“I have to say.” The bounty hunters grimy teeth showed as he smiled. “I’m a big fan.”
“You’re mistaken.” My shoulder creaked as I turned back to my drink.
“Oh, no.” A crusty hand slapped down a wanted poster on the table near my drink.
I pushed the cup out of the way. His stench and the flecks of whatever was stuck to his skin chased away my thirst. There was no denying that it was me in the picture; a few years younger and with shorter hair, but still me. No one would mistake the web of scars on my cheek for a shaving accident.
“Walk away.” I muttered. “Live another day. Take a shower even.”
He pressed in closer, something hard ground into my side. “Says dead or alive, I ain’t picky. Now, stand up.”
I sighed. “Fine.”
I slipped off the bar stool. My knees and back popped in protest. The bounty hunter snickered. I stretched for a moment and rubbed at the pain in my back. Maybe I should just let him take me in. It had been a few years, surely the wounds weren’t as fresh. They probably didn’t miss that outpost all that much anymore.
My hand closed around the barrel of the gun. I twisted it up, catching his finger in the grip, and pulling him to the ground. He whimpered as he clawed at the gun with his other hand. A sharp blow to the elbow made his hand spasm, the gun practically leaped from his grasp. I caught it, took a step back, and centered the sight on his forehead.
“You’ve been doing this long?”
He cursed at me. I looked around, the other barflies didn’t even bother to look up from their drinks. A wiry little fellow in the corner chuckled, but made no move to intervene.
“Where’s your ship?”
“Docking bay three, docking bay three.” The bounty hunter wheezed as he rubbed his sore hand.
“Let’s go then.”
I smiled, he flinched. “I feel like visiting old friends.”