Seth MacFarlane's a Million Ways to Die in the West

by Seth MacFarlane

  Foy took the cue. “You know, I was thinking you could use a new dress.”

  “Something … expensive?” she said, sliding a slender white finger down the center of his chest.

  “Stupidly expensive,” he said, his tone theatrically devilish.

  She laughed gaily and reached a hand around the back of his neck, pulling him in for another kiss.

  Albert was just in time to get an eyeful as he walked through the door. Yes, he’d had time to process the breakup. Sure, he’d tried to move forward by seeing other people. Yes, he’d known Louise and Foy were together. But the actual sight of her kissing him was a knife in his side. And suddenly all the agony came surging back in a nauseating wave, and he hurt all over again just as much as the day he’d lost her. But he’d be damned if he’d let it show.

  Foy saw him first, and quietly pulled his lips away from his new girlfriend’s.

  Louise turned to look and immediately lowered her gaze with an embarrassed sigh. “Oh, Jesus,” she muttered under her breath.

  “Hi, Albert,” Foy greeted him confidently.

  “Hello,” Albert answered, warily stepping inside. He pretended to be disinterested as he surveyed the various moustache-related products lining the shelves.

  “What’s up, kiddo?” said Foy. “Never seen you in here before.”

  “Just, um … browsing.” Albert hoped his faux nonchalance was at least somewhat convincing.

  “Yeah … you don’t have a moustache, though.”

  “Well, I was … I was thinkin’ about growin’ one.”

  Louise whispered to Foy, loud enough for Albert to hear, “I’m gonna use the powder room.” She whirled with spinning skirts and retreated through a door in the back.

  Albert felt another stab of distress. He’d shared so much love with this girl, so many good times, so many memories … and now she couldn’t even bear to be in the same room with him. Again, he managed to conceal his piercing heartache and kept his attention on Foy.

  “What kinda moustache you looking to grow?” Foy asked, taking a couple of steps toward Albert.

  “Um … a big one.” Albert suddenly had no clue at all why he’d even set foot in this place or what he’d hoped to accomplish. “The kind that … goes down below my mouth, and then along the edge of my jaw … and then, um … goes up and becomes my sideburns, and then becomes my hair.”

  “A Möbius moustache,” said Foy without missing a beat.

  “A Möbius moustache, yeah,” Albert responded, acting as if it had been on the tip of his tongue the whole time.

  As if sensing Albert was in over his head, Foy doubled the condescension in his tone. “You know, that sort of moustache is a costly facial accessory.”

  “Yeah,” said Albert with false assuredness.

  “Well … you’re a sheep farmer.” Foy grinned a grin that made Albert wish cholera upon him.

  Fuck it. “You feel good about what you’re doing?” Albert said, taking a step closer to the moustachier.

  Foy appeared unbothered. “What am I doing?”

  “Stealing a guy’s girlfriend?” Albert could feel his face getting red with both fury and embarrassment. “You able to sleep at night?”

  “Hey, Louise dumped you, my friend. It’s not my fault she wanted someone with more to offer. I can give her a lavish home. Warm blankets. Wrapped candies. Can you say the same, Albert? Can you give Louise wrapped candies?”

  Albert locked gazes with him for a moment. “Fuck you, man,” he blurted, knowing he’d lost this round and feeling dumb as a mule.

  “Yeah, that’s what she’s doing,” Foy shot back, finishing the match. Albert stormed out of the moustachery in defeat, resolving never to return. Not to this establishment, and not to Old Stump. It was time to go.

  That evening Edward sat patiently at a corner table in the Old Stump saloon, nursing a beer. He really wasn’t much of a drinker. Drinking, he supposed, was for the unhappy. For those who wished to block out the misery of their lives. Edward felt no such dissatisfaction. He derived great pleasure from his work as a cobbler, he adored his little apartment just above the workshop, and, most of all, he was over the moon with happiness in his blissful relationship with Ruth. He smiled to himself, knowing that in just a few minutes she’d be finished having sex with the pastor’s son upstairs in the brothel, and then she’d come bounding down those steps with a big kiss for her devoted boyfriend. He wanted to be sure he was church-sober for that sweet confection.

