Chapter 7 - Mission Accomplished

   Day one of the ride back to Chuparosa transpired without much incident. Sure, Bradacus had blown the rattle off a rattlesnake while performing a one arm-ed handstand on his buffalo's back, and Leaking Pan tackled a wild and naked Wilko, but this was all within a normal day's range of operations.

   When it was too dark to continue, the group set up camp and started a fire.

   Reno puffed heartily on a wooden pipe, his green tobacco flaring with red embers with each pull. He passed the pipe around for all. Needless to say, he was a welcome addition to the team.

   “Give me those strips of horse meat,” Reno politely suggested. He cut the meat into thin round slices, adding a special blend of herbs and spices from his own garden before laying them in a frying pan.

   They sizzled for a few minutes. The aroma was stimulating.

   “There ya are, eh!” he announced once they were done. “Kanadian bacon. Enjoy!”

   And they did.

   When they arose the next morning, it was with great surprise they were greeted by Echo Twenty Aught Seven, a prisoner in his custody.

   “What have you got there, Echo?” Bradacus asked curiously, peering against the sun.

   “I wasn't the only one following you,” he said simply, running his fingers through his long beard. He threw the bound woman dressed in all black at Bradacus' feet.

   It was the ninja!

   Leaking Pan squinted, feeling uneasy. He watched Brad carefully, wondering what his next order would be.

   Bradacus kicked dirt in the ninja's face and paced around her slowly, considering the best course of action.

   “We could kill you now,” he said, thinking aloud. “But then we wouldn't know why you insist on following us.”

   Burning Zee's eyes burned with violence. “We should kill her and be done with her. She can't report anything when she's dead.”

   Bradacus considered it.

   “One chance I give you,” he said directly to the tied ninja. “Why are you following us?”

   Laurinda straightened to a sitting position and spoke, her blue hair intertwined with twigs and dirt. “At the saloon, it was obvious you gentlemen were planning something. I wanted to discover what it was and use it to my advantage.”

   Bradacus let out a loud laugh. He wasn't expecting such honesty.

   “Your truthfulness has earned you your life,” he declared. “For now.”

Brad's smile turned into a snarl as he saw the two horses standing behind Echo. Their smell was nearly unbearable.

   His gun already out, he fired six shots in rapid succession, his ire perfectly finding its mark.

   Laurinda's horse dropped to the ground with a shriek, its bullet-ridden body leaking blood over the dirt road.

   He walked over to its corpse and pissed on its head.

   “Nothing beats a dead horse,” he announced happily. He then turned to Echo. “I suggest you ride on without us. I'm not fond of horses.”

   Echo raised an eyebrow and mounted his steed, snapping the reins and disappearing down the trail.

   “What we do with her?” Pancake asked simply.

   “Lay her across the back of your horse. If she falls, leave her. If not, we'll question her more at Chuparosa.”

   Pancake took out a measure of rope and added another layer of knots. When he finished, he slung the doubly-bound ninja across his horse and the group continued plodding southward.

   Night fell. Burning Zee, as usual, broke into song and Pancake grilled his famous horse burgers on the fire.

   “Shrimp, oh ye delicious glockenspiel!

   “Prawn, ye wonderful xylophone!

   “Lobsterrrr timpani!”

   Zee banged on his guitar rhythmically.

   “Sea horse, get ye away from me!”

   Zee continued the song, delighting his friends with images of crabby bongos, shark cowbell, and whale tuba. The group munched on their burgers contentedly and Reno was kind enough to pass his tobacco around. Fine food, fantastic tunes, and living free with your friends. Life didn't get much better.

   “Here,” Leaking Pan offered, holding a burger to Laurinda's mouth as she stood tied to a tree. Hesitantly she took a bite. The more she ate, the more exquisite the horse meat tasted.

  Having eaten his fill, Bradacus tipped his ushanka to his friends before entering his tent. “Sleep well, boys.”

   Hours passed. When Pan was satisfied the crew was fast asleep, he carefully exited his tent, making sure he made no noise.

   Walking quietly to the tree to which Laurinda was tied, he put one finger to his lips, signaling her to stay quiet.

   When he reached her, he stopped inches from her face, not saying a word, staring into her eyes as if to say, “Trust me.”

   He circled behind her and began working on the knots to release her. Even though it seemed foolhardy, he knew he had to let her go. It was the right thing to do.

   “Oi!” Wilko shouted, alerting the camp to some disaster. “Get your sleeping asses out here!”

   The sun had not quite risen, but everyone scrambled from their tent to see what the fuss was.

   “What the devil?” Brad screamed in disbelief, seeing the empty ropes by the tree.

   “How?” Pancake wondered, scratching his sweet fro. “I tied those knots myself.”

   “You forget she's a ninja,” Leaking Pan suggested coolly. “No doubt she's trained to get out of the best of knots.”

   “That's for dern sure,” Cake agreed gloomily, still not able to wrap his head around how she managed to escape.

   “It doesn't matter,” Bradacus stated. “She didn't take our buffaloes. She can't beat us to Chuparosa or the McFartland's. No time for breakfast, I'm afraid. We ride!”

   The final day's journey home was soured by Laurinda's unexpected escape. Fortunately, a wandering spider bit Wilko in the leg, which for some reason induced a priapism in him lasting over eight hours. It should've been disconcerting, but it wasn't. It was hilarious. Wilko riding at full mast made for wonderful entertainment. It also, they realized, explained yet another reason why Wilko was so appropriately called Nine Shot.

