Compared with the Smithfield Tavern, Keene's Tavern is smaller but older. Almost when the town was first established, the Tavern was already standing at its current location, providing drinks and food to the town's residents and passing business travelers.
Already.
However, human nature is to like the new and dislike the old, and like luxury and dislike simplicity. Therefore, when the town grew bigger and bigger and the larger Smithfield Tavern was built, the tavern lost its former liveliness.
However, fortunately, the prices of whiskey and beer are the same everywhere, and simple and cheap food can be provided here to fill the stomach. Therefore, this place can still attract those who don’t have so much spare money in their pockets to go to Smithfield Tavern for leisure.
people.
Today, two strange customers came to Keane's tavern.
The two customers were dressed like gentlemen and did not look like people who would hang out in a tavern. One wore glasses and looked very rich, and the other was old, tall and thin, with a waistband.
Hanging from the gun belt, the revolver in the holster is engraved with unique words and exquisite patterns. You can tell it is extraordinary just by looking at it.
I did know the old gentleman bartender. His name was Jim Calloway. He was a cousin of the doctor at the town clinic. He had joined the army when he was young and his whereabouts were unknown after he was discharged. A few years later, he ended up living here and became a dependent.
A decadent drunkard; as for the fat man with glasses, he was a complete stranger. However, a guy who hangs out with drunkards cannot be said to be a decent person.
"Mr. Calloway," the fat-eyed man sat down at the bar, ordered two glasses of whiskey, and said to Calloway, who was already a little tipsy, "please tell me in detail what happened at Sylvia's Tavern in 1876."
It’s something about that.”
Calloway didn't talk to him, he just started drinking whiskey one cup at a time. After a while, he entered a state of drunkenness. Calloway is such a person. He doesn't drink much, but he still likes to drink.
A mouthful of wine, so he is often drunk.
"Sir, sir," the fat man became a little anxious. He kept pushing the shoulders of Calloway, who was lying drunk on the bar, and said, "Please, think back to what happened at Sylvia's Tavern in 1876.
What happened?"
"It's all nonsense, Plato," Calloway said with a drunken look, "It's all nonsense."
"That's not nonsense, Mr. Calloway," the fat man with glasses corrected seriously, "that's history."
"History from a long time ago has passed through the water without a trace," Calloway drunkenly drank another glass of wine and said, "It will only be painful to talk about it again. It would be better to let it die."
"Hey," at this time, the store door behind them was pushed open, and a young voice interrupted their chat, "Who is this friend of yours?" This question was asked to the fat man.
Beside, the tall and thin Calloway was lying on the table drunkenly saying something like, "Ha, remember to write these in your tattered book, great philosopher."
The fat man introduced the handsome young man who just spoke in the same tone as introducing an epic hero in an opera: "This is Jim Calloway, the famous Jim Calloway."
"Who?" Brandi, the young man, asked while leaning on the bar and ordering a glass of whiskey from the bartender.
"That's the sharpshooter," the fat man said in a tone full of pity for the young man's ignorance. "The fastest sharpshooter in history who can draw a gun with his left hand. He once fought in a fierce fight in Liuxi Cave.
He killed fourteen people with his breath."
Brandy looked at the tall, thin old man who was drunk and unconscious, and asked the fat man: "Then what are you waiting for now?"
"What do you mean?" The fat man didn't understand what he meant.
"Ha," Brandi smiled mockingly, pointing at the "famous" old man and said, "In my opinion, even you can kill him now."
"Oh, I don't plan to kill him, young man," the fat man shook his head and said while showing Brandy the thick notebook in his hand, "I plan to deify him, he is a god, and I plan to write a biography for him.
.”
"How's the writing going?" Brandi asked.
"Oh, damn," the fat man was a little annoyed, "I'd rather fight him, either I kill him and then I become the most powerful sharpshooter in Baltimore, or he kills me and lets me be free and I never have to fight him again.
Speak."
"It seems that you have realized something very important now, sir." Brandi smiled and asked for another glass of whiskey.
"What?"
"The fun of being a shooter," Brandi said as she drank the wine handed over by the bartender, "is called win-win, freedom and honor."
"This is great," the fat man picked up the pen with some excitement, "I want to write this sentence down, is it okay, young gentleman?"
"Of course." Brandi smiled.
The fat man took notes and asked, "What's your name, sir?"
"It doesn't matter to you or me, sir." Brandy said carelessly.
"Then you must be the shooter, right?"
"I won't deny it, but I won't admit it completely," Brandi said. "I mean, if I need to, I will try to shoot my opponent in the back. As for the rest, it's all bullshit.
.”
The fat man looked at Calloway, who had begun to snore, and asked Brandy: "Then you have at least dueled with someone, right?"
"I mostly watch other people play this kind of duel game, my dear sir," Brandy also glanced at Calloway who was snoring, and said, "For me, I dare not say how good I am.
, but what I can be sure of is that if you waste your time on this kind of old alcoholic who spends almost all of his day drinking and getting drunk, what you get in the end is far from being able to compensate for the time you lost."
"You don't have to worry about it, young sir," the fat man adjusted the glasses on his fat face and said, "Speaking of which, sir, do you expect to become famous? Or do you prefer money?
"
"I like them all, sir," Brandy said with a smile, "I mean, there are indeed many people who are tired of fame and money, but I don't care, rather, if someone really feels that this is a kind of suffering
, I am willing to bear it on his behalf."
"Hahahaha, young gentleman, you are very humorous, very humorous," the fat man's face showed a smile for the first time. He patted the cover of the notebook in his hand and said, "If I appear a little desperate, please
Forgive me, sir, in fact, I am really a little desperate. I have high hopes for this book, but now, the collection of materials is really difficult for me."
