Maybe...one more drink?

“Keep ‘em comin’, Annabelle!”

Texas slammed the glass on the counter like a judge’s gavel, passing her own sentence down. If the folksh who came through this nasty dive thought her too weak to hold her own, then she was about to show em something they didn’t expcte.

Another shot followed another. A nearby stoat who was hoping to kickstart the nickname “Six Shooter Tex” was sorely disappointed as the sheriff shurpassed his uh…his…

That didn’t matter. What mattered was the job. Texash hadn’t just swung by fer a liquid lunch. Of coursh she hadn’t!

Another belt of whiskey slipped down her throat. Then another.

She wash here fer duty…A troublemaker, most like. Shomethin or someone and she was gonna get hershelf shum anshwres no materre what.

Namesh. Cmon Tex ya just gotta throw that there name at Allabenne and make her ansrew yer queshtuns. What name? Uh? She was shurchen for…the deputy. April? No, that weren’t right.

Roxxie…Jacks…Butterscotch…Lenny…?

“You okay there, sheriff?”

“She don’t look so good.”

“Annabelle, what you been putting in that stuff?”

“I didn’t put nothing in her drink! She been doing it to herself since she came in!”

“Should we stop her?”

“Are you an idiot? I been waiting for this moment for a long time. I never thought it would bring itself right to my doorstop.”

That don’t shound good. Does it? Texash gotta move fasht afore shomethin bad might happen.