The orbisun was setting in the distance, one more twelve hour cycle came and went. The blazing heat that scorched the rusty basalt soil would soon evaporate into the night sky, and the swift uncompromising cold of night would overtake everything in its path.
Blaine shifted his weight slightly on his horse. An old Dyna-Ro model. One of the first generations to utilize real fur. Outside it looked, felt, and smelled like real horse flesh, but inside was a superior metal alloy skeleton, various fluids, and computer chips. Real horses were rare on mars. A man would have to be rich to own a real animal, and Blaine wasn’t rich. He wasn’t destitute, either. He made an honest living robbing Remnant banks and trains, doing his best to save what he could, but that honest lifestyle didn’t make him many friends.
He stepped down from the robotic horse and felt the powdery soil crunch under his boots. He readjusted his hat, an old wide-brimmed piece reminiscent of the even older westerns that were popular on earth long before the war. He straightened his black thigh length jacket which was worn mostly as protection from the orbisun, and wouldn’t offer much insulation once the night’s deep cold set in.
Blaine took a few slow steps, sizing up the building in front of him. It was a lonely isolated building that sat in the Iron-Rock valley. This was the last waystation before you reached Redemption, a shanty rail town that sprang up when the Remnants started the rebuild on this side of Mars. It was the type of place that attracted honest travelers, outlaws, and everything in between, and it was the perfect place for a private meeting.
Dim lights powered by old batteries and battered solar panels crawled through the windows, only to slowly wither and die on the dusty porch. Faint sounds of hushed tones crept through cracks in the siding and floorboards, and the noxious smells of unwashed man, liquor, and dirt mixed in the air and hung like a fog. Blaine tied his horse to the hitching post, mostly a formality, as it would be shut off while he was inside, and entered into the Deadwood Saloon.
Once inside the hushed tones smacked Blaine’s face, the building provided a much stronger insulation than its rickety appearance would insinuate. Even the dim lights felt near-blinding after walking in from the dusk, and he squinted, raised the brim of his hat a little, and scanned the inside of the saloon with predatory eyes. He took stock of the saloon’s patrons.
Ike and a group of his Outlaws. Marshall White. Travelers I don’t know. Hawk and Billy. He went through the patrons multiple times, double checking the groups of people he didn’t know, but no matter how many times he ran through them, they all seemed to be strange faces. One of the groups sat at a card table huddled in a corner, he didn’t know them individually, but he knew who they were. Bloodhounds. You can tell a Bloodhound by their pretend badges and bowler hats. All part of the uniform. Three of them sat at the table playing cards.
Yeah right. Blaine thought as he gave them one last glance. He stepped through the noise and made his way to a table in the corner opposite the Bloodhounds. Two men sat at the table, one roughly Blaine’s age, with the same weathered hard-life look to him that Blaine wore. The other man was almost 20 years their junior. The youth on mars didn’t really know their age, but Blaine guessed the young man to be roughly drinking age according to old earth laws.
“Hawk,” Blaine said, as he looked to the older of the two men. He tilted his head down a little as he spoke.
“I saw ‘em.” Hawk responded.
“Saw what?” Billy interrupted.
“Quiet, kid, now’s not the time.” Blaine said in a stern but hushed voice. He then pulled a chair and sat, uncorking a bottle of swill that sat at the table and poured himself a drink.
“How long they been here?” Blaine asked as he choked down the fiery liquid and poured a second round.
“Came in just after us. My guess is they’re here on account of the bounty. Marshall White’s here too.” Hawk said.
“Who?” Billy asked again, this time much quieter. His eyes darted around the saloon as he spoke.
Hawk slapped the younger man across the head with his hat, “Stop looking around. Ignorant ass.”
Blaine slammed a second shot, poured a third, then leaned in close, motioning for Billy to do the same.
“Bloodhounds. Three of them. And Marshall White. I’ve got a bounty on me. Pretty big one. Remnants just released it. Ike and some Outlaws are here too, though I think that is probably coincidence. You keep looking round like that, yelling “Who?” like a god damned owl and there’s a good chance they get a little nervy and jump the gun on us.”
“Sure boss,” Billy said apologetically, “I just got one question, then.”
“Christ all-mighty, of course you do. What?” Blaine replied.
“What’s an owl?” Billy asked sincerely.
“What… What’s a… What’s an owl?” Blaine repeated in amazement, then he and Hawk glanced at each other and both of the men roared with laughter.
After they calmed down a bit the men got down to business.
“Gonna need a fourth. This bank.. This town. Too big. Three could do it, but a fourth to run ruckus would make it a lot easier.” Blaine said, tipping his chair a little and his hat a lot.
“Sure. But who?” Billy asked as he leaned on the table.
“Handsome Rob?”
“Pretty sure that old bastard might be dead.” Hawk threw in.
“Is he? Old bastard never was handsome, though, was he?” Blaine chuckled.
“That God-Damned geezer was so ugly. Heard he died on his last job, though. Suicide by copper.” Billy chipped in.
“Helluva way to go.”Blaine said.
“Helluva way.” They all repeated in unison, tipping back their glasses.
The other two refused the next round, and Blaine poured one for himself.
“No mas, jefe. What about Max. He’d make a good fourth.” Hawk said as Blaine poured his drink.
“Oh. You ain’t heard. He’s locked up on account of the madness. They say he fell in with some wilders. Real feral types.” Blaine replied as he corked the bottle.
“Speaking of wilders. I know a guy.” Billy said, “But you ain’t gonna like him.”
“Ain’t gotta like him. I just need a person that can shut up, listen, and get paid.”
“He likes cash all right.” Billy replied.
“Wait. Did you “say speaking of wilders”? Its not that fucking wilder trash I’ve seen you poking about with is it?” Hawk said.
“Might be.”
“Shit.” Blaine cursed.
“Fucking hate wilders.” Hawk eyed his empty glass as he spoke.
“Sure. But he’s violent. Tough as nails. He gets a job done.” Billy replied.
“But does he listen?” Blaine asked.
“Well enough, I suppose. Never worked a job with him.” Billy’s vote of confidence didn’t seem too confident.
“Do we have other options?” Hawk asked.
Blaine sighed, staring deep into his shot glass. A man could lose hisself in here, he thought.
“Pops. I know you two hate wilders, on account of your war status. All you geezers do. I wouldn’t offer it up if I felt we had other options.
The two older men sat back and stared at Billy. Hawk crossed his arms and sighed.
“On second thought, jefe, better hit me again.” He said as he slid his glass over to Blaine.
“To shit jobs with shit wilders,” Hawk said, raising his glass up, “Helluva way to do a job.”
“Helluva way.”