Death at Bull's Tavern

Heavy hoofs broke the silence in the desert, a puff of dirt with every step along the narrow hall that had the audacity to call itself a town. The man atop the heavy black horse wore a wide brimmed hat, under it, his eyes glowed ardent green. Soon enough, the man spotted two buildings with its welcoming lights on.

One building radiated light through red curtains, the other, leaked orange light out of a thin passage carved onto big barn doors that were long ago chained shut. The place had no name, only a bull’s skull hanging on the wall outside. The Horseman dismounted without ever pulling the reins, and walked into what he thought should be called Bull’s Tavern.

"Not tying your horse?" A grumpy voice stopped the Horseman. It came from a man hiding in the chaotic shapes of the hayrick just on the side of the barn. A flick of a match lit the man’s cigarette and just enough of his stubbled face.

"She’s smarter than whatever you have pulling your circus." The black horse made her way around the barn, where two other horses, weighted down by road wagons, drank water from a trough. One wagon decorated with the likeness of the man with the cigarette.

"That's the Venom mobile," said the smirking Salesman "All in one tonic, mouth-wash, and after-shave." His hand missed his pants pocket and dropped the matchbox on the ground. As he bent down to pick it up, a silver flask slid out of his breast pocket. Midst the stumbles, a bald man in a clerical robe stepped outside, already puffing on a cigarette.

"Oh! Good evening, traveler." Said the rosy-cheeked man of God, hypnotized by the Horseman's bright eyes and sly smile.

"Evening." The Horseman gestured to the Salesman and asked, "Is this man to be trusted if I leave you here alone?"

His raspy voice was music to the Priest's ears, who answered: "Jesus will cover me."

"I'm sure he will." Laughed the Horseman stepping into the tavern.

Inside, stray hay lined the floors, rusted sickles stabbed onto the wooden walls served as decoration, and the air still smelled of the farm animals that once inhabited the place. A single round table took up most of the floor, a smaller chess table to its left, and the bar - with only three bottles on its shelves - stood right behind it. One man sat alone at the bar, nursing a drink whose ice had melted. He had a smooth, round face and a serious furrowed brow above his baby blue eyes. He was the Sheriff of the little town, and kept the gold star on his vest at all times – to make damn sure no one forgot.

"He cheated. I know he added a pawn to the board." The Sheriff complained at the young woman behind the counter.

"Doesn’t seem like it’s gonna change the score, boss." In a white shirt and black vest, the Barkeep rolled tobacco leaves into one long cigarillo that she chopped into three equal parts.

Though the Sheriff’s hat rested on the counter, the Horseman did not remove his own when he approached the bar: "Bourbon on the rocks" said his raspy voice.

"Bourbon neat!" The Salesman shouted at the Barkeep from the door as he stepped back inside, tripping on his feet. A silent piano sat by the door, but it was the two suitcases next to it that the drunk man used as a stool.

"Can anyone tell me where the entertainment is?" Asked the Horseman pointing to the piano.

The Barkeep set two drinks on the bar and made her way outside with a cigarillo between her lips, just as the Priest stepped back inside.

"Across the street, dear." Answered the woman sitting at the table with two glasses of brandy. The Madam's black dress camouflaged her into the shadows of the barn but allowed her a view of everyone else in the Tavern, it was her favorite spot. The Priest sat by the Madam's side, one of the drinks belonged to him.

The mention of an illicit activity snapped the Sheriff away from his personal worry: "Can you at least not say these things when I’m in the room?" He complained.

"Grow up, cherub." Responded the Priest taking a sip of his brandy.

The Salesman reached the bar, but forgot he had ordered a drink. Instead, drew his attention back to the Horseman: "Say friend. Why don’t you join me for a chess match? At least while we wait for the Pianist to return."

"I see no harm." The Horseman downed his bourbon and followed the Salesman to the chess table.

"Are you sure you can trust a Snake Oil Salesman?" The Sheriff asked the Horseman squinting his eyes at the Salesman.

"I’ll trust his word as much as he does." Said the Horseman taking the Salesman's drink for himself.

"I would also like to know where our Pianist went!" Said the Priest, "That ol’ so and so agreed to buy me a drink!"

"Oh please!" Responded the Madam, who was doing a better job at hiding her inebriation, "That man basically has his own room in my parlor. I wouldn't be surprised if that is where he is right now."

The Sheriff threw his hands up, put a cigarette between his lips, the hat on his head, and walked out. The Barkeep stepped back inside, silent, with her eyes down on her shoes.

"It’s your turn friend." The Horseman grew impatient, himself and his opponent staring at a single white pawn in the middle of the board. Quickly, the Salesman moved a black pawn, and never took his eyes off the board.

"Guardian of the booze!" Exclaimed the Priest. "Kindly pour myself and the lady another drink. On the Pianist’s tab!"

The Madam and the Priest clink their glasses together and down their drinks: "Excuse me." The man of God stands up, and makes his way to the door next to the bar. Above it was a sign that read "Out-Outhouse".

The Sheriff rushed back inside just in time to see the Salesman save his king by sacrificing the queen to one of the Horseman's rooks. "No running in here!" The Barkeep urged as she refilled the glasses of Brandy at the table.

"I haven't seen you smile all night, dear." Remarked the Madam staring hard at the young woman.

The Barkeep bit her lip before saying, almost whispering: "Can you keep a secret?"

"Better than the man we confess our sins to." The Madam brought her drink up to her lips, but never took a sip.

A bone-chilling scream penetrated the rotting wooden walls and filled the entire room. The Barkeep and Sheriff ran outside. The rest exchanged a look before the Salesman followed suit. The Madam and Horseman, not knowing what they were preparing for, took a large gulp of their drinks before joining the party outside.

Took a few seconds for their eyes to adjust to the darkness, and to the scene in front of them. The party saw the Pianist’s body face down on the dirt. His feet sunk into the moist patch of ground by the barn wall, his head pointed away, toward the endless desert, and the metal bucket labeled LADYS tossed next to the body.

"Barkeep…” the Priest’s faint voice broke the silence "How about those drinks?"