Highway To Armageddon Page 14

  Arrow places the arrow on his bow and aims it at Lance’s head. “Oh yeah? Care to test that theory?”

  Lance points his pistol at Arrow’s forehead. “I’d love to.”

  “Guys, cut it out!” I shout.

  Machete smacks Arrow and Lance upside the backs of their heads. “You all heard the young lady. If you don’t quit acting so damn stupid, I’ll bust a cap in both of your asses.”

  Lance and Arrow growl, but they do lower their arms. We all exit the store and go back out on the dusty dirt road.

  “This was a nice detour, but we should probably get back in the sky,” I say.

  “But we haven’t gone to a saloon yet,” Machete whines.

  “That sounds fun,” Krystal says. “I’m down.”

  “Guys!”

  My words fall on deaf ears. Lance, Krystal, and Machete are already headed to a nearby saloon. It looks to be the biggest one in town.

  “Can you believe this?” I say to Arrow, the only person not to ditch me.

  “Chill out, Red,” Arrow says, much to my annoyance. “They just want to have a little fun before we get back to work. Besides, I’ve never been inside a bar before. I’d like to see what they’re like.”

  “Oh alright,” I grumble. Arrow grabs my hand and we make our way to the saloon.

  Arrow and I enter the saloon’s swinging doors at the same time. I find myself in a world even more bizarre than the one I just left. The saloon is saturated with thick, black smoke. It seems everyone is toting a tobacco pipe. It’s so bad I can barely breathe; if it weren’t for my goggles I’d probably have a hard time seeing, too.

  The place is packed with dozens of grimy-looking cowboys. Most of them are sitting at wooden tables on small stools, playing cards and swilling whiskey. Every few seconds there’s a weird ringing sound. I soon realize it’s from the cowboys spitting their chew in tin pans.

  A cowboy with a bushy mustache is at the far end of the saloon playing some classical Wild West music on a piano. About a dozen scantily-clad girls with lace leggings and low-cut brassieres approach the inebriated cowboys, offering them a ‘fine time’. More than a few take them up on the offer and go into the back. My blood boils at the thought of the nasty cowboys touching the girls. It reminds me of my encounter with Sally and Dorothy. I’m severely tempted to intervene, but it’s best I lay low and keep my eyes on the prize… the head of Mikhail Rasputin.

  I follow Machete and the gang up to the bar. Several cowboys are at the counter, quietly drinking away their sorrows, but there are a few stools available. Machete, Arrow, and Krystal sit down. Lance and I remain standing. Lance has his shades on, but I can tell he’s keeping an eye out for trouble. I’m keeping an eye on things, too. This place is crawling with unsavory people. The sooner we get out of here, the better.

  The bartender is an older gentleman with slicked-back gray hair. He’s wearing a white shirt, black vest, and a cute little bowtie. He’s the only person in the whole place who doesn’t look like he’d blow your head off if you looked at him the wrong way.

  The bartender finishes washing a glass and hobbles over to us. The poor guy must have a bum leg.

  “Well hello there,” he says in a Southern drawl. “What a fine looking group of people. I’m used ta all these old, ugly fogies stinkin’ up my joint.”

  We all chuckle, even Machete. The bartender is quite charismatic.

  “I’ll take a whiskey,” Machete proclaims.

  “My kinda lady,” the bartender says with a grin. He places a shot glass on the counter and pours it to the rim with dark brown whiskey. Machete grabs the glass and downs it in one gulp. She slams the glass back on the counter and says, “Keep it comin’. In fact, just leave the bottle.”

  The bartender’s grin widens as he hands her the bottle. He turns to us and asks, “And what would you young folk like to drink?”

  “I’ll take a whiskey,” Krystal blurts.

  Lance stops his discreet surveillance and says, “So will I.”

  “Krystal! Lance!” I shout.

  Lance shrugs. “Chill out, Firecracker One shot won’t kill us.”

  The bartender pours Krystal and Lance a shot without even checking their IDs. Then again, they probably didn’t have IDs back in the 1800s, so I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.

  Krystal tries to be cool like Machete and chug the entire shot. That backfires spectacularly as she immediately spits it all over the poor bartender. The bartender scowls and wipes his vest with his rag.

