The Beer, The Bear, and The Bomb

Part One: The Beer

Williams, Kentucky was a small town with a big impact on the state. Sitting on a road between Cincinnati and Louisville, this town was prime to grow into a bustling trade city. As it happened now, there were many businessmen who made a living out of Williams. Some brought goods from Ohio, like corn or maple, intended for Louisville sale. Others did the reverse, hoping to export some fine Kentucky bourbon up to their neighbors in the north. Most of these traveling businessmen only stopped in Williams on their way to their final sale, but over time, many started selling directly in Williams to let someone else take their goods the rest of the way. In fact, a select few bought and stocked up on goods heading both north and south, and sought to sell them to the growing Williams community. Then you had the local shops, eateries, and inns who housed and entertained these energetic entrepreneurs. More and more establishments popped up to serve Williams. One of these local establishments was none other than the Lone Star Brewery.

Lone Star was a fascinating little tavern. If you were to stumble into any saloon or tavern in the great big state of Texas, it would look and feel a great deal like the Williams Lone Star. After walking through some swinging doors you’d see skulls of long-horned bulls and paintings of the southwest on the walls. That’d be because the owner and brew master was a Texas native by the name of Antonio Lago, an Italian man who brewed a beer so fine you’d think it wine. At least that’s what the sign said.

No one really knew what brought Antonio Lago from Texas to Williams. Heck, no one even knew what brought an Italian man to Texas in the first place. He wasn’t much of a talker unless he had to be. Some rumors said Antonio got into trouble with a Mexican gang down there and had to escape the state on fear of retribution. Other rumors said quite the opposite, that he was the leader of a Mexican gang, who was about to be round up and strung up by some Texas cowboys to pay for his crimes. Were this the case, it’d mean he changed his name and identity from a Mexican man to an Italian man, hoping that the fine citizens and drifters of Williams wouldn’t know the difference. And fine folk as they might be, the citizens of Williams did not know the difference.

Regardless of his background, Lago’s lagers were one thing that all of Williams enjoyed. On any given night, you’d see the whole place packed with people. Locals, comers, and goers loved to sit down for a beer and some barbecue while a Kentucky band attempted to play some Tex-Mex tunes. But on this particular night, the whole place fell silent as a library at midnight. It was full of people, sure, but they all scattered to the side walls waiting for a chance to rush out. Tables had toppled over, glasses shattered on the floor with spilt beer starting to stick, and men and women alike held back tears and cries of fear, as two gunmen stood across one another in the main hall of the Lone Star, waiting for the other to shoot first.

The two men had names, and the whole town knew those names. But right now, those names escaped these poor patrons, who only saw two men and two pistols pointing at each other waiting for certain death. Words were exchanged, no doubt, but in moments of great fear and trauma the exact threats and accusations hurled around a room sometimes get lost until the dust settles down. Good guy, bad guy, it didn’t matter. Everyone just wanted to go home. Were it not for fear of startling a stray bullet, the Lone Star would be lonely with all these lager-lovers running out the door.

Antonio Lago wasn’t much of a talker unless he had to be. Tonight, he had to be. See, any respectable owner of a bar such as the Lone Star keeps a rifle under the bar. Antonio certainly did, only the rifle was on the right-hand side of the bar, and he was all the way over on the left where the taps were. He didn’t have no gun, but Antonio was armed with his greatest gift of all.

“Gentlemen,” he began to speak calmly as he could, though loud enough to be unmistaken in his speech, “neither of you want to die. Not tonight. It would be far better to die as an old man with a smile, not a young man with a rage.

“Now I don’t speak much about my past, but this isn’t the first standoff I’ve stood witness to. Men dying doesn’t get any easier, doesn’t matter how many men you see fall to the floor. I don’t want to see that tonight, not on my watch in my place. Not either of you two.

“I’ve got beer, and I’ve got barstools. Gentlemen, whatever quarrel stands between you, there’s nothing two men can’t settle with beer and barstools. What do you say? On the house. Leave your guns on the table, let me pour you a drink, and let all of our friends leave this place in peace.”

More words than Antonio Lago ever did speak in his own Lone Star, ‘twas a compelling speech indeed. In fact, years down the road, some of these poor patrons would say that they saw at least one pistol slightly lower in consideration, if only for a moment. If only for a moment.

