The Shady Saloon

The cowboy enters the rowdy den. He's thirsty and looking for the kind of relief only a glass of lukewarm ale can provide.

"Howdy partner." he greets the bartender. "Hit me with the house special."

The bartender's head snaps to him, disbelief present in his eyes. "Duke! What brings you back round these parts? Haven't seen you in town since you drove off that gang of werewolves. Never got to thank you for that by the way, cost me a fortune in maintenance fees. "

"Don't mention it, pal. Just my job." He finishes the sentence with a quick spit of tobacco into the nearby tin, a brief tang audible as it connects.

"Well, I'll tell you what, drinks on the house tonight. We don't charge heroes round here."

Duke smiles. "Not a hero boss, but I can't say no to the generosity."

The bartender slides a glass down the bar where it slows to a stop in front of him.

"Cheers."

"Cheers."

The cowboy grabs the glass, takes a swig, and turns to survey the bar. It is par for the course, neat in a kind of disorderly way. Chairs and tables lay around haphazardly seating the town's residents and whichever poor travelers find themselves stuck for the night.

He takes his glass and begins to head to a table where a game of poker is in full swing when something catches his eye.

"Vanessa."

She scowls at him.

"Fancy meeting you here." He follows up.

"You've gotta be kidding me."

"I was expecting more of a hello, maybe a hi."

"There is no way you are here," she says to herself. "Why are you here?" This time addressing the cowboy.

"Heard reports of some vermin stalking the streets. Looks like my intel was right."

"Very funny. Don't you have some mangey mutts to be hunting right about now."

"Dealt with them the other week."

"Word on the street is they took you for a ride Duke. Took one of those pretty eyes of yours."

"I'll manage."

"Ri-iight." She says drawing out the word.

"You know the drill, Van. Can't have any wannabe supernaturals encroaching on my territory. I've got a reputation to uphold."

"Some reputation if werewolves aren't even considering it."

"And that means", he says ignoring her, "that I can't have no demons wandering in and stealing the souls of any of these good patrons tonight."

"You think you can stop me," she says.

"Of cou-"

He falls backward, narrowly avoiding the razor-sharp claws aimed straight at his neck.

"Last chance Van." He grunts, heaving himself up off the ground.

She smirks drawing a revolver and lighting up the piece of floor where he had just been standing.

He leaps to the left and aims at her, firing from his hip.

Bang!

Bang!

Bang!

The sounds of exploding glass echo throughout the room as the counter lights up in shrapnel.

The demon, having jumped behind the counter fires again, forcing Duke to lurch a table to it's side and dive behind it for cover.

"Sorry about this!" He hears her call out as the table is blown to shreds by an onslaught of bullets.

He feels stinging as clunks of lead diffuse against the hard leather of his jacket.

"Me too!" He replies ripping off his necklace and tossing it over the counter.

"You know that's not fair." Vanessa yells in response.

"Never said it was."

He pulls a glowing vial of water out of his jacket and hurls it in the same direction. After a loud splash there is nothing but a trail of smoke drifting out into the night.

He walks up to the bullet ridden counter and props up a damaged chair.

"Bartender... I'm gonna need another round."