Happy Hour (Wild West Short Story) | A 5 Minute Freewrite

in Freewriters3 years ago (edited)

The whole saloon was suddenly quiet. All eyes were on the door, where a man in a robe was standing and was also looking at them from behind his cowboy hat. He only stared at them for a moment before he walked to the rhythm of the footsteps hitting the saloon's wooden floor, while the sharp jagged teeth of his shoes twirled as if to pierce the stifling silence.

Suddenly, the waitress, Lucy, approached the stranger.

"Sir, it looks like you're new here, want me to get you a glass of whiskey or you're looking for someone," Lucy asked.

The man looked at Lucy with a cold gaze. He seemed to be thinking about something. Lucy waited a long time, where now she felt like a stupid girl, standing in front of the big man.

"Sir...?" Lucy asked again, but the man's eyes were darting here and there.

"Excuse me, sir ..., I asked if you want to drink a glass of whiskey, or you want to find someone," Lucy began to get annoyed, "huff ..., forget it," Lucy immediately moved away from the man.

"Yes, a glass of whiskey might be quite comforting...," the man suddenly spoke.

"Oh, okay," Lucy seemed unconcerned.

"But, I think I'm also looking for someone to," said the man again.

"... who are you looking for?" Lucy turned around

"Jack," the man replied.

"In this place there are about 100 people named Jack, which Jack do you mean," said Lucy half-jokingly, which made half of the saloon residents chuckle and sneer.

"Jack Dawnson," the man replied. "Jack 'One-eyed' Dawson," he added.

"...sorry, try repeating it," Lucy was curious, while all eyes focused on the man, because they were both curious about the man's answer.

"Jack 'One-eyed' Dawson," said the man.

Hearing the name "one eye", all the residents fell silent. Inside they wondered what the man had in common with Dawson. Even the name is forbidden for them to mention in the saloon because they will be dealing with serious problems.

"Why are you looking for him?" asked old George, the saloon bartender.

"I have a little business with him," said the man.

"You'll only bring trouble here, take your weird cowboy hat somewhere else, just go away," old George looked unconcerned.

The man smiled, but he obeyed and immediately left the place.

A few moments after the man left, the atmosphere of the saloon returned to normal. But that was only for a moment, for at the door of the saloon now stood the man they hated most in the place, the man who had killed five sheriffs in that small town called Tomstown.

It was Jack 'The One Eye' Dawson with his horse troupe who had just scoured the southern city. Now, the saloon is starting to have a different aura, it looks like problems will arise soon.

Dawson immediately headed to the bartender's table.

"Hey, George, give me my boys a pint, we're thirsty," Dawson pleaded. George didn't say a word, and went straight to the glass to pour the beer in despite his feelings of vengeance. He even thought of dripping saliva into the glasses so that Dawson and his men died.

George even hated Dawson more than anything else out there. Three years ago, Dawson, attempted to rape Daniela, George's favorite daughter.

"Hey, George, how's your daughter, is she still as pretty as she used to be," Dawson teased to laughter from his men.

"Scram you, crook," said Lucy, "don't bother George, finish your drink and get out of here," said Lucy.

"Oh hey, Lucy, you can too," Hank one of Dawson's men tugged at Lucy's arm.

"Ha-ha-ha, you don't know, that woman has slept with her boss, a.k.a George," said Tommy 'the kid', another of Dawson's men.

"Damn you, get off your filthy hands, you stink," Lucy shrieked, fighting back.

"Hey, hey, hey, blonde, you're turning me on even more," said Hank, pulling Lucy into his lap and stroking her neck.

"Let go!" this time Lucy screamed so Hank reflexively let go of her grip, and at the same time, Lucy had smashed the drink tray in her hand into Hank's face causing the short man to back out of his seat.

Hank's face turned red, especially when he heard his friends laugh because they thought it was entertainment, including Dawson. He got up and immediately grabbed Lucy's hair so that the woman screamed in pain until one day Lucy felt their Hank grab.

Lucy was suddenly hysterical, and so was everyone. Why not? Hank is now lying on the floor with a leaky temple and bleeding profusely.

"Hank! You idiot!" Dawson shouted, "what did you just do, bitch!" Dawson shrieked.

Lucy had not had time to answer anything because she was still dazed to see someone had just died in front of her, now it was Tommy's turn to scream.

"Arrrgh, I got shot!" Tommy yelped and fell with his head hitting the edge of the table.

Realizing that someone was aiming at them from outside, the entire Dawson gang got up and got ready.

"Pop, pop, pop," too late, they also fell one by one.

Now, Dawson lives alone. He immediately jumped behind the bartender's table.

"Hey old man! Don't look at me like that, look ahead, is that bastard there?!" Dawson said to George.

George said nothing. He only looks at Dawson with a very cold face, and imagines the face of his daughter who is still being attacked by post-traumatic psychological symptoms due to Dawson's actions.

A moment later, a man entered the saloon. The people who were hiding out of fear of the terror of the mysterious gunfire knew who the man was. He was a mysterious man who had just come and gone after being kicked out by George.

Suddenly he stopped standing in the middle with the muzzle of the gun pointed in the direction of the bertender. That's where Dawson lurks in fear, but being experienced with guns, he'll fight back.

One shot shot from the bartender's direction, but of course the shot missed because it wasn't well aimed. The mysterious man easily walked over without fear of getting hit by a bullet from Dawson.

He is now right at the tipping point. Dawson couldn't do anything, his bullets were gone, he could only stare blankly and couldn't predict what would happen next.

“...who are you?” Dawson asked through his fright with both hands raised: surrender.

The man didn't answer, but kept his gun pointed. Presumably, the man didn't know that Dawson had just fumbled for the knife in his pocket, and was now ready to throw it at the man's chest.

Dawson had barely moved his hand to release the knife from his grasp when an explosion forced him to take his last breaths at once. The shot didn't come from the muzzle of the mysterious man's rifle, but George.

The incident even shocked the whole saloon, but not George himself. He even seemed to smile at the mysterious man with a smile on his face.

"Would you like a glass of whiskey?" George asked the man with a very friendly face.

The man didn't answer, but went straight to the bartender's table.

"Why not, a glass of whiskey might be quite comforting," the man put his rifle on the table.

A glass of whiskey immediately slid in front of the man.

"For you," said George, "it's free, it's happy hour, now," said George jokingly, then everyone in the saloon laughed. | @mariannewest | @freewritehouse

Copyright © Mosin-Nagant, Freewriters 2021.



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good story