Lucky stared at the three men and the three guns they had pointed at him. "I wouldn't do that if I were you." He said to no one in particular.
"Why not, baldy?" asked the long and lean and stupid one.
"It ain't proper." said Lucky, looking squarely at Steve.
Out of the corner of his eye, Lucky could see the bartender reach under the bar. "Hold your horses there Hector. Me and my friends are just talking here. Ain't that right fellahs?"
"Nah. You're talkin. We're shootin." said the tall one again.
Even though his death was looking to be eminent, Lucky felt absolutely no fear. In fact, he began to smile. He hadn't felt this good in days. Of course, he couldn't remember anything from before he woke up a few minutes ago with a nose bleed. And he had felt pretty damn good when his head was in Jane's lap. Still, this moment was pretty alright.
"When was the last time you cleaned that thing, stretch?"
"What're you talking about?"
For some reason, the word Willis popped into Lucky's mind. And for some reason this one word made him laugh out loud.
Stretch didn't much like being laughed at. He didn't much like being called Stretch either. He pulled the trigger (on his gun that had never been cleaned). The gun exploded, taking most of his hand, a good chunk of his belly, 3 teeth and some lip with it.
Before the incisor fragments could hit the ground, Lucky's gun was out and blazing. His finger never touched the trigger. He fanned that bastard.
Five slugs hit fatso square in the chest. He didn't fall over, though it looked like he might for a little while. He just stood there, chins resting on chest, and bled out.
The penultimate bullet tore the gun out of Steve/Dave's hand. It slowly arced through the air.
With a laugh of delight Lucky spun his revolver around and around a few times before slipping it back into it's holster. "Now we're going to get to the bottom of this." thought Lucky, mind racing. "How can you be alive, and a Steve, Dave? What are we doing here? Where did I learn to shoot so good?"
All these questions were racing through Lucky's brain when Steve's splattered all over his face.
The Fates had a weird relationship with Lucky. Most folks, after seeing him in action, would call him blessed. All his dead friends and relatives would likely have a different opinion.
Steve's gun had flown out of his hand fully cocked. It completed five full rotations before it hit the ground. Hit hard. Hard enough to jar the hammer. Hard enough to slam it home, which in turn caused the bullet to slam into the back of Steve's head. Had the barrel been pointing a smidge or two to the right or left, Steve would have been just fine. A little bit lower and the bullet would have passed through his shoulder and into Lucky's head instead.
The three non shot people just kind of stood there for a while. Hector sweated, Jane marveled at the fact that she remained blood free, and Lucky dripped. He watched a few red drips of blood collect into a drop at the end of his nose before he realized that Stretch was still alive. Alive and screaming.
