The left wall of the train car sported a bar, its mahogany shelves laden with every manner of spirits imaginable. Finished securing the door, the wide-eyed conductor scurried behind the narrow counter. He reached the back bar and stared up at the daunting array of colorful amber, green, and blue bottles like a fish out of water.

  “Today, Abner,” the man dressed in black groaned. His gaze switched back to Dobson and Misty. The irritation vanished from his face, replaced by a toothy smile. “You’ll have to forgive him. It’s his first time behind the bar. My usual man was shot dead earlier.”

  Misty approached the pair of open chairs without hesitation. She plunked down and set about smoothing the wrinkles in her torn uniform, remarking, “How tragic.”

  “Indeed.” The man’s uncomfortable smile pulled tighter. “What’s your poison? Whatever your heart desires, Miss McClain.”

  Misty delicately crossed one leg over the other. “A glass of clam juice would be lovely.”

  The man blinked in confusion. “A what?”

  “Clam juice. You know, salty nectar of the gods?” Misty seized the opportunity to prattle on about her favorite subject. “Usually found in chowder or mixed with tomato juice. Nasty stuff, tomato juice. Not nearly as refreshing as a tall glass of chilled—”

  The man dressed in black decided he’d heard enough. “Abner, you heard the lady. One clam juice straight away.” Both his attention and his toothy smile then shifted to Dobson. The man’s gloved hand swept from her to the empty seat beside Misty. “Please, you are my guests. Make yourself comfortable.”

  Reluctantly, Dobson claimed the open chair beside Misty. The soft cushion sank beneath her heavy frame, but the chair’s sturdy frame held strong. Gaudy tastes aside, their host’s furniture was quality-made, intentionally designed to withstand the weight of augmented skeletons. She would still die here, yes, but at least Dobson didn’t have to do so with a broken chair haunting her conscience.

  “What can I get for you, Miss Dobson?”

  “You can offer your name, for starters,” she replied. “And then you can tell us how you know ours.”

  “Oh, where are my manners? Of course. Forgive me.” The man adjusted his posture and sat upright in the chair, lowering the pink handkerchief from his face. There was a gaping hole where his nose should have been. Blood and blue coolant oozed from the open wound and trickled down into his pristinely manicured moustache. He introduced himself. “Bradley Lynch. Head of Tactical Solutions here at the Stillwater Mining Corporation.”

  Abner scurried over, carrying a tray laden with a single drink. Wordlessly, he offered it to Misty. His arm trembled, causing the ice within the glass to clink together with a cold rattle.

  Misty noticed. She offered both a wink and a venomous smile as she plucked the frosted glass from the tray and lifted it to her lips. “Thank you kindly, Abner. Much appreciated.”

  Blood rushed to Dobson’s face as she glared openly at her partner. “Are you serious?”

  This text was taken from Royal Road. Help the author by reading the original version there.

  “What? I don’t want to be rude.” Misty took a dainty sip and then pulled a face, grimacing. “Oh, my. The salt rim was a bit unexpected. But she certainly pulls a punch, doesn’t she?”

  “And if it’s been poisoned?” Dobson demanded.

  Misty considered Dobson’s warning and then shrugged, risking another sip.

  “Poison the two of you?” Bradley laughed as if it were a particularly funny joke. It felt forced, lacking a single note of authenticity. The harsh cackle petered out and was almost immediately replaced by a scowl. “As if I could be so lucky. I daresay, the two of you have proved infuriatingly difficult to kill thus far.”

  Dobson said nothing, content to let her unamused expression do all the heavy lifting necessary.

  “Oh, don’t look at me like that, Miss Dobson,” Bradley tutted. He set his unfinished drink onto the table beside him. Instead of a coaster, he’d placed his drink on top of a data screen. The device’s screen lit to life and flashed a warning. Bradley pretended not to notice, but Dobson knew better. He’d placed the drink there as a way to draw attention to the device because he’d wanted Dobson to see it.

  Bradley neatly folded his hands into his lap. “Of course, I know who the two of you are. Even without Stillwater’s extensive criminal files, who hasn’t heard of the notorious Dastardly Dobson and Mad Misty? Frankly, I’m honored to be in your company.”

  “Is that why you sent your gang to kill us?” Dobson challenged.

  “An oversight, unfortunately. You two unknowingly wandered into a bit of unsightly business. It was simply a matter of getting caught in the crossfire, I assure you,” he said with a dismissive wave of his hand. “Perhaps we could consider the score settled, yes? You two did go and kill most of my men, after all.”

  Misty swirled her glass, watching the ice clink together, and proved she’d been paying attention with a single question. “What are you proposing?”

  “As I said before, I have something you want, and there is something you can do for me. A trade, if you will.” Bradley launched into his proposal with the ease of a well-greased machine. “Now, it’s clear to me that the two of you want my train. But I believe you’re mistaken. It’s not actually the train you want. The train is more like, say, a symbol of your desire.”

  Misty glanced around the garish room, muttering, “Doesn’t look like a symbol to me.”

  “What you really want is freedom,” Bradley continued, flashing a winning smile. “I can give you your freedom along with so, so, so much more. Forget the train, ladies. Agree to my bargain, and I’ll personally send you both on your way with a custom ship and enough supplies to take you wherever you want. You arrived here as criminals, but play your cards right, and you’ll leave in luxury.”

  “Awfully generous of you, mister,” Misty said.

  “It is,” Bradley agreed.

  Dobson, meanwhile, was stuck wondering whether or not a pine box and shallow grave constituted luxury. “And what is it you want, Mister Lynch?”

  “Me? Oh, dear. It’s quite simple, actually.” Bradley’s posture shifted to reflect his mood once more. He slumped against the back of the leather wingback chair and pressed his fingertips between his eyebrows, groaning, “I wish for this nightmare to be over.”

  Neither Misty nor Dobson said anything. The pair sat in silence and patiently waited for the man to cut the dramatics and get to his point.

  Bradley’s frown pulled deeper, irritated perhaps that neither had taken the bait, forcing him to reveal his cards unprompted. “I’ve been tasked to silence the town. As you may have noticed, it has not exactly gone to plan.”

  Misty lifted her glass and offered a sage nod. “Weren’t expecting the barkeep to shoot your nose off, were you?”

  “I am referring to the job itself, Miss McClain. In case it escaped your notice, most of my men are dead, and half the town is still alive.” Bradley’s voice remained the same, unlike his eyes, which glistened with fury. He sank lower in the chair and drummed his fingers against the leather armrest. “That’s where you come in. Help me finish the job, and I’ll see that the two of you get off this hunk of forsaken moon rock alive.”

  “That’s it?” Misty said.

  “I do have one other condition.” Bradley’s brow furrowed over his dark eyes. He stared straight ahead, his blazing glare boring straight into the festive wallpaper across from him. “Bring me the bitch who shot off my nose. Alive.”