   It was twilight when the wayworn men arrived at Kappa Kafe & Saloon. They tied their buffaloes next to the watering trough and wearily ambled toward the saloon. Before they could reach the swinging doors, Bradacus spotted of small figure struggling to make its way toward him.

   “No,” he muttered under his breath, not believing his eyes. He ran toward the furry creature that battled to place one leg in front of the other.

   “No!” he shouted as he got closer, clearly seeing that the animal laboring toward him was his messenger guinea Collin.

   Collin was in rough shape. His breathing was shallow and labored. His fur was stained red. Upon closer inspection, Brad could make out several serpent-like bite marks.

   “Water!” he bellowed, not taking his eyes off his beloved pet.

   Wilko handed him his canteen. Brad wasted no time cleaning Collin's wounds and binding them with small strips of cloth cut from his shirt.

   Based upon the dried nature of the blood, Brad knew these wounds were inflicted some time ago. How hard Collin must have fought to make it this far!

   He clenched his fist and slammed it into the ground.

   Then, ever so gently, Brad picked up his furry friend and held him close to his chest, clinging to the hope that the bites weren't venomous.

   He rocked his guinea pig lightly, humming and whispering words of comfort. Time stood still as Brad tried to channel his strength into his small friend.

   Not wanting to disturb them, the crew gave Brad and Collin their space and sat near the buffaloes, keeping an eye on them should they require anything.

   Collin whimpered and drew in a small, final breath. He had fulfilled his mission. He made it, despite the odds.

   Not far away, a wolf howled.

   Bradacus wept.

   How he loved him.

   Could not he have caused that this messenger guinea should not have died?

   He buried his face into Collin's unmoving body and cried.

John 11

35 Jesus wept. 36 Then said the Jews, Behold how he loved him! 37 And some of them said, Could not this man, which opened the eyes of the blind, have caused that even this man should not have died?

Chapter 6 - Reno

   The group's buffalo mounts were quite the spectacle as they paraded through town toward Reno's home. Still, the residents were kind and gracious as they gave Bradacus directions.
   When they reached the farm, Reno was hunched over tending to a crop of green tobacco.
   “Hail, you hoser!” Bradacus shouted across the tobacco field.
   Reno's head popped up, not believing his ears.
   “Bradacus!” he yelled squinting against the setting sun. “Friends! After all this time!” He dropped his hose and hastened toward his ushanka-ed friend. “What brings you all to my neck of the maple trees?”
   “You mind if we talk inside? Wilko's arm could use some attention.”

   Reno welcomed his friends into his home and sat them at a cozy table made from maple wood.
   “Aural?” he called to his wife. “Think you could stitch up Wilko's arm? He was mauled by a cougar, eh.”
   “I'll gather my things,” Aural said from another room, her voice rivaling Wilko's in sheer sex appeal. When she entered the room, she brought a needle, thread, cotton, and a bottle of alcohol. As usual, she was draped in a long cloth that covered her entire body including her face.
   That was the peculiar thing about Aural. No one in the Glue Crew had actually seen her. She was always concealed by her garments so that only her eyes showed.
   Hell, Brad wasn't sure if even Reno had seen Aural behind that sheet she called clothing. Her appearance was a total mystery.
   But when Aural spoke, all listened, for none could resist the silky caress that was her voice.
   Perhaps it was for this reason she chose to hide herself. If people caught sight of her, they might not be able to resist her captivating allure. As a public service, she hid her beauty, ensuring no one other than Reno could be completely enraptured by her.
   “Drink this,” she instructed Wilko, handing him a measure of the alcohol.
   Wilko grumbled. It was no cosmopolitan, but it would have to do.
   She dabbed the cotton to the bottle and began cleaning Wilko's arm. The friends all made small talk while Aural busily inserted stitches into Wilko's cuts.

   “As great as it is seeing you all again, I know you didn't drop by for a friendly visit,” Reno pronounced, getting down to business.
   Bradacus sat back in his chair and flashed him a wide grin.
   “Glue production, eh? What else would it be?” Reno stood up and paced about the kitchen. “I must tell you, I'm a farming man now,” he explained, motioning toward his acres of tobacco and assorted crops outside. “Very little interests me more than the fine tobacco I'm growing. I gotta keep it safe, you understand.”
   Pancake nodded knowingly.
   “Hell, I've even given up the gun.”
   “Given up the gun?” Brad asked incredulously.
   “Yup, just using throwing knives now.” He motioned to the full array of knives he wore on his body. He reached for a knife from his belt and threw it expertly at a photo mounted on the far wall. The blade went directly through the picture's eye.
   “I'm sorry you came all this way just for me to turn you down, but I've got a new livelihood.”
   Bradacus was prepared for this possibility. He knew Reno's answer might not be not no. But, he'd been friends with him a long time and knew precisely how to pique his interest.
   “You sure the sound of hundreds of horses being turned to liquid profits doesn't appeal to you?” he asked, just warming up.
   “'fraid that's the case.”
   “What about the squeals of said hundred horses as we extinguish their miserable lives?”
   “Not even that,” Reno replied, though his eyes glowed in reminiscent pleasure.
   Brad shifted in his chair. “Well, I guess I'll have to stop El Rota by myself then, seeing as he's the one guarding all those horses.”
   Reno stopped his pacing. “Pardon me, did you say Rota was guarding the horses?”
   “That's right. Rota and his Beast Rebels of the Hellscape have gone into protecting horses.”
   Reno snorted in contempt. “Protecting them? Those horse lovers!” he shouted. “I bet they fuck them too!”
   Bradacus smiled inwardly. Reno was in.
   “Oh, my Aural,” Reno turned to his wife. “I'll be leaving for a while. Take care and all that.”
   Leaking Pan raised an eyebrow. “That's how you say goodbye to your wife?”
   “She abandoned me for several weeks visiting the Galapagos Islands. She deserves it.”

