wasn’t the first gun-fighter to end up in that arena. “Y’all must think I got sawdust for brains,” Lasater concluded, chewing off each word like it was gristle. Stepping further into the arena, he slowly closed the door behind him with a mean smile on his face. The Colt rose up and out like it was on rails, the silver runes along the barrel glinting in the lamplight and the barrel now making a straight line between Lasater’s good eye and Scar’s head. Scar’s eyes got wide with a healthy mix of fear and hatred. “Seems I’m gonna hafta’ make a point, Scar.” He slowly lowered the hammer, dropped the pistol to his side and slid the Colt back into its holster.
The sound of a wooden board sliding into the brackets on the other side of the door sprouted a smile as wicked as a demon’s across Scar’s face, putting another kink in the white line running down his cheek. Lasater talked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off Scar. “Don’t go far, you hear me, boys? I’ll be with you in a minute.” The gleeful laughter of two men splashed through the wood from behind the door.
Lasater raised his hand and rotated the outer lens of his ocular. The eyepiece was actually made up of two lenses, both nearly clear by themselves but polarized. When they were cross-wise to each other, they looked black and kept out virtually all light, but when they lined up just right, they allowed light to go through normally. As the outer lens clicked into place, Scar could see Lasater’s closed eye and the pink ripple of burned scar tissue around the eye-socket. “Fair warning, Scar,” Lasater said slowly. “You push that bag to the middle of the floor and step away; you just might live through this. If not … well, I might just have a surprise or two for ya.” The grin never left Scar’s face.
“SHU KAI!” Scar shouted. There was a metallic clank from the eight lanterns on the walls as the shrouds dropped down and the light disappeared. Black folded in on both men, and Lasater never heard Scar dodge left and start silently snaking his way across the arena. Most men would have drawn their pistols in the darkness and shot into the inky black hoping to get lucky.
All Lasater did was open his left eye.
His right eye was vainly trying to adjust, but his left, fully dilated open, used what little light was coming from under the door behind him. Lasater was a statue, a monolith in the dark-ness. He watched and waited as Scar zagged his way like a cobra. The swords rose into the air as he approached. Lasater had to admit, the man never made a sound. He was quiet right up until Lasater pulled a Colt and filled the room with a dull clap of thunder and one bolt of lightning. The slug caught Scar dead center in his chest, and he went back like a rag-doll, hitting the boards with a loud, staccato thud. The swords took a few bounces before coming to a clattering rest well outside of Scar’s reach.
Lasater stepped up to the downed man who was making harsh, sickly-wet choking sounds as his lungs filled with blood. Even to the last, Scar fought for life, but it wasn’t enough. As Lasater stepped over him, Scar made one last gurgling cough and then a death rattle left him still and silent. The Colt slid home once again.
“I warned you,” Lasater reminded the corpse without looking at it. His boots thudded across the wooden floorboards as he made his way to the money. He grabbed it, tied the pull-strings around his gun-belt and went back to the door he’d come in through, this time moving almost as silently as Scar had. Lasater stood to the side of the door, out of the line of any fire that might come through it, and placed his left hand on the door. The knob twisted easy enough, but the door didn’t open. It moved a fraction of an inch and came up to the bar that had been dropped in place. Lasater was finally pissed off and finished with warnings. He stepped in front of the door and flexed his legs, just barely hearing the
The sound of a wooden board sliding into the brackets on the other side of the door sprouted a smile as wicked as a demon’s across Scar’s face, putting another kink in the white line running down his cheek. Lasater talked over his shoulder, never taking his eyes off Scar. “Don’t go far, you hear me, boys? I’ll be with you in a minute.” The gleeful laughter of two men splashed through the wood from behind the door.
Lasater raised his hand and rotated the outer lens of his ocular. The eyepiece was actually made up of two lenses, both nearly clear by themselves but polarized. When they were cross-wise to each other, they looked black and kept out virtually all light, but when they lined up just right, they allowed light to go through normally. As the outer lens clicked into place, Scar could see Lasater’s closed eye and the pink ripple of burned scar tissue around the eye-socket. “Fair warning, Scar,” Lasater said slowly. “You push that bag to the middle of the floor and step away; you just might live through this. If not … well, I might just have a surprise or two for ya.” The grin never left Scar’s face.
“SHU KAI!” Scar shouted. There was a metallic clank from the eight lanterns on the walls as the shrouds dropped down and the light disappeared. Black folded in on both men, and Lasater never heard Scar dodge left and start silently snaking his way across the arena. Most men would have drawn their pistols in the darkness and shot into the inky black hoping to get lucky.
All Lasater did was open his left eye.
His right eye was vainly trying to adjust, but his left, fully dilated open, used what little light was coming from under the door behind him. Lasater was a statue, a monolith in the dark-ness. He watched and waited as Scar zagged his way like a cobra. The swords rose into the air as he approached. Lasater had to admit, the man never made a sound. He was quiet right up until Lasater pulled a Colt and filled the room with a dull clap of thunder and one bolt of lightning. The slug caught Scar dead center in his chest, and he went back like a rag-doll, hitting the boards with a loud, staccato thud. The swords took a few bounces before coming to a clattering rest well outside of Scar’s reach.
Lasater stepped up to the downed man who was making harsh, sickly-wet choking sounds as his lungs filled with blood. Even to the last, Scar fought for life, but it wasn’t enough. As Lasater stepped over him, Scar made one last gurgling cough and then a death rattle left him still and silent. The Colt slid home once again.
“I warned you,” Lasater reminded the corpse without looking at it. His boots thudded across the wooden floorboards as he made his way to the money. He grabbed it, tied the pull-strings around his gun-belt and went back to the door he’d come in through, this time moving almost as silently as Scar had. Lasater stood to the side of the door, out of the line of any fire that might come through it, and placed his left hand on the door. The knob twisted easy enough, but the door didn’t open. It moved a fraction of an inch and came up to the bar that had been dropped in place. Lasater was finally pissed off and finished with warnings. He stepped in front of the door and flexed his legs, just barely hearing the
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