Chapter 1 - The Usual Suspects

Bradacus adjusted his hat, a worn Russian ushanka he obtained from a trader. It was a strange thing to see a man wearing a ushanka in the West, but it served its purpose. When people saw “the man in the ushanka” strolling through town, they gave him a wide berth.
Bradacus sat atop his tamed buffalo, another peculiarity that distinguished Brad from the plebs of the Wild West. Why a buffalo, he was constantly inquired. “Fuck horses!” Brad would reply angrily. He possessed a holy hatred for the animal. They were terrible creatures, and if he could manage it, he would kill every last one of them.
Today his objective was to raid Bonnie McFartland's ranch. He had nothing against Bonnie personally, but there were horses on that ranch—horses that needed to join his glue factory.
Beside Bradacus rode others, all mounted on buffaloes, in what he liked to call his Glue Crew. There was Leaking Pan, an even dispositioned type with curly black hair; Agitated Pancake, whose name belied his cool demeanor; Burning Zee, a wild man with a penchant for ladies, music, and booze; and Wilko Nine Shot, a foreigner with a silky voice from down under, which everyone assumed meant Peru. Each man carried a personal chip on his shoulder against horses, making them invaluable members in Bradacus' crew.

Before proceeding to the McFartland ranch, they needed to make one last stop—Kappa Kafe & Saloon. They were meeting a man with information pertaining to the McFartland ranch, information crucial to the mission's success, or so they were told.
In no time the riders arrived at the saloon, located in the small town of Chuparosa, and tied their buffaloes to the wooden post out front.
Kicking open the saloon's swinging doors, Bradacus stepped inside with his posse. The occupants turned to stare at the five ruffians who so loudly announced their entrance.
“Where's DJ Picard?” Brad demanded, his voice terse.
The bar stirred uncomfortably, unsure how to respond. Finally, a lovely barmaid with dark blonde hair pointed toward the man playing the pianoforte. His head was bald and he wore an ivory three piece suit, accented with a crimson red tie.
“Over there, sug,” she told Brad confidently, her voice accented with a southern drawl. 
“Thank you, madam,” Brad paused, awaiting her name. 
“Noir. Dream Noir. But everyone here calls me Dream, hon.”
“Thank you kindly, Dream.” Brad tipped his ushanka to her and walked in the direction of the piano player, his crew close behind.
“I don't like it,” Leaking Pan whispered to Brad as they walked. “Why would he be playing the piano? Seems strange.”
“I agree, mate,” Wilko said in his accented but sexual voice.
“Chill your waffles, everyone,” Agitated Pancake chimed in, a toothpick casually between his teeth. “Let's see what he has to say.”

They walked to a round table behind the piano player and sat down, dragging the chairs across the floor with a loud screech. If Picard wasn't alerted to their presence before, he was now.
The barmaid swished her way over to the table to take the men's orders.
“Welcome, gentlemen,” Dream said dreamily. “What'll it be?”
“Shots?” Leaking Pan asked the group.
“Shots,” Pancake and Wilko agreed.
“Shots!” Burning Zee nearly screamed.
“Shots of what, gentlemen?” the buxom barmaid asked gently.
“Whiskey,” Bradacus answered, eyeing the barmaid up and down.
Dream blushed under his gaze and quickly turned around to fetch their drinks, her hips swaying hypnotically as she moved.
DJ Picard, for his part, seemed to be in no rush. He continued playing the odd song on the pianoforte, a number that sounded out of place with the bar's rustic setting.
Bradacus listened to the song as he waited for his whiskey. There was something catchy in its melody, and, for whatever reason, it made him think of the stars.
Dream Noir returned with a tray laden of shot glasses filled with amber liquid.  When she distributed the shots around the table, she spilled a little on Wilko Nine Shot's arm.
“Oh, do excuse me, fine sir. Here's a towel,” Dream offered.
“A towel?” Wilko scowled. “Why would I want a towel?” He brushed away the spill with his other hand and spat at the towel Dream held out.
“My apologies, sir,” she muttered, leaving to return to her waitressing.

