Part 3

The large man approached, and Blackburn quickly swung his left, then right, right, to the head, then left to the liver, right to the solar plexus, and then swift right, right, right to the face. The man didn’t budge but screamed in outrage. He punched, and Blackburn fell to the floor. The man lifted him and threw him against the post. Blackburn stumbled to his feet. The man approached. Blackburn’s fists started working the man again. The man punched Blackburn straight in the face again. He went down. He spat blood and a tooth. He stood up, blew the blood from his nose into his palm, and flicked the blood and snot at the man.

“Motherfucker!” screamed the man, and lunged toward him.

A gunshot rang.

“Enough, Paul Bunyan,” screamed Wade behind the bar with a raised shotgun against the large man’s face. “Now that was a blank, because I got tired of fixin’ the goddamned roof. This next one is loaded with fish bone. The last of you out the door will have to take it for the team on your way out. The third shell is the good ol’ double-O buckshot, and it will leave a bloody stump where your head is. Now collect your oxen and get the fuck out. This one is over. We clear?”

The large man didn’t like what he heard, and took a step forward.

“I give you two more steps and then I’ll fucking blind you,” said Wade.

The man hesitated.

“Let’s get the fuck out of here,” said the man with a broken shoulder. They collected themselves and stumbled out.

Another gunshot rang, and the large man screamed as he caught the fishbone shot to his back side. The room laughed.

“That should infect his ass just right. Give him something to think about,” smiled Wade and put away the weapon.

“You are crazy, Mason. You just can’t stay on the easy side of the street, can you?” Maddox helped him stand up. Blood poured from his face.

“I know.” He grabbed a beer-soaked dishrag and wiped the blood.

“You need a new way to deal with this shell shock shit, man.”

“I should try meditation.”

“Yeah. Yeah. Anything. Anything’s better than liquor and brawls. You’ll die young at this pace.”

“Spiritual experience is nothing but self-inflicted psychosis. The gurus are deranged schizophrenics. Meditation just keeps you calm until you are on your deathbed. I don’t want to lose my shit in my last moments. I want to be ready for her. Take a swing at the bitch,” he said and sat down. Wade brought him a bourbon.

“I think you may have a concussion. What you need is a woman.”

“Too much work. Exponentially diminishing returns.”

“Not a girlfriend, dummy. A woman. Here.” Maddox handed him a card. Call this number. Mention my name. I’m a partner. They’ll take a good care of you.”

Blackburn crumpled the card into his pocket.
“Don’t ever call me a dummy.”

About a week later, he sat outside a little house with withered white siding at the end of a road in deep woods. Four pickup trucks and a dump truck were parked outside. He sat in the car and watched the house, unsure whether this was a thing to do. A man in blue coveralls strolled out of the front door and stood on the porch. He lit a cigarette and looked around with calm satisfaction. His eyes met Blackburn’s. He nodded, walked down the stairs, and climbed into the dump truck. Blackburn saw him making a call. A curtain moved. The truck revved and drove away. Their eyes met again. The man’s face had an uneasy expression now.

A man with dark hair wearing a leather jacket walked out and strode directly toward Blackburn’s car. Blackburn recognized the shape of a holster in his armpit. He didn’t stir. The man knocked on the window. He rolled it down without looking at him.