When the kid walked in the door, Merl took one look at him and said to himself, "Here comes trouble."
    He didn't look like much, maybe 115 lbs soaking wet and with a brick in his pocket, but he had a look in his eyes that Merl had seen before. It was murder he saw in those young eyes, and murder just wasn't something you wanted walking into your back woods speak easy in the middle of prohibition.
    Luckily, the kid hadn't got his gonads swelled up enough to do the job yet. He pulled up a stool at the bar and told Merl to get him a shot of his hardest stuff. Of course, Merl gave him the same thing he gave every one else. He kept his hardest stuff back for close personal friends. The stuff he gave the kid was hundred proof, strong enough to make your face flush, but it wouldn't kill him like the hard stuff.
    "That's fifty cents." said Merl, sliding the kid the shot.
    The kid reached into his coat pocket for his change and Merl noticed how his jacket swung heavily, like something with weight to it was in the pocket.
    "That's a gun." Merl says to himself. He had rules about guns here in the bar. Generally, he didn't want any in here. Usually, he knew everyone that came in the bar, and if they were packing they would hand over their gun without too much fuss. The problem was, he didn't know who this kid was gunning for, but if he tried to get the kid to hand over his gun, who knew what the kid was going to do. At this point, he didn't think that the kid was going to get up a big enough mad on to do the deed. You never knew, though. Having a gun in your pocket can make a lot of kids feel awful manly.
    "I'll wait." he says. "The kid tries anything, I'll bash his hand with this here bottle and send him home with an ass beating he would never forget."
    Merl pulled out the makings for a cigarette and began to roll himself one. The kid tossed back his drink and he gave that wince that only non-drinkers have. He gave the customary throat clearing and ordered another. His eyes were glassy, and Merl could tell the kid was suppressing a coughing fit.
   Merl slid him another and finished his smoke and lit up. Occasionally, the kid would turn and look the room over, and Merl would watch where he looked, hoping to see who the kid's intended was. If you were looking for someone who might have made an enemy, take your pick, cause they came a dime a dozen in this joint.
    There were two reasons Merl didn't like guns in his place, really. One was he didn't want people getting smashed and killing each other in here, and the other was, every once in a while, generally around election time, the local sheriffs would de- cide to pitch a small battle in the great war on alchohol. They would all hop in to the town police car and do a raid on one of the local drunk houses.
   As long as everyone stayed cool, it all went pretty easy on them. they would spend a night in the cooler, and the next day they could go start in some other back woods shack. The rest of the time, the police left them alone. Some even came out as customers. But if someone had a gun on them, they might get some stupid idea to start a fight with the cops, and that was the kind of thing that could get the whole bunch of them killed. If a drunk killed a cop, the cops would shoot every goddamn guy in the room, armed or not, and say it was a shoot out. That kind of shit happened all the time, but Merl didn't want it happening here. Thus, the gun rule.
    "What are you doin' out at a place like this, kid?" That's good, he thought, get him talking, let him realise how stupid he is.
    "What does it look like?" said the kid. "I'm getting drunk."
    That gun's got him thinking he's got a ten pound nut sack, thought Merl. "You keep talking like that, you aren't going to be getting drunk in here, kid." Great, he thought, piss him off.
    The kid looked at him for a second and then dropped his head. "I'm sorry, I just had a really bad day. Me and my girl are fighting."
    Maybe he ain't here to gun anybody, Merl thought with a hint of relief, maybe he's getting drunk so he can go shoot his old lady. As long as it ain't done here, he didn't much care. Merl had known many a woman who could have driven a man to kill. He nodded towards the kid's glass and said, "Want another?"
   "Sure." said the kid, who started fumbling with his jacket for change.
   "On the house." said Merl. "I just want you to take off when you're done. No offense, kid, but you smell like trouble to me and I don't need trouble around here."
     The kid was about to argue, but then he thought the better of it, and accepted Merl's offer. As Merl slid him the glass, the kid turned and looked at a couple sitting in the corner. Was that his girl? No, she hadn't even noticed him when he walked in the door. The kid turned back around and saw that Merl was looking at the same thing he had been. Merl suddenly found something of interest in the back of the whisky bottle he held.