  As Edward took another baby sip from his mug, he observed Old Stump’s two newcomers entering through the batwing doors and making their way over to the bar. Anna and Lewis Barnes, they were called. New faces were always welcome as far as Edward was concerned, the continued growth of the town being of great value and importance to everyone.

  At last, Ruth came hurrying down the stairs and made her way over to Edward’s table. She looked disheveled and unkempt, but Edward saw none of it. He saw only what he always saw: the most beautiful woman in the world, and the purest, most magnificent representation of true love that any man could ever hope for. He kissed her eagerly as she sat down.

  “Hi, honey!” he said with a warm smile.

  “Oh, gosh, that was a long day.” She sighed, sinking into the chair and helping herself to a generous draught of his beer.

  “Aw, what happened?”

  “This guy wanted me to smoke a cigar and ash on his balls while I jerked him off.”

  “Really? Wow, see, your job is interesting ’cause no two days are alike,” he said with envy. “I go to work and I’m, like, grrr! Monotony!”

  “Yeah, I guess it’d be worse if I was at a desk all day,” she agreed. “That’s why I love you, sweetie. You can always find the silver lining in everything.”

  “I love you too,” he said, taking her hand. He gazed into her eyes for a long moment. “Ruth, honey, I’ve been thinking.”

  “About what?”

  “Well … you know how much we love each other.”

  “With all our hearts,” she said sweetly, kissing his fingers.

  “And we’ve been together a long time, and … well … what do you think about … us spending the night together?”

  Ruth looked thunderstruck. “You mean … sharing a bed?”

  “Yes.”

  “And … having sex?”

  “Well, I mean, not right away. We could just lie together the first few times, see how it feels, and then go from there.”

  “Eddie,” she said, her tone suddenly quite serious, “we’re Christians.”

  “I know we are. And I want to do the correct thing in the eyes of the Lord, but if we really love each other, then wouldn’t God be okay with it?”

  “Honey, I don’t know—you’re talking about premarital relations,” she said, glancing away as she processed the enormity of what he was proposing.

  As she turned, he noticed a small dollop of semen trickling down her left cheek. “Oop, you got a little somethin’ there,” he said, taking out his handkerchief and dabbing gently at the milky fluid.

  “Thanks.” She smiled. “But, Eddie, I … God, I’m not sure it’d be right.”

  “Okay. I understand. But maybe think about it?”

  Before she could answer, Albert came barreling over to the table and sat down with a defeated expression.

  “I’m out,” he declared.

  “Huh?” said Edward.

  “I’m out. I’m gone. I’m getting outta here, and I’m going to San Francisco.”

  “What?” Ruth looked at him with concern.

  “Yeah, I just wanted to say goodbye.”

  “Whoa, whoa, Al … are you serious?” Edward asked with a furrowed brow. “Is this because of Louise?”

  “Yes, I’m fucking serious. There’s nothing but shit for me here, and I’m out. I hate the frontier, I hate everything in it, I’m done.”

  And then all hell broke loose.

  It started over at the bar, where rat-faced Lewis had orde
red a shot of whiskey. As he lifted the glass to his lips, a young cowboy standing directly behind him threw his head back and let out a bellowing guffaw, presumably over some joke told by one of his cohorts. The back of his head knocked against Lewis’s. Not hard, but just enough to send the drink spilling out of the glass and all over Lewis’ shirt. The young cowboy, obviously already inebriated, whirled around with a bellicose glare.

  “Hey, watch it, pal!” he barked, exhaling smoke from his cigarette directly into Lewis’s face.

  Lewis did not flinch. “I think you owe me a drink, fella.”

  The cowboy laughed derisively. “Like hell I do. You best watch where you stand.”

  Lewis moved an inch closer. He was slightly smaller than the other man but somehow appeared far more threatening. “I don’t think you heard me,” he said softly. “I’m thirsty.”

  “Well, then, go down to the river and take a dunk.”

  Lewis narrowed his eyes. “Last chance, kid.”

  The young cowboy regarded him for a beat, appearing to register the severity in Lewis’s gaze. He picked up an empty shot glass, poured a fresh shot of whiskey, and handed it politely to Lewis. Lewis accepted it graciously, even hoisting the glass a bit in apparent acknowledgment of the peace offering. Then, as Lewis lifted the whiskey to his lips, the young cowboy grinned widely and dropped his lit cigarette into the glass.

