by Richmond Clements with illustrations by Bolt 01

"Nice little town you got here," said Budd’s tenth customer of the morning.

"Yes sir, it sure is," he said, "You new in town?"

"Yeah, me and the wife are doing a bit of travelling, you know? We were driving through, and thought we’d stop for a while, your town looked so nice."

Budd looked over to Drake.

"Weren’t always like that though," he said. Drake shook his head slowly, his hand to his forehead. He knew what was coming; he’d heard the story a million times before.

"Is that so?"

"Sure is. This used to be a real rough town."

"Yeah? What happened."

"Well," Budd began, settling down into a well told tale, "It all started when this here stranger rode into town...’"

The man eased himself gently into the wooden chair. It creaked softly as he gave up his weight to it entirely. Old Budd threw a sheet, as near to clean as he could find, around his neck and tucked it in the back of his collar.

"What’ll it be, stranger?"

"Shave," the stranger answered.

Old Budd nodded an acknowledgment, then started to lather up his brush, while the other set of hands placed a hot damp towel on the strangers face.

The stranger sighed contentedly and eased just a little further back in the seat.

"Just came to town have you?"

The stranger nodded, but said nothing. Budd glanced over to Drake, who spent most of his day keeping Budd company in the barber shop. Both men turned to look outside, where the stranger’s skimmer was parked in front of the shop. Budd might have four arms, and old Drake might have a bill instead of a mouth, but neither was stupid.

The gun hanging on the skimmer's handlebars was another clue. Yeah, but lots of people carried guns. Especially on a sneckwater planet like this one.

Then there were the guns he had just taken off, before he sat on the chair. Budd and Drake had shivered as they’d hit the floor with a heavy clunk. So, he wore a fancy two-gun rig and body armour. Maybe he was just cautious.

But Budd had known there was trouble coming when he saw the stranger’s badge. Blood red and round, with just two letters on it.

SD.

Budd lifted the hot towel from the bounty hunter’s face and was just about to dab the first of the suds on his rough chin.

Bounty hunters always meant trouble. They always meant another body to bury. A Strontium Dog in this town meant only one thing, he was here for...

"You know a Lester Red?"

Budd almost dropped his brush at the question, he heard Drake give a tiny quack before he clutched the end of his bill shut.

Composing himself, Budd began to swirl the brush over the strangers face, leaving a trail of foamy white in its wake. He made a show of considering the question, nodding before he answered.

"Lester Red? Sure, I know him. It’s a small town after all."

"Where can I find him?"

Drake turned his head to the side, so that one of his side mounted eyes stared fully at Budd. Budd looked from his friend to the stranger.

"Are you sure you want to know?"

"Wouldn’t have asked otherwise."

Budd finished lathering. He set down his brush and lifted a straight razor.

"Yeah, reckon you wouldn’t."

Budd pulled his sleeves up and leaned over the stranger, holding the razor gently to his throat.

"It’s just that..."

"That what?"

"Well, Red ain’t a man to be messed with."

The stranger turned to stare at Budd. Budd had to jerk the razor back quickly to avoid cutting the man’s throat. He didn’t seem to notice. The stranger stared right Budd. His blank white eyes seemed to bore into his very soul.

"You threatenin’ me?"

"No sir!" Budd said, shaking his head furiously, "No sir! Just that I don’t wanna see anyone getting’ hurt is all."

"Red run this town, does he?"

Budd lowered his gaze, as if to ashamed to meet the other man’s eyes. "That he does sir. Lester Red is the big cheese around these parts. Ain’t a man in this town still alive who stood up against him."

Drake spoke up, his reedy voice high pitched, "And there’s plenty who’ve tried, mister. Plenty of your kind too."

"That a fact?"

"Yes sir, it is," said Budd, "That Red, he’s nothing but a stone killer is what he is."

The stranger said nothing for a moment, apparently assimilating the information. Finally, he looked at from the razor in Budd’s hand, to the barber’s nervous, gaunt face.

"You on his payroll?"

