tagNon-EroticThe Call of the (Future) West Ch. 01

The Call of the (Future) West Ch. 01


The wind began dying down. Dust, kept in motion by the wind, began settling. It hung in the air lick a thick brown fog. It collected on cars, sidewalks and benches. In this dried up little town nobody bothered to sweep up the filth.

Near the center of this backwater village a beat up hover car lay parked out front of a dingy bar, its green metallic paint chipped and faded. Inside this bar a slightly rugged individual sat in a booth seat near a window, eyeing the bank across the street.

Shouting and wild laughter from a corner of the dimly lit bar drew the man's attention. His fingers went automatically through his dirty blonde hair, dislodging sand from his scalp, as he gazed over at the drunken celebration.

It was around noon, when the sweltering heat would cause the dust to stick to your sweaty body until it appeared as if you had been rolling about in the mud. To escape this, most people went indoors, or, like the men in the corner, to have a good time before the afternoon work shifts.

The man's observations were interrupted by a waitress, of the plump and overworked variety.

"Can I get you anything to eat for lunch hun?" she asked.

He gazed up at her, "No thanks. I'll take a bottle of your next to highest priced vodka though."

"Yes sir," she affirmed.

She began to turn away when he added, "I'll take some cherries with it too."

"Cherries sir?" she questioned, surprised.

"Yeah," he responded.

"We don't have cherries sir," said the waitress.

He eyed her as if she had just said something reprehensible. "No cherries? What about lemons, do you have those?"

"No sir," she said, incredulously

"Fine, just the vodka," the man sighed.

"Your name sir?" the waitress asked.

"Gavin," he snapped.

As the waitress trotted off another female approached the booth. Only they couldn't have been more different. Unlike the other bar environs, who all wore dull colors, she wore a striking blue bandana over her hair. One long bang hung all the way past her brass, expensive looking glasses. Her fair complexion stood out amongst the bronze tans of the locals, as did her height, a lofty 6'1". She wore a long billowing trench coat, and underneath that a light green, slightly worn t-shirt. A gun belt hanging low on her waist suggested she was armed.

She sat across the booth from Gavin without asking permission.

"Delilah?" Gavin intoned..

"Yes?" her authoritative voice responded.

"Weren't we supposed to be blending in with the locals? Do you see any the locals wearing bright colors?" Gavin admonished.

"Oh, don't give me shit," Delilah responded. "Cherries? Do think there are any orchards on this dust ball? Do you think a cheap place like this would pay to import cherries for that lot?" she said, pointing over at the celebration which was progressively getting louder.

"How did you know I ordered cherries?" Gavin asked.

"Heard the waitress bitching about you," Delilah revealed.

"Yeah, well, don't you ever take that thing off?" Gavin said, nodding at the bandanna.

"How long have you known me?" she responded.

"Never mind," Gavin gave in. They sat in relative silence until the waitress returned with Gavin's vodka. After he paid the woman, she turned to Delilah.

"Can I get you any..." she began.

"No," Delilah interrupted. Ruffled, the waitress turned to other customers. Delilah gazed across the street. "When do we go?"

"Five minutes," Gavin responded.

"Did you get that damn hover car working properly?" Delilah asked.

"Of course. I'm an excellent mechanic," Gavin answered sarcastically.

"Rather, did Craig get it running?" Delilah added, mentioning the third member of their gang.

"Yes," Gavin admitted. "And he's going to loop their cameras precisely at noon."

"Like clockwork?" Delilah asked.

"Better than," Gavin responded. "Like the postal service." He downed another shot, corked his bottle, and they both rose from the booth.

Exiting the bar the duo walked over to the metallic green hover car. Popping the trunk Gavin extracted his charged-particle shotgun and tossed his bottle in.

"You got yours?" he asked Delilah, squinting in the dust. She drew back the right side of her trench coat, revealing her sharp shooting laser pistol.

"Always," she retorted.

Gavin shut the trunk (and then slammed it shut in a second attempt) and they crossed the empty, dust blown asphalt.

They stood in front of the heavy wooden doors of the bank, waiting. Time seemed to drag.

"Now?" Delilah groaned.

"Wait for it," Gavin admonished. They continued to stare at the door.

"Are you sure that thing isn't broken?" Delilah asked. She removed her pistol from its holster.

Suddenly Gavin's watch gave a loud, high pitched beep. "Showtime," he announced.

Delilah kicked open the door.

"Everyone, get down on the floor! This is a robbery!"

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