“You know I don't usually deal with strangers,” said a frightened looking man. Sweat streamed from under his bowler hat, and into his brown eyes, or down his fat cheeks and onto his deep purple collar. He let out a harsh cough. “From what i've seen you don't deal with anyone at all,” scoffed the Dark Man. He watched as the fat mans lip quivered beneath the line of sweat, and figured his finger was doing the same on the rifle that was undoubtedly hidden beneath the table. The fat man kept looking down at his lap, really who was he kidding? The Dark Man was offended by the gesture. Lead had never betrayed the Dark Man and he figured it wouldn't happen today either. “This is all very simple,” the Dark Man chimed in a cheerful voice that wasn't the norm of most like this one, where the shadows covered the faces of the wicked. You could always tell who the prey were in places like these, for they hadn't learned the ins and out to living in the shadows. The lit up like lamps, and attracted the worst kind of moths. “If you give me the box,” he continued “then your lovely daughter will be returned. But if you resist...”. The Dark Man clapped his hands over his head in a delightful gesture. The man in the bowler hat was terrified, and visibly shook at the gesture, but nobody else noticed.

He saw the Dark Man smirk, and still didn't know what he even wanted the box for. It was just an old empty wooden box his daughter had dug up in the forest, but the Dark Man had been willing to kidnap for it, and he hadn't seen his daughter in a solid week. “Listen,” he said “you can have the fucking thing, just return Emma to me safely.” Another harsh cough. The Dark Man adjusted the cravat covering his face, and recalled fondly the mans daughter. She was a pretty young thing. He thought of when he'd last seen her, curled up and crying as thirteen of the lowest men encroached on her, all sneering and leering at her as she wept. She looked terrifically like her father did now. “But if it were the simple!” exclaimed the Dark Man, “Something must accompany the box!” It was during another coughing fit that the fat man looked up and saw the revolver already drawn. He pulled the triggers on his hidden double barrel shot gun and unleashed a volley of pellets into an old man and a young woman he had hired for his evenings enjoyment. The Dark Man was up on the table, and faster that anything ever seen by the fat man, he approached. The Dark Man Seized a chubby wrist and fired a round through the accompanying forearm. With a sick twist and a yank he severed the limb from its upper half. The fat man cried out, while the Dark Man hopped gingerly off the table. He placed the arm in the box, and closed the dark wooden lid, and secured it with a peg.

The fat man was looking at his stump of an arm with a look of bewilderment the dark man had seen on many such prey. Laughing he clicked back the hammer of his forty-five long colt revolver. “What are you doing!” sobbed the disfigured man whose blood stained the floor, almost pleading but seeing no mercy in the Dark Mans eyes. “Speak no evil,” replied the Dark Man. His words were exclamated by the report of a second round, tearing the mans jaw from his face. He gurgled blood and turned over on his hand and knees trying to breath, in the same position the hooker would have been in had she lived the night the Dark Man thought and laughed at the idea. “Hear no evil”. This time the dark man barked the words, and an ivory handled revolver barked twice with him. He grinned ear to ear, as the bullets tore them off the barely recognizable sobbing thing on the floor. He turned and lazily with his revolver hanging over his shoulder. “See no evil,” he stated at last firing a final bullet. The fat man slumped back, A third bloody eye staring at the ceiling.

The Dark Man strolled out the door of the bar and into the parking lot. He walked up to a black Harley, with a black widow emblazoned on the gas tank, and strapped the box on the rear seat. He opened the chamber of his silver revolver, and casually reloaded the third, fourth, and fifth chambers. He took his time with the sixth chamber. He remarked how time slowed when he fed his iron, and slid the long copper round into the hungry gaping hole in the cylinder. Grasping it by the ivory hilt he slammed the weapons cylinder shut, replaced the weapon on his hip, and climbed on the bike. All reunited, the Dark Man, the Black Widow, Ivory Revolver, and a box known as Pestilence, blazed a trail down a dark highway, and brought Hell with them.