Stranger

A hexagonal,gold coin, one of numerous galactic currencies, spiraled into the air and landed in the palm of a hand clad in a black glove. This had gone on for a half hour as he sat at his selected table.

He was a scruffy looking character with black hair grown out so that it touched the middle portion of his neck. His skin was bronzed and red from life among the elements.

The face told much about him as well. Hard lines did it bear, wrinkles in their infancy. He was most likely in his 40's or late thirties– at least by our measurements of age– and he sure looked the part. His eyes were dark brown and ever alert. His nose was hawklike. This was a man of mystery who was not to be trifled with.

The duster upon his shoulders was the same hue as his hair and gloves. It as well as the silver body armor and brown pants were covered in dust accumulated over a long journey that would end here one way or another.

The stranger's eyes had sized up the interior of the cafe upon his entrance. He made it one of his life's goals not to cross the brutox seated at the booth a few feet behind him. They were a race composed of rock hard bodies of brown, toad-like skin, a gorilla shaped head, four arms and a real nasty attitude.

The only other occupants were a spindly alien from a species he'd never come across and the proprietors of the cafe,an elf-like race that aged slower than normal humans.

The daughters of the elves had taken seats on either side of the stranger. He tolerated this. He knew backwater towns on this planet saw little action and he must have appeared to these dames as one the romantic heroes from one of those mushy stories they liked to read. In truth he was anything but.

He currently put the coin in his duster pocket and sipped some more swill and waited like a hawk. He'd been asked the usual questions and gave vague answers. He was named Orthson–not an alias- and he was from out of town.

When asked whom he was waiting for he jerked his right thumb to a wanted poster on the wall by his table. It read as follows:

Wanted

Jeremiah Pax

For armed robbery, assault, and flight to avoid prosecution.

5,000 frend reward.

Dead or alive.

Along with this information was a photo of a human male who looked like a long haired caricature of a shady reverend or a turkey buzzard from our planet. At this time it should be pointed out that frend was a type of currency and a very valuable one.

" Ah," said Ma."You must be one of those bounty hunter types."

He smiled content to let her think that. He was actually on a mission of vengeance. Pax, who did very little to live up to that last name, which was derived from an ancient Terran word that means peace, had wronged the stranger's sister and he saw within the system a way to have his cake and eat it too! He'd turn over the slimebag to the authorities and live with the satisfaction of knowing he'd done so. Jeremiah Pax would rot in a galactic prison delivered there by the hands of Angie Orthson's brother.

"What makes you think he's going to come here?" asked the Pa.

"Well Sir, I've studied this varmint for a mighty long while. He don't do the smart thing and get lost in crowds.

"He thinks his chances are better in little places like this one which only makes him stick out like…"

Instead of a sore thumb he used a for more course and colorful simile which caused the womenfolk to blush like a dance hall floozy and the Pa to scowl.

"Sorry, folks, I forget myself now and again," the stranger apologized quickly.

The awkward silence that followed for an eternity after that was broken by the entrance of another customer, Pax. He glanced around the cafe & smirked at his wanted poster. He looked just like the photo but now with dark circles under his eyes and sickness that emphasized his vulture-like characteristics. Yes, he looked like a man that was losing a fight with his conscience.

Suddenly he spotted his sworn adversary staring at him with the smile a cat gives before consuming a bird.

He gasped,"You!"

"Yeah,me."

The girls had rejoined their parents. It's a good thing because Jeremiah Pax drew his blaster from its holster and fired. He missed. Orthson whipped out his own one eyed dog and let it bark.

The smell of ozone filled the air and smokey specters danced across the cafe. The other patrons stood in shock and awe even the brutox.

The stranger was still standing. Jeremiah Pax was not.

"That was intense," said Ma, but I guess being a bounty hunter you get used to it."

"Never said I was a bounty hunter," the stranger replied as he grabbed the collar of Pax's jacket and drug the loathsome carcass to the sheriff.