At this, Budd managed to muster up some small amount of indignation, "No sir!"

The Strontium Dog leaned back in the chair, a tiny smile played briefly on his face.

"Good enough then. Finish my shave, would yah."

He closed those empty eyes, and didn’t open them until Budd had finished. 

"Damn," said Drake, "Not another one."

"Hell of a thing, these Stronts. Don’t matter how many of them Red kills, there’s always another a couple of months later."

"Yeah," Budd said, watching the bounty hunter walk across the road, his back to them, "Damn shame. He paid me a good tip."
 

Johnny ran his hand across his chin, relishing the smoothness of his freshly shaved face. His next stop was a boarding house. He needed a shower; he’d been in the saddle for over a week, eating the musty dirt of this planet’s outback.

Hopefully, the barber and his pal would tell the next guy who came in about the new bounty hunter in town. Then tell the next guy, and the next, then they would all tell whoever they met. Pretty soon, the word would get to Red, and he’d come looking. Save me the trouble, thought Johnny. 

Johnny was right. Budd did indeed tell his next customer. Goat-boy in for his weekly trim. Goat-boy was a hell of a talker, he bleated the news all over town.

Even though neither Goat-boy nor any of Budd’s other customers, had met the stranger, they all knew one thing about him for sure. He seemed a pretty decent guy for a bounty dog. No, they knew two things about him. They also knew that Red was gonna kill ‘im. 

Red had been on the run for nigh on ten years. He’d killed a lot of people. Muties or his own kind, he didn’t give a sneck. Hell, he just liked to kill. He liked the way their eyes went dull as they died, he liked the way they gave a last little sigh as he squeezed the air from their throat. He liked the way they gigged and danced as he shot them.

Man, he’d been killin’ for years too, always a couple of steps ahead of the law, and even when he wasn’t and some bounty dog tracked him down, well, he hadn’t met his match yet. ‘Cept that once, when they had caught him.

And even then, it had taken three of them. Two muties, one of them spoke in an unintelligible Scotch accent, and a norm, a huge mountain of a guy with long blond hair. He’d never forget their faces.

But for now, he had settled down. He liked this little town, it was easily controlled, the people where all cowards. He was far enough away from any sort of government hub world that he was well below the radar of almost everyone. Occasionally, he’d get a Stronty coming along, yeah, but he always did them.

He had a nice little ranch house here. The previous owners hadn’t objected when he told them he was moving in. Hadn’t objected for long.

From the far end of the house, muffled by the many thick walls, he heard the sound of a door crashing open. He turned from the multi-species porno he was watching, in time to see Grundy, one of his men, tumble in through the doorway.

"Boss! Boss!"

"What do you want?"

Red kept one eye on the vid-screen as he addressed his minion. There was a human woman putting something weird in her mouth.

"Boss, just heard, there’s a bounty hunter in town."

"Well go and kill ‘im then," he said waving his hand and turning back to the screen, "Can’t you see I’m busy?"
 

Johnny felt a lot better after his shower. He’d used the room’s maid to clean his clothes while he had been washing himself, and they’d been ready just as he had stepped from the shower cubicle.

Now he stood at the bar in the local saloon. He wasn’t wearing his body armour, and carried only a small blaster as a sidearm. He was nursing the local equivalent of a beer. It was a dull grey colour, but tasted like the real thing.

The bar was fairly full, with most tables sporty at least a couple of patrons. It was quiet as a grave though.

I wonder what’s up with them, Johnny thought ruefully. He was well used to the effect he had in situations like this. Just as he was used to being the only one standing against the bar.  Except for the drunk at the end, and Johnny didn’t know if that guy could even see, let alone see him.

Behind him, Johnny felt a waft of cooler air, once, twice, three, four times, that told him that a group of people had just entered through the front door. They’d done it quietly, didn’t want to be heard. He didn’t think the room could have become any quieter, but what hushed conversation that had been taking place now came to a dead halt. Johnny didn’t bother to turn around. With one hand, he lifted his beer glass to his mouth and took a long draught, while with the other, he unholstered his blaster and set it up on the counter beside him.

