A gunman's work, [open]

[Ubermann]

Rick O'Shay stood in front of a modest sized crowd of mostly miners in the Red Hills saloon, and slowly pulled a fresh pack of 52 playing cards from his pocket.

He tossed it on the table closest to him.

"Would one of you gentlemen be so kind as to check that this is a clean, fresh deck, and then shuffle it for me?"

One of the miners at the table grabbed the deck and checked through it quickly before shuffling it up.

"Thank you my good sir. Now would you be so kind as to pass it to your right to be cut?"

The miner passed the deck to the next man, who cut it and then returned it to Rick.

"Thank you both. Now, I want someone to tell me which card to put a hole through."

"The Ace of Spades!" came the first reply, a shout from the back.

"No, no. Nothing so trite. Let's try something a little more original."

An especially dirty looking miner off to Rick's left spoke up, "How about the King of Clubs? I always hated that asshole."

"An excellent suggestion." Rick said, holding the deck lengthwise in his left hand, stressed between his thumb and fingers. In his right hand, he pulled the hammer back on his Remington Rider.

He tightened his grip on the cards and they all flexed before flying out of his hand, soaring through the air in all directions. Rick's right hand was already up and his eyes caught the location of the King of Clubs as it floated upwards. In the split second when the card was motionless between going up and coming down, Rick squeezed the trigger and the Rider fired with a small pop.

The cards fluttered down around Rick and he extended his left hand and caught the King of Clubs with an exaggerated flourish, showing the clean .17 caliber hole through the King's head to his audience.

[Twentyfists]

Guan Zhe sat in the back of the Red Hills saloon, quietly drinking a beer and watching the show of marksmanship that a short Irishman was putting on. Pretty impressive. The miners sure thought so too. Zhe had come here looking for a smuggler using the mines as a hiding place, but no one wanted to talk to him. Zhe was new here, but he already understood that, when it comes to Asians, people tended to keep their mouths and wallets closed and their hands somewhere near their pistols. So Zhe had come to the saloon and gotten a drink or two, hoping for his luck to change. With the arrival of this Irishman, maybe it had.

As the Irishman glanced over in Zhe's direction, Zhe brushed back his coat to reveal his Enfield. He then nodded at the Irishman. With any luck, Zhe's rather cryptic display would be enough to draw the Irishman over, where they could discuss business.