  Machete scoffs. “Amateur.”

  Krystal wipes her mouth. “That’s nasty. How do people like to drink so much?”

  Machete takes another swill from her bottle. “When you get old and beaten down like me and the bartender here, drinking is the only thing that makes life worth living.”

  The bartender grabs Lance’s untouched shot glass and raises it into the air. “I’ll drink to that.”

  Machete clinks her bottle against the bartender’s glass and the they both suck their liquor down like it’s water.

  “Your mother’s not the world’s greatest role model,” I say to Arrow.

  “If it wasn’t for her flaws, she wouldn’t have anything at all,” Arrow says.

  The bartender points at Arrow and me. “You kids want anything?”

  Arrow holds up his hands. “No thanks. Alcohol is poison to your body.”

  “Alright pretty boy, no need to get all preachy.” The bartender turns to me. “What about you, sweetheart?”

  “Um, I’ll take a water, please.”

  The bartender bursts out laughing. “Water?! If you want water go down to the damn creek.”

  I seriously hate the Wild West.

  Two men suddenly start shouting. I twirl around to find two cowboys at a nearby table engaged in a heated argument. The other four guys at the table throw down their cards and shake their heads.

  One of the shouting cowboys, a tall, lanky dude, jabs the other, fatter cowboy in the chest. “Damn it, Jerry, why you always tryin’ ta cheat?”

  Jerry the fat cowboy raises his hands and stutters, “I… I’m not cheatin’, Fred. Honest! I told you I stopped my cheatin’ ways.”

  “Oh yeah? Explain this!”

  Fred yanks on Jerry’s sleeve. Several cards pop out and flutter to the floor. They’re all aces. The cowboys at the table grumble about how they got hoodwinked.

  “You lying bastard!” Fred slugs Jerry in the mouth.

  Machete laughs and slaps Arrow on the back. “Isn’t this great, sonny? Gosh, I could live here!”

  I bet.

  Fred and Jerry exchange punches as they stumble through the swinging door. Quite a few of the bar patrons follow them outside. Everyone else goes back to their games.

  One of Fred and Jerry’s pals slams his fists on the table, rattling their bottles of whiskey. “Dagnabit, those two idiots are always ruining our games.”

  Machete saunters over to the table and plops down on one of the stools. “Don’t worry, gentlemen, my son and I will take over your friends’ hands.”

  “Wait, what?” Arrow blurts out.

  I shove him toward the table. “Go support your momma.”

  Arrow grimaces and uneasily sits down next to Machete. The cowboys chuckle.

  The one who slammed his fists on the table says, “A woman drinking whiskey and playing poker? Ha! That’s a good one!”

  All the cowboys have a good belly laugh over that one. The laughter quickly dies off when Machete grabs the guy’s left arm and twists it behind his back.

  “Wait, what are you---ahhhh! My arm! You’re gonna break it!”

  “I don’t see what’s so funny,” Machete growls, bending the poor cowboy’s arm at such an obtuse angle that it looks like it’s about to snap in half. “I can play poker and drink whiskey with the best of em.”

  “Ahhh! Okay, you can play! You can play!”

  Machete releases the guy’s arm. The cowboy clutches his shoulder and blinks back tears.

>   Machete gathers all the cards and shuffles the deck. “Alright ladies, enough with the chit-chat. Let’s play some poker.”

  The cowboys grunt their approval and gulp down their whiskey as Machete passes out the cards.

  Lance leans against the counter and continues his surveillance of the saloon. Even with his shades on I can tell he’s sneaking glances at some of the prostitutes as they walk by. One comes up to him, but before she can offer her ‘services’ I say, “Sorry lady, but we’re married.”

  The prostitute frowns and storms off.

  Lance grins. “If you want to get married, Firecracker, all you had to do was ask.”

  I ignore Lance and glance over at Krystal, who’s still sitting at the counter with her shades on. She suddenly blurts, “Nuh-uh, Shanequia, no you didn’t! Ah hell naw, Martin, put your shirt back on! Y’all crazy!”

  I shake my head in mild amusement. I seriously don’t know how Krystal would pass the time if she didn’t have her trashy reality TV shows.