Just then the music stopped and DJ Picard spun around on his stool to face the men at the table.
“You must be Bradacus,” Picard noted, nodding at the man's ushanka. “I'm glad you could meet me. Please, come with me to this backroom where we can discuss our business privately.” He stood up and motioned for them to follow, leading them to a room behind the bar. He gave a quick nod and two men, who had been standing on opposite ends of the saloon, began to follow.
Inside the room was a poker table covered in green felt, ugly brown boards lining the walls. Each took their seat at the poker table and waited for DJ Picard to speak.
“These are my men, Echo Twenty Aught Seven and Jingle Wumpus,” he said as the two strolled in and took their posts on either side of the room. “I hope you don't misunderstand my intentions, but a man must be cautious. I'm sure someone of your caliber can appreciate a thing like that.”
Bradacus gauged Picard carefully. So far he didn't seem to be posing any kind of real threat. And besides, there were five of him and three of them.
“I understand you're in the glue industry,” Picard continued, thoughtfully watching Bradacus' reactions. “I, too, am a man interested in glue.”  He paused and straightened his red tie, gathering his thoughts. “The information I'm fixing to give you isn't free. What I'm proposing is a business arrangement in exchange for what I know.”
“And what do you know?” Zee asked impatiently, his thoughts turning toward another shot of whiskey.
Picard nodded to Zee and continued. “I know many things, such as where the McFartland's keep their secret team of horses, and, perhaps more importantly, who it is that guards them.”
Pancake let out a long whistle as he understood the implications of what Picard was saying.

“You see, Bradacus,” Picard went on, “you've got the man power, the skill, and the reputation. I, but a mere businessman, couldn't hope to wrestle those horses free from the McFartland's hidden ranch. Echo and Jingle are terrific shots, but taking on gangs isn't what I pay them for, you understand.”
“What is your proposal?” Brad asked matter-of-factly.
“I propose that when you and your men find these horses, and dispose of their guardians, you and I share in the profits of glue production.”
Brad rubbed his chin thoughtfully, noticing the stubble had grown significantly longer over the last few days. It was high time he had a shave.
“I will also provide you with the finest gear for your exploits,” Picard continued, “and upgrade your factory to new levels of production. All I ask, in return, is a fair share of the profits.”
“And what would you consider fair?” Brad asked shrewdly, waiting to see what kind of man Picard was by the way he negotiated. 
“Oh, I could posture myself so, pretend my share is so much more than yours, and down play your role as we haggle back and forth, but what say you we dispense with such unpleasantries? Since both parties are doing an equally important share, what could be more fair than a fifty-fifty split?”
Brad sat back and considered the offer. It seemed Picard was a man who liked to cut through the bull. But to accept his offer hastily, and without proper examination, was foolish.

“I'll need a day to consider your proposal and go over it with my crew. I'm sure a man such as yourself can appreciate a thing like that.”
Picard smiled knowingly. Bradacus was using his own words against him, showing himself to be a person who understood the art of manipulation. He would truly make a powerful ally.
“Of course,” Picard agreed pleasantly. “I'll be here tomorrow, at the piano, when you're ready.”
Bradacus nodded and rose from his seat. He walked out from the room and Zee immediately ordered another drink, this time from the barkeep. 
“Whaddya think?” Leaking Pan asked Brad, leaning against the wooden bar.
“I think it's worth considering.”
A dame in the far corner suddenly caught Leaking Pan's eye. She was sitting alone, dressed in black leather, her hair dyed a bright blue. But what really stood out was the katana blade at her side. What was she, some kind of ninja? Things kept getting stranger and stranger. He ordered a sarsaparilla, the better to observe the odd girl without appearing suspicious. 
With a creak, the front doors swung open and a young girl of no more than sixteen entered. She was dressed from head to toe in the finest cowgirl wear a person might own. The sight of her reminded Bradacus of horses and he growled instinctually. To his surprise, the young girl sauntered straight to the barmaid, calling her mom.
“My dearest Rachael!” Dream Noir greeted her daughter, bending over to kiss her on the cheek. “How'd you fair in the contest?”
“First place!” Rachael beamed. “Ain't no one shoot straighter than Rachael Noir!”
Cute, Brad thought, but he'd seen enough. He wasn't here for any damn family reunion. He and his boys had matters to discuss. It was time to press on.
Settling their bill, Bradacus tipped Dream Noir generously. She was a mother, after all.
“Do come again, you hear?” Dream winked at Brad.
He slapped her playfully on the behind before heading toward the swinging doors.