Note- A twist on the classic spaghetti western with Scarlett Johansson as the Good, Liz Hurley as the Bad and Haley Atwell as the Horny.
xxx
New Mexico, 1862.
The woman with no name stood next to her pony, Scarlet, and squinted in the hot sunlight. She took a last drag on her disgusting cheroot and spat black spit onto the dusty ground, hitting a cricket dead centre which spun into the air. The tan Vaquero style hat shielded her sparkling green eyes for the most part as she looked on the one horse town in the near distance.
"Old Wild Cherry, what a dump." She sneered.
The blonde fingered her six shooter in her leather gun belt and bared her white teeth as that glimpse of a memory came back to her. She looked quite sedate in her grey and cream striped poncho over her grey woollen shirt with the black horn buttons. Concealed under which were a pair of astounding thirty six inch breasts that heaved at the tight fitting shirt. Also tight fitting were her black denims which fitted into her tall black leather boots.
"Let's finish this off."
She remounted her pony, took the reins and rode into town, determined to wrap up unfinished business. As she arrived she passed an old broken wooden stage coach and dead dog, its body attracting flies by the dozen in the searing heat. On the further most shack on the outskirts of the small town a grizzled old lady of about seventy sucked on a clay pipe in a rocking chair, her toothless cheeks two hollows in her head.
"I know why you are here, and it doesn't bode well. Heed my words and take great care." The woman looked at her and wagged a bony finger.
The blonde went from a trot and then to a walk before she dismounted and walked down the street with not one look back. She waved her arm and tilted her hat down as a gust of wind blew sand her way.
"Thanks for the advice, old timer."
Her eyes fixed on the hotel ahead, Leroy's Hotel and Tavern, and she passed the general store and hitched Scarlet to the rail and entered. She blinked several times as she came in from the brilliant sunshine into semi darkness. On the threshold she turned to the right and then to the left taking care to note the occupants of the reception and adjoining bar. The inside was not much cooler than outdoors as she brazenly approached the bar, her boots making noise on the hard wood floor.
"Drink?" Said the barkeep as she put her boot on the foot rail and planted her hands face down on the counter, her gaze straight ahead."
"Whisky." Came the answer from an expressionless face.
He served up a glass and filled it from a half empty bottle. The stranger swallowed the fire water in one gulp, knocking her head right back. Once drained she slammed it onto the counter and nodded in silence for a refill. His eyes trailed over her body, sizing her up and liked what he saw. Long blonde locks pooled in waves about her shoulders and her nicely rounded butt stuck up behind her almost inviting a hand to smack on the supple flesh. She was about five feet five, green eyes and a soft kissable mouth, her upper lip the same exact same thickness as the lower. "What brings you here to this rat hole?" The man inquired.
The woman stared intently into his eyes, her full mouth pouted, both lips tight. Her silence spoke volumes and he shifted from one foot to the other nervously. He watched as she placed a small cheroot in the corner of her ruby lips and struck a match along the top of the counter to light it. She drew in the smoke and puffed into the fat middle aged mans face. He gulped and peered into a pair of bewitching green eyes from under the brim of her hat.
"If you need a room you're out of luck, every room is taken."
"In this shit hole?" Drawled the woman as she took another shot of whisky.
"The war has nearly reached us now, folk are getting itchy feet."
"That a fact."
She swept the poncho over her left shoulder and the tender got a good look at her shooting irons.
"We don't want any trouble round here lady."
"I'll level with you. I'm on the lookout for a dark haired woman, slim, tall and speaks with an English accent."
The man gave himself away as his eyes went to the next level for a split second. Her right hand rested on the handle of her nickel plated Navy Colt and she raised her right brow.
"Don't rile me and we'll get along. What number room?"
The woman with no name ran her thumb over the hammer of her gun and awaited the answer.
"Six, room six. And she has company."
"Do you know him?"
"Her, she's also English. She performs on the stage."
"I'm going upstairs now, and if you know what's good for you I suggest you keep your trap shut."
"You got it lady. And by the way, it's two bits for the drinks."
He received a scowl as a reward for his boldness and he quickly grabbed the coins that were slammed onto the bar counter. The determined stranger took the creaking stairs one careful step at a time, her Colt drawn and firmly held in her right fist. When she got to the top of the landing a chamber maid looked at her aghast and was motioned to be quiet by a finger to the lips by the figure in the poncho. The staircase split the upper hallway in two, four rooms on each side.
"Have you got the room keys?"
The eighteen year old girl nodded with eyes wide in fright as she looked into the business end of the pointed revolver.
"Open door six, quietly."
The pair of them approached the room cautiously and the key was inserted into the lock and turned almost in slow motion. The maid was shooed away and the door knob was twisted and the door to the small room was opened. Immediately there came the unmistakable moans of females from within. At first she imagined them to be moans of pain but it became apparent that in fact they were the moans of pleasure.