   The matter settled, Reno gathered his things and together the Glue Crew departed on the three day journey to Chuparosa—but not before Zee managed to sneak a few shots of Aural's alcohol. Mmm, it had a refreshing maple finish.

Chapter 5 and 1/2 - It's Still Different Up North

   Leaking Pan's buffalo galloped at full speed to catch up to his party.
   “We're being followed!” he yelled once he reached Brad.
   “What? Who?” Brad asked startled.
   “That woman dressed in black back at the saloon. I don't know why she's following us, but she is. She fled when she saw me.”
   Bradacus considered what he'd been told. Should they try and track her? No, it would only delay their arrival and they needed to meet with Catalysts and Wikki Wald on time.
   “Keep a look out for her, but we need to continue to Reno's. We've got a schedule to keep.”
   Leaking Pan understood.
   “Nothing to do but press on, gentlemen. Be alert!”
   They rode on in silence, wary for her return.

Day 3

   Morning dawned and there was still no sign of the blue-haired ninja. Was she still following them? Had she left for good?

   As they rode, the treeline changed and Pancake suggested a lunch break.
   “See these?” he asked as he dismounted. “These are maple trees. Watch this.”
   Pancake removed his knife and fashioned an impromptu spigot from a branch. He hammered it into the base of a tree and a thick, brown liquid poured from the spigot and into Cake's outstretched cup.
   “How did you know that?” Burning Zee asked.
   “You kiddin' me?” Cake responded surprised. “Did you think a guy named Pancake wouldn't know a thing or two about maple syrup?”
 
   A vicious snarl erupted from the trees as a cougar sprung from hiding, knocking Pancake to the ground and leaving him unconscious. Wilko rushed to Pancake's aid but was batted away with massive paws and vicious nails.
   When the cougar spotted Bradacus, it was struck with overpowering desire. It turned, devoting all its attention to him, pouncing and leaping, hitting on him any way she could.
   Burning Zee was already up a tree. He jumped from its branches, landing squarely on the cougar's back. He rode the cougar like a wild man, getting swung to and fro, an enormous grin on his face as he tried to tame the pussy.
   Brad pulled his revolver from its holster, hoping to get a clear shot at the cougar while it leapt about with Zee on its back. Trying to shoot the cougar without hitting Zee was damn near impossible.
   Near impossible, he reminded himself as he ran his fingers across his ushanka for luck. 
   Looking down the sights, he pulled the trigger and sent a deadly bullet to whoever stood in its path.
   A horrible scream escaped Zee's mouth.
   “Why, Bradacus?” he shouted in pain as the cougar fell to the earth dead. “I was just about to conquer that beast!”
   Brad shook his head, the corner of his mouth cocked in a half grin. Burning Zee sure was one of a kind.

   Leaking Pan emerged from the forest, pulling up his zipper. “What did I miss?”
   Brad pointed.
   Pan looked at the cougar's corpse and blinked. Apparently he missed a lot in that short absence.
   Pancake came to and Wilko helped him to his feet.
   “Those cuts will need proper mending,” Pancake said to Wilko, noticing the large wounds the claws had made on his arm.
   Wilko looked at his bloody arm. “Bloody ripper!” he exclaimed. Because of his accent, no one could tell if he was swearing or shouting in excitement.
   “This horse glue will stop the bleeding temporarily, but you'll need stitches.” Cake applied a generous amount to Wilko's arm. “That oughta last until we find some.”
   “How much you think it'll cost?” Brad asked.
   “I'd say about tree fiddy.”

   By evening, the glue men arrived in the small, farming village Reno called home. Kanadia. As they rode through town, the villagers waved and smiled. Why were the people so friendly and inviting? It was strange and Brad didn't like it.

Chapter 5 - It's Different Up North

Day 1

   Brad squinted his eyes against the setting sun. They'd ridden all day, one day closer to reaching Reno in the north. He dismounted from his buffalo, as did his trusty companions, Leaking Pan, Wilko Nine Shot, Burning Zee, and Agitated Pancake, hastening to set up camp.

   Even though it had only been a day's ride, the air was noticeably cooler, the area quieter. It was a change from the heat and noise Brad had grown so accustomed to in Chuparosa. The difference immediately put him on edge.

   “Oi!” Wilko shouted, noticing a torn strap on his saddle. “I won't be getting far when this rips apart!”

   “I can fix that,” Pancake told him confidently, his brown fro bobbing up and down as he set to work. “Have it done in a jiffy.”

   Wilko watched as he worked. Cake was a handy man to have around.

   Zee started a fire and regaled his comrades with songs of love, loss, and horse slaying, while a pot of chili simmered on the fire.

   Bradacus smiled as he imagined the horses in Zee's song being ground to high quality glue.

   Leaking Pan was unusually quiet as he enjoyed his chili. He couldn't shake the feeling someone was following them, probably even watching them this very moment.

   “I've gotta take a leak,” he announced, walking away from the fire and into the woods. There were so many trees here. It would be easy to hide among them. He strained his eyes in the darkness, hoping to discover some shadowy figure hiding nearby.

