The wafting smoke of the saloon was merely an immediate reminder of Mark’s earlier encounter. His pant legs swished softly against his bare legs, only adding to his memory of his feminine antics. A sly smile dipped and turned the corner of his mouth into a happy hook as he leant against the wall of a private booth. 

	As the man stood smugly amid the clambering and chatting of gruff and dirty patrons, the faint chill of a pistol's barrel seeped through his clothes as it pressed against his back. Mark opened his palms and the gun was pushed into him, “Sit,” the intruders voice commanded.

	Marks smile grew and he slid into the booth, a tall bald man with buggy eyes plopping into the opposite side, pistol in hand, and ready to fire. The doctor shook his head and folded his hands in his lap as he got comfortable, “Paul Blake.”

	“Mark Twain,” Paul nearly spat.

 A slim man dressed in the almost clean white shirt of a bartender stopped abruptly in front of the booth and Paul slipped the gun under the table, still aimed at Mark. The deep black pencil mustache of the tender waved as he spoke, “get you fellows anything?”

	Before Paul could tell him off Mark raised his index finger, “Vodka Martini.”

	The man furrowed his brow and started to walk off. Mark patted the leaving man’s elbow and he stopped. The slender man turned back to Mark and the two locked eyes. Mark nodded his words, “shaken, not stirred.”

	After a long and uncomfortable stare, the tender slipped back into the crowd. Mark huffed at the encounter and turned to converse with Paul like they were long lost friends.

Before Mark could sneeze a word through the irritating saloon smoke, Paul reiterated the reason they were sitting with a scratch of his iron sight against the under of the table. Mark feigned surprise and used the momentum to wrap his fingers around a cold pistol that hid in his pocket. 

	“So, I heard what you did to the gang,” Paul started. Mark pointed his pistol slightly from it’ pocket and he shrugged. Paul shook his head, “you never were planning on giving that necklace up where you? You might as well have jettisoned your life.” 

	Mark laughed, “I can pay for the loss of funds, you all can sit happily with that.” 

	“All? You mean me, you will give me the necklace and the money,” Paul hissed behind his teeth. Mark opened his mouth in shock, :I don’t have the money with me.”

	“Then that’s too bad,” Paul chuckled a raspy breath, “you know I’ve been waiting to kill you for a long time now.”

	Mark smiled, “yes, I’ll bet you have.”

	Paul’s face froze as he heard a faint click of a hammer, and before his finger could squeeze the trigger, a loud bang puffed smoke from under the table and belched a bullet into his chest. The man slouched over face first onto the table with a groan.

	The other patrons looked over for a moment, but after hearing gunshots outside, their attention was quickly shifted from the man who clearly shot first, to the unknown rabble outside.