BANG!

A bullet blasted across the room and into the chest of the man dressed in a white shirt (though that white was steadily soaking red) as his killer stood with a smoking gun, in the finest blue suit anyone in Williams had seen. Screams filled the Lone Star as the body slammed to the floor, footsteps cracking on glass as they sprinted every which way they could go. The blue-clad gunslinger wiped his pistol with a matching blue handkerchief before holstering it. He then walked over to the body of his fallen opponent before reaching down to pluck something off his blood-soaked white shirt: A badge in the shape of a star. This man shot the sheriff.

Methodically wiping the badge clean with the same blue handkerchief, the man in blue pocketed the star before walking to the bar, where Antonio Lago stood stunned and silent. Antonio looked on as the lone patron of his Lone Star stepped closer and closer his way. The murderer pulled out a bar stool, gently sat himself upon it, and smiled up at the brewer.

“Think I will take that beer now… If it’s still on the house. And I want to hear about them other standoffs you stood witness to back down in Texas.”

Antonio Lago stalled for a moment, before shakily tilting a pint glass at the tap. He pulled the lever and poured the lager before placing the glass on the bar. He finally looked up at the man in blue, who still smiled as he awaited Lago’s legends.

“If it’s all the same to you, I’m not much of a talker if I don’t have to be.”

Part Two: The Bear

            The front doors of the Lone Star swung open with a slam as the man in the blue suit strutted on out with a celebratory cigar sticking out of the side of his mouth. The streets of Williams had some packs of onlookers waiting outside the brewery for a look at who would walk out. And with some gasps and whispers, these townsfolk talked of the tall man before them: Jack Pucker.

            Jack Pucker stood higher than most with a dark bushy beard and eyes bluer than his suit. With puffs of smoke and hands on his belt buckle, he looked out at the startled masses and gave a nod of greeting in their direction, before casually strutting down back his own way. Someone shouted out at him that he shot the sheriff, while others yelled in support. All Jack Pucker said in response was, “There is no sheriff no more.”

            Williams was a town on the rise, though not so risen just yet. Lots of other trade towns on dirt roads had a sheriff, and most of those sheriffs had ten or twenty deputies at their side. The now dead sheriff of Williams only had one deputy. That deputy’s name was Jack Pucker. For a time, these men shared a fraternal fondness with one another, each rooting for the health and happiness of the other. Obviously, something changed in the not-so-distant past.

            Jack Pucker continued his walk, and the closer he got back home, people became less shaky and more salutatory. See, a town like Williams couldn’t be as simple as a midway between two big cities with lots to send to each other. Growing at the rate she was growing, Williams started to have two factions of folks in cliques together: The legitimate and the ambitious.

            The folks who thought themselves legitimate saw a great opportunity for their home. The more business that could safely see its way in and out of Williams, the more money that the town could get to keep her hands on. It would make Williams more than a waypoint, and instead a point people made way to. Shopkeepers would get richer, inns would add more rooms, properties would be purchased, and residents would rise. Here was a slim chance that few towns saw, but not all wanted it that way.

            Now, the folks who were called ambitious were more often called greedy, but they didn’t see it the same way. In fact, these folks found that they were simply seeking a different definition of legitimacy than the first faction. These folks saw all these fine goods coming and going, and yet not so many were staying. They didn’t care for the cash that was collected, for they couldn’t overlook the money they couldn’t maintain. Why should some Cincinnati salesman use Williams to make his salary? Why should some lucky lad from Louisville get to pass by Williams as he takes all his lavish luxuries on with him? That doesn’t seem fair that Williams has to wait to make her fortune. These greedy gold-getters had a whole different plan ready: collect a passing tax by force. Whether that was paid in cash, or a sample of goods didn’t matter, as long as the town got her share. Now, a sheriff couldn’t do such a thing like that, but some ruffians rampaging rampantly could sure rummage up the right stuff. Only therein lies the problem yet again: The sheriff.