   If there were someone, he couldn't see him, or her.

Day 2

   The group awoke and Brad set to making coffee. When it was ready, he sipped his steaming mug and sighed in pleasure. Aside from glue, coffee was truly the nectar of the gods.

   Without wasting time, the glue men broke down camp and continued their ride toward Reno. They still had two more days to go.

   “Brad, I'm gonna fall back for a bit. I'm afraid that chili isn't agreeing with me,” Leaking Pan lied, gingerly patting his stomach for dramatic effect. “I'll catch up in a bit.”

   Brad nodded his ushanka and continued riding with his crew as Pan fell back.

   Leaking rode his buffalo off the trail and into the thick forest. When he knew it was hidden from view, he tied it to a tree and double backed through the forest on foot, the better to stay hidden. He had to be sure no one was following them.

   Climbing up a large pine, he waited in the branches for someone to come down the trail.

   Sure enough, a lone rider dressed in all black came along shortly.

   When the figure rode just below him, Pan sprang from the tree and tackled the pursuer, knocking her off her horse.

   They rolled together in the dirt, struggling for position. Finally he overpowered her, the two of them breathing heavily on each other's faces as he held her pinned to the ground.

   “You!” Leaking Pan shouted, realizing this was the same ninja from the saloon. “Why are you following us?”

   The ninja squirmed, straining to break free of Pan's grasp, but his grip was too strong. All she managed to do was free her beautiful blue hair from her mask.

   “Answer me!” he shrieked. Her blue eyes complemented her hair perfectly, he noticed.

   The ninja took advantage of Pan's momentary distraction. Her knee crushed into his groin as she pulled him to the ground. In an instant, she rolled to her feet and leveled a long katana blade over his throat.

   “Make it quick,” Pan said simply, closing his eyes and accepting his fate.

   But instead of the sound of his death, he heard the patter of small footsteps running away. He opened his eyes to see the woman fleeing toward her horse. Without breaking stride, she leapt atop her mount, snapped the reins, and was gone.

   Pan scrambled to his feet and sprinted into the forest to retrieve his buffalo. Brad needed to know immediately.

Chapter 4 - Hot

Adjusting the katana at her side, Laurinda sat in the shade beneath a large bush. She wiped away the sweat on her forehead, her black leather, while certainly fashionable, wasn't helping in today's sweltering heat.

It was high noon and last night's mission had paid off. As soon as she spotted the gang of riders at the saloon, she knew following them would yield a valuable bounty.

Information was a commodity in the West, and now Laurinda possessed knowledge that would make her a fair penny. Bradacus was planning to steal the McFartland's secret team of horses. How much would Bonnie be willing to pay to keep those horses safe? Quite a bit, she was sure.

Then again, there was something special about the fellow with curly, black hair. Pan, everyone kept calling him. His features were gentle, yet he spoke with command. Would she really want to sell information that would put the extraordinary stranger's life in peril? 

She would need to follow the group more closely to determine the best course of action.

“Jingle, I want you with me, acquiring what our outfit will need.” Picard ran a hand across his cleanly-shaven head. He stood next to a hired stagecoach with four horses, his dome shining brilliantly under the full sun. 

“Echo, you remember that sneaky woman in black skulking about, the one with blue hair?”

Echo stroked his long beard to indicate he remembered.

“Be her shadow. I want to know what she's doing in Chuparosa.”

Echo turned away, the .207 rifle strapped across his back swaying, and like Burning Zee downing a shot, was gone.

“Driver, take me to the general store at Odd Fellow's Rest.”

“That's quite a long ride, mister,” the driver pointed out. 

Picard tossed a pouch filled with gold coins at him. “What do you think I'm paying you for?”

Opening the purse, the driver smiled a toothless smile, snapping the reins as soon as Picard and Jingle were settled inside the coach.

Brad stopped swirling his whiskey at the bar, cocked back his ushanka-ed head, and downed it. It was time to get moving, but first things first. He needed a shave. 

“Excuse me, Mrs. Noir,” Brad addressed her, intentionally using the married title. “Where can a man get himself a hot shave?”

“Miss Noir,” she corrected him. “And I told you to call me Dream.”

“My mistake, Dream,” Brad apologized. His tactic worked. She wasn't married.

“Me Schnitzel,” Dream yelled to the barkeep. “I'll be upstairs a minute.”

The barkeep nodded.  

“Just right upstairs, if you'll follow me.” She took Brad by the hand and carefully led him up the wooden stairs and into her apartment.

“Rachael, please prepare a pot with hot water.” 

“But, Ma! I wanna go out riding!”

“Please, Rachael.”

Rachael stomped into the kitchen, filling a kettle and placing it on the stove.

“Have a seat just over there, hon.” She pointed to a light brown chair near a window, a mirror hanging on the wall next to it.

Brad seated himself and Dream draped him in a white cloth.

“A man like you would look mighty fine with a beard,” she flirted. “Imagine it—Epic Beard Bradacus!”

Brad actually laughed, something he rarely, if ever, did. Dream certainly was something.

She retrieved her shaving kit, pulling out the shaving soap, brush, leather strop, and straight edge steel razor, placing them on the table next to her.  

“I see you favor the straight razor rather than the new safety razors,” Brad remarked.

“Naturally. Where's the fun in safety?” She winked.

Brad's heart quickened momentarily. Now this was a woman.

Rachael brought in the hot water and disappeared into her room. She had zero interest in what was about to happen.