    The kid dumped the shot down his gullet and set the glass down carefully. He shook his head a little and said, "Thanks." He slid his stool away from the bar and got to his feet a little swayingly.
     Lightweight, thought Merl with an internal smile.
    When he was sure that the world was flat again, he turned and started for the door. Good  riddance. Merl turned around to put the bottle back on the shelf behind him. He saw the kid make his move out of the corner of his eye. The next few seconds were a slow motion drag, as he turned to watch the kid stop and reach into his pocket. Out slid the gun and Merl got his first look at it.
    The kid was dead. That was all there was to it.
    The kid pointed the pistol at the man in the corner, and yelled, "This is for Janet Huxley, you son of a bitch!"
    Merl knew the man in the corner. His name was Dan Hayward and he was the biggest, baddest mother fucker Merl had ever seen. This guy had single handedly bought every piece of furniture in the room, simply because Merl made him buy new ones after every single one of his brawls or he refused to serve him. Merl told him a million times that one of these days he was going to piss off the wrong guy, and here was a stupid kid with a gun.
    The kid started shooting, plugging away at old Dan. Dan would jump as each bullet hit him, and kick the table. The table fell over with the kid's last shot, spilling drinks on the dirt floor. The kid turned and headed for the door at a brisk walk. Someone stood up to block his path and the kid broke into a run.
   The room filled with a deafening roar. The kids guts splattered the ramshackle door at the bar's entrance and he fell on his face. Merl's head whipped toward the direction that the shot had come from, and there stood Dan Hayward, with a smoking Colt Forty-five.
    "If you mean to kill somebody,"he said as he strode across the room. "You had goddamn well better bring a bigger fucking gun than a twenty-two!"
    He was leveling the gun on the back of the kids head when Merl got to him. Merl grabbed the barrel of the gun and jerked it toward the ceiling.
    "Stop, you crazy son of a bitch!"
    Dan looked like he might be considering decking Merl, but he must have decided against it. He let Merl take the gun from him and satisfied himself with kicking the moaning kid in the side. Merl shoved him away from the kid.
    "Leave him alone!"
    He turned back toward the stunned patrons who were all standing around. "Anybody here who doesn't think this kid had that coming?" No one replied and Merl nodded. "Alright, bar's closed. Everybody out."
    The patrons tossed back the last of what they had and began filing out. A couple offered to help, but Merl waved them on.
    "I got it." he said. "Come back tomorrow night and everything will be peachy."
    Dan started to walk toward the door, but Merl said, "Oh no you don't. You're helping with this shit."
    "Look, I've been shot, man."
    "You probably had it coming, too. Shut up and do what I tell you. I want you to go wake up Jake."
    As Dan started for the back room behind the bar, Merl turned the kid over to look at the damage. His belly was one big hole. The kid coughed and spit blood all over the floor.
    "What the hell were you thinkin'?" he asked the kid. "You don't go gunning for someone with a twenty-two!"
    The kid spit more blood in reply and began wheezing. Dan came back out of the back room with Jake stumbling along behind him. Jake looked half asleep, which he was. "What's going on?" he asked, trying to get his eyes to stay open.
    "Jack ass here shot this kid."
    "He shot me first!" said Dan, obviously offended. "I think he punctured my lung!" He pointed at a bubbling little hole over his rib cage. "See that?"
    "Point is," said Merl. "We got to get this kid outta here. Ain't none of the customers going to say anything about this, but I'm sure this kid has got family, and they'll come looking for him. Jake, go get the truck and we'll haul him out of here."
    Jake did as he was told. He was a good guy to have around. He was Merl's bootlegger from way back, and he knew how to get from one place to another around here without getting caught. And he was one of the few people he knew who he could trust to handle this kind of situation.
    As Jake went to go get the truck, Merl stuck Dan's forty-five into his belt and told Dan to grab the kid's feet. Dan thought he was going to bitch, but Merl gave him a look that plainly said, "Look, I'm sick of hearing your shit and I'm two seconds away from plugging you myself."