            Jack Pucker was greedy, no question to that one. He wasn’t always so greedy though, and as a matter of fact he became the right hand of the sheriff quite legitimately. Not only was their brotherly bond built on the law, but it was also based in their business. Before the trade route boomed through Williams, many locals relied on hunting to make their meat. Tailoring to the town’s task, Jack Pucker partnered with his friend to open up Bear and Bee Hunting Supplies. Jack Pucker ran most of the day to day, while his friend the sheriff had his back when needed. Hence, Jack Pucker got to put his name at the front of the business. Jack Pucker was the Bear.

            Jack Pucker was the Bear long before he sold rifles, bullets, traps, and knives. Jack Pucker was nicknamed the Bear when he grew much bigger and taller than all the rest of the boys his age, and much sooner. Jack Pucker challenged an older boy to a wrestling match one day, and beat him so bad he cried for help. Jack Pucker only agreed to let him go if the boy called him a bear. In fear, the boy didn’t say “you’re a bear,” but unknowingly bestowed the bombastic title onto Jack Pucker, yelling out: “you’re the Bear,” instead. Jack Pucker roared as the older boy ran tearfully, and he was the Bear every day since.

            When the Bear finished his walk and arrived at his shop, he was met with the applause of his most loyal men. As the Bear killed the sheriff, all 6 of these followers stuck in the shop following orders, so they wouldn’t be connected to the duel. The Bear dropped the end of his cigar to the ground and crushed it with the heel of his boot. He shook all 6 men’s hands on the front steps of Bear and Bee before entering the shop. When they entered, a bottle of bourbon aged 30 years sat on the counter with 8 glasses. The Bear locked the front door of the shop, then slowly opened the bottle with a delicate grip.

            The Bear looked around his shop while his 6 men touted their pride. The ceilings were taller than most and the walls were tiled with taxidermy beasts hunted by the Bear and the Bee. The walls also had a display of rifles and shotguns for the huntsmen of Williams, with endless ammunition for them all. They’d buy and sell many other things any hunter might need, and they earned a respectable living in this shop. Lot of memories were lost and found under these tall ceilings, lot of hard work and fond friendship.

            The bottle popped open, and the Bear poured bourbon into all 8 glasses. A glass for himself, a glass for each of his men, and a glass out of respect for the sheriff: The Bee. The Bear’s old friend: Dale Honey.

            Dale Honey was always called the Bee, and at a glance it’s easy to guess why that name stuck like, well, honey. When the Bee was a child, the title was a tremendous insult to him.

Dale Honey’s father was known as the Wolf, one of the toughest bastards in Kentucky. The Wolf became famous as an amateur boxer before he became a legend as a sheriff’s deputy in Nashville, Tennessee. Everyone in Kentucky knew him as the Wolf, but everyone in Tennessee would call him by a longer name: The Deputy who Saved Song and Dance. Long story short, the Wolf’s reputation as a boxer led the sheriff of Nashville to write him a personal letter imploring his services.

See, at this time in Nashville, a couple of gangs were battling one another in the city so much that it made the music stop. Folks fled in flocks for fear of their lives and livelihoods, and the sheriff was at his wits end trying to stop the gangsters. His last-ditch idea was to get a real brawler like the Wolf down to beat the gangsters at their own game. The Wolf had only ever hunted before, never pulled a pistol to a person. Yet the then young man was tempted by the challenge and agreed.

The truth of the matter is that the Wolf was one of seventeen deputies who were called from around the country to stop the violence in Nashville, and it took two months of teamwork to bring peace. But the truth ain’t as fun as the legend. The legend tells that the day the Wolf came to Nashville, he came upon one gang leader in the street and shot him right in the head. When the rest of that gang rounded up on the Wolf, his shots were too fast and too many to be stopped, and he killed a whole gang on one sunny Tuesday.

A day later on an even sunnier Wednesday, the Wolf walked into a known hideout of the other gang and dropped his guns to the floor. See, this gang leader had no reason to kill the Wolf, seeing as all the Wolf did was eliminate the competition. Knowing this, the Wolf decided to do what he did best. He challenged the gang leader to a boxing match. Well, you oughta know how that legend ended. The Wolf Saved Song and Dance.

