???: Phew ...
???: Well, goddamn, civilization at last.
Night has fallen, and a woman in riding boots stops along a sandy road, ahead of her lies a house topped with a wooden cross.
And beyond it, a forest of apricot trees extends all the way to the foothills of the Guadalupe Mountains.
Argus: Hah. "Civilization," turn over every rock in Texas before ever finding that; but a sweet water town like this will do.
Argus: Yeah, it'd do.
To call this a one-horse town would be an insult to horses. But it's somewhere to rest her boots. Argus stashes her jeep nearby and starts walking.
Her experience has taught her that waltzing into such towns in a car is usually unwelcome.
Argus: We ain't far from the border here.
Argus: Shoot, I might have saved time flying to Mexico.
The mercenary takes out a folded piece of paper from her pocket and turns it over.
White and blue, with black pixels forming letters and numbers. The ink is worn away, leaving nothing recognizable of the flight, except the boarding time.
It's a flight ticket.
Argus: Fort Worth to this place ...
Argus: It's been a long drive.
Argus: What was it even for?
Argus: I gotta get this straight when I find—
Argus: ...
Argus: Ugh, never mind.
Argus: Same old pattern. Knock on every door, ask the same old questions, get ready for friction ...
Argus: Let's go.
The melody of 99 Bottles of Beer wafts in from the edge of the town, accompanied by the clinking of glasses.
No matter where you go, you'll never find a better source of leads than a watering hole.
Argus: There you are.
The mercenary hunts with her ears instead of her eyes tonight. She follows the melody down the street and into the bar.
Argus: Howdy. Get me a mug of ...
She looks around as she considers her order. Those gathered are playing cards and drinking. The tables are piled over with empty cups and plates.
It's long past any respectable meal time. All Argus can order is a drink, rather than chance it on whatever would still count for food at this hour.
Argus: Black Jack.
The bartender eyes the newcomer, confused, as if he hasn't quite understood the words.
Bartender: Pardon?
Resident I: You're in the wrong place, Yankee. What are you trying to impress us with all that?
Resident I: Not that it's a half-bad get up, but a cowgirl you ain't ... How's about you take off those chaps and give 'em here?
Resident I: Not like you'll put 'em to any use.
Argus: Hmm? Jeez. You were talkin' to me?
Argus: Sorry, didn't hear you, little fella. In fact, I almost missed you.
Resident I: What the hell are you trying to ...
Argus: And one more thing, I ain't no Yankee.
Argus: What do I gotta do, whistle "Blue Rose of Texas" for you to prove it? Oh c'mon, give those ears and eyes of yours to those in need if you ain't using them.
Argus: What is it those suits back in Austin say? Umm ...
Argus: Oh, right! "Peace and love."
Argus: Looks like you folks could use some of that.
She smiles, tapping her gun carelessly. A habit she's never truly kicked.
The bartender signals the drunk man to calm down before he reaches for his own pistol, catching him just in time. Then snaps his fingers to grab her attention.
Bartender: Hey, hey! Woah, ma'am, easy. I'm sure he didn't mean no offense.
Bartender: Ain't many new folks that come around here, much less the kind that order a Black Jack. I'd wager most of these lushes never even heard of it.
Argus: So, you got it or not?
Bartender: I do.
The bartender puts down his hand and starts pouring whiskey, his eyes fixed on Argus's gun. His own is just under the bar, but he has his doubts he could outdraw her.
Bartender: It's on the house. Take it as an apology.
A beer jug is put on the counter. The bartender shrugs his shoulders, indicating that there's no whiskey glass on offer.
Bartender: We gonna stay friendly?
Argus: Save it, friend. I've got the money.
Argus: But if you're fixing to apologize, answers will do better than drinks.
The bartender frowns.
Bartender: You a ranger?
Argus: Damn, you ain't lying then. You really don't get many new faces round here, do ya?
Argus: I expected Black Jack drinkers to be a rare sight, but you're really confusing me for a cop?
Bartender: Only cop around here is the county deputy, ma'am.
Argus: Then you must watch too much TV.
Argus glances at the jug and drags it to her side. It'll do.
Bartender: Ain't much to do round here, ma'am. The next episode of Law & Justice is about all we get to look forward to.
Argus: Alright, Mr. Attorney. Have you seen a Texan girl about 5 foot 3, chestnut-colored hair, green eyes?
She takes out a few bills from the pocket, along with the flight ticket.
The bartender moves the money over to the pile.
He fiddles with the stack while answering Argus's question without any sign of interest.
Bartender: Not that I ever seen.
Argus: You sure about that? Think harder.
Argus rubs her finger against the flight ticket. Her tone says it plain. This is not an answer she can accept.
Bartender: This place don't get visitors every day, ma'am. I remember the faces of everyone who comes in here, and there's no way I'd forget a girl like that.
Bartender: But if that girl did come here, and now you're looking for her ... well, it ain't a good sign.
Argus: What do ya mean?
Bartender: Last time now, you really ain't a cop?
Argus: How about you stop asking questions, and start giving answers, pronto.
Her hand hard pounds on the counter as a warning.
Bartender: Yeah, you ain't a cop.
Bartender: But I still don't get you. Coming in here like Johnny Law with that shotgun, what's your angle?
Bartender: Don't you know ...
The bartender stops mid-sentence, taking a moment to look around.
Argus: Huh? Know what? What is it, cat got your tongue?
Argus: If it's money you want, just say so—
Bartender: Ah. You're here on a pilgrimage, ain't you?
Bartender: Damn it all, I should've known. The way you play with that gun, that hungry look in your eyes, and your questions ... Gawh.
Bartender: That dump out there is not worth it.
Bartender: And I'm sure the girl you're lookin' for is not ...
The mercenary runs out of patience. She interrupts the bartender with a swift motion.
As her dagger and a wad of cash smash on the bar top.
As her dagger and a wad of cash smash on the bar top.
Argus: Enough dancing around the subject. I ain't in the mood for it.
Argus: Two choices: say what you're fixing to say, or point me to someone else who will.
The bartender says nothing. He stares down at the flight ticket, now flattened by the dagger.
Bartender: Fort Worth? You drove all the way down here to find this girl?
Bartender: No one passes through this town, least of all Yankees. Unless they've got something they're looking for—and I ain't talking about the view.
Bartender: Hey, Daryl!
The bartender calls out to the familiar face of the customer that had argued with Argus.
Daryl: Yeah?
Argus: I said, I ain't a northerner!
Bartender: The lady here's down from Fort Worth, looking for the wall and a girl with chestnut-colored hair, green eyes—
Argus: Hey! I did mention a girl, but I ain't said nothing about no goddamn wall.
Argus: I have no idea what you're talking about!
Daryl: Jesus!
As Argus looks at the man, he stands up, strangely sobered, and rushes toward the door.
Faster than Argus has no time to react.
Argus: What are you ...
Bartender: She's a f**king merc! Grab the deputy!
Bartender: I'll hold her here!
Argus: No, what?!
Argus: What the hell is going on?!
Bartender: I'm sorry, ma'am. Like I said, the wall ain't no place of pilgrimage.
Bartender: And I ain't about to stomach any more of your questions.
The bartender pulls his revolver out from under the counter. He manages to bring it to bear on Argus too fast for her to draw.
Not even a greenhorn could miss the shot at this range.
Argus: No ...
Argus: Chill, pal. Where's that Texan hospitality?