Ward sat in the corner of the saloon, eating the only thing he could afford. The free nuts they had laid out on all the tables. He watched, as the other costumers sat around, laughing, drinking, gambling, and having the Holly Jolly waitress bots acting as though they were important. The bot-tender work the counter, as player piano repeated the same happy tone to the point of torcher
He focused in on most of their face, trying to see it there were any matches for bounds, using the red monocle over his right eye, hoping to get lucking today. Lord knows he needed it.
That red monocle was how he got his nickname, Ward "Red Eye" Flanagan, but that wasn't all he was known for. His right hand was also his gun. After losing it to some wild beast, Ward had a new hand made that doubled as his firing arm, or hand. That way, he didn't have to worry about grabbing his gun in to shot, though it did spend him back a pretty penny, and the streets.
Ward continued looking, till he heard the sound the saloon doors being opened. He looked over, and saw the new guy that came in. This fella wore trouser, an essential shirt, and a ten-gallon hat. But the thing that got Ward's red eye staring, was the mask that he was wearing.
The mask was made out of copper, his best guess, and was designed like a wearable megaphone. It covered his mouth and nose, letting the eyes to see better than a full-face mask. There was only one person in the whole wild who would wear a megaphone.
Digging through his pockets was hard for Ward. He stuff all of them with black and white wanted posted from all cross town. A few he tore off so no one else could know about it. Posters fell out on the floor, before he finally would want he was looking for his vest pocket. Unfolding it, he carefully looked at the picture, and the man that was now sitting at the bar and realized that is was a match.
Wanted! Die or Alive!
Samson "The Voice" Vardaman
Destruction of 3 settlements: Highly Dangerous
Main weapon: His megaphone mask
'Not much of a lucky break.' He thought to himself, studying Samson. 'But it beats being broke. I just have to get him when his not wearing his mask.'
Ward quietly got out of his chair, snaking around the other tables. He watched, as the bot-tender that worked at the bar brought The Voice a drink. The Voice reached behind his head, and Ward knew that he was talking his mask off.
'Prefect!' Shouting in his head. He got closer, as the mask was set down. 'It's now or never!' Ward went for it, jamming his hand gun into Samson's back, and slamming the poster on the counter.
"Samson "The Voice" Vardaman, I've been waiting for you in this little rundown bar." Trying to talk big and hoping it worked. "I'd like for you to come with me to the jail house, so I can turn you in."
Samson said nothing, just turning to face him. His lips were highly scared up, like he was either attacked, or had some serious work done to him. Ward was almost temped to tell him to put the mask back on, but knew better than that. "Leave the mask. You wouldn't be needing it."
The walk to the jail house was a quiet one. Ward and Samson walked passed some cyborg cowboys, robot horses, and a few people who were still flesh and bone. The jail was smaller the some of the other place around town. It JAIL written in big red capital letter, with a full door, and two windows. Walking inside, the sheriff was resting, with his hat over his eyes. He wore a gold star badge over on his chest.
"Hey," Ward said, waking the guy up. His put his hat back on his head, reviling a black mustache, as he looked up at Ward and Samson.
"Well Red Eye," The sheriff smiled, "you seemed to have brought me anyone after so long." He got out of his chair, and walked around to where they were. "How much is this one?"
"$50, Sheriff Coal." Ward told him. "It's the Voice." He kept his gun pointing to Samson's back as he pulled out the poster. Sheriff Coal looked over the poster and Samson a few times before setting it back down.
"I can see a lot of the similarities," The Sheriff told him. "But without out the mask, I can't give you the money."
"What? Why not?"
"The problem with black and white posters is that unless they mention eye color, or a scar or tattoo, anyone can claim to catch that someone." He walked around the two like a teach explaining a lesson to a student. "Unless you get to mask, to prove who he is, I can't give you the money."
"But I left the mask back at them bar!"
"Then you better go get it." He cut the between Ward and his prize, turning his back to him. "I'll hold him here, till you bring the mask back. But if I don't have it before sunset, I'm going to have to let this nice gentlemen go."
"But that's Samson 'The Voice' Vardaman!"
"The Clock's ticking."
Ward couldn't argue anymore. He had to get that mask, now.
Ward ran all the way to the bar, busting through the doors with everyone staring at him. He didn't have time to worry about such things, as he ran to the counter where the bot-tender was washing glasses.
"Excuse me!" He called for him. "Have you seen someone a mask that looks like a megaphone?"
The bot-tender slowly stop washing, turning to look at him. His smile was painted on, as well as his red and white striped vest and shirt. The only thing that wasn't painted metal was his apron. "Why no sir, I have not. Would you like a drink?" It offered.