Now, back to Dale Honey, the Bee. As a child, Dale’s title was a tremendous insult, as it implied all Dale had going for him was his name and lineage of being Honey’s son. He wasn’t worthy of a title beyond his name, so he’d have to go and build a new identity himself. The Bee thought about what his title meant. Bees are fast as a flash with a stinger that’ll stun a man. The Bee trained with his father, both to box and to fire a gun, and learned to do both with ferocious flight-like speed.

The Bee met the Bear when the boys were growing in the rolling hills of Kentucky. The Bear was a large and mighty wrestler, but the Bee was a fast and undefeated boxer. The boys were the only match for one another in a brawl, and soon their competition created a comradery. They loved the other like a true brother.

The Bear was the main businessman of the two, while the Bee cared deeply for doing the right thing. See, before he was fast as a flash with his stingers (which could accurately describe both his fists and his guns), the Bee was bullied. Once he claimed the title of the Bee as a badge of pride, he now wanted a badge to protect his home, his Williams. He wanted to be a lawman like his father.

It wasn’t hard for the Bee to become sheriff. As an established businessman, the people knew him. As the son of the Wolf, the people believed in him. So as easily as he said he wanted the job, he got the job. Almost immediately that meant an appointment for the Bear as well. Anything one did, the other followed, and this would be no different. That’s how the Bear became the single deputy to the Bee in Williams, and there was no one in Kentucky who would act out of line with these two rough riders enforcing the law. Both men had similar goals for Williams and wanted to keep on seeing the growth of the town from rags to riches, in a most legitimate way.

That was until the Bear met the Twins. Two twin brothers from Cincinnati who settled into Williams so they could rob traders and their valets. When the Bear arrested them, he saw how much money and how many goods they were able to steal without anyone noticing a difference. The Bear was never a thief, but always wanted for a bigger take of what he could get his hands on. Seeing all these spoils, the Bear did something he never did before, and lied to the Bee. He said the Twins fled Williams, when in reality the Twins were now at his beckoning, and they carried out his reckoning.

When the Bear got sick of running small jobs with the Twins when he could, he instead decided he wanted a bigger cut of everyone through Williams, period. He wanted the Bee to let him do just that, promising a cut of it back to the town. Therein came the impasse of these once-brothers, since the Bee wanted to watch Williams grow to a prominent city slow and steady. The Bee – still unaware of the Twins or any terror they tried – heard the Bear’s idea and refuted it repeatedly, saying he would not use his badge like a thug. He became a sheriff to stop the thugs, not to ride right with them.

They argued many times over this very same matter but remained on good terms as best they could, long as they could. The Bee always thought it was just an idea, and the Bear never wanted to tip him off, so they always left their fighting and yelling as just that. That was until last night at the Lone Star. The last twist of the knife was so petty and peculiar that few would believe it.

The Bear borrowed the Bee’s blue suit. But it wasn’t just the Bee’s blue suit, it was the Wolf’s blue suit. And it wasn’t just the Wolf’s blue suit neither, this blue suit was given as a gift to the Wolf for his actions in Nashville. He wore it with pride until the day his son became the sheriff of Williams. Then, he bestowed it upon the Bee. By stealing the suit and wearing it openly, the Bear claimed the suit’s authority. He was making it loud and clear to the Bee that Williams didn’t have no sheriff no more.

Before they were the Bear and the Bee, they were Jack and Dale. Jack raised his bourbon up in honor of his friend Dale, now deceased. He wanted to speak, but the words wandered away from him. He looked up over the counter and saw a photograph. It was Jack and Dale as young men, arm in arm on the front steps of Bear and Bee Hunting Supplies. It was taken the day they opened their business. The Bear looked into the eyes of his old friend now dead, raised his glass again, even higher towards the photograph.

“It wasn’t always that we had our disagreements,” Jack Pucker began to speak as the Twins and the other four fell silent in Bear and Bee. “Matter of fact I remember more good times than bad. We were boys once, we fought and we played, we grew up together and we grew strong together. In another life, he’d be right in this room, living.

“Heck, maybe there’s a life I followed his path to the death. The kind of right-hand man who never falters in the face of fear. The kind of right-hand that strengthens a sheriff and saves him for what he severely lacks. I’ll be damned, just before these wild weeks wandered by, I believe that I was that right-hand.

