[Dipstikk]

Chapter 2
A Stranger Comes to Town
(Part 2)

“Welcome to th’ Bounty Store!” the Clakker behind the desk said with that old Southern Mudos hospitality. Stranger walked in casually, enjoying the sight and smell of fresh “Wanted” posters with the Outlaw’s ugly mugs in the middle of the page.

“You lookin’ fer a map or are ya here on o-fficial business?” The Clakker inquired.

“I’m here fer th’ hunt,” Stranger replied. “Let’s see what ya got.”

A Clakker brought up a small stack of photocopied Wanted posters, each just like the ones printed on the parchments on the wall of the entrance. The bird also brought out a checklist and a clipboard with each of the bounty’s names on it.

The Clakker read from the list.

“Jones McHobbler, wanted fer jackin’ food from the grocery st—“

“No,” Stranger interrupted. “Too scrawny. Not my type of fight.”

“All right,” the Clakker said. “Next one is Boomba Jimmison, wanted fer knockin’ down our ScareClakkerz in th’ fields—“

“Ya call that a crime? Pick ‘em up yerself an’ stop bein’ wussies about it. ‘Sides, he’s tiny. It’ll feel like beatin’ on a kid,” Stranger replied.

“Ginny Granglestien, wanted for pickin’ our oppel trees clean.”

“They’s trees. Ya can’t own a tree!” Stranger almost lost it, but he caught himself and applied his poker face. “Just…what else ya got? These’re losers!”

The Clakker sighed. “Well’p, I was gonna save this one for later, but if you want the big guns, I’ll get ‘em for ya.”

“’Bout friggin’ time,” said Stranger, who had his hand over his face in frustration.

“Bailey ‘Tiny’ Markowitz,” the Clakker said as he brought out a page featuring a particularly ugly Outlaw. “Now we’ve had this guy fer quite some time. Reports say he’s wanted fer murder, but we ain’t seen him more-‘n once since th’ report was filed. It was a few months ago, but some hikers done say they see him headin’ up the ol’ Beakly Bridge to th’ mountains.”

“Hm. Yeah, sounds like a good one,” Stranger said. “Might try t’ go after him later. What’s it pay?”

“I do believe its $8,000 Moolah alive and $1,000 dead,” answered the Clakker.

“Lemme see what else ya got before I go,” said Stranger.

“Well, we have a new one, just came in yesterday,” the Clakker said as he pulled out a sheet with a really crude photo on it. “Guy who took th’ picture says th’ Outlaw jus’ backed outta his home with no problems.”

The photo may have been crude, but the image of the Outlaw was clear enough. The guy was tall, and looked kind of like Blisterz and his brother Boilz from a month ago. The Outlaw was surprisingly well dressed, with a hat, coat, and a cane in his right hand.

“Yep, nobody’s got a name for ‘em, but we sure as hell got us a face. Guy’s been lootin’ our town clean fer th’ last few months. I’d be careful, though. Th’ photographer says that th’ summabitch was tall.”

“They usually is,” said Stranger as he put the bounty poster in his vest. “I’ll take ‘em. What’s th’ payout on ‘em?”

“Nine grand alive, four grand dead,” said the Clakker.

“That’ll work, thanks.” Stranger said as he walked towards the door. He slid his fingers across his hat as a “goodbye” gesture.

Stranger had fought a lot of Outlaws, but this one seemed…different. He was drawn to it not because of the payout, but because he felt like he should meet this guy. The bounty didn’t look like the dastardly type, he looked like a complete wimp.

There had to be more to this one than met the eye.