"Unblinking stares showered them even if they had no intent for trouble. Some of The Cowboys, such as Billy and Ike, returned the sneers in kind and watched as some averted their gaze. Curly Bill, on the other hand, relished the attention and threw...
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Tombstone, Arizona, the silver crowned jewel of the rugged West. This was in a time when mechanical innovation and high fashion clashed with moral decay and what some would describe as tenacious grit. A place where saints and sinners alike could plant their roots in their eternal struggle for survival.
Some of the most thriving sinners in this untamed land were from the criminal gang, The Cowboys, and their leader, Curly Bill Brocius.
When the late sun was warm and the breeze was gentle, Curly Bill and his posse of equally lethargic outlaws sat on the outside of one of the local establishments. The townsfolk marched everywhere and nowhere, much like ants scuttling across a carcass. As he wiped the sweat that lightly misted his brow, Billy and Ike Clanton arrived with a bunch of beers in their arms. "Just in time." sighed Frank Stilwell, the first to nab a glass from the brothers. Drinks were passed all around to the half dozen cowboys.
"Here's to some relief in this hellhole." Tom McLaury cheered while clinking glasses with those close by.
"Ain't that the truth." Curly Bill agreed, wiping beer from his stauche. The day had gone by much like any other. A few shootouts up and down the main street and a few bar fights blowing up into murders, the usual. There was never a dull moment in Tombstone, except for those who have already seen it all.
Billowing smoke pulsed from Frank McLaury's cigar with his face buried in the Tombstone Epitaph. "Huh. Some poor bastard in Tucson got his train robbed the other night. They think it was a solo job, 'cause only a couple of gold bars were stolen. But they still don't know how the slippery son of a bitch even got in."
"Maybe we should take a trip to Tucson and help ourselves to the rest of the train, it's gotta beat what we're doing here." Curly Bill stretched in his chair.
"Don't think so, boss." Frank shook his head, "Place is crawling with police now that the train's been compromised."
"Well, shit. There goes that, I guess." Curly Bill figured as such, but damn, was he craving for some fun. Even if it was just a wild goose chase.
"Hey! Professor Gillman's gonna be at The Birdcage in a bit. Why don't we go see him catch stuff?" Barnes suggested, having already guzzled down his beverage.
The group turned to Curly Bill who shrugged and simply said, "Eh, why the hell not?"
Truly, they all knew that the cheap entertainment would not cure them of their depressive boredom, but it was better than sitting around and moping about it. The Cowboys rose from their chairs, some gracing the ground with a hearty spit, and began their march. Townsfolk stepped aside in the presence of the pack of jackals. Unblinking stares showered them even if they had no intent for trouble. Some of The Cowboys, such as Billy and Ike, returned the sneers in kind and watched as some averted their gaze. Curly Bill, on the other hand, relished the attention and threw winks and waves lazily.
