Showdown

Sheriff Dave was leaning on the bar, talking to a woman, drinking shots of whiskey, the pile of empty shot glasses growing by the minute. "So, you wanna come to my place later?" Dave said in his drunken slur, his hand scratching at his five o'clock shadow, as if he was thinking, but in reality, the Sheriff wasn't thinking, he was undressing the beautiful woman in his mind. The woman gasped, slapped his cheek with her gloved hand and stormed off. He stared at her hips, shaking into the distance. He turned back to the barkeep and slammed the shot glass onto the bar, "One more, Jimmy." Jimmy the Barkeep turned, grabbed a bottle of whiskey and slammed it onto the table in front of Dave, "Just pour'em yourself, you're not gonna pay anyway." Jimmy turned to another patron and rolled his eyes as Dave turned over the bottle into his mouth.

"Hey, Dave, 'mere!" Dave turned to see a man in a dark hat with a cigar yelled, "Yeah, you, Dave, 'mere!" Dave rolled his eyes and stood up, his hand level with his revolver and squinted drunkenly, "What do you want?" The man walked out of the bar, motioning for Dave to follow him, he walked out of the bar to the town bank, pulled out his revolver and pointed it at the man behind the bank counter, "Tell'em to open the vault." Dave glared at the man, swaying to and fro out of drunkenness, "F**k you." Dave moved his hand from his side to his holster, grabbed the grip of his revolver, yanked it from the holster, pointed the gun at the man and pulled the trigger. The man turned his gun from the man at the counter to Dave and pulled the trigger. BAM. BAM. Dave, in his drunken stupor, didn't know if he fell to his knees from his drunkenness or from a bullet wound, but he fell from his knees, then to the floor regardless.