[SHORT] Insurance (<500 words)

A piano played in the corner, the tune meandering like a river with no end, guided by an absent-minded hand. The notes were hollow, drifting aimlessly through the stale air of the saloon, as if the instrument itself had forgotten what music was meant to do.

The cowboy sat at the bar, his back to the wandering melody, his shoulders hunched beneath the weight of a silence that pressed heavier than the smoke curling from a dozen cigars. His hat cast a shadow over his face, but the glint of his eyes beneath the brim spoke of a purpose sharper than the knife sheathed at his side.

The bartender lingered at the far end of the bar, polishing a glass with the kind of nervous intensity that made it clear he knew better than to ask questions. The cowboy’s hand rested on a shot glass, his fingers tracing the rim slowly, methodically, as if trying to wear down the glass through sheer will. But he didn’t drink. Not yet.

He wasn’t there for a drink. He was there for a man.

The piano faltered for a moment as the double doors swung open, letting the wind crash through the room like an uninvited guest. The player didn’t stop, though his tempo quickened, a nervous staccato to his aimless tune.

The wind slipped in first, curling around the room like a cold finger, followed by a figure framed against the dying light of the setting sun. Then boots rang out against the warped wood, heavy and deliberate, each step pulling the room tighter, like a noose being drawn inch by inch.

The cowboy didn’t move at first, the shadow of his brim hiding the taut line of his jaw. But when the stranger stepped fully into the saloon, the cowboy raised his glass, the motion sharp and sudden, like the cocking of a gun. The amber liquid glinted as it caught the faint glow of a nearby lantern, and then the shot slammed down onto the bar. The shot glass slammed down on the bar with a force that made the bottles rattle.

“’Bout damn time,” the cowboy said, his voice like the crack of dry wood breaking under weight.

The stranger removed his hat slowly, revealing a grin that was more teeth than smile, and his voice cut through the room like a blade wrapped in velvet. “It is time,” he said, his tone unreasonably calm, “to talk about your car’s extended warranty.”

The piano stumbled again, the player’s fingers tripping over the keys. The cowboy’s lips twitched, a ghost of something that might have been amusement if it weren’t so cold. His hand shifted, sliding closer to the holster at his side.

“Funny thing,” he murmured, low and dangerous, “I don’t recall askin’.”