“Sheriff Dale Honey was a good man. But even good men must fall if they stand in the way of true progress.” The Bear cleared his throat and puffed out his chest. “True progress, boys, is what we’ve brought to Williams. True progress is what we’re about to see more and more of, more and more indeed.

“We’re gonna say two toasts here today. No, we’re gonna say three toasts here today. First, we toast to the Bee, Dale Honey, who lived a good life at the wrong time. Second, we toast to our little victory here today, we toast that we now tower over this town. And third, boys, we toast to the work we’re about to put in, and the spoils that’ll spill over our shimmering cups!”

With laughter and clapping, the Bear drank his whiskey as his six men followed after him. Shot glasses slammed on the countertop where the Bear and the Bee sold shot guns. Jack Pucker took one last look at the picture of himself and his friend, turned around, and the Bear tried to stay strong and keep it moving.

The Bear had to stop all the hooting and hollering of the Twins and the other four followers in the room to give them orders. He wanted the Twins to stay back while the other four began the big collection. They wanted to waste no time in establishing their dominance, and the first place they had to begin was taking a cut of every shop in town. The way they saw, anyone making money in Williams now owes a cut of their living over to the new power in town. And we all know there is no sheriff no more.

Then, they’d build and arm watchtowers on either side of town, that way they could have eyes on anyone coming through Williams to take their cut. Off they went into town to take and take and take. They couldn’t even wait until morning – they started to take while the town was still mourning.

The Bear gave the Twins separate orders: To sit on the front porch and guard the shop for him. Funny how now he trusted the Twins with his life, the very same night he took the life of a man who trusted his own life in his hands. Before he hid himself in his office to hibernate away the grief of his historically infamous action, the Bear placed the Bee’s sheriff’s badge on the desk they shared. He carefully took off the blue suit to respectfully hang it up just how Dale would’ve. He crawled under his desk holding the bourbon bottle and sipped at it over and again until he slipped into sleep. He closed his eyes tearful, but then dreamed of wealth in Williams, waiting for his wailing to be water under the bridge.

Part Three: The Bomb

Williams, Kentucky was a quiet town on most mornings, but as you might suspect, this morning is a little bit different than most following the death of Sheriff Dale Honey. The Bee was beloved by his town, so his death caused chaos around Williams. That chaos was not helped one bit by the Bear’s four men who really need not be named. These fierce four nameless ne’er-do-wells spent most of the night kicking in doors of every shop, eatery, haberdashery, and tavern in town trying to take what they thought was owed. Some folks tried to fight but they wound up getting beat or shot in the effort. So as the night raged on, most everyone paid up.

The Lone Star was the lone spot that didn’t get asked to pay up. That was on orders of the Bear, seeing as he did enough to Antonio Lago’s brewery. There’s a good chance he saw that free beer as his payment this time, so Antonio Lago was left alone. What the Bear saw as kindness in leaving this man alone just might have been his undoing.

Antonio Lago wasn’t much of a talker if he didn’t have to be. Last night, he decided he had to be a bit of a talker once more. Now, whatever Antonio Lago’s past was, no doubt he’d been around and made some friends. One of those friends was the one who helped him make his move from Texas to Kentucky all them years back. Tonight, Antonio Lago decided that he needed to pay that friend a visit.

The old friend lived near Williams but not in Williams. Antonio Lago took his horse and quietly rode away from town through hills and woods to find his friend. When he arrived at this little log cabin on a large lot of land, smoke still billowed out the red brick chimney. He knew the old man was still awake.

Antonio Lago brought with him not his own brew, but bottles of wine and other treats to pair with bad news. He told his old friend what happened, and it was like a bomb exploded this peaceful homestead. He yelled at Antonio, almost attacked Antonio, fell to the ground and cried at Antonio’s feet, and sat silently with Antonio for hours thereafter. They opened the first bottle of wine, though only shared a glass. Antonio’s old friend had many questions, which Antonio answered to the best of his ability. The old friend swore that the Bear would not get away with this, that he would avenge the death of the sheriff.

