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.”
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