questions.
Rex logan was no stranger to danger, and as he descended the rungs he began to feel at home for the first time since waking up. Looking down between his feet, he could see the floor below, his barely conscious attacker sprawled to one side. It looked like he had bounced a little, and Rex grinned as he stopped briefly to listen. He heard a hint of movement vaguely to the left of the rungs, but no other sounds, so he decided to play his hand in that direction. Letting go of the rungs, he dropped the last ten feet, landing in a crouch and snapping the large revolver up in the direction of the movement he’d placed just moments ago.
“Don’t even think it,” Rex growled at the old man standing behind the bar. “I know what you’re reaching for there, and it’s a whole heap of trouble you don’t want. Put your hands where I can see them and step out from behind that counter.” Rex motioned with the pistol, “I’d suggest settling yourself into that chair there.”
The bartender did as he was told. The heap on the floor hadn’t been lying. The Hole was empty of patrons. A lesser man might have found it unsettling to know that those patrons were all out hunting him, but Rex Logan simply focused his energy on the task at hand. “You gonna kill me, Sir?” The bartender’s voice was wavering a little; he didn’t look like a man that was too happy with his prospects.
“You stay as you are, no. I’m not looking to finish you today.” Rex smiled menacingly before clarifying, “but I most certainly will if you give me cause.”
Once the bartender was sitting alone in the open, away from anything dangerous, Rex turned much of his attention to the body on the floor. It had begun to groan and shift. Rex grabbed the front of the man’s shirt and dragged him into a rough sitting position against the wall before crouching in front of him. Shifting the gun to his left hand, Rex slapped the man’s face with his right. The eyes snapped open. The stunned noise that burst from the man’s lips could have been described as “Huh?”, but it would have been a stretch.
“G’day, my would-be highwayman. I’ve decided it’s my turn to ask some questions.”
The heap snarled, “I don’t have to tell you a thing.”
Rex responded calmly, “No, you most certainly don’t. But then, I don’t have to shoot you in a series of progressively more lethal places,” Rex smiled politely, “it’s just one of a few options.”
“You don’t scare me, I got the drop on you once; I’ll do it again.”
“Wow, yes, you’re right. You did indeed manage to get the drop on me when you appeared out of nowhere while I was unarmed. Somehow I don’t see you doing it when I’m the one with the gun.” Noting a twitch of movement to his left Rex brought the gun to bear on the bartender without taking his eyes off the man he was interrogating. “I don’t see you managing it either, barkeep. In case it wasn’t clear, I consider movement on your part cause for your removal. You will not be warned a second time.”
The man slouched against the wall in front of Rex glared at him, “You’re finished, Logan. I’m gonna take you apart.”
“I don’t get it. Did this thing only have the one shot in it? Is that why you’re not scared?” Rex used the revolver to pin the man’s hand against the wall and pulled the trigger.
The blast was deafening in the small cavern, and the man screamed, pulling what was left of his hand towards his chest and cradling it in his other arm. He caught his lower lip with his teeth and continued to glare, trying in vain to hide his agony. “You son of a…”
Rex interrupted, “So I’m a bastard and the gun is loaded. Those were assumptions I was running with from the start, but hopefully you’re on the same page at this point. I mean, really, we haven’t even gotten to the questions yet.”
The man was trying to wrap his shattered hand with a piece of his shirt, and looked up ruefully, “Like what?”
“Like your name, for one. You seem to know who I am, but you’re nobody to me. How about it?”
The man continued to glare silently.
“And the key? You want to tell me what was so important about that key?”
The man said nothing, so Rex drew the hammer back once more. Eyes widening, the man cried out, “You don’t get it. I can’t say anything; they’ll kill me!”
“Right,” Logan pressed the gun into the man’s shoulder, “and I’m knitting you a scarf here.” He pulled the trigger again, painting the wall the same colour as the floor. “Maybe you should be worrying about me. The key! What’s the deal?”
“You can go ahead and kill me! It’s no worse than what they’ll do to me.”
Rex cocked the gun once more. “Who? What who will do to you?”
The man’s eyes flickered ever so slightly to the side before looking directly into Rex’s own. “You’ll just have to shoot me.”
Rex Logan stood up, shifting the gun back to his right hand as he turned towards the bartender in the corner. “Sure,” he said, firing one last shot into the man as he lay bleeding against the wall. He began walking towards the bartender that had caught the dying man’s gaze for that brief moment. Drawing a chair, Rex sat in it backwards, straddling it’s high back and resting his arms on it as he stared down the grizzled old man. “It looks like maybe you and I have something to talk about, barkeep.”