He took out a list and several photos from his handbag, handed it to Brandy, and said: "Look, this is a list of sharpshooters. Each of the sharpshooters on it is legendary, Emmett?
Granger, Flaco Hernandez, Billy Midnight, Beauty in Black, I thought, maybe you could go talk to them and ask them what they think of Calloway, if they
If you dare to say anything that insults Calloway, just... kill them, oh, I can't believe what I said, but..."
"You mean," Brandi interrupted the fat man, "let me find a few fools who are as pathetic and self-deceiving as Calloway and ask them if Calloway is the best. If someone says something rude
, just kill them?"
"That sounds worse than I thought," the fat man said awkwardly, "but it means the right thing."
"How much do you plan to pay? Or, what other ways do you plan to repay me?" Brandi asked.
"Oh, a lot of money, sir," the fat man also became excited, "If you can really help me complete this book, I will pay you half of the royalties for this book. In addition, if you are interested
, I can let you appear in my book and play an important role."
"Appearing in your cheap novel? Forget it," Brandy smiled, turned around, and waved goodbye, "However, the price is fairly reasonable, so I'll do my best."
"Remember to take pictures, sir." The fat man stopped Brandi and handed him his camera.
Brandi looked at the camera, nodded and said, "No problem."
"Oh, by the way," Brandy seemed to have remembered something and returned to her seat and said, "That guy named Flaco Hernandez, you can cross him off the list."
"Why?" The fat man was a little confused.
"Because that unfortunate guy is dead," Brandi said, handing over the list and the photo of Flaco Hernandez, "and I figured within a few days, someone would be delivering his body.
Come here to collect your reward."
"What?" The fat man was very shocked. "Who killed him? Is it you?"
"You know, I really wish that person was me, but I was just there," Brandy said, taking out the revolver from his waist that originally belonged to Flaco Hernandez, and said
, "Well, this is the only relic of the legendary sharpshooter. You can pay your respects."
"Flaco Hernandez is dead?!" At this time, Calloway, who had been drunk and unconscious, suddenly shouted and sat up, startling the fat man and Brandy.
"Oh, my God, Mr. Calloway, you finally woke up," the fat man said happily, "Now you can tell me in detail, in 1876..."
Calloway ignored the fat man's inquiry, but picked up the revolver on the table, looked at it carefully, and finally said: "Yes, it's his gun. For a gunman, losing his gun
It’s no different than losing your life.”
He glanced at Brandi with drunken eyes and said: "Although Flaco is just a self-righteous, lawless idiot, his marksmanship is just that, but you, a young man, can kill him, which shows that you still have some skills."
"Uh, Mr. Calloway, I think you misunderstood..." The fat man wanted to explain awkwardly.
"Shut your pig mouth," Calloway interrupted him rudely and said to Brandi, "Young man, do you want to understand the ultimate secret of marksmanship?"
"What do you think? Mr. Calloway?" Brandi laughed a little bit.
"Come outside and you'll understand," Calloway stood up and staggered toward the door. He turned his head and saw Brandi and the fat man standing there stunned, and suddenly burst out with a roar, "Come outside
Come!!"
Outside Keen's tavern, many people had gathered to watch the excitement, because a duel that was now rare to see was about to take place here.
The contrast between the two sides in the duel is very strong. One is young, the other is old, one is full of energy, and the other is in a drunken state.
Many people have recognized that the young man is Brandy Munny, the bounty hunter who has been very popular in Valentine recently, and the old man is the town doctor's cousin who only knows how to drink and brag.
, why such two people had a duel, and what happened, no one knows except the fat man who was excitedly recording the duel.
"Are you really going to do this, Mr. Calloway?" Brandy, who had already stood up and posed, asked helplessly.
"Stop talking nonsense, you little bastard," Calloway stood unsteadily, but his dueling posture was very standard. "The skill and subtlety of marksmanship must be experienced between life and death. Don't you understand what it means?"
Death, your marksmanship will always be half-baked."
"Then I hope I can continue to be half-hearted like this," Brandy's smile gradually turned cold, "I don't want to die young."
"Then just pray to God that you will shoot me in the head." Calloway's drunken smile was full of absolute confidence.
The two stopped talking, and their eyes locked onto each other in unison.
The people watching the battle around were holding their breath and concentrating. Even the horses were silent at this time and did not even dare to sniff.
"Are you ready, you brat?" Calloway shouted drunkenly.
"Ready, old man," Brandi responded.
"Need to count down?" Calloway shouted again.
"No need." Brandi said.
The next moment, gunfire rang out and Calloway fell to the ground.
A duel between gunmen often resulted in a split second. Because it was dark, people did not see the specific details of the duel, but the result is now clear.
The crowd dispersed, and this duel was enough for them to talk drunkenly for several days.
But our "winner" Brandy still stood there, motionless.
His hand still maintained the posture of drawing the gun, but the gun was only held by the handle, and its barrel was even colder than the wind tonight.
And the hat that had been on his head had disappeared.
"Sir, sir," the fat man ran up to Brandi, waving his hands in front of his face, and said, "You actually... you can actually..."
"My name is Brandy Munny," Brandy seemed to have come to her senses, and slowly returned to her normal standing posture, and said, "I remember you said before that you can write me into your book,
Is it right?"
The fat man didn't know why Brandi mentioned this. He said: "Yes...yes, sir, but..."
"I now give you the authority to write me in the book," Brandy said, turning back to the tavern, "You go and help Mr. Calloway in. I plan to stay with you for a few days."
The fat man said with some surprise: "But Calloway..."
"You wear an extra pair of glasses, but you are still so blind," Brandi stopped at the door of the pub and said, "Mr. Calloway just fell asleep. I lost the duel just now."
On the muddy path, Calloway's snores were like thunder on the earth. This chapter has been completed!