Dream splashed her hands in the hot water, working up a fine lather with the soap. She bent over Brad, her chest showing off two porcelain masterpieces, and expertly applied the lather to Brad's face. Gently, she massaged the foam onto his god-like features.

Grabbing something from the table, she straddled Brad's leg. Her knee rested just next to his crotch, her hand wielding a gleaming, steel blade. She leaned forward for each stroke, her body rocking lightly against his. In no time, she felt a bulging next to her knee. She smiled knowingly and continued her long, expert strokes.

Brad had been shaved before, but never like this. Hell, hadn't he asked for a 'hot' shave though? His member pulsed against Dream's leg and he prayed she paid no heed. 

Finishing from the top position, Dream circled and took Brad's back. She held the razor high against his throat, the blade angled just so, her other hand sensually holding his neck tight. 

If she wanted, she could end it all, Brad realized.

His cheeks flushed with red as he felt her ample chest pressed against the back of his head. “Today is a good day to die,” he thought to himself.

The warm steel slid across his throat, hot liquid flowing down his neck and onto the white cloth. Was that blood or simply water? It didn't matter. The dream he had been lulled into was heaven. He didn't want it to end, no matter the consequences.

The blade slid down his neck several more times, its movement undulating with the promise of pleasure or pain. The combination of sensuality and fear was... marvelous.

When she finished, she came around and looked at Brad.

“I think I may have nicked you.” She bent over and softly kissed the corner of his mouth. “Oh, my mistake. It was nothing.” 

She removed the cloth and Brad stood uneasily, hunching forward awkwardly, for hiding eight and a half inches of man wasn't the easiest thing to do.

He cleared his throat. “What do I owe you?”

“This one's on the house, sug. Do come back, you hear?” Her Southern drawl made the words all the more sweet.

She showed him to the door, chiding herself she hadn't warned Brad about whoever was following him. But she had, at least, given him something he was sure to remember.

The door closed behind him and Brad waited for his arousal to dissipate before proceeding down the stairs. Now that he was shaved, it was time to recruit Catalysts, Wikki, and Reno.

He summoned his men from the bar and flung the swinging doors open. No sooner had he stepped outside then a snake sprung from its coil.

“Bradacus,” the serpent hissed. “I know you haven't forgotten about lil o' Ange.” She batted her blue eyes at him, placing an arm suggestively around his waist.

“Of course not, dear,” Brad replied smoothly, knowing he had to play his cards wisely.

“I'll be performing at Cowgirl Cabaret for the next month. When will I see you?”

“Not for a while, I'm afraid,” he told her. “Got some business first.” 

Ange Ruler narrowed her snake-like eyes at him.

“I will, eventually,” he added carefully. He had to be cautious dealing with Ange. She was rash and impulsive, liable to perform any manner of mischief. How she found him here still made his head swim.

“You better,” she said coldly, firmly grabbing his butt.

He removed her arm from around him and chatted a while, shooing her off with promises of making the wait worth it. By the time she left, he needed another whiskey.

But the whiskey would have to wait. He walked to his tethered buffalo, reached into his saddlebag and removed two of his most prized possessions, two guinea pigs, Collin and Bear. They were a gift from Wilko. How he came about them, he wouldn't say, but it furthered the notion Wilko was actually from Peru. These were, however, no ordinary guinea pigs. They were messenger guineas. They ran faster than a hawk and could memorize countless locations.

“Who's got paper?” Brad asked tersely.

Leaking Pan handed him two scraps of paper from his saddlebag and a bit of charcoal. 

Brad scrawled the first message and then the second, addressing them to Catalysts and Wikki Wald. 

                Meet at Kappa Kafe and Saloon on July 5th, one week from today, in

                Chuparosa. Need your help. Glue will flow like wine.
-Bradacus

The final sentence was code the Glue Crew devised whenever a high stakes glue operation required desperate assistance. It spoke not only of a high reward, but that obtaining it would be bloody, bloody and red, like wine.

Rolling the papers and sliding them into the small cylinders around the guineas' necks, Brad spoke to each guinea before releasing it.

“To Catalysts,” he whispered to one, and then to the other, “To Wikki Wald.” 

He placed the messenger guineas on the ground, and like a whip's crack, they were gone. 

“Well I'll be damned,” said a slovenly man staring at the glue men openly. “If it ain't the famous Do Gluers.”

“What's that supposed to mean?” Zee asked angrily, his fingers reaching for the grip of his gun.

“Easy now,” the man said, holding his dirty hands out. “I have no quarrel with you. I, do, however, take issue with that man there.” He pointed directly at Wilko Nine Shot.

Wilko walked toward him and spat in his direction, eyeing the stranger narrowly. “Who the fuck are you?”

“I should expect such manners from someone as yourself,” he said. “You're speaking with Encrusted Joe, Mev Gamer's new business partner.”

Wilko's lips curled into a snarl. “Best be on your way before something bad happens to you, boy.”

“I ain't scared of you, Wilko,” he said indignantly. “It's sweet serendipity our paths have crossed. Imagine how pleased Mev will be when I return with news of your death, the man who stabbed him in the back!”

“Mev betrayed me!” Wilko bellowed, the memory of this old injury filling him with fury.

“Don't matter. I'm sure he'll pay me handsomely for your head.”

“Where is that filth?”

“Far from here, unfortunately.” Joe stepped to the side, measuring Wilko with his gaze.

