1861/07/03 Bounty Sniffing
Scene Bounty Sniffing
Characters Davey Cort
Place Davey's Saloon
Date July 3rd 1861, Evening

Evening time in the saloon. The bar and tables are filled with local residents and ranch hands drinking their fill and enjoying the night. The poker table has a game going, the painted whores on the balcony are doing a brisk trade. Behind the long bar Davey serves whiskey and beers to the thirsty patrons, his bald head extra shiny with a sheen of sweat as he passes glass after glass of liquid over the bartop.

Cort says, "Evenin' Davey, looks like yer a lil' busy tonight."
Cort pulls a silver coin from his pocket and says, A shot o' Wildsnake, when ya got a minute.

Davey hawks a gobbet of phlegm into a glass, then uses an off-white cloth to liberally smear it around. Possibly the cloth ended up cleaner. "Hunter" says Davey, nodding to Cort. He places the smeared glass on the bar, then fills it with Wildsnake, his own special brew. "You working tonight?" he asks.

Cort lets his gaze wander around the bar while he waits for his drink. He makes sure to give the 'ladies' upstairs a warm smile and a nod.
Cort says, "Not at the moment. He picks up the glass and throws the liquor in a single gulp, sighs contentedly and slams the shot glass back down on the bar. 'But you be sure'n let me know if'n you hear 'bout somethin' I'd be innersted in, y'hear?"

Davey smirks, "Good to know you won't be bloodying my saloon up tonight, then" he refills Cort's glass, then reaches under the bar to produce another, then fills that too. "I hear lotsa things, sometimes things that don't get officially posted.. Now I'm a legitimate businessman here, but I do get to hear a thing or two, maybe. People with a drink like to talk, right"

Cort nods thanks to Davey, picks up the newly refilled glass and tosses it back. He grits his teeth at the heat that runs down his throat and slams the glass back on the bar. 'That goes down better every damn time, you ol' son," he says.

Chuckling, Davey throws back his own drink. "Glad you like it, my brew hasn't killed anyone yet that I know of" he makes to refill the glasses again, "Now here's a thing I do know" he says in his broken Irish accent, "There's a fella workin' down at the Estrada Ranch who looks to me just like a lad I used to know back in Boston, name of Jimmy Bishop. Word hasn't got this far yet officially, but I know for a fact that Jimmy has a price on his head back East. Now what do you think about that?"

Cort's face loses its humor as if slapped and his penetrating eyes come to rest dead center on Davey's eyes. 'Price on his head, eh? Where exactly is this Estrada ranch, partner?

Davey smiles, "The ranch is run by a good friend of mine, and I'm sure he doesn't know anything about Jimmy's past, but before I try to remember things like what Jimmy looks like, and the exact of where he is.." The big barman winks, "Perhaps if you go lookin' for him, and were to hand him in to the Marshal, you might consider the reward, and a friend who points you in the right direction?"

Cort's lips quirk up a bit at the corners, 'I spose I fergot t'mention…those friendly folks what point me in the direction o' performin' my job are entitled to a 'finders fee', so's t'speak.' He taps a finger on the rim of his glass, indicating his desire for another drink. 'I'd be much obliged t'deliver this…Bishop…t'the local lawman, soon's I make his acquaintance.'

The neck of the bottle of Wildsnake chinks against the rim of the glass as the amber liquid glugs out, "Seems I now recall that the Ranch is just south of town, head along the road and you can't miss it" says Davey, pouring. "And that Jimmy Bishop, about your own size, long hair, scruffy beard. Last I saw him he'd got a fresh scar on his right hand" The bar slob sniffs, "Warn you though, Hunter, they want his neck back in Boston so he might not come along easy"

Cort picks up the glass but instead of drinking, he rolls the glass back and forth between his hands, a pensive expression on his face. 'They rarely come quietly,' he muses aloud. 'An' once I turn 'im over to th'marshall…well, Boston'll have to deal with th'lawman, won't be no none o' mine.' He looks at Davey and nods thanks again, then tosses the Wildsnake back and slams the shot glass down on the bar again. 'By th'way, Davey ol' son, word to th'wise…this Bishop finds out he's bein' hunted, why I'd have to come lookin' fer those who know 'bout 'im…get my meanin'?'

Davey snorts, then downs his own drink, "Hunter, if I saw a percentage in warning that bastard, you'd never have heard of him. I deal in booze, whores and information when it gains me somethin'. Politics.." Davey pronounces the word as 'polly-ticks' "..Politics got no profit for me"

Cort says, "Weeell, I didn't think I had to worry 'bout you, but you probly know as well as me what some folks'll do once some sidewinder shoves 'nough gold at 'em. No hard feelins, pard."

Davey smiles, showing off his horrible teeth, "Business is business, right enough" he plonks down his glass on the bartop, then moves to sell a drink to another waiting patron. "Mind how you go, Cort"

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