The Easy Way is Always Mined

Bad Dog struggled out of the booth and got to his feet. “That’s a hell of a cannon you have there Kurt. Expecting bear?” He marveled at Kurt’s rifle. Kurt chuckled, “It’s new. I haven’t fired it yet. They say that it kicks too much.” The pair walked out of the saloon and into the street. They turned to look at the Jefe whose corpse adorned the front of the saloon. All that remained was a ribcage, spinal column and skull. “Poor taste, I respectfully submit,” said Kurt. He walked to his motorcycle. “That’s what you’re riding?” Bad Dog laughed. “I still have the bike that I gave you at my place across the street.” Kurt shrugged. “This one is probably more practical for me.” “Weinstock! Kurt Weinstock, you son of a bitch! I’m gonna kill you,” a man standing in the street shouted. The man had a long hair and beard. He wore jeans and a denim biker vest. What really caught Kurt’s eye was the black automatic pistol in the man’s right hand. Kurt’s hand was on his rifle’s pistol grip. He moved the safety to the fire position, turning to face the man in the street, nearly fifty feet away. He kept his rifle pointed down, but he was ready to snap-shoot. “Let’s talk it over, neighbor. No need for violence,” Kurt said in a firm, measured tone. He sensed fear and sadness coming from the man’s heart. “Roach! Put that gun away and get the hell out of here!” bellowed Bad Dog. “This here is one of the good guys!” “Fuck that!” the man named Roach said. He raised his pistol and fired at Kurt. Kurt stood unflinching while Bad Dog dived for cover. The 9mm bullet zipped past Kurt’s ear and buried itself in the saloon’s doorframe. The man fired again. This time higher. “Okay Mr. Roach. It’s not funny anymore. You can stop shooting at me any time now,” said Kurt, maintaining the calm tone. “Fuck you!” the man shouted. He began to fire round after round at Kurt. Kurt quickly raised his rifle and shot the man at the base of his throat. His head snapped back in a cloud of atomized blood and he collapsed on the street like a skyscraper that had been imploded. Kurt sat on his bike and put the kickstand up. Bad Dog was looking back and fourth between Kurt and the dead man. “This gun does kick pretty hard. I think it shoots a little high,” said Kurt. “You’re insane!” said Bad Dog. “Yeah, this stuff comes with the reputation. I think this guy committed suicide. Anyway, it makes the reputation worse,” said Kurt, starting his bike. “Kurt! You’re stone-cold psycho! You’re not even a little bit emotional!” shouted Bad Dog. Kurt smiled at Bad Dog. “Yeah. They say that I have a defective heart.” He let out the bike’s clutch and began to roll away. Kurt grinned and he pulled a wheelie. He rode it for a hundred feet. That will mess with their little minds!