Shots and Spurs

"He's scum, Bryce. He's pure scum, and he's lower than whale shit." Bill, the toothless bartender, said.

Most of his teeth had been knocked out breaking up fights in the bar. The rest just fell out. Bill poured Bryce another glass of whiskey. Bryce accepted it with a nod and turned the glass up.

"I'll take care of it." Bryce said, trying to reassure the always nervous bartender.

"He should be in here soon." Bill said in a anxious whisper. "Is your gun loaded?"

"Bill, my gun's always loaded. Now, stop frettin'."

Bryce heard the door open behind him. A tall, thick silhouette blocked most of the sunlight. The man in black walked out of the doorway and took a seat at the bar.

"Carlos, you know you're not welcome here." Bill told the man, a hint of anxiety creeping into his voice.

"I told you last time, old man: I don't give a shit." Carlos said with a sneer.

His teeth were as black as his shirt.

"Why don't you get out of here, Carlos?" Bryce said, laying his hand on his revolver.

Carlos smiled.