Revenge of Eagles

“Hey, Dagen, what did this here whore just say?” Fargo asked, waving his gun. A little stream of smoke was still coming from the end of the barrel, and it drifted up to join the cloud of acrid-smelling smoke that was gathering over the barroom.

“She said you killed him,” Dagen replied.

“Ha!” Fargo said. “Yeah, I reckon I did kill the son of a bitch at that.” He looked at the woman. “This is all your fault, you know,” he said.

“Why is it my fault, Senor?” the woman asked, surprised by Fargo’s accusation.

“If you had done what I asked you to do, Pablo here would still be alive. But because you didn’t leave him and come join us for a little friendly get-together, he is dead.” He looked over at the other woman, who was standing halfway down the bar. She too was with someone, but the person she was standing with backed away from her very quickly when he saw Fargo looking toward him.

“You,” Fargo said to the other woman, “I want you too. I’m invitin’ both of you, real friendlylike, to come join my friends and me.”

Without further hesitation, the two women hurried over to the table to join Fargo Ford’s men. In the meantime, Fargo walked over to the bar and stared down at the body of the man he had just killed.

“Bartender,” he called. “Come here.”

“Si?” the bartender answered. Like the others in the room, the bartender was still in a state of shock over what he had just witnessed. And now, added to that shock was fear. He hung back.

“I said come here,” Fargo repeated, more authoritatively this time.

Hesitantly, and visibly shaking, the bartender closed the distance while keeping the bar between them.

“The whore said this man’s name was Pablo?” Fargo asked.

“Si, Pablo Bustamante.”

“Tell me, did Pablo Bustamante have a wife? Did he have any kids?”

“No, Senor, he was not married. He lived with his mother on the edge of town.”

Fargo pulled one hundred dollars from his pocket and handed it to the bartender. “Give this money to his mother. Tell her I’m sorry that her son was so foolish as to draw on me.”

The bartender made no effort to take the money from Fargo.

“Do you want Pablo’s poor mama to do without this money?” he asked.

The bartender hesitated a second, then reached for the money.

“Gracias.”

Fargo pulled it back slightly. “Now, what are you going to tell her?”

“I will tell her that you are sorry her son was so foolish as to draw on you.”

“That’s a good man,” Fargo said. He looked at the others in the room. “And as for the rest of you. If there is anyone in here who does not think this was a fair fight, then step up and let me hear from you. We may as well settle this now,” he called out loudly.

There were several men in the cantina staring at him, and they had been staring at him from the moment his confrontation with Pablo began. But now, at his challenge, they all looked away. It was as if they had suddenly found their drinks much more interesting.

“I didn’t think anyone would disagree with me. Bartender, how about getting some food over to the table now? And be quick about it, I don’t want to wait for it all day.”

“Si, muy rapido, Senor,” the bartender replied nervously.

When Fargo returned to the table to rejoin the others, the two women were already there, though the expressions on their faces showed that they were frightened.

“Can you imagine that dumb shit pulling his gun on me just to keep a whore to himself?” Fargo asked. “What the hell was he thinkin’?”

Monroe chuckled. “Well, there’s one thing for sure, Fargo. Ole Pablo won’t be pullin’ his gun on you no more. I’d say he’s learned his lesson.”

“Learned his lesson,” Casey repeated, laughing out loud. The others, except for Ponci, joined him in the laughter.

“How do you know he’s learned his lesson?” Dagen asked. “He might be down in hell right now trying to bluff the devil.”

“He don’t have to bluff the devil; hell is full of whores,” Monroe said, and everyone laughed again.

“Incluso las putas en el infierno no tendrian nada que ver con este hombre,” one of the women said in biting tones. This was the woman who had been standing next to Pablo when Fargo shot him.

Dagen laughed.

“What the hell did she say?” Fargo demanded.

“She said even the whores in hell would want nothing to do with you.”

Fargo glared at the woman, and she shook with fear at what he might do. Then, suddenly and unexpectedly, Fargo laughed out loud.

“You got guts, I’ll give you that,” he said. “But we ain’t in hell right now, so I’m more worried about the whores up here.” Fargo put his hand on her cheek and she shrank back from him. “Don’t be scared. You can’t have no fun if