  The bartender cocks an eyebrow and takes away Krystal’s shot glass. He probably thinks she’s had a little too much to drink.

  I look at the clock on the upper right-hand side of my goggles. It’s getting late.

  I nudge Lance in the shoulder. “We need to get going. We’ve already been here longer than I…”

  I trail off when I notice two scantily-clad young girls over by the piano man. The girls are talking to three older cowboys. Once of the girls is blonde. The other is brunette.

  It’s Dorothy and Sally.

  Lance peers over the top of his shades. His eyes are red from a lack of sleep.

  “What’s wrong, Firecracker?”

  I point toward the piano.

  “You see those girls over there?”

  “Yeah, what about em?”

  “Those are the girls I told to meet us at the Sanctuary.”

  Lance frowns. “What do you want to do about it?”

  I bite my lip. I’m not exactly sure. I mean, I want to help them, but we can’t exactly bring them with us to Alaska. Plus there’s no room in the car. We could stop back on the way home, but…

  I trail off again as a muscular black dude in cowboy gear waltzes over to the cowboys ogling Dorothy and Sally. His hat is tilted down, obscuring most of his face, but I have a gut-wrenching feeling I know who it is.

  Big Daddy.

  Somehow he found Sally and Dorothy, and he decided to bring them to the Wild West. Call it a coincidence or call it fate, but now I have to intervene.

  The cowboys hand Big Daddy some money, which he quickly counts and shoves into his pockets. He then points to a stairwell in the back that leads to the second floor. The second floor is basically just a rectangular, open-air balcony. Several doors line the walls. It reminds me of a sleazy motel. That must be where all the prostitutes are taking their cowboy clients.

  I grit my teeth as Dorothy and Sally lead the cowboys upstairs. They enter room 6 and close the door.

  “I’m sorry, Lance, but I need to help them. You don’t have to come with me, but…”

  “Don’t be ridiculous, Firecracker,” Lance says, patting his utility belt. His index finger unlocks the safety on his pistol. “Let’s go kick some cowboy ass.”

  “We need a distraction first, though,” I point out. “We can’t just barge up there and kick down the door. Everyone will see us.”

  “I got it covered.”

  Lance makes his way over to Machete’s table. She just finished winning the first hand and is currently questioning everyone’s manhood. Arrow has his head in his hands, visibly embarrassed by his drunk mother.

  Lance points at Machete and exclaims, “Hey fellas, I think the broad is cheating! I saw here pick a card out from under her leg!”

  Machete’s face grows fiery red. “You lyin’, son of a---”

  The cowboy who Machete attacked whips out a gun and points it at her. “I shoulda known a freaky, one-eyed woman like you would resort to cheatin’!”

  Machete growls and punches the cowboy in the face.

  Lance cups his hands around his mouth and hollers, “Bar fight!”

  That’s the rallying cry that unleashes full-scale chaos. Within a matter of seconds all the cowboys in the saloon jump up and start trading blows. One guy slugs Arrow, who proceeds to tackle the guy to the floor and beat the holy crud out of him.

  Machete grabs a whiskey bottle and smashes it over another cowboy’s head. “Haha, this is so much fun!” she cackles gleefully.

  Lance runs back over to the counter with a mischievous grin.

  “You are insane,” I say.

  Lance shrugs. “I helped make Machete’s life-long dream of being in a Wild West brawl a reality.”

  Krystal continues sitting on her stool with her goggles on, laughing at her show. She’s oblivious to what’s going on around her.

  The bartender, on the other hand, is having a fit. He wildly flails his arms and shouts for everyone to stop destroying his bar. Lance and I duck to avoid an incoming bottle of whiskey. It collides with several bottles on a rack behind the counter, shattering them. The poor bartender pulls at his hair like he’s about to go crazy.

  Someone rushes up behind Krystal and smashes a bottle over her head. Krystal tears off her goggles and spins around in her char. The bottle didn’t even faze her.

  Krystal touches her damp hair. “Aw hell naw, you did not just mess up my weave!”

  Krystal grabs the cowboy by the neck and starts strangling him.

  Lance grabs my hand. “C’mon, she’ll be fine. Let’s go save your friends.”

