as to what Honcho was remorseful about, probably something having to do with that pistol on his hip.

The door suddenly swings open, directing the bartender's view to the kid who stands at the door; his small, form-fitting clothes telling the bartender that the kid was poor, a pretty common sight for a business-owner like himself. The kid's scruffy appearance and worn boots also tells the bartender that he'd been travelling for a while, the reason soon to be clear.

"Is there a Joel Armistin here?" The kid asks, voice dry but powerful. Honcho turns in his chair, face resting upon the kid with a sad look.

"That'd be me, and I'd reckon I know why you're here. You're Tomlin's boy, aren't you?" Honcho- Joel- says to the kid.

"Yeah, that's me. And if you reckon I'm here to kill you, you'd be right you fucking dog." Tomlin's son says, face remaining straight while his right fist clenches tightly.

Several of the bar attendees shift in their chairs, two getting up and walking over to the kid, seeing a fight about to break out as the kid takes a step forward after his initial threat.

"Turn around now." Joel says, taking a swig from his mug.

"Get back home and kiss your mama, there ain't no reason in coming all this way to get your life taken." Honcho says, brows furrowing as he bows his head and closes his eyes, obviously bothered by something.

"My father would've done the same thing I'm doing right now if he were me!" Tomlin's boy yells across the bar, pointing a finger towards Joel.

"That's why your father is where he is. I suggest you turn tail and go home before you make the same mistake." Joel rubs the back of his head, still troubled, but still managing to get in another swig from the alcohol.

"Which is why I'm here, you god-damn bastard! Come on, let's go outside right now!" The kid says, pointing to the saloon doors behind himself.

"What the hell is going on here?!" One of the bar patrons finally pipes up, unaware of why the kid is wanting to kill Joel.

"He killed my papa and I'm here to gun this slimy-dog down because of his heinous deeds!" Tomlin's son continues to shout, now having to be held back only a little by the two patrons that got up.

"I'm not going to tell you again, go home." Honcho says, lifting his head with that same sad expression on his face.

"I'll kill you first before I do anything else!" The kid shouts, reaching for his belt and causing the two patrons who were holding him to stumble back out of fear.

I was almost as if Honcho knew what was going to happen, for he had already turned around while the kid was threatening him and by the time the kid reached for his belt, he had a gun pointed directly at him.

Three shots ring out as Honcho fans* his revolver quickly. The first shot strikes the kid center-mass, hitting him just under the rib cage and slicing open his right lung. The second shot his the right side of his neck, literally tearing it open and instantly starting to bleed. The third shot, the least lethal one, takes off the upper portion of the kid's ear, finally resulting in him stumbling backwards, out the door, and the collapsing in the street.

After his body rolls over a couple of times, emitting it's last death throws and leaving a dense trail of blood out of the saloon.

"God-damnit! Somebody go get the sheriff or the coffin-maker, somebody! Hurry up before he starts stinkin'!" One of the patrons shouts, stepping away from Honcho and the blood trail. One of the prostitutes gets up and runs off to do exactly what the other patron said, meanwhile Honcho turns back around and places a couple of coins on the bar.

"Hey, Joel," The bartender starts, talking to Honcho for the first time.

"Why did you kill his father? Did he deal you wrong in a game of cards?" The bartender leans in, talking softly as to not get anyone else involved.

"More-so is the opposite; he was drunk and got a bad hand in a Poker match. While he was hopped up on that scotch, he drew his gun and tried to shoot me after he went broke, his gun didn't fire and I finally got him on the chin with my big iron*." Joel says, finishing off his mug when done.

"Do you know why I'm always so sad? It's because every time I go to sleep, every waking hour, I'm thinking about how I killed a man over a game of cards. Now I'll be thinking about how I killed his boy for the same reason, too." Honcho looks at the bartender with that same remorseful look.

With that, Joel gets up, puts on his hat, and walks out. He makes sure to avoid stepping in the blood and also avoids looking at the body of the kid, probably not wanting to know what he looks like.

The bartender crosses his arms, still thinking about how people will throw their lives away over the simplest things. Right then, another question runs through his head;

Why was it that he got so good on that revolver?