The interior of the stagecoach was dark and gloomy, and the jostling increased as the horses started down a long incline.
"Soon as we get in to Reno you're going straight to work." The man in the frock coat said. "I need some start-up money, so you're going to be giving blow-jobs as soon as I get us a room for the night."
The curly-headed blonde woman scowled. "I told you I was done with that all that, Bill. I ain't fucking or sucking no more unless I want to. I'm a gambler now, same as you- not a whore no more- and I never did work for you."
"You're whatever the fuck I say you are, you damned slut." The man growled menacingly. "And you'll do what you're told if you know what's good for you."
He glared around the interior of the coach. "How about you, mister? You want a nice blow job before we hit town? She'll curl your toes in your boots for you. Five bucks."
The passenger seated across from them pushed his hat up from where it had shaded his face. His dark eyes bored into the would-be pimp.
"Mister, you better watch how you talk to that lady."
The gambler guffawed. "Lady? This aint no lady, boy. She's fucked more men than Abraham Lincoln. Shit, for another five bucks, I'll let you screw her up the ass first."
"I told you once, Mister. Now I don't want to hear one more thing out of your fucking mouth- not about anything at all."
The gambler sat back against his seat, speechless. He was a big man, beefy and burly, and the veteran of many a brawl and back-alley knife fight.
By contrast, the other man was hardly a man at all- he looked to be shy of twenty years old, not even man-grown- and come to think of it with those high-cheekbones he might even be at least part Indian. And no pip-squeak half breed was going to slap a muzzle on Big Bill Hanover.
He reached for the derringer inside his coat. "Why you little son of a-"
He stopped dead as the long muzzle of a revolver suddenly poised against his forehead with a feather-light touch, and the sound of the hammer cocking registered in his ears with a bone-chilling click.
Sweat broke out on his forehead as he looked into the other man's eyes. He might have the face of a youth, but his eyes told an entirely different story. Bill saw his own death there, remorseless and indifferent.