Highway To Armageddon (21 page)

           
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.