The Book of Death (Bourbon Kid 4)

rotating metal propeller fan that hung
from the ceiling. He had received a serious pasting at the hands of Jessica, or
Archibald Somers, or maybe even both. Who knew? Or cared?
    Berkley placed a whisky glass
down on the bar in front of JD and produced a bottle of bourbon from under the
bar. Considering that the last time they had met, JD had blown a huge hole
through the middle of Berkley’s head, it seemed a fairly forgiving gesture. The
head wound had vanished. The bartender looked exactly as JD remembered him. His
hair was still long, dark and unwashed and he had maintained his overall tramp
in a waiter’s outfit look down to a tee. His white shirt looked unwashed and
most of it was conveniently concealed beneath a black waistcoat.
    ‘Pour me a shot,’ said JD
leaning against the bar and taking a look back at all the people behind him.
They were still all watching his every move. Hundreds of them. Not one of them
seemed remotely pleased to see him. Hardly surprising really.
    Berkley uncorked the bottle of
bourbon and poured it into the whisky glass. He filled the bottom inch of the
four-inch high glass and then stopped pouring. JD glanced down at the drink as
the bartender began to replace the cork in the bottle.
    ‘I’m gonna want a bigger shot
than that,’ he remarked.
    Berkley stopped corking the
bottle. ‘How much more?’ he asked.
    ‘You really need to ask?’
    ‘No.’
    Berkley filled the glass to the
top and stepped back away from the bartop. JD looked down at the drink. This
was a serious moment. If he took a sip of that bourbon his deal with the Devil
was done. There would be no turning back. He would be back to the man he once
was. A man with no soul . A man capable of killing everyone in this
shitty bar. A man who had probably killed them all once before. And might be
expected to do it again if he was going to get out of there alive.
    He picked up the glass and
inspected the contents. There was a bead of sweat sliding down the outside of
the glass. Actual sweat . As he was watching it he heard a voice. A
fairly gravelly one, as these things go, and it said: ‘What are you doing in
our bar, stranger? What’s your business?’
    JD put the glass back down on
the bar. He recognised the voice. It was Ringo, a fat fuck he’d killed some
years earlier in the Tapioca. Through a crowd of people on his left, Ringo
appeared, barging aside anyone in his way. He looked exactly as he had done all
those years before. He was a heavy set, greasy, unshaven slimeball wearing
dirty brown trousers and a sweat stained baggy grey shirt. He came to a stop at
the bar by JD’s left shoulder and glared at him.
    JD sighed. ‘I’m not looking for
any trouble.’
    Ringo grinned menacingly and
growled, ‘Well I am trouble, and it looks like you found me.’
    The bartender stepped back even
further away from the bartop, corking up the bottle as he did so. JD shook his
head and then turned to face Ringo, looking him dead in the eye.
    ‘You don’t fuckin’ learn, do
ya?’
    Ringo placed a hand on JD’s shoulder
and squeezed hard. With his other hand he pulled out a pistol from a concealed
holster at his side. He pointed it at JD’s face. ‘We been hearing rumours that
the Bourbon Kid is headed this way. You’re drinking bourbon, ain’t you? Are you
the Bourbon Kid?’
    JD took a deep breath. ‘Y’know
why he’s called the Bourbon Kid, don’t you?’
    A high pitched male voice from
the crowd of onlookers shouted out. ‘I know. They say that when the Kid drinks
bourbon, he turns into a fuckin’ giant, a psycho, and he goes nuts and kills
everyone in sight. They say he’s invincible and can only be killed by the Devil
himself.’
    ‘That’s right,’ said JD. ‘The
Bourbon Kid kills everyone. All it takes is just one sip and then he goes nuts
and kills everyone in the bar. And I should know, I seen it happen. Quite a few
times.’
    Ringo cocked his pistol and
snarled at JD. ‘Let’s put it to the test. Drink your bourbon.’
    JD looked at the glass of
bourbon and thought about picking it up. It looked like pretty good stuff. He
glanced back over at Berkley. ‘Bartender, is this real bourbon?’ he asked.
    Berkley looked confused. ‘Sure
it is. Why wouldn’t it be?’
    ‘No reason. Just checking.’
    JD picked up the glass and
raised it to his lips. The whole bar watched, barely able to stand the tension
of waiting for him to drink the contents. As if to torment them he didn’t
actually throw the