  We navigate through the chaos unfolding around us. Several times we have to stop and incapacitate rowdy cowboys who think just because we’re teens we’re easy targets. They’re sadly mistaken. Lance punches two cowboys in the face, and I take down another two with quick kicks to the head.

  Lance and I finally reach the top of the stairs and dash over to Room 6.

  “Should we kick down the door?” I gasp, struggling to catch my breath.

  “Naw, too much work. Let’s just knock.”

  Lance raps his knuckles against the door. A moment later the door opens just a crack.

  A dirty cowboy peeps out and grunts, “What the hell do you want?”

  Lance responds by kicking the door in. The cowboy falls flat on his butt.

  Lance and I rush in with our guns drawn. The other two perverts are sitting on the bed. One yelps and falls off. The other raises his hands and shouts, “Don’t shoot!”

  Dorothy and Sally cower in the corner by the window. I’m relieved to see they’re still clothed. We came just in time.

  Sally’s face brightens when she notices who we are. “B… Boom Boom?”

  “Hey kiddo,” I say, unable to contain my grin.

  Sally runs over and throws her arms around me. I pat her back and kiss her head.

  Dorothy hurries over, too, and joins in on the hug.

  Sally peeks over my shoulder and gawks at Lance.

  “H… hi, Lance,” she says with the same shyness a young girl might have around her favorite teenybopper.

  “Hi,” Lance says, not really paying attention to her. He’s focused on the perverts in the room.

  The first guy we knocked down clambers to his feet and drunkenly slurs, “What the hell do ya think her doing? If ya want a room, go buy yer own!”

  The pervert grabs Dorothy’s arm and pulls her away from me. “C’mon, girlie. Let’s go into the bathroom and have some fun.”

  “No, get off of me, you creep!”

  Dorothy yanks her arm out of the pervert’s grasp and slaps him across the face. The cowboy clutches his cheek and shrieks, “You filthy whore!”

  The cowboy grabs Dorothy and hurls her to the floor. That’s the catalyst that unleashes my boiling rage. I pistol-whip the perv in the face and kick him in the head. He falls onto a table, flattening it.

  Lance charges over to the creep still on the bed and punches him in the
face. The creep slides to the floor, cupping his bloodied nose. Lance grabs a lamp and smashes it over the pervert’s head, plunging him into unconsciousness.

  Lance and I turn to face the last pervert, trembling over by the window.

  “P… please, don’t h…hurt me!” he pleads.

  “We won’t hurt you that much,” I say, lunging toward him.

  The pervert yelps and jumps through the window, shattering the glass. He screams as he plummets out of sight.

  “Omigosh!” I cry, rushing over to the shattered window. I glance down to find the pervert sprawled out in a cart full of manure.

  Lance laughs. “He couldn’t have picked a better spot to land.”

  Dorothy and Sally grin like they’ve just been liberated from captivity. And in a way I guess they were.

  Sally hugs me a second time. “Thanks for saving us again, Boom Boom.”

  “Don’t mention it, hon,” I say, patting her on the back. It’s a wonderful feeling having someone excited to see you, especially after you’ve rescued them from unspeakable horror. This time I’m going to make sure Dorothy and Sally escape the shackles of sexual slavery for good.

  Dorothy walks up to Lance and grabs his hand. “Thank you for helping us,” she says softly.

  Lance stammers, “D… don’t mention it.”

  Lance peers over the top of his goggles to make direct eye contact. They both smile and continue to stare into each other’s eyes. I quietly wonder if there’s something there…. Some spark between them. I’m surprised at how jealous that makes me feel. That, of course, makes me feel ashamed. Dorothy has been through hell, and I’m pissed because she’s expressing gratitude to my ex for saving her from an awful night. My horror about my own feelings squashes my irrational jealousy… for now, at least.

  I shake my head, clearing it of stupid, selfish thoughts. “What happened to you girls? I thought you were taking the train to Sanctuary 7.”

  Dorothy finally stops gazing at Lance and breathlessly explains, “We got on the train like you said and headed toward Canada. We had to make a stop in Detroit, though, so passengers could get on and off. While Sally and I took a stroll on the platform to stretch our legs, we were spotted by some guys who work in Big Daddy’s prostitution ring. We were dragged to a house somewhere and beaten.”