SANDSTORM Punishment

Prompt: Sandstorm

Another windy day in the wild, wild west.

Sharp Shooting Joe was finishing off another kill for yet another bounty. The man had more money than he needed to count and he was starting to get bored with the life he led. He used the handkerchief his mama made him to wipe the blood and sweat from his brow.

Hours later he found himself down at the local saloon, sipping on bourbon and to no surprise, taking in the latest "Wanted" posters.

"Hey! Bucktooth Bobby! Who's this fella here?" Sharp Shooting Joe yelled to the bartender as he tipped his glass toward the poster.

"That there is Pickle Eyed Pete. Finest handyman for miles. The man kills, steals and disappears like no one before his time. Sheriff can never catch up with. Rumor has it, that he gets away so well because he can jump through time. The law can't ever find em because he ain't never here!" Bucktooth Bobby said as he wiped down the bar.

"Hmm. He ain't been caught on account of me not catching em', that's all."

"I don't know Joe, I mean, we call you Sharp Shooting Joe for a reason, but this fella? He's smooth."

"Bobby, I'll shoot you right there where you stand. Now you make a hell of a drink, but don't go off saying things that don't make sense, especially when my name's involved. I'm finna find this fella and blow his brains out like I always do. Then, I'ma go on and collect my coins, like I always do. Now, where's the last place they saw this chap?" Sharp Shooting Joe said as he seated himself at the bar.

"Here."

"Hmm. Did he get away with anything? What's his motive?"

"No, Sheriff was at the bar so he didn't even try. He just came in for a drink. Probably just scoping the place out. As for his motive? I think it's just all fun for him Joey." Bucktooth Bobby said nervously.

"Yea, well, it's fun for me too. Call me Joey again and you'll catch a bullet in your baby toe. Got a feeling this fella will be back here and I'll be waiting for him."

Sharp Shooting Joe spent his night chewing tobacco and fantasizing about putting an end to Pickle Eyed Pete.  Maybe I'll make this my last he thought. Maybe.

The next morning he found himself posted inside the saloon. Patrons had been coming and going since daybreak; there isn't much to do in town.

Sharp Shooting Joe stayed unbothered and seated with a bottle of whiskey throughout the day. He'd only had to pull his pistol once on a fella who didn't want to pay his tab.

Pickle Eyed Pete didn't walk through the doors of the saloon until the threat of moonlight approached. Sharp Shooting Joe didn't move. Didn't even let the man know he was noticed. He just waited.

Pickle Eyed Pete swiped some loot and a couple bottles of moonshine from the bartender and quietly went back out the doors he first entered through. Sharp Shooting Joe followed him silently but swiftly out into the desert air.

The man trailed his bounty for what felt like miles. It wasn't until the saloon was well behind them and the edge of town was just a few pebble skips away that Pickle Eyed Pete stopped walking.

"You shouldn't kill me" Pickle Eyed Pete whispered without turning around.

"Hell I shouldn't" Sharp Shooting Joe shot him straight through the right hand causing him to drop the moonshine. He walked over to the now wounded outlaw and touched the end of his gun up to his head as he stood in front of him.

"Seems you've got an issue with taking what ain't yours. Now what was it that you were saying?" Sharp Shooting Joe said venomously.

Even with a pistol pushed up against his skull, Pickle Eyed Pete didn't squirm. Not a drop of sweat nor an ounce of fear trickled from him.

"Listen, before you do what it is that you do, I've got one word for ya" Pickle Eyed Pete said as he spat tobacco at Sharp Shooting Joe's feet.

"Oh yea, what's that boy?"

"Techno" Pickle Eyed Pete said dryly, ignoring the blood dripping from his hand.

"Tech who?"

"Techno. Music from the future."

"What in the hell are you talking about. You trynna stall me or something?" Sharp Shooting Joe tightened his grip on the pistol.

"Joe, don't do this, I'm tellin ya. You'll wanna hear this and you can't if you kill me."

"Hmm. They say you're a time hopper, well alright, now I'm curious. I'll tell you what though, you try anything stupid and I'll shoot you right in the dick and let you bleed out a little, actually a lot, before I put one in your brain" Sharp Shooting Joe threatened.

"I'm not shitting you, I swear. Go on and look in my pocket. The top left one under my vest."

With the gun steady on Pickle Eyed Pete's head, Sharp Shooting Joe stuck his hand in the man's pocket and pulled out a shiny contraption.

"Them future folk call that an iPod. Fancy huh?" Pickle Eyed Pete chuckled.

"Get to it Pete." Sharp Shooting Joe snapped.

"Oh relax Joe. Put them thangs in your ears, it's where the sound comes out. Go on, there ain't no funny business, I swear."

Sharp Shooting Joe placed the foreign matter in his ears and nearly jumped out of his body when Pickle Eyed Pete pressed play. The syncopated beats and almost painfully pleasing synthesized sounds took to roaming throughout his ears.

"Well I'll be damned. This techno, man this stuff makes my ears bleed like a pig before dinner, but I'd be a damn liar if I said I didn't want to dance!" Sharp Shooting Joe whooped as he pumped one fist in the air, all the while holding the gun steady to Pickle Eyed Pete's head with the other hand.

Pickle Eyed Pete laughed at the man despite the gun that was kissing his temple.

"Now Pete, would you call me crazy if I asked you for a dance?" Sharp Shooting Joe said, lowering his pistol.

"Nah, ain't crazy. Can't help it, the techno does that to you."

Despite the world and the reality surrounding them, the two of them danced. Right there in the middle of the desert. Right in the moment while the blood from Pickle Eyed Pete smeared and dripped all over.

"Whattaya call this anyway? Is this what it sounds like when people sing in the future?"

"It's not singing. It's the music that's made by a fella and his machines. He goes by Darude." Pickle Eyed Pete said with a breath of relief.

"What a funny name. Probably a funny fella. What's he call this one that I'm listening to?"

"Sandstorm."

"Hmm. Sandstorm. Fitting. Well Pete, it's your lucky day. And don't you worry, I'll keep this little techno thang between you and me. But I swear, on my momma and her hogs, Pete I'll blow your head off if I catch ya again, you hear?" Sharp Shooting Joe's words were as cold as they were slick.

"I understand. You won't see me again. You take care Joe." Pickle Eyed Pete turned to walk off in the opposite direction of town.

"And Pete?"

"Yea?"

"I'm keeping this here contraption of yours. So don't even think about sending for it. Ain't nobody gonna get to listen to Sandstorm but me. You got it?" Sharp Shooting Joe raised his gun, getting his point across clearly.

"Yea, sure." Pickle Eyed Pete said as he walked off towards the tail end of a faraway sunset,  away from a town he'd never see again.

The dust settled quietly behind him.