Spaghetti Western

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Status: In Progress  |  Genre: Westerns  |  House: Booksie Classic

Chapter 2 (v.1) - Battlestar Bonanza

Submitted: December 23, 2017

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Submitted: December 23, 2017



 "Well, ' bout time ya' lazy bastard."

"Listen Merve, the last thing I want hear of, first thing next to the Lord's heavenly sunlight, is your damn raspy voice."


"Tough shit, Jessup. I been up for damn near three hours, bacon and eggs all ready, coffee brewin' away, and all's you can muster up is, 'nother day in san paradiso' with yeh' flagrant unsettled self? Get your ass up and put on your britches. We got places ta' go and people to see about things. I ain't waitin' not but more than a damn near second for ya' to feed yourself, take a piss and saddle up."


Merve had purposely awoken some three hours before sunrise and put the coffee on the fire. He had intended upon a nice gulp of black sludge for Jessup's last cup of regret. He burnt the bacon to a nice blackened crisp and fried those two eggs on his plate, to the crunchy sulfuric smell of an aromatic bowel movement.


"What in tarnation is this splendid mess? Mud in my coffee cup, it's tastes like the oil from the back end of mule, and for fucks' sake, charcoal emblazoned,  crispified bacon? Whadid' ya' do, stay up all night burning this feast? These eggs are not even good 'nough for my horse, ya' g'damn miserable ignorant Sally hat!"


"Yeah, I knew it wasn't that good but we need to be headin' on out; and, time is of the essence ya' nimrod. The commissary in the next town over closes right quick and that whatfor' doctor we need to go see about your teeth, well, he's headed outta' town for the weekend, so we need to catch him fastly. In addition, you piece of ..."


Jessup spits out the coffee and throws the rest of the pots content onto the slowly dimming fire, intending to heading out.


"Coffee? Mud, I say. The Devil's mud, wedged right between his two hoofed toes! Oh, and this heavenly charcoal you call bacon?" he spits out a stream of blackened saliva across the way, toward Merve.


"As for eggs, what in the name of every moment ya' momma' shown yous' how to cook, made ya' think these were eggs? From the Devil's chicken's maybe !" 


He reached down for his pants and pulls them high. Draws his belt, tightening the waistband of a holstered gun and sits up, smiling one last time at his horse, Cactus Marie, named so for the one strange off colored patch of green horse hair growing from her tail. The veterinarian doctor had told him a while back, it was curios fungicidal that required an ointment he couldn't afford. So he just let it be. Marie never forgave for that.


"Well, Marie," he reaches for his left boot and slid it on like a rodeo glove," seems like the next town over may have more hope for us than this forsaken rest stop," Marie snuffs and musters up a hoof stomp into the dusty ground, turning her back toward the tree she was tethered to. Damned bastard she thinks, her horse sense never failing.


Some few yards away, Merve stands up, tall and proud and declares his need for a relief of urination upon a tumbleweed.

He knows exactly what will happen next.

Jessup pulls his right boot up , high and tight; feeling  the sharp prick of a double needled bite into his heel. 


"Perhaps, Jessy, that's your Saint Mr. Peter calling you on the high, up and mighty,  as it were? Whatda' say? "


Jessup's face had gone white, now realizing from the sound of the rattler in his boot placed there by Merve, what exactly had happened.


Merve headed into the town Battlestar; Jessup's green tailed horse trailing by a rope behind. Two spare boots dangled from the saddle stump next to the clanking of a burnt coffee pot and a bloodied frying pan tucked away in a gunny sack. Jessup didn't want to go down so easily and the last thing he saw was the backside of a bacon frying utensil, it would all burn away over the next campfire.

The reward for ol' Jess's body would fund the next part of Merve's journey; searching for the wanted, dead or alive.

How he got paid, was always up to Merve. No one could tell him otherwise and if they's dared do so, well that's another story.


Sometimes, the dead were better; than alive.

No matter the reward.



And, he had another prospect in mind while on holiday in this town of Battlestar, with his purse aplenty.

Her name was Evangeline.

She just be the death of him.

© Copyright 2019 Dr. Acula. All rights reserved.


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