    Dan grabbed the kid's feet and they lifted him together. The kid groaned and dripped blood as they shuffled him out the door. He keeps bleeding like that, thought Merl, and he's going to be a great deal lighter when we pull him back out of the truck.
    When they got outside,  they could hear Jake coming with the truck. It was just a low rumble coming up the road.  Jake had customized the engine and exhaust on the thing to the point that it was quieter at top speed then most cars were when they were idling. It was the perfect bootlegger truck, quiet and powerful. And he had a gift for driving that Merl had never seen the like of. He was one of those people that you actually felt safe with when he was blazing down a single lane pothole filled road at seventy miles an hour with no head lights on a moonless night. Jake had eyes like an owl, Merl always said.
    Jake pulled up and jumped out, leaving the engine running. Merl and Dan packed the kid around to the back and hefted him into the bed. Merl set him down easy, but Dan just kinda threw the kids legs in, which incited another round of blood spraying coughs. Jake ran around the other side of the bar and returned with two shovels.
    Dan looked at the two of them and said, "You guys act like you've done this before."
    Merl nodded and started for the shotgun seat.
    "Where do I ride?" asked Dan. Merl thrust his thumb at the back of the pickup.
    "I don't want you bleeding on my seats."
    "Son of a bitch. Have I mentioned that I have bullets in me? I could be dying here."
    "You may be closer than you think." Merl wrenched open the door and got in. Jake did the same on the other side and revved the engine. Dan stood looking at his options for a second, and decided that since he would probably survive this, it to piss off the only guy in six counties that would still serve him liquor. He pulled himself up into the back of the pickup and moved up next to the window.
    Jake dropped the truck into gear and threw gravel as he headed for the nearst bootlegger trail.
    In the front seat, Merl pulled out Dan's gun and opened up the chamber. Five bullets. He shoved the  gun into the back of his pants and drummed his hands nervously on his knee. Outside the pucker brush blurred by, occasionally highlighted by a little moonlight.
    "Hey, guys!" said Dan from the back. "Listen to this!"
    He got up on his knees and put his chest up against the open window. He placed a finger on each side of the open bullet wound and took a deep breath. He started stretching the bullet hole, which produced a high squealing sound as the air in his lungs escaped.
   Jakes eyes flashed toward the mirror a second and then were back on the road. He shifted up and floored the gas, which made the truck lurch. Dan was thrown into the cab and then fell back into the truck bed.
    Merl looked over at Jake and noticed he was wearing a small grin. He turned to look back at the road just as Jake hooked a left and slid the truck onto a side road.
   Litter and garbage lined the ditches for a little while, and a few pieces of old furniture seemed to be growing out of the under growth.
    "Can you slow down?!" yelled Dan, who was pulling himself off the floor.
    "No can do." said Merl. "You don't like fast rides in the dark, don't shoot stupid bastards in my bar."
    Jake took two more side roads and finally ended up on a tiny trail that wound it's way up a mountain. They crossed over three creeks, and a small moss covered bridge before they came to a stop in a thick patch of trees.
    Merl started rolling a cigarette and when he had it lit, he handed his zippo to Jake who lit a lantern. They crawled out of the truck and walked around back. Dan was using a hunting knife to dig one of the little twenty-two slugs out of his fore arm.
   "Get out, Dan. You got some digging to do."
    Dan slid off of the tail gate and said, "What the hell is wrong with you guys? You act like you're pissed because I shot a guy who shot me six times. What the hell?!"
    Merl was looking at the kid, who was still breathing shallowly. He thought the kid might be unconscious.
    "Who is Janet Huxley?" asked Merl.
    Dan thought for a minute and asked why.
    "The kid said he shot you because of Janet Huxley."
    "She's a girl I shacked up with and fucked for about four days straight."
    "Why does the kid care?"
    "How the hell should I know. I don't know him and she never mentioned him. Look, why does it matter?"
