Highway To Armageddon (20 page)

           
Gasps and shrieks of horror ring out through the street. A few kids start
crying.

           
I pull out a blade. “We gotta do something, guys.”

           
Arrow reaches for my arm. “Red, wait!”

           
He’s too late. I’m already scrambling out from under the porch and dashing
toward Mad Dog.

           
Mad Dog’s eyes widen in horror when he sees me barreling toward him. He holds
out his hand and shouts, “Girlie, wait, you’ve got the wrong ide-aaaaah!”

           
I tackle Mad Dog to the ground, sending his pistol clattering under a saloon. I
place my blade against his throat and glare at his cronies, who are rapidly
backing away.

           
“Drop your guns or I slit his neck!”

           
The robbers shrug at each other, like they don’t know what to do.

           
Mad Dog stammers, “What are you buffoons waiting for? Drop the dang guns!”

           
The robbers drop their weapons and bags of loot. I’m astonished at how easily
they cave. I ‘m even more astonished to find Mad Dog trembling in fear.

           
Mad Dog closes his eyes and begs, “Please, crazy lady, don’t kill me! I have a
wife and kids! And two dogs!”

           
Someone clears their throat and taps my shoulder. I spin around and point my
knife at… the Sherriff?? I slowly stand up.

           
“I… I thought you were dead.”

           
The Sherriff sighs and wipes dust off of his pants. “Lady, this was all an act.
You’re visiting a damn tourist attraction, for crying out loud. We do live
theater.”

           
My cheeks flush. I feel like the stupidest person on the face of the Earth.

           
Arrow and Machete walk over with huge grins.

           
“I tried to stop you, Red,” Arrow says. “I thought the whole robbery thing
looked a little staged.”

           
“You are such an idiot,” Machete cackles.

           
I hold my hand out to Mad Dog and sheepishly say, “Er, sorry Mr. Bad Dog, sir.”

           
Mad Dog scoots away from me. “Get away from me, you red-haired freak!”

           
Mad Dog’s cronies help him to his feet. They proceed to grumble about how dumb
some tourists are.

           
The Sheriff sighs. “C’mon, guys, let’s get a drink. First round’s on me.”

           
The Sheriff grabs the reins on his horse and leads his deputies and the robbers
to a saloon down the street. All the tourists emerge from their hiding places.
Most of them scowl at me for ruining a good show. One little girl runs up to me
and shouts, “I hate you!” before dashing back to her perturbed mother.

           
Arrow and Machete don’t hide their amusement at my public humiliation. Lance
and Krystal climb out from behind the tombstone place and run over, laughing.

           
“Good job, Firecracker,” Lance chortles. “We’ve only been here half an hour and
you’ve already pissed off the entire town.”

           
“Excuse me for trying to be a good Samaritan,” I say irritably.

           
We continue our journey into town. We pass more saloons, restaurants, and even
a mock county jail with inmates peering out at us from behind bars. We pass
through a little carnival with acrobats doing tricks and midgets and bearded
women chasing each other. Machete seems to enjoy the midgets even more than the
shootout. Arrow buys a thing of cotton candy for him and me to share.

           
The cotton candy melts in my mouth the instant I take a bite. My taste buds
become awash in a tantalizing ocean of flavor. My knees literally buckle, it’s
that
good.

           
Machete and Krystal buy home-made ice cream cones while Lance gets a pretzel.
We then leave the carnival and go even deeper into the ‘lost in time’ city. Off
in the distance a locomotive barrels along a track, shooting thick smoke into
the sky. Some of the smoke drifts over to us, making me cough.

           
I notice the further in town we go, the more dirty looks we get. It dawns on me
that most of the people in the center of the settlement are the regulars, the
ones who live here year-round. They must be the ones who don’t like outsiders.

           
“Anybody else notice the evil glares we’re getting?” Lance asks.

           
“They’re probably just jealous of my hot bod,” Krystal says, slurping down the
rest of her ice cream.

           
“Somehow I don’t think that’s the case,” Arrow says.

           
We walk by a shop where an older cowboy leans against the door. He has a gray
handlebar mustache, and a pipe protrudes from his mouth, sending smoke
spiraling into the air.

           
The handlebar-mustache dude jabs his pipe at us and says, “The reason
everyone’s gawkin’ at ya is cuz ya look mighty foolish in yer ridiculous
outfits. Come inta my store and I’ll make ya look right.”

           
“That’s okay,” I start to say. “We really don’t time to---”

           
“Oh, I always wanted to be a cowgirl,” Machete says, sweeping past me into the
store.