As loud and bustling as Williams may have grown this terrible morning, there was only one noise that could have awoken the Bear from his drunken slumber. Four sounds, matter of fact. Four gunshots fired in succession, from a pistol louder than most – so loud it sounded like a bomb in the street. The Bear didn’t see any reason to get up and go face that bomb out there, so he stood fast in a fury and began to dress in the Bee’s blue suit. He emerged from the office, immediately noticing one still full glass of bourbon surrounded by seven empty glasses on the shop counter. There also stood the Twins, guns drawn, peering out the window to see what happened.

“They’re dead, all four them” said one Twin with anger.

“Dead by whose hand?” demanded the Bear.

“Hard to say certainly, but I’ve got a decent guess,” said the other Twin calmly.

With some curse words snarling out his unholy snout, the Bear told the Twins to sneak out the back door and walk round the shop to confront the shooter in the street. He warned them that he likely still stood gun drawn at a distance, so tread lightly. As the Twins hustled out back, the Bear walked over to Dale Honey’s glass of bourbon, grabbed it, drank it back, and threw the glass at the photograph of Dale standing with Jack Pucker. He then reached under the counter to grab a loaded sawed-off shotgun that he always wanted to shoot someone with. Now would either be his day in the sun, or the day he’d burn in Hell.

The Twins made their way out the back door and around Bear and Bee Hunting Supplies to see an old man in the street, sure enough gun aimed at either Twin. Each Twin had their own pistols drawn too. They each carried a pistol of a matching set, even their guns were twins.

“I knew you’d show your face around here,” said a Twin.

“Your friends sure didn’t,” said Antonio Lago’s old friend.

“These four don’t matter, old man,” the calm Twin began to bargain. “Heck, I don’t even know their damn names. Way I see it, no crime was committed to these poor souls, we’ll hire better men. Go on home, ain’t no one gonna follow you back.”

“Why would I believe either one of you? Because your boss is such a trustworthy gentleman?”

“Believe us or don’t,” the angry Twin began, “but you don’t leave this street I’ll pump your chest full of metal.”

“My chest has seen worse, little boy, and I ain’t got nothing left to go back to unless I carry justice on you lot.”

“Old man, take a breath,” the calm Twin reasoned, “think about it. You got one gun palmed. Sure, you got the two bullets to kill us, but you ain’t got the time. You shoot one of us, the other will shoot you dead. If you want justice, that means killing the Bear. And one way or another, we ain’t letting you kill the Bear.”

“You ain’t letting me?”

BANG! BANG!

Before either Twin could think a response, the old man proved to be the fastest shot in Williams. The angry Twin fell first, while the calm Twin hesitated to kill the old man. The way the old man saw it, the calm Twin was gonna stall to take the shot, but the angry Twin was ready to fire away. He took a chance and killed the Twins who twisted the Bear from the Bee.

“Funny,” the old man chuckled for the first time since hearing the somber news, “you said you knew I’d show my face. Eyesight’s so shit I don’t even know who you boys are.”

With a kick, the front door of Bear and Bee slammed open, and a sawed-off shotgun blasted into the sky. The old man didn’t need to make out the face to recognize the Bear from a mile away. Though he wished he could see the face clearly, he would recognize that blue suit anywhere. It was his own blue suit.

Antonio Lago’s oldest friend in Williams, Kentucky was a man by the name of Wolfgang Honey. Known more commonly as the Wolf, and the father to the Bee, Sheriff Dale Honey. Wolfgang and Antonio met in Nashville, where Antonio was also hired on as a deputy to Nashville’s sheriff. The two became fast friends, and Wolfgang helped Antonio start the Lone Star. Antonio held Dale as a baby and stood godfather to him. Antonio watched the boy grow, and he watched the boy die.

Antonio Lago and Wolfgang Honey both also watched Jack Pucker grow up big and boisterous. They loved the boy. What betrayal they must have felt, watching one son kill another. Antonio’s beckoning for peace wasn’t just to stop a shooting in his Lone Star, it was to stop the death of either one of these young men he loved and cared for like his own. That very night, Antonio Lago wanted to avenge Dale Honey, but it wasn’t his revenge to take. It was the Wolf’s.

The Bear and the Wolf stood across from one another in the street outside the hunting shop. The Wolf was like a second father to the Bear, and in adulthood was his shop’s best customer. The Wolf kept calm all morning, but the pain he felt was too much now looking upon his son’s murderer.

