One sunny afternoon, five men clad in black and wearing tall hats played poker in a dark saloon. They had been playing for an incredibly long time.
Some women wearing revealing dresses sat near, smoking. They flailed their arms occasionally to keep flies at bay. They waited for the men to put their cards down and be men again.
The saloon’s doors swung open and a tall man wearing a black patch over his left eye, head full of scars, entered. The place fell silent save for the drone of the flies and the creaks of the boards as he walked to the counter. It was very hot outside and he had been riding for hours; his stench filled the room.
“Where’s the son of a bitch of Andrew!” he said.
Nobody answered. The men set aside the cards and looked at their hands.
“Pedro!” he called. “Where the fuck is Andrew?”
An old man with a beard came through a door behind the bar. “Oh, hi, Jack.” A big crucifix hanged heavy from his neck.
“Say, have you seen Andrew?”
The old man started rubbing the counter with a damp rag he found in his hand. “Uh, he was here last week, said he was taking the train to La Abadía.”
“Motherfucker,” whispered Jack. He took a stool by the bar and shook the dust off his boots. The women faded out and, once invisible, glided into the upper floors. The men looked at each other and at Jack.
“Well, I didn’t come here to fuck scorpions,” said Jack impatiently.
“Right,” said Pedro and went through the back door, limping slightly.
A coyote howled loudly outside.
Pedro returned with a glass full to the brim with something yellow. “Sorry, Big Jay, we’re out of Matador, still waiting for the next batch.”
“Ugh, go to Jericho.” Jack set his hat on the counter and drank half of his drink. “Fucking end of times. I can’t get a fucking drink, only this shit.”
One of the card players set two coins timidly in the pot. They resumed their game quietly.
Jack observed them with rage but said nothing. He finished his drink and tapped the glass. “One more.”
Pedro took the glass, went behind the door, brought the glass full again and set it on the counter.
Jack cleared his throat loudly, spat on the floor, drank the glass in one go and grimaced.
“Where’s Maggie?” he said, looking around.
“Uh, I think she’s ill, Jack,” said Pedro. “Incantation gone wrong.”
“Yeah, it’s okay, I don’t care. Tell her to be ready for me tonight. I’ll be needing all her virtues.”
“Uh, sorry, Jack, I’m just not su—”
“Shut up! Just tell her, okay?”
Pedro nodded and went away through the door.
“Motherfucking Andrew,” said Jack. “And Pedro. And you all,” he said looking at the poker players and raising his voice. “To hell with you, cocksucking thieves.”
They looked at each other and at Jack.
He felt like overturning their table. “Fucking zombies,” he said instead.
“Pedro!” screamed Jack. “Another glass of this horse piss.”
Pedro came back, took the glass away and brought it back full.
Suddenly, the doors opened. Rays of sun lit up the place.
A slender woman with blue eyes and long hair walked in. She was buck naked, save for her leather boots and a belt holding a sword with a large emerald shining brightly on the hilt.
The doors closed behind her. Jack’s dick was fully erect by the time his eye readjusted to the dusk.
The men in the table swallowed audibly and stared at her. One of them stopped dealing hands halfway.
The woman walked to Jack.
“And who the fuck would you be?” he said and smiled.
“I came to take you.” Her voice had an exotic accent. Boston? Nah, probably further.
“Oh, okay,” said Jack surprised, seeing nothing but her large tits. “Pedro, what room can we use?”
“No,” she interrupted. “We’re going outside.”
He laughed. “Like hell we are.”
“Follow me,” she said. She turned and started for the door. He looked at her young round buttocks.
“What the fuck?” he said, but she just shoved the doors and left. The men turned their gaze to Jack.
“What the fuck are you good for nothing fuckers looking at?” he said. They looked down at their incomplete hands.
Jack took a big gulp of liquor and grabbed his hat. He cleared his throat and the boards creaked again.
Jack came under the harsh sun. “Fucking hell.”
His steed, Dinosaurio, got a whiff of him and neighed.
The woman stood in the road, a few meters away, facing him. Next to her was a large statue of a man, twice as tall as her.
“What the fuck,” said Jack, who had never seen this statue.
The statue wasn’t very detailed: the head just one cylinder, two black circles for eyes. And yet, it was very impressive, made of some argent metal. Jack got closer and saw his own handsome reflection.
“Jack, this is Buné,” said the woman.
“Buné?”
The metallic giant moved! It lifted an arm menacingly!
Jack drew his revolver and fired three shots at Buné’s chest.
“In the name of... What the holy fuck is this fucking fuck?”
“Relax, Jack,” said the woman, walking to Jack who, mouth agape, his golden teeth reflecting the rays of the afternoon sun, stared at the robot. “This won’t hurt a bit.”
Buné extended a finger towards Jack and shot a continuous beam of bright red light. When the light reached him, Jack lifted his arms sideways and became rigid. Red rings floated around the beam, growing gradually as they approached Jack, engulfing him. Suddenly, Jack started floating a few feet above the ground, giving a red halo.
Buné and the amazon walked away towards the sun, bringing Jack with them. Somewhere a baby wept. The demons in the cursed saloon looked out the bloody windows and saw Jack for the last.