Johnny put his glass down and turned around. Yeah, four of them, two had begun to circle to the left, two to the right, trying to cut him off.

He leaned back against the bar and folded his arms.

"Something I can do for you boys?"

Johnny was sizing the four up as the came closer. Big lads, all of them, but they didn’t look the smartest or fastest. He knew though, that looks could be deceptive, he could not afford to assume they were as incompetent as they looked.

The one coming up first on Johnny’s left, no doubt the leader of this little group, spoke first.

"You’re not welcome here, Stront."

Johnny stood on; he saw the blaster on the counter was doing its job. They couldn’t keep their eyes off it. Each of them was wondering what the hell he was up to, leaving the gun on the counter like that.

"Do you want me to step outside?"

At a nod from the first one, the rest of the group followed his lead and drew their guns.

Johnny knew that at this point, their ability to fight or not was irrelevant. They had guns, so he had to take them down fast.

"No dog, we want you to-"

The gunman never got to finish the sentence. Johnny whirled.

Later, when the patrons of the bar would tell the tale, some of them said they remembered the air sparking. Some would say they could smell the sharp tang of ozone.

The electronux connected with the man’s jaw, the impact shattered the bone, sending teeth in an arc across the room. While he was still in the middle of this action, Johnny reached for the man’s gun hand with his other hand.

As the electric shock from Johnny’s weapon coursed through the man, his fingers clenched on the gun, spitting bolt after bolt of deadly red light. Johnny turned the man to face his two companions on the far side of the room. Insulated by his gloves, Johnny aimed the weapon as it went off again and again, catching both the men across their chest with a hail of energy and throwing them back, dead, across a couple of tables.

The electric shock lasted only a fraction of a second. The man slumped unconscious, his gun no longer firing. Johnny let him fall, but grabbed his blaster from his hand as he slid to the floor past him.

He brought the gun up and pointed it at the head of the remaining gunman.

The poor guy, thought Johnny, he didn’t have a damned clue what had just happened.

Then, Johnny seen a light in his eyes, just as he figured out that he was still holding a gun. So Johnny shot him, catching him in the shoulder of his gun arm.

He screamed and clutched at the wounded shoulder. Johnny walked over and levelled his own gun at the man’s face.

"Shhh."

He stopped screaming, but his lip quivered with the effort, his face was pale, spots of perspiration glistened like diamonds on his skin.

"Go and tell him where to find me. Tell him I don’t want to see any of his snecking monkeys. I want him.

"Go."

Stumbling and slipping, the man exited the saloon as quick as he could, and disappeared into the night.

Johnny turned and faced the bar. Everyone sat open mouthed, staring at him. The silence was broken only by the sound of a whiskey bottle, somehow unbroken in the melee, spinning round and round on the floor, its contents glugging out between the wooden boards.

"Sorry about the mess," Johnny addressed the landlord, who was visible, from the eyes up, hiding as he was behind the bar.

"Let me know the cost of the clean-up, and I’ll pay for whatever I broke."

Johnny retrieved his blaster from the bar counter and made his way to the door.

"Won’t matter none, stranger," a voice called as he was about to leave.

Johnny turned to the sound of the voice. The patrons surrounding the speaker peeled back to leave him with a clear view of the man. Johnny recognised him as the old barber he had been speaking to that morning.

"Why do you reckon that?"

Budd shifted uncomfortably, "You seem like a decent sort, Stronty, and we all saw how you can handle yourself. But the Red... he’s a different class. No offence like. But Red, he’s a stone killer, nuthin’ more or less than that."

Johnny looked at the barber, and to his credit, the old guy held his gaze. Finally, Johnny nodded a goodnight and said, "If you see Red, tell him where to find me," then walked back to the boarding house.

The man Johnny had left alive went by the name of Zeek.  Now Zeek, he wasn’t the finest las-cutter in the box, but he wasn’t that dumb. Zeek knew fine well, that if he took the Mutie’s message back to Red, then he’d end up on the wrong end of a knife, or worse.

