Gunfight at the TP Corral.

I think that current events are making me wacky. I sat down to write and this happened.

"BANG THE GUN GUNLY"

by Frederick Key

Dedicated to Mike "Flangepart" Weller

Bang Gunly rode his palomino into town one morning. It was cold, but dusty; windy, but quiet; clear, but cloudy. The weather was just like the palomino. Gunly was cold but dusty himself, and always windy. He signaled the turn and pulled into the lot of the Costcorral. He tied up the horse and cast a steely-eyed eye around. Gunly was a man with a mission. 

Gunly's spurs tinkled heavily as he paused at the swinging doors of the Costcorral, and then, with a single thrust of his manly arm, he pushed them open. He sauntered in, timing his saunter perfectly with the swing of the doors. For years as a young man he had been smacked by swinging doors mid-saunter, until a dance teacher in El Paso had helped with his timing. Gunly would always remember that he owed Rolf a favor. 

The keeper of the Costcorral was standing at the desk, barely. He had bags under his eyes, bigger than the bags at the checkout line. His tie was loose as Oklahoma City morals, and his hair was sticking out around his eye shade like a poorly trimmed juniper bonsai. Gunly could guess why. The shelves around them were almost empty. Not one can of pork 'n beans, nor porkless beans, nor beanless porks could be seen. Obviously there'd been a run on the stock. Maybe the shopkeeper had made some dollars, but paid with his health.

"Howdy," said Gunly, moseying up to the counter. (Rolf had helped him with that, too, in Advanced Moseying.) "Reckon your place looks picked pretty clean, pardner."

"You reckon right, stranger," said the keeper. "I reckon we're wrecked by reckless wreckers. Folks're panic-buying on account o' the Grody Grippe. We have a little inventory, but not much."

"I'm just a-lookin' for one item that we need back at the camp," said Gunly. 

"Not beans, I hope. We're beanless."

"Nope, plenty o' beans. But that's why we need us some toilet paper. Got any?"

"Let's see." The shopkeeper wearily took himself to the ladder behind the counter, where he climbed up to see the back shelves of the store. "Why, yes, I see we got two megapacks back there, mister, although a lady is picking one up now."

"That's fine," said Gunly. "Me 'n the boys need just one. We recycle."

"Wait!" said the shopkeeper. "There's another cowpoke back there -- and he just knocked the woman down! And he's grabbed both megapacks! And he's a-running this way!"

"Waaaalll, ain't that a rude thing to do," said Gunly.

Sure enough, a second later the varmint emerged from behind the shelves, carrying the two megapacks. He was a big hombre, looked strong and tall, but other details were hidden behind the combined 440 rolls of TP he was bearing in his arms. "Gangway!" the sidewinder growled. "I'm a-needin' this butt paper, and don't no one try to stop me!"

"Help!" cried a slightly bruised lady, rushing after him. She was pretty, with curly brown hair, a big hat, and a blue dress that was tight in the right places and right in the tight places. "That beast knocked me over and stole my hygiene product!"

The shopkeeper tried to get down the ladder quickly, but got his foot caught in the rungs and hit the ground hard, knocking the fight out of him. Gunly alone stood between the bushwhacker and his escape. He calmly spat on the floor, clasped his belt, and said, "You drop the heinie wipes and apologize to the lady pronto, mister."

"Yeah?" growled a voice somewhere behind the 440 rolls. "Who's gonna make me?"

"Name's Gunly. Bang Gunly."

"Well, I don't care if your name is Archduke Franz Ferdinand Carl Ludwig Joseph Maria of Austria, I'm a-headin' out that door!"

"Slap leather!"

"Psaw, Leather don't like that!"

"I mean go for yer gun!"

"How? Now git, you busybody, or I'll stomp you!"

"You been warned. Reach for the sky!"

The rapscallion just barked, "One side! I'm a-swipin' and I'm a-wipin'!"

Calmly, with one fluid motion and two solid motions, Gunly whipped out his six shooter and fired into the rolls. The bandit flew backward off his feet from the force of the .600 bullet, landing on the wooden floor like a sack of pianos. Blood began to flow, quickly sopped up by the toilet paper.

"My hero!" said the brunette, stepping on the varmint's hand as she ran to Gunly.

"Ow," said the varmint, weakly.

"M'am," said Gunly, tipping his hat with his left hand while holstering the pistol with his right. 

She slammed into him like a linebacker, kissing him on his grizzled cheek. "You've saved the orphans! They had not a single piece of toilet paper among them. And the newspaper doesn't come out until Sunday! Thank you, Gang Bunly!"

"Bang Gunly," wheezed Gunly. "Just doin' my job."

"Could someone help me up?" moaned the shopkeeper.

"I think I bled on all the paper," croaked the varmint.

Tune in for another adventure of Bang Gunly... well, maybe never. Who knows with this blog.

But if you DO want to read some more Fred stories, don't forget that TODAY AND TOMORROW ONLY, my novels for Kindle and Kindle software are available FREE FREE FREE from Amazon! Be sure to tune in next week for a special announcement as well. And remember -- no matter how much you want that TP, varmintry does not pay.