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The door to the saloon swung open with ease. It had been oiled the day prior, so it barely made a sound when a slim man slipped through the swinging doors. Even though he wore heavy leather boots, his steps were quiet on the creaking floor; barely a face turned to him as he walked through the room and towards the bar.
The saloon was full of unknown faces that the man had never seen before – he recognised only the bartender. Usually, the patrons at the saloon were not all that welcoming of new people, but they couldn’t do anything about a man they didn’t even notice – and if they did try to start a fight, the outcome would not be too pretty for them.
The man sat down at the bar and placed his hat next to his neatly folded hands.
“Good evening, bartender.”
The bartender, who was drying dishes with an old cloth, jumped at the sound of his voice and almost dropped the glass he was holding. He caught it at the last second and set it down quietly.
The new customer watched as the bartender took a few deep breaths and straightened his back before turning around to face him.
“I didn’t expect to see you here, Fyodor.” A forced, lopsided smile appeared on his lips.
“What can I get you?”
“Is this really how you greet an old friend? How about you sit next to me, and we drink together? How does that sound, Sigma?” Fyodor cocked his head to the side. His dark eyes shone with innocence but the bartender was clearly not buying it, as he still saw something deeper, more sinister within them.
“I’m working right now, Fyodor. Can’t you see?”
“That’s fine, I’ll simply wait until your shift is over.”
Sigma groaned but did not argue with Fyodor any further. He simply made Fyodor a drink he knew he would enjoy and set it down in front of him.
“You’re too kind.”
Sigma didn’t answer and went about his job, tending to drunk men yelling for another drink, calming fights. Fyodor turned around on his barstool and leaned his back against the wooden counter. He watched the scene closely in between sips from his liquor.
His eyes wandered over the people. A man was playing the piano with a group of people singing along so off-key that it almost hurt Fyodor’s ears. A handful of men played cards near the entrance, the stakes were high: golden coins and other valuables laid on the table. The man closest to the door was cheating, Fyodor saw it in the way his shoulders tensed, and his eyes darted around. It was barely noticeable, but nothing could escape his watchful gaze.
The room was clouded in cigarette smoke that lingered there, despite the doors letting air come through with a gentle breeze that carried sand and the smell of the wild with it.
Fyodor did not often go to such places – they were social and full of people who believed themselves to be of higher value than they were. If one of them were to approach Fyodor, he would not hesitate to shoot them with the gun lowly strapped to his hip.
However, this being a social place also meant meaningful encounters. They were rare, but they did happen. Meeting Sigma had been one of these by-chance encounters although many years had passed since then.
Unlike Fyodor, Sigma appeared to feel a pull towards more social places. But after losing his last job at a casino he had disappeared for a while only for Fyodor to track him down at this saloon in a smaller town.
Fyodor spun around on his stool and waved over Sigma once more. The bartender visibly rolled his eyes before refilling his guest’s glass without a word.
“I wonder what brought you to a place like this?” Fyodor asked while he watched the amber-coloured liquid hit the bottom of the glass. Sigma sighed instead of a response. He finished the refill, returned the bottle to its original place and came back to Fyodor.
He placed both his hands on the counter and stared down at Fyodor.
“I knew you would find me again eventually. And with that possibility in mind, I thought I might as well prepare something.” Sigma looked at the door and then back at Fyodor. “Give him ten more minutes, at most.”
“Him?”
He – whoever that might be – did not take ten more minutes.
He was the very next person to walk into the saloon, Fyodor was sure that it was him – he had no idea who this man was, however.
The swinging doors flew open. They had been pushed with such force that they hit the inside walls of the bar and repelled from them with a loud, wooden crash. Every single person in the saloon flinched at the sudden noise, the music and laughter stopped. The cheating man looked up from his cards and lost one of those he used for his scams, which landed on the floor for everyone to see.
A heavy boot with a thick sole stepped on the card – the owner of said boots, who had just come through the door, looked down and grinned.
He was a tall man who wore boots and pants not unusual for a cowboy, but what stood out about him was his vest adorned with countless accessories. Some jingled when the man moved, some reflected the light in all colours known to humans. Feathers hung from his right shoulder, long and soft, while his left shoulder had scales of snakes and other reptiles stitched to the fabric of his shirt.
His clothes were carefully crafted, clearly made with much patience and love. It looked odd, to say the least, but only from looking at this man, Fyodor knew that nobody would ever dare to say anything negative about his attire.
The newcomer took a step back and leaned down to pick up the card. As he bowed down, he held the cowboy hat that rested on his long, silver-white hair to prevent it from falling. He took the card and let it skip over his fingers with ease as if he was juggling but instead of balls in the air, it was a simple playing card over his fingers.
The entire room held its breath when the cowboy walked over to the cheater and offered him the playing card.
“Howdy! Is this your card?” He smiled with his eyes closed – an innocent and sweet look for a man who looked so intimidating.
The cheater nodded. Sweat was shining on his forehead as he took the card back.
“Yes, th- thank you,” he stammered. His eyes went back and forth between the card, now in his own hands, the man who had offered it to him, and the two revolvers on the man’s belt, one on each side.
The stranger patted the cheater’s hair shortly and made his way to the bar.
“Sigma!” He almost sang. Loudly, cheerfully and full of passion. “The usual, please!” Fyodor tore his eyes away from the stranger to look at Sigma, who took out another glass and placed it on the counter a few feet away from Fyodor. He then poured the weirdest combination of liquor and sweet syrup into the glass that Fyodor had ever seen. A pinch of what Fyodor assumed to either be sugar or salt topped off the drink.
The newcomer thanked Sigma with an elaborate gesture and bow. He set his hat, which had an unusual pattern of black and white with some spots of red colour, onto the counter.
As soon as the stranger sat, the room seemed to come alive again. Those who had held their breath sucked in air, and those who had stopped singing and chatting picked up where they had left off.
Fyodor eyed the peculiar man from the side and waved over Sigma. When the bartender stood in front of him, he motioned for him to come closer. He was just about to ask about the cowboy to his left when the man in question spoke up.
“You!”
Fyodor turned his head to find the man pointing his index finger directly at his face. Only a few more centimetres and they’d touch.
“You’re new. Who are you?”
The way the man looked at him could either mean he was looking for trouble or he was simply curious. Unlike Sigma, he was rather hard to read.
“Fyodor,” he introduced himself. “I’m visiting my old friend here in town.” Fyodor vaguely motioned in Sigma’s direction. “I saw your entrance earlier; you must be quite famous around here. May I know your name as well?”
The man smiled, satisfied by the way Fyodor acknowledged his status here.
“Nikolai,” he said. “And you guessed correctly!” Nikolai giggled and downed his drink in one go. It took Fyodor everything he had not to shudder at the sight of the horrendous drink. “How do you and Sigma know each other?”
Fyodor took a second to reply. Telling a stranger the truth about their history might not be a good idea, but he had a growing suspicion that Sigma had intended for him to work with Nikolai.
“We met at a casino,” he answered. “During a slow game of poker.”
“Oh? So it was you who helped during the Casino Incident? You’re an interesting one.”
“You’ve heard about the Casino Incident?” Fyodor did not need an answer to that. It was now clear as day why he was here today. Nikolai seemed to be thinking the same.
“So, Sigma, why did you bring us together?” he asked. “It must be for something big, I assume?”
A faint smile tugged at Sigma’s lips. He leaned onto the counter with both his hands on the dark wood. Only then did he answer.
“A new heist.”
“Ha!” Nikolai laughed before speaking up again with his voice so quiet and deep that it sent a shiver down Fyodor’s spine.
“Bring it on!”