The Book of Death (Bourbon Kid 4)

himself down on a stool to the left of the Bourbon Kid. He
picked up the bottle of Shitting Monkey and took a large swig from it. Then he
let out a satisfied “ Aaaah ” to indicate that the taste pleased
him immensely. After a few seconds of uncomfortable silence, he spoke to the
Kid.
    ‘Finally, we meet again.’
    The Kid looked over at his new
drinking partner. The most notable feature was his right hand. It was made from
solid steel. Only one man in the world had a hand like that.
    Rodeo Rex.
    Rex was a bounty hunter who
claimed he worked for God. He was a big fucker too. He had shoulder length
brown hair, mostly concealed underneath a large white Stetson. His biceps
bulged out of a sleeveless blue denim jacket, showing off an array of tattoos
featuring words like DEATH and CHOSEN. He also wore a pair of very tight blue
jeans. They wouldn’t be tight on many men, but when you had legs the size of
tree trunks, like Rex did, anything was going to be tight fitting.
    ‘You’re looking a lot better,’
said the Kid, referring to the last time he had seen the bounty hunter. On the
previous occasion Rex had been little more than a bloodied corpse rotating
round and round on a large ceiling fan in the Nightjar.
    ‘Did me a deal with the man in
red,’ said Rex. He took another pull at his beer. ‘I loved my work hunting down
the undead so much that when he offered me the chance to carry on under his
employment, I couldn’t say no.’
    ‘He keepin’ you busy?’
    ‘There’s a never endin’ supply of
hell dodgers to be taken down. Fuckers keep on multiplying. And right now
there’s a revolution goin’ on in your home town.’
    ‘No shit.’
    ‘So the man sent me to show you
the way.’ Rex took another sip of his beer, then he held the bottle up towards
the Kid, gesturing for him to chink glasses. ‘A toast,’ he said. ‘To killing
vampires!’
    The Kid picked up his own glass
and duly chinked it against Rex’s. ‘To killing everything,’ he replied. Then he
poured the contents down his throat and slammed the empty glass back down on
the bar again, ready for Berkley to top it up once more.
    As Berkley was refilling the
glass, Rex turned on his stool and looked back to the entrance. He put his
non-metallic hand to his mouth, stuck his index finger and thumb in and
whistled loudly. A moment later a tall dark figure appeared at the entrance, a
man with a large quiff of black hair atop his head. He pushed the saloon doors
open and walked slowly through them. The Kid recognised him too. They’d met
before, albeit only briefly a few times. It was Santa Mondega’s most well known
muscle for hire.
    The King. The man they called
Elvis.
    He wore a white suit with gold
trims and a pair of large gold-rimmed sunglasses. In his right hand he was
carrying a large guitar case. He sauntered up to the bar as if he was gliding
across a stage in front of an audience of imaginary female fans. When he
reached the bar he laid the case down on the bartop.
    ‘Afternoon, fellas,’ he said flicking
the guitar case open. He reached inside and pulled out a sheet of white paper.
He placed it down on the bar in front of the Kid. ‘There’s your contract,’ he
said. ‘Read it and sign on the dotted line.’
    The Bourbon Kid picked up the
sheet of paper. It detailed all of the formalities of his deal with the Devil.
Everything he required from the Devil was listed at the top followed by all of
his obligations. Rodeo Rex held out a pen. The Kid signed his name on the
dotted line and then handed the pen back to Rex.
    ‘Got yourself a good deal,’ he
said as he picked up the contract and slipped it inside his sleeveless jacket.
    ‘So where’s my stuff?’ the Kid
asked.
    Elvis patted him on the
shoulder. ‘Take your pick from this lot,’ he said.
    He turned the open guitar case
around on the bar so the Kid could get a look inside. It was full of weapons
and ammunition. ‘We got everything here you could possibly need, and then
some,’ he said.
    Rex pointed at a small silver
crossbow in the neck of the case. ‘Try some of the quieter weapons,’ he
suggested. ‘They’ll be most effective for what you need.’
    The Kid glanced up at him. ‘I
don’t need any tips from you.’
    ‘You fuckin’ do. You might be a
real badass, but if you go back to Santa Mondega and face up to those vampires
and werewolves in your usual fashion, you’re gonna get your ass kicked.’
    ‘I doubt that.’
    ‘If they get their hands on