I wasn’t expecting a hanging today. Three guys dusted, a two-span bounty out for a fourth (fifth, Jackson the fifth). Deserters, says he. (Which he? What he do you think.) Didn’t expect an offer on my water hauler project, neither. Not an offer (ha) so much as a demand. Turns out the Great Bambino doesn’t take no for an answer.
He doesn’t want just the truck, that’s the problem, right. Wants all the trucks. A little bird (big scary bird) let me know ahead of time, but I’m not having it. I got water, I’m not so bad off as the rest of town if a run heads down Route Guano ‘stead of back to Tulsa. I can count on Grizz for that (bless the Source). We talked for a minute at the market— I don’t know if that child of a man’s on to what Grizz’s got, but if he finds out there’s no way it’s gonna be good. No way he’d let that kind of competition sit.
…. what the hell was that?
Okay, so the Great (ha) Bambino really, really won’t take no for an answer, and now there’s one dead Butch in my Yard (aw FUCK no) and I’m gonna close this door and hope the goons leave me be. I am in for a world of hurt if they bust in here. Maybe this was a bad idea. Maybe I oughtta just bail and hide out somewhere. But I can’t just leave my Yard. They’ll wreck it. I don’t touch what’s not mine (law, that) but they don’t play the same rules.
This is not gonna be a good night.