An old west tale... in space.
5
“What’ll you be having, Doc?”
“Same as always, Lazlo.”
“Gin Sour on its way, Doc. Nice to have you in here today---“
The Dark Man put his black hat on the counter top and massaged his eyes. He felt it coming, the nothingness.
Montero was here, not twenty feet away, at the Faro table making loads of noise. He was drinking plenty, his usually neatly pressed business attire wrinkled and matted.
His bodyguard, a barrel chested ape of a man stood off to the side, bored. He’d done this one too many times and nothing had happened one too many times. It was just another night for the both of them.
“Here you go, Doc, your usual.”
He paid the man and took his drink.
“Doc--- I got this—“
“Not now, Lazlo,” he cut the old bartender off, taking a few steps towards the Faro table.
Montero glanced up as he approached and nodded.
“Doc.”
“Ramon.”
Nothing new here, nothing different, Montero returned to his game. Just another night at Lazlo’s playing the Faro and getting rolling drunk, perhaps taking a ride with one of the girls upstairs later on.
Montero knew the Dark Man, knew what he had done, knew him and still felt perfectly safe.
“Evening fellas,” he told the table as he quickly downed the drink, returned it to the bar and stepped outside the establishment.