Rory's Side Stories - 2

“Uuughhh…” Carson groaned in pain, flicking back and forth between semi-consciousness and knocked out. Rory looked at the down bull before sitting back in his seat and turning back to the counter. Picking up his former hat, he sighed before looking up at the stunned Annabelle.

“Ye know I really liked dis hat. Got it a week after I got off da boat. Nothing fancy or expensive, but it was mine.” He explained, going back to the tone he came in with. “I don’t suppose you know a good tailor dat could probably fix it.”

*CLICK*

“You’re gonna need more than a tailor when I’m done with you.” A voice growled. Blinking, the fox looked left again, only to stare down at the barrel of a revolver. Its owner, an equally large bull as the last one glared at him with anger filled eyes.

“I take it based on da gun yer familiar with da sorry sack o’er there.” Rory said nonchalantly, completely unfazed by the weapon in his face.

The bull growled; smoke seemed to come out of his ears. “That ‘sorry sack’ is my brother, you overgrown flea bag! No one messes with the Longhorn Brothers without payin’ the price!”

Longhorn Brothers? Not very subtle. “Is he now? I can see da family resemblance. Ye must’ve gotten most of da good looks cause yer much better lookin’.”

The gun’s barrel was pressed right against the fox’s forehead. “Please. Keep. Talking. Ah’m gonna enjoy putting another hole in you.”

“Not in here you won’t.” The saloon owner finally spoke out. She looked at the fuming steer. “You know my rule: no shoot outs in here. Take that shit outside.”

“Fuck off, Annabelle!” The bull snapped, looking at the cow while keeping gun on Rory. “This little shit insulted my family and deserves a bullet in his head!”

Annabelle narrowed her eyes as she leaned down to look the bull in the eye. The counter creaking under the weight.

“Choose your next words very carefully, Bill. Or you might find yourself as my new seat cushion. The last troublemaker finally stopped screaming, and ah so enjoy hearing that sweet sound of begging for mercy.”

The tension was incredibly thick from both parties. On one side was a very irate bull, on the other, The Crushed Weasel’s owner asserting her presence and authority with a vainly hid threat. All the patrons were holding their breaths as they wondered who would make the next move. And in the middle, the cause of this standoff, had a great idea.

“Now, Now, no need fer all dis.” All eyes went to the fox as he grabbed the bull’s arm. Bill’s eye twitched in anger as not only did he move it so the gun pointed up, but he couldn’t move it back into place. “A pub’s fer merrymakin’ and drinkin’, not fightin’ and shootin’, but if ye want vengeance for yer family honor, I’ve a better idea.”

“And what, pray tell, is that?” Annabelle asked, keeping an even tone.

Rory looked up at her with a grin. “Simple Belle, can I get a bottle of yer hardest booze and a couple glasses?”

The cow blinked at the sudden nickname the fox gave her. The short time he’s been here, he’s been both entertaining and irritating. He spoke kindly of that Texas and antagonized her patrons but shut them right up when he knocked Bill’s brother Carson clean out and through a table. Part of her wanted to just smother the slick tongue fox with her bosom, give him a glimpse of heaven before showing him hell.

But the other part wanted to see what else this new guy could pull off.

The other part winning out, she ducked under her counter she placed a large brown jug and some shot glasses on top.

“The hell are you playin’ at?!” Bill growled as he still struggled to move his arm.

“No jest, just harmless fun lad.” The fox smiled. “Assuming dat yer still sour, why don’t we make it interestin’?”

The bull stopped his attempts to move his arm and glared at the Irish canine. “How?”

“Simple: we each drink until one of us clocks out. It be me, I become da punchin’ bag fer ye and yer boys fer a month.” Rory explained the challenge and the stipulation if he lost.

Bill’s eyes widened and a grin cracked his lips. “A full month? No complaints?”

“None at all. But I win, me and any I bring in here goes unbothered for da same amount of time.” The fox let go of the bull’s arm and brought his right hand up. “Do we have a deal?”

Bill stared at the offered hand. He was half tempted to try and shoot him again, but the prospect of prolonged **** was too good to pass up. Half reluctantly, he holstered his gun, grasped the hand and shook. “Deal!”

The other Longhorn sat down, as Annabelle poured the first shots. Some of the crowd cheered on Bill to win while Rory kept his smile.

“Belle, as da owner, would you be kind enough upholdin’ da outcome?”

Annabelle nodded. The two men grabbed the first shots and looked at each other.

“Ready to be a fur coat?” Bill grinned.

Rory matched it with his own. “Sláinte!”

The two drink.