So, instead of heading back to the ranch when he left the saloon, Zeek turned his skimmer the opposite direction and headed off into the night.

Sure, he was cold, he was sore and probably in shock. He had no food or money and sneck knows how much juice in the tank. But at least he was alive.

Red too, was not an idiot. He was mad, insane as it happens. But he wasn’t stupid. He’d went to bed last night happy in the knowledge that the Dog would be dead by now. But then, he had woken up, to find that none of his guys had returned. Fearing the worst, Red had made a call or two. He was quickly filled in on what the hell was happening. That dang bounty hunter had offed his men. Which meant that he would have to go and finish the job properly himself.

 
Johnny was wide awake in an instant, blaster pointed at the door, and the sound of banging.

"Mister! Mister!" came a panicking voice from the other side of the wood.

"Yeah?"

"It’s Red, stranger. Red’s comin’ ta town. Says he’s gonna kill you good!"

"That a fact? Then I’ll be right down."

A gasp then silence on the other side of the door, followed by the thump thump of feet running down the stairs. Johnny could just imagine the bearer of news running out onto the street and telling everyone they met the latest. "Red’s comin’ an’ the Stront’s gonna fight ‘im!"

Johnny armoured up and checked his weapons were all fully charged, set his business face and went outside.
 

"Well, that’s about you finished," Budd said to the customer, whipping the sheet from around him with a practiced flourish.

"Huh?"

Budd stood back, "That’s it sir. We’re all done here."

"You going to finish the story?"

"But,’ Budd shrugged apologetically, "you’re all done..."

Then the customer got the message. "Maybe I could do with a trim too."

"You’re the boss," said Budd, before continuing with the story.

"I remember it like it was yesterday," Budd explained, "I was watching from outta that window there. The Stront, well, he just dandered down the middle of the road, nice as you likes, and stood there, right in the centre.

"Couple of minutes later, I started to hear this noise. It was Red comin’ in on his skimmer. Man still that Dog didn’t flinch. I just wanted to go out and holler at him to get the hell away now, ‘afore it was too late. Then old Red he came speedin’ round the corner and pulled his skimmer up. Just there across the road from where you’re sittin’ now.

"Red was shoutin’ and cussin’ somethin’ terrible. Couldn’t rightly make out all he said, but other folks heard, and they told me that the Stront was the one who’d went and put Red away the first time, which as you can imagine, didn’t help old Red’s mood any.

"Then they face off against each other, Red right outside my window there, the stranger further down, in front of the saloon.

"I don’t mind tellin’ you that I was scared right then. Yes sir, scared. That bounty hunter seemed a mighty fine fella, even with him bein’ a Dog and all. Yeah, I reckoned him for a good man, an’ I didn’t wanna see him killed, not like that.

"I can’t tell ya just how long they both stood like that. Mighta been a second, mighta been ten minutes, I dunno for sure. Just like I dunno for sure just what I seen next.

"Now, I already told you that old Red was fast. Might even have been the fastest draw I’d seen. Least ways, he was up till then.

"What I saw that day. When the Stront pulled his gun. Well, I can’t rightly say. Just... he was fast, real fast. So fast it didn’t seem... natural. You know? I remember thinkin’ Nobody’s that fast.

"Damn Red, almost felt sorry for him. His gun hadn’t even cleared leather, and the Dog had his back in the holster.

"Then the Dog, well, he just climbed onto his own skimmer, rode over and threw Red’s body across the back, and drove outta town. Didn’t even look back. Never seen him again from that day to this. Sure would like to though. I’d like to shake his hand and thank him for what he did for this town.

"That’s you all done now sir. Call it 10 creds."

The customer got up and inspected his haircut, nodded approval, and gave Budd twenty, "Something extra for the tale," he said, and walked out.

Budd chinked the coins in his hand, and tipped a wink over to Drake.

"Works every time."  

Nice Little Town originally appeared in Dogbreath.  Find out more about Dogbreath fanzine.