“Say, Wilko, I know why they call you Nine Shot,” he sneered. “'Cause it takes you nine shots just to hit your target!”

The men stared at each other in open hatred, pacing in a wide circle, daring the other to reach for his holster. Pulling his pistol first, Joe quickly leveled it at Wilko.

A bullet tore through his head and he flopped to the ground with a thud. Wilko holstered his nine shooter and grinned. In one shot, he'd proven the man wrong. Dead wrong.

“Leave the body,” Bradacus ordered. “Someone will find it and word will reach Mev.”

Wilko spat on the body before walking back to his mount. Fuckin' twat.

“We ride to Reno's!” Brad shouted, mounting his buffalo and pointing to the north.

Wilko One Shot, Agitated Pancake, Leaking Pan, and Burning Zee leapt atop their trusty buffaloes, beginning the long and grueling trek northward.

Chapter 3 - Engage

Bradacus awoke with visions of Dream Noir in his head. He shook his head in an attempt to clear it. This was an important day for business. Why would his thoughts turn toward the busty barmaid? Well, there were reasons, two of them at least.
The crew wolfed down the remainder of last night's horse stew and packed up their belongings. Having secured their gear on their buffaloes, they began the short ride to Chuparosa to meet with the enigmatic DJ Picard. 

Before arriving at Kappa Kafe and Saloon, Dream sat upstairs in her room. It was decorated with yellow wallpaper and throw pillows, her flat directly one floor above the bar. At the moment, she was busily engaged in a conversation with her daughter.
“What did you gather?” Dream asked Rachael in a hushed voice.
“They're plannin' on some kind o' robbery,” Rachael told her in her young voice. “To get more horses. And, Ma, I think I was followed.”
“Followed?” Dream shrieked in disbelief. “Say it ain't so!”
“I wasn't the only one out there. Someone else made a sound and got away before they was discovered.”  
Dream paced around the room, biting her thumb. Bradacus was planning a robbery and someone else knew about it. Should she get involved and tell Brad? But how could she explain to him the way she learned this information?

As he neared Chuparosa, Wilko sat atop his buffalo, idly fingering the gun strapped to his hip. He pulled it from its holster, removing and inserting all the bullets back into the nine chambers. Most revolvers only accommodated six or eight bullets, making his revolver particularly unique.
“Hey, Wilko. You ever get that squabble settled between you and Mev?” Leaking Pan asked.
“Mev Gamer?” Wilko nearly spat the words, grunting in contempt. “Not yet.”
“Whatever was that beef about anyway?” Leaking Pan pressed, hoping Wilko would finally share the story.
“None of your concern,” Wilko answered angrily, removing and then inserting all the bullets once again. 
That was the one topic Wilko was strangely mute on, refusing to ever go into detail. From the little they had learned, Mev Gamer, a countryman of Wilko's, had wronged him in some way. The dispute prompted him to leave Mev and join the Glue Crew full-time. 
Wilko holstered his gun and spat at the ground, riding in silence until at last they arrived at the saloon.

A bouncing number sprang from the pianoforte, its fast pace inviting all who listened to stand and dance. A few patrons actually were, their movements awkward and jerky. Picard's fingers slid rapidly across the keys, his red tie bobbing as he moved up and down. Even the stoic Jingle Wumpus and Echo Twenty Aught Seven, standing on opposite sides of the room, could be seen nodding their head or tapping a toe.
Zee had three shots of whiskey by the time Picard finished, which was to say he finished three minutes later. Picard stood up from off the stool and bowed to his audience. A few people even clapped.
“What was that?” Leaking Pan asked, intrigued.
“Oh, that kind of music won't come out for another century or so,” Picard replied cryptically. “The real stuff will involve electricity, but until then, you can call it swing.” He motioned to the men to follow him, and once more they entered the poker room with the ugly, brown walls.
When Echo and Jingle took their positions, Picard spoke.
“How do you find my offer?” he asked, wasting no time.
The barmaid sauntered to the table to take their orders, her dark blonde hair carefully styled. Her shirt, a low-cut white blouse, was strategically worn today. When she saw Bradacus, she winked.
“Beer me,” Pancake told Dream. “I'm gonna need a champion's breakfast for a day like today.”
“Whiskey!” said Zee. “And some tea, swift!”
“Vodka,” ordered the Pan.
“I'll have a cosmo, three cherries.” Wilko glared about the room violently, daring anyone to comment on his choice of drink.
Dream nodded and turned to Bradacus, noticing his deep green eyes.  Every so often, those hard eyes flashed with hints of red. Pretty.
She cleared her throat. “And you, Sir Bradacus?” His name rolled off her tongue like music.
“Jameson.”

The door to the poker room banged open and a woman wearing a frilly, red garment burst in. Echo and Jingle, their pistols already drawn, had their sights trained on their target.
The woman wore a red and black corset decorated with ruffles and lace, her short, brown hair slightly wavy. Her legs were slender, covered in translucent, black stockings that came to a lacy finish near the top of the thigh, a red bow accenting each one. 
“He'll have a shot of me, is what he'll have,” the girl announced brazenly, sashaying toward Brad in red and black pumps. She sat in his lap, crossed her legs, and gazed into his face. “One shot of Ange, ain't that right, darling?” She kissed him gently on the cheek. “Your ruler!”
Brad shifted in his chair uncomfortably. How did Ange Ruler find him?
Dream Noir's eyes narrowed. “This is a private party, Miss Gena,” she said, calling Ange by her given name rather than her stage name. “And Bradacus has more important matters at the moment than the dancing of an overpaid strumpet!”
If the insult bothered Gena, it didn't show. She smiled and stood up, fixing Dream with icy blue eyes. “No matter,” she said casually, tossing her chocolate hair with one hand. “I'll be performing all month. No doubt Brad will catch one of my shows.” She dragged her finger sensually across Brad's chest. “And more than one of my private shows, I'm sure.” She walked away slowly, exaggerating the sensual rock of her hips.