"Do you know someone how may know?"
"No sir, I do not. Would you like a drink?" It offered again.
"I don't want a drink!" Ward shouted at the bot-tender. "I just want to find that mask!"
"I can't help you there sir." The bot finally stopped asking about drinks.
"Screw this." Ward turned to the people in the saloon. "Hey!" Shouting to get their attention, he pulled out Samson's poster. "I have turned in Samson "The Voice" Vardaman! But to collect the bounty, I need to find his mask! I well give you a share of it if you can help me find it!"
The people started talking with one another, till a cowboy with a brown mustache walked up to him. "I tell you who took it, if you give me half the bounty."
"What!" Ward left eye widen.
"Half or no information." The cowboy told.
Ward started grinding his teeth hating this. "Fine! Half!" Shaking the guy's hand.
"Old Jimmy took it to sell at the pawn shop." The cowboy explained.
Ward's eye widens again, but with hope. There was only one pawn shop in town, and Ward knew where it was. "Thank you!" He told the cowboy, racing out the saloon.
"Don't you forget about my half of the bounty!" The cowboy shouted into the wind.
Ward ran across town, dodging horses, wagons, and other people. His was lucky that his hand didn't go off from panic and hope he was feeling. The mask was so close; he could hear it singing to him.
The pawn shop, or Papa's Pawn Shop, was a common place of Ward. Mostly because he sold almost everything he had there. The windows had the store name pained on them, as the items people sold, or couldn't buy back, sat inside.
Ward walked inside, seeing even more thing that was for sell, including some of his things. Walking over to the counter, he saw Papa, the owner. Papa was a black haired, middle man, with a smile that showed he knew a bad deal, and was going to screw you out money with it.
"Papa!" Ward called him out.
"Oh Ward," Papa greeted like a valued sucker, "I see you've come back. Selling me that hand gun of yours?"
"I will never sell you me guy." Ward guarded his right hand. "I here for a mask that was most likely sold to you this afternoon."
"Oh! I know what you're talking about." Papa said, walking around the back of the counter. He bent down, and pulled out the megaphone mask. "Can you believe that Jimmy sold it to me for $5.00? I can get it for $25.00"
"$25.00?" Ward repeated. "Good, cause I need it."
"Now why do you need a mask?" Papa asked curiously.
"I… I…" Looking around the room. "I need it to clam a bounty."
"A bounty?" Papa smiled, "This is from a criminal?"
"Then I'm selling it for $35.00."
"Look." Rubbing his eyes. "I need that mask to clam the bounty. I'll bring it right back after I'm done."
"I'm not giving you the mask!" Papa protected it. "You could scratch it, or break it, or worse."
"Then what do you want me to do?"
"I'll come with you." Papa told him, getting in front of the counter. "That way I can collect my share."
"Your share?" Ward asked him.
"Yes, my share." Papa talked back. "I own it, there go. I get a share of the bounty. Or not deal."
"Fine!" Throwing his arms in the air. "How much?"
"$35. Like I said."
"$35! But I already promised someone half the bounty!"
"And the problem is?"
"The bounty is only $50."
"Then it looks like we don't have a deal."
Ward need that mask. His life depended on it. He thought about want to do, and came up with the only answer that could work at the time.
As Papa was starting to head back behind the counter, a bullet zoom by his face, hitting the wall. He turned, and saw Ward holding his hand in gun form. He middle and index fingers were out, while his other two were curled in.
"Give me the mask," Ward said, uncurling his fingers to set up another shot. "Or the next one goes into your head." Ward didn't miss on purpose, nor was it luck that he hit anything else. His red eye allowed him to target that spot perfectly, without worry.
Papa wouldn't believe him if that first shot did happen. He looked down at the mask, shakenly handing it over to him. "Here, take it."
Ward grabbed the mask, and headed out back to the jailhouse.
"Here you go." Ward slammed the mask on the shariff's desk. The sheriff looked it over, giving Ward the okay.
"Here's your $50." The sheriff handed him a solid $50 bill. "Hope to see you again with a bigger prize."
"I hope so. I hope so"
Ward was walking out, when he heard a loud boom coming from the jailhouse. He turned, and saw Samson, wearing his mask, escaping.
"How'd he get that thing back on?" He asked himself. "Ha," shrugging his shoulder, not caring at moment. "I got my money. I don't have to chase after him again. At least for a while anyway."
Ward walked back to the bar. Tonight, he was going to get a real meal and drink. And maybe the legend of Ward "Red Eye" Flanagan would start to grow in this here town.