Squinty-Eyed Gunslinger's Fate

Latigo Flint's winks can make colicky babies stop crying and burble contentedly instead. Squinty-Eyed Gunslingers do not often wink but when they do it is quite powerful. Markets value a limited resource, you know.

"There is no machine for that." Latigo Flint's low, steady voice easily cut through the barcode scanner beeps. The harried mother with a baby carrier at her feet looked up from her stack of frozen food coupons.

"Excuse me?"

I tilted my head at her baby. "For the past ten minutes your colicky child has been shrieking his displeasure. I winked at him a moment ago and now he burbles contentedly--I say there's no machine that can do that."

She icily appraised my attire, from well-traveled boot tips to the crown of my wide brimmed black hat. Then she decided to ignore me.

Someone in the line behind harrumphed. My turn in response was slow and dangerous. A very short, middle-aged man in a silk shirt bemusedly met my stare. I squinted down at him.

"Did you harrumph me sir?"

He gave two quick, businesslike nods, "I did."

My hand shifted ever so slightly toward the butt of my authentic replica Colt Peacemaker. "And what would possibly qualify you as one who could harrumph me?"

To his credit, his face remained terror-free. "Why I'm a pediatrician of course."

I grinned sardonically and took a step forward so as to better loom over him. "Not an inventor or a welder or an electrical engineer?" He shook his head. "Well, this surprises Latigo Flint a great deal, since the lady and I happened to be talking about machines."

"Nonsense!" He blurted with that fearless indifference often found in the very short. "Machines, yes, but only as they relate to the actual topic, which was as I recall, colic. What you obviously don't know is that nearly two thirds of the time a child's chronic colic condition may be alleviated or remedied altogether, merely by switching from a milk-based formula to one of soy or whey. I harrumphed in response to the inane inference that you should be so highly valued simply because humanity seems to lack a reliable colic-curing wink machine!"

Stunned, I brought a rage-trembling finger level with his chest. "Hey! I'm Latigo Flint goldangit! Of course I know all that. What I meant was... um... there's no machine that can be used to make soy-based baby formula."

Unfortunately that had been the first thing to pop into my head. The tiny pediatrician tore it to shreds without mirth or mercy. "Why, how on Earth do you think soy milk is made... little Asian kids stomping around in a giant vat of beans?!"

Murder was my first instinct at that point but instead I winked at him. He stepped back, astonished, then a warm smile began to flicker in his bespectacled eyes. It spread across his entire face as he extended his right hand.

"My boy, Latigo was it? Quite abruptly I find myself desiring many beers of hearty comradery with you. I'd be honored if you'd come over for dinner this very evening. My daughters are home from college; they're helping the Missus in the kitchen as we speak. I was dispatched to fetch cooking sherry." He raised the bottle in affirmation. "So, what do you say?"

"Daughters... as in plural?" I silently thanked the awesome power of a gunslinger wink.

"Cute as buttons and smart as whips if you'll forgive a father's clichéd pride. I know they'd be delighted to meet you."

So I graciously accepted.

But true to the cruelest of all fates: Squinty-Eyed Gunslinger's fate, my new pediatrician friend happened to suffer a fatal heart attack as we walked to his Lexus. I considered checking his wallet for the address and going over to his house anyway, but then I thought better of it.

The tiny pediatrician died in that parking lot; face down in puddle of cooking sherry. I walked until I found a culvert and bedded down there for the night.