“Well now,” Picard said as Dream followed Gena out. Echo and Jingle returned their pistols to their holster. “That was invigorating. You'll have to tell me that story another time.”
Bradacus raised an eyebrow. They said the West was a vast expanse of unexplored space. A man could get lost in all that space. Obviously, this wasn't the case.
Clearing his throat, Brad changed the subject. “We accept your terms, Mr. Picard. We split the profits fifty-fifty, providing you live up to your end of the bargain.”
“I certainly will, I assure you,” he promised. “When it comes to money, I don't fuck around.”
Brad saw the intensity in Picard's hazel eyes and was inclined to believe him.
DJ Picard slid a folded map across the green felt. “The McFartland's hidden stock of horses is thirty three miles from here. The map will show you the way.”
“And it's guarded by?” Pancake asked, leaving his question hanging.
Picard smoothed the front of his creamy suit and looked Cake dead in the eye.“El Rota, and his Beast Rebels of the Hellscape.”
Agitated Pancake couldn't refrain from letting out a long whistle, this time sending his toothpick flying and landing on the felt. El Rota was one nasty hombre to tango with.
“I'll kill him myself.” Leaking Pan's gentle demeanor had vanished, his voice filled with tightly controlled rage. That son of a bitch was still alive.
“Who are these Beast Rebels?” Burning Zee asked, his blood beginning to warm. Whether it was from the whiskey or the idea of a good fight, he wasn't sure.
“The gang's comprised of Rixo, Cali, Militant Bralor, and Sargento Rosquilla. That's Sergeant Donut, for those of you who don't speak Spanish.”
“Mean bunch,” Zee noted, recognizing the names. He looked at his friends, a wild grin spreading across his face.
“El Rota dies by my hand,” Leaking Pan reaffirmed, his fingers unconsciously resting on his pistol. “Ya'll leave him for me, you hear?”
Dream returned with their drinks, deliberately bending by Brad as she passed them out. Bradacus, unabashedly, sneaked a peek. Nice.

“We'll need Reno, Catalysts, and Wikki,” Wilko said with certainty. “Easier if we keep the numbers in our favor.”
Bradacus nodded. As quickly as she arrived, Dream left. He didn't like to see her go, but he loved watching her leave.
“And that new gear you promised,” Wilko pointed out to Picard, making sure he lived up to his part of the agreement. He still didn't trust the bald fuck.
Picard raised a finger to Echo. “Make it so.” 
Echo stroked his long, brown beard in acknowledgment. 
“One more thing,” Picard said, standing up. “Come out with me to the bar. There's more I want to show you.” The room emptied and soon they were standing next to the bar, the barkeep busily washing glasses. Burning Zee ordered two more shots, this time of tequila. It seemed appropriate, seeing as their next altercation was with a Mexican gang.
“See that man there?” Picard asked, indicating an unkempt man with stains running down his shirt. “That's Distorted Net.”
“Can't say I'm familiar with him,” Bradacus replied, sneaking a glance at Dream Noir once more. Those buns gave him two more reasons to think of her later.
“Distorted has access to all sorts of horses. Quarter horses, mustangs, appaloosas, Arabians, you name it. The man is well-connected. But, beware. He is just as deranged and depraved as his name implies.”
Brad understood the warning.
“And over there,” Picard subtly gestured toward two men in strange, black suits drinking from large beer steins. “Shinma Ryche and Dr. Mezmoriz, two new-comers from Germany whose end game I have yet to discover. One thing is certain, however. They are particularly interested in horses. They could be a problem down the road.”
Brad could see the business deal with Picard was already paying off. He was well-informed.
“I want you gentlemen to understand I'm in this partnership for the long haul,” Picard explained. “Together, I see a substantial sum of money in our future.”
For Brad, the money was just a perk. The real joy came from the slaughter, slaying horses one by one and two by two.

Dream Noir couldn't stop peering over at Brad, her mind preoccupied with the knowledge that someone was spying on him. Well, someone besides herself, that is. How was she going to let him know? And what in the world was Rachael doing? 
“Howdy, stranger,” Rachael greeted Burning Zee, pulling up a bar stool beside him. “Fancy sharing some o' that whiskey?”
Zee considered the girl for a moment. Was she hitting on him?
“A shot for the lady,” Zee ordered from the barkeep.
“Thank ya, mister,” Rachael replied, quaffing the shot in one gulp. Black Bush, her favorite.
Dream's ears turned red in anger. What in the blazes was Rachael thinking drinking alcohol with men twice her age?