           
“I bet I’d make one sexy ass cowgirl,” Krystal says, following her. Lance
shrugs at me and goes inside as well. The cowboy dude with the mustache
greedily rubs his hands and snickers. I can’t blame him for being happy. He
just found three suckers he can squeeze money out of.

           
Arrow leans in so close his breath tickles my neck. “For what it’s worth, I
think you’d make the sexiest cowgirl in the world.”

           
“And you’d make one fine cowboy,” I say with a smirk.

           
Arrow grabs my hand and leads me into the store. The inside of the shop is dark
and dank. Dozens of floral dresses hang from racks, as well as jeans, shirts,
jackets, boots, and cowboy hats. The mustache dude (who I soon learn is called
Cletus) follows us around, offering us all of his most expensive products. He
seems surprised when Machete, Krystal, and I turn down his floral dresses and
instead pick clothing meant for men. He doesn’t argue with us, though, probably
because he realizes money is money no matter what you spend it on.

           
Pretty soon we’re all dressed like cowboys and cowgirls. We place our cowboy
gear over our Kevlar vests and armor. Krystal admires her ‘sexy self’ in the
mirror while Machete practices whipping out her pistol as if she were in a
duel.

           
Lance saunters up to me and tips his hat. In a horrible cowboy accent he says,
“Hello pretty lady. You’re lookin’ might fine today.”

           
I giggle and imitate a southern belle. “Why thank you, kind sir. May I ask what
you’re doing in these here parts?”

           
“Just tryin’ ta stop a madman, ma’am,” Lance says with a grin.

           
Arrow walks over and says, “You guys are lame.”

           
“Not as lame as you,” Lance retorts.

           
I know things will escalate into a full-fledged brawl if I don’t step in now,
so I say, “Alright hotheads, let’s pay for our clothes and go do what we came
her to do… get armed.”

           
We head over to the register where Cletus rings us up. We then head outside.

           
“So where’s that giant gun store?” I ask.

           
“I think it’s over here,” Lance says, heading down a dusty alley. We all follow
him and sure enough, right around the corner is a humongous, two-story building
with the words ‘Geronimo’s Armory’ emblazoned across the front.

           
“Holy Mother of God,” Machete utters, her cigar dropping out of her gaping
mouth. She looks like she’s having a religious experience

           
“You okay, Mom?” Arrow asks.

           
“Yeah… never been better,” she mutters. She pushes us aside and barges through
the store’s swinging front door.

           
Arrow turns to me and says, “My mother’s infatuation with guns is disturbing.”

           
“She’s disturbing period,” Lance mutters as he and Krystal walk inside. Arrow
and I bring up the rear.

           
To say the inside of Geronimo’s Armory is a gun lover’s paradise would be an
understatement of truly epic proportions. There are more guns and weapons than
I’ve ever seen in my entire life (and as a bounty hunter I’ve seen lots of
impressive armories). The place is massive, with every kind of weapon you can
imagine. The glass cases and racks are filled with handguns, machine guns,
Uzis, submachine guns, rifles, knives, daggers, tear gas canisters, tasers,
crossbows, grenades, and even electric guns and UFOs (like the one I used on
Caesar’s goons in their factory hideout). I even think about buying the UFO
since it’s such an effective weapon, but then I notice the price: $30,000!
That’s double what I paid for mine. I’m starting to see how Blackbird made his
billions: by ripping people off.

           
Pretty soon we go our separate ways. I pick out a few small weapons like
handguns, knives, and mace. I also load up on ammunition cartridges. There’s no
use in me buying a big gun since we’re going undercover soon. I highly doubt
we’ll be able to infiltrate Mikhail’s inner circle if we’re carrying around
bazookas and missile launchers.

           
I buy my weapons and attach them to my utility belt. I instantly feel safer.

           
We all eventually meet up in the front of the store. I’m pleased to find
everyone heavily armed. Machete is wearing a shoulder strap containing ammo
cartridges, which I have to admit looks pretty bad ass. She, Krystal, and Lance
all have several handguns dangling from their utility belts, as well as tasers,
daggers, and canisters of tear gas. Arrow has a shiny, brand new bow slung over
his shoulder, along with a quiver full of pointy arrows.

           
“Wow, nice bow,” I say, running my fingers along the gleaming metallic handle.

           
“Check out the arrows,” he says, whipping one out of his quiver.

           
I shrug. “Looks like a regular old arrow to me.”

           
“But it’s not,” Arrow says excitedly. “The head is filled with a lethal dose of
rattlesnake poison that shoots out of the tip when it punctures flesh. If you
get hit with one of these bad boys, you’re done.”

           
Lance blows raspberries. “Please. I can take down ten Russian gangsters with my
pistol in the time it takes you to fire one arrow.”

           
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.