Chapter one



Pluck the Kid entered the saloon half naked, two ten shooters in hand.

"where the duck is Roscoe?!" he whispered. his throat hurt because the last whore he was with tasted funny.

the bartender, Squabbles Abraham Jr. stopped wiping out the pissy mug with his poopy rag.

"... and who the dick be you? We don't take kindly two strangers carrying too pistols.. with their nuts hanging out.. asking questions about guys who are upstairs, and looking angry. round here. boy. I mean bitch." he grimaced in a lovely deep voice.

the saloon was called the Wet Hole. it was a watering thing with tables and a bar in it frequented by the most heinous, debauchery peddling, flim flamin, gun crazy, rootinest, tootinest varmits this side of your mother.

currently there were ten of em all cheating each other at solitaire and they were all packing sawed off...