“That suit isn’t yours,” the Wolf barked.

“It ain’t yours neither,” the Bear said back.

“That’s a sheriff’s suit, and what the people around this town are saying, you shot the sheriff. You shot my son.”

“He would’ve shot me just as fast as I shot him. It was him or me.”

“It was you or him, and for what? For money? You boys had a good living in this town, together! All the money in the world means nothing if you shoot your best man like that, if you kill your own damn brother.”

“He would have killed me too. Would you be happier if I died?”

“Last night I heard what you did, it shattered me. At least if you died, the law would be on my son’s side. I would be on my son’s side. I still am on my son’s side.”

“Well old man, I guess there’s no talking you down.”

“Last night a bomb dropped in my house that you murdered my son. I will see you burn.”

“It was a duel, not a murder… But if there’s no talking you down-“

“There isn’t!”

“If there’s no talking you down then… Let’s say what we both know. You killed six men. That’s six bullets. You’re facing me with an empty gun. Now I know the Wolf, the Wolf wouldn’t be threatening me with an empty gun. You got another gun, and if I give you the chance you’ll pull it, quick you still are.”

BANG!

The Bear slung his saw-ed off just so to the side, taking great care with such a wild-spraying shotgun to only hit the hands of the Wolf. The Wolf wailed out as he dropped his empty pistol and held his shot-off paw, blood pouring all over his clothes. The sight reminded the Bear what he did to the Bee last night. Father like son.

The Wolf fell down to his knees and began to calm himself. He realized an unavoidable truth here: The Bear was going to shoot him dead. He surely did have a fully loaded gun waiting for him, but to reach across with the wrong hand would be too slow for the Bear and his shotgun, which he had already quickly reloaded.

The Bear wanted to shoot the Wolf right then and there but decided to wait a moment. He looked down at the Twins, who got him into all of this to begin with, lying dead at his feet, with their twin pistols lying by their hands. Now the Bear sought some justice his own. Still pointing the shotgun at the Wolf, he leaned down to pick up the pistol from the first Twin. Now pointing that pistol at the old man, he tossed the shotgun aside so he could reach down for the second pistol from the second Twin. Now two twin pistols pointed at the wailing old Wolf down in the dirt. The Bear took a few steps closer quietly, as he had no more words to say, no more pain to cause the old man beyond his death. The Wolf stretched out his arms wide in surrender, and the Bear pulled the twin triggers.

BANG-BANG!

BOOM!

The Bear fired off two bullets into the chest of the Wolf, and that very instant an explosion the size of Texas overtook several buildings, including Bear and Bee, and the Bear himself was burnt in his boots by the bomb the old Wolf wore.

Antonio Lago had a past, and it wasn’t just wine he brought Wolfgang Honey last night. He brought over enough dynamite to blow a mountain back into a molehill. Antonio only wanted to plant the dynamite in the hunting store, but when Wolfgang was sitting silently, he knew it’d never work. He also knew he didn’t want to live any longer knowing he lost his son. So when Antonio left the cabin, Wolfgang said goodbye – really goodbye – to his friend. He strapped the dynamite to his chest, and in case all else failed, he’d ensure the death of the Bear.

Slow and steady, the small streets of Williams would calm down. But in those weeks, months, and years thereafter, something happened to little Williams: Everything left. The trade, the travelers, the opportunity, and the growth all disappeared in a dash from the now dismal little dirt-road town. Such infamy had fallen upon the town that killed the Bee and the Wolf, where the Bear ruled for a night. No one felt safe in Williams, and no one wanted to do their business there if they didn’t have to.

Antonio Lago closed the Lone Star within the week. He took the cash he saved up, all the supplies and materials he owned, and moved into Wolfgang’s cabin. He’d live out the rest of his days hunting, hiking, and brewing beers that only he would enjoy from now on.

One by one, folks drifted away to other towns or simply died old and happy, hopefully. If you ever try to look on a map, you might find some Williams, Kentucky, but it ain’t the Williams, Kentucky on the road between Cincinnati and Louisville. No, folks found other routes to trade between these cities. After the Beer, the Bear, and the Bomb happened upon this growing little town, there is no Williams, Kentucky no more.