    "It matters because this kid has his guts sliding out of his belly and there's blood all over my bar and it's apparently because you fucked some bitch named Janet Huxley. That's why it matters" He threw his cigarette on the ground and stepped on it. "Did you rape the girl?"
    "No. Why you askin' me that? I can get pussy without forcing a girl. She came to me! I really doubt she was even thinking of Romeo here when she was going up and down on my dick like a goddamn sewing machine. She was happy to be there, I tell you."
    Merl studied him for a minute and said, "You're going to die with your dick in your hand, one of these days, Dan. Why were you packing a gun in my bar?"
    "Because little peckerheads with twenty-two's like to take shots at me and the last time I checked I had a right to defend myself."
    Jake walked up with the lantern and handed Merl back his zippo. Merl pocketed it and handed a shovel to Dan. "We dig in shifts, you go first."
    "I can't dig. I've been shot."
    Merl shoved the shovel at him. "Here's why I am pissed at you, Danny-boy. You are still walkin' and talkin'. You knew that I have a legally sensitive business. The kid was running out the door with an empty gun. You could have let him leave, and go found  the little shit later and did whatever business to him that you felt necessary. Instead, you shot the kid in the back. At least you saw him coming. Now, take this shovel and dig the poor little bastard a grave."
    Dan reached out and took the shovel. Jake set the lamp on the tail gate of the pick up and got the other shovel. Together they started making a hole. After ten minutes, Merl took the shovel from Jake and dug for a while. It wasn't long before Dan was wheezing.
    "Ain't this big enough?"
    "Shut up and keep digging."
    "Why the hell do we need to dig to china? The kid ain't that big!"
    "I'll tell you why. Bodies in shallow graves have a way of turning up in pieces in somebodies back yard with their dog chewing on it. I prefer that when I bury some son of a bitch, the son of a bitch stays buried. Now dig."
    Dan went back to digging.
    Merl figured that Dan was telling the truth about the girl. In his years of working at the bar he had seen just about every variety of asshole there was and this kid was no new breed. When a guy fell for a dame, she could be a damn whore and imself that she was a virgin and since she really loved him and not all those others, he would be her true "first".
   Then, when she started to get bored with his sensitive worshipfullness and started to go looking for a man with a backbone, the guy convinces himself that the guy with the backbone had either raped or otherwise mislead the girl into fucking him and it was his duty to defend the honor of a woman who had no honor. They were pathetic, and as Mr. Barnum said, there were 1440 of them born every day.
    They got the hole dug to about six feet and Merl said that it would have to be good enough. He hefted himself out of the hole and wiped some of the sweat that was dripping off of him onto his shirt sleeve. He walked over to the truck, ignoring Dan's outstretched hand. Cursing, the big man huffed and puffed his way up out of the hole.
    The kid had died while they were digging, which made Merl happy. He had been dreading smacking in the back of the kid's head before they buried him.
    "Grab his feet." he told Dan.
    Dan did as he was told, since he was getting to be too tired to argue. They hauled the scrawny little corpse over to the hole and tossed it in. Merl turned to go get a shovel when he heard Dan unzip his pants. A few seconds later there was the sound of piss splattering down into the grave.
    "That's so you won't get thirsty!" he yelled down to the dead body.
    Merl walked up behind him with a look of digust on his face. He pulled the .45 out of his waist band and pressed it against the back of Dan's head. The gun roared for the second time that night and Dan fell into the open grave with a meaty thump.
    "Any body think that he didn't have that coming?"
    Jake shrugged. "I got no complaints."
    Merl went and got his shovel and the two of them began filling the hole. Jake let out a little snicker.
    "What's so funny, Jake?"
    "Oh," said the bootlegger "I was just thinking about how you told him he would die with his dick in his hands."
    Merl cracked up and the two laughed theirselves to tears while they buried two idiots.

    This one is for Stack, who saw it all. When he goes, they better have Harleys in heaven, or he might have to slap someone around.

Ok, so if you liked it or you just thought that it sucked the big one, e-mail me and tell me. bcampo@hotmail.com.