“You've been very helpful,” Brad told Picard, tipping his ushanka at him. “How soon til that equipment is ready?”
“I'm outfitting how many men now, eight?”
Brad inclined his ushanka once again.
“I'll need a week.”
“Works for me. It'll take a week to find Reno, Wikki, and Catalysts anyhow.”
“Bradacus, it's been a genuine pleasure. I'll meet you here in a week.” Shaking Brad's hand, Picard excused himself, Jingle and Echo following him out.
Brad bought a whiskey and turned to face Dream Noir, who was occupied taking an order from the disheveled Distorted Net. Had he detected a hint of jealousy earlier when Ange Ruler came on to him? Dream had a daughter, so he knew there was a man somewhere in Dream's life, but how involved was he?
And then there was Ange, who appeared like a snake in a boot, complicating his stay here. Was it merely a coincidence she found him or was it something more contrived?
He considered the journey before him. Catalysts and Wikki Wald would answer the call, but Reno was going to take some convincing. He was confident he could recruit them for the McFartland job, but what about after that? Would they stay to take on Distorted Net, Shinma Ryche and Mezmoriz, or possibly settle the score between Wilko and Mev? How long would their interest in glue last? 
These solemn thoughts pervaded his mind as he twirled the whiskey in his shot glass.

“What in the Sam hell do you think you're doing?”
“Ma!” Rachael protested. “I'm a grown woman!”
“You're only sixteen, Miss Rachael!” Dream shouted.
“But Ma, it's the year 1911! Sixteen is like being thirty!”
Dream grabbed her by the hand and led her up the wooden staircase, marching her to their apartment. “You stay in that room until I get you, you hear?”
Rachael pouted but Dream slammed the door shut and stormed back down the staircase. Reaching the bottom, she put on a smile and returned to work as though nothing happened.

Brad made a mental note to look into the whereabouts of Mister Noir, if he was even still around. But that would have to wait. His nostrils flared as he thought about the glue that would soon be flowing from his factory. Was the chubby he got in his pants just now from thinking of horse killing or Dream Noir?
Hell, why couldn't it be from both?

Chapter 2 - Shaking Things Up

A fire burned steadily in the center of camp. Bradacus, Leaking Pan, Wilko Nine Shot, Burning Zee, and Agitated Pancake all took places around the fire, waiting for dinner to finish cooking. The wide, orange sun was setting and the aroma from their stew hinted it was nearly done.

“We could easily raid the small McFartland ranch we know about,” Pancake was saying, beginning to weigh out the options. “But we don't know where this secret ranch is Picard mentioned.”

“Right,” Leaking Pan joined in. “Do we go after a sure thing, with a modest reward, or take our chances with DJ Picard and potentially reap a larger payoff?”

Brad rubbed his stubbled chin. “Keep in mind, that secret team of horses is guarded. Picard said he knows specifically who its guarded by, implying it's a dangerous lot. We could lose men in search of that profit.”

The Glue Crew stopped to think for a moment. All were willing to die for the cause, but how much sweeter is it to live for one? Horses needed to be slaughtered, and if they weren't alive to fulfill that holy work, who would?

“Stew's ready,” Burning Zee proclaimed, reaching for a spoon to begin serving out portions.

“I'm just gonna add a little salt,” Wilko said, pouring out a measure of his favorite seasoning.

“Needs more pepper,” Pancake noted, sprinkling more in.

“Hey! Hey!” Bradacus stepped in. “Too many cooks! Too many cooks!”

“Seriously, guys,” Leaking Pan chided. “You'll spoil the broth.”

Each man helped himself to a hearty serving of their favorite meal—potato and horse stew. Delicious.

“I don't trust 'im,” Wilko spat, picking up where they left off. “We don't know anything about Picard.”

“Do we have a reason not to trust him?” Bradacus wondered, his ushanka glowing in the fire's red light. “Killing horses is our livelihood. It's why we exist. If Picard knows where we can find more, I say we give him that chance. If he proves to be an aggravation, we eliminate him along with his two sidekicks, Jingle Butt-Kiss and Echo Twenty Naught Gonna Survive.”

They gobbled down more stew, considering the choice placed before them.

A soft noise rustled not far away.

“I heard something!” Pancake said excitedly. “Over there!” He pointed toward a large bush in the clearing.

Burning Zee shot up to investigate. If someone were there, he would make them pay for their eavesdropping. Drawing his gun, he leaped behind the bush, ready to fire.

But there was no one. If someone was there, they disappeared—like a ninja.

“Nuttin' there,” Zee told the group, taking a seat on a rock next to the fire.

“Men, do we risk it?” Bradacus asked, calling for a vote.

“Aye,” Leaking Pan answered.

“I'm in,” said Zee.

“Fine,” Wilko replied acidly, his sexy voice masking his reservations.

“Dern sure,” Pancake concurred.

“Then it's agreed,” Brad declared. “Tomorrow we'll meet with DJ Picard and accept his terms.”

Leaking Pan ran a hand through his raven black hair. “We might need a few more good men to fight whatever gang is protecting those horses,” he added thoughtfully.

“What about Reno? He still good with a gun?” Burning Zee asked, his leather chaps creaking as he adjusted himself on his rock. “Or has farming life made him soft?”

“He can still shoot,” Bradacus confirmed. “I'll bet we could enlist Wikki Wald and Catalysts, too.”

Leaking Pan nodded in approval. 

The matter settled, there was nothing left to do but wait for morning. To help pass the time, Zee pulled out his guitar and struck up his favorite melody.

“Dem hataaas! They just wanna haaaaate!

“Oh, dem hataaas! Always wantin' to haaaaate!

“But me, I don't miiiiiind. 'Cause I'm gonna shaaaaake!

“Gonna shake it right offfff! Shake, shake, shake, shaaaaake!”

He repeated the chorus over and over, his guitar swaying rhythmically.

Wilko scowled. “You ever gonna sing a different song there, mate?”

“Nope.”