  Lewis looked down at the gray ash floating in the amber fluid, promptly drew his gun, and fired. The young cowboy was dead in seconds.

  His friends wasted no time. One of the other men grabbed the nearest bottle off the bar and smashed it across Lewis’s head. Blood streamed from his face as he tore furiously at the shards of glass jutting out of his ruined flesh.

  “That was my bottle, you son of a bitch!” somebody shouted, and in an instant, the entire saloon erupted like a volcano. Dirty, sweaty, drunk men began to indiscriminately swing roundhouse punches at one another, breaking chairs, glasses, bottles, and anything else they could get their hands on.

  “Oh, shit!” Albert cried, bolting to his feet. “Why the fuck does this always have to happen?! Two guys get in a fight and then suddenly we all have to start fighting!”

  “C’mon, hurry, get in position!” Edward exclaimed as he grabbed Albert and pulled him into the corner. They fell into it, as they had countless times before: an animated flurry of pretend punches thrown furiously at each other, while being very careful never to make contact. The idea was that, as long as they appeared to be brawling along with everyone else, neither one of them would make an easy target for any genuine violence.

  “Ooh! Ow! We got our own thing going on over here!” shouted Edward.

  “Yeah, and it’s really bad! Ouch, stop fighting me!” Albert hollered back.

  “Ow, this is so intense over here!”

  “Yeah, nobody needs to get in on this! We’re both getting hurt pretty bad!”

  One of Edward’s punches accidentally connected.

  “OW!” Albert yelped, with a sizable flinch.

  “Oh, my God, I’m so sorry!” cried Edward.

  “You actually hit me!”

  “Albert, I’m really sorry, I didn’t mean to.”

  “Do I have a mark?”

  “Yeah, there’s a little redness there.”

  “Yeah, it feels like it.”

  “You want a moist rag?”

  Before Albert could respond, something caught his eye across the room. On the upper level near the brothel, two cowboys were pummeling each other fiercely. One clearly had the advantage as he delivered blow after blow, sending his opponent crashing against the wooden railing. It began to crack. Albert could not have cared less about the destruction of saloon property, but what did concern him was Anna Barnes, the newcomer. She stood just below the upper level, surveying the fray with an oddly detached look in her eye, almost like a disapproving mother watching her children scuffling in the mud, ruining their Sunday clothes. The slugfest continued directly above her, and Albert watched with alarm as the railing began to collapse. Without thinking, he broke free of his make-believe fistfight with Edward and sprinted straight through the center of the mêlée toward the opposite end of the room.

  Miraculously, all he got was a stray elbow in the ribs and a splash of beer in the eye before he reached Anna Barnes. He grabbed her arm and yanked her out of the way as hard as he could, just as the battered cowboy above came crashing down from the upper level, bringing a hailstorm of heavy wooden debris along with him.

  Anna turned and looked at Albert with surprise. She opened her mouth to speak, but before she could say a word, a whiskey bottle flew past her face, shattering against the wall inches from her head.

  “Come on!” Albert yelled, pulling her along with him by the wrist as he scurried out through the batwing doors. The two of them half-ran, half-stumbled out into the evening air and the relative safety of the dusty thoroughfare.

  Anna turned to Albert. “Thank you,” she said.

  It was the first time he’d heard her speak, he noted, and she had a pleasant alto quality to her voice. Even from two words, he was aware of her markedly undisturbed reaction to what had been a potentially traumatizing close call. She didn’t appear shaken or out of breath in any way whatsoever. Albert, for his part, was heaving with the aftershocks of panic as he bent over to brush the dust off his trousers.

  BANG! BANG!

  He jolted upright, just in time to see Sheriff Arness and his deputy racing into the saloon, guns blazing into the air.

  “Let’s get the fuck outta here,” he said with a resurgence of agitation. The two of them made their way up the street, away from the chaos.

  Neither said anything for a while. Albert was painfully aware that this woman was giving him time to collect himself before she struck up any kind of a conversation. He felt silly. She’d been the one in danger, and yet she seemed utterly at ease. Meanwhile, his hands were still shaking.

  “Nice work back there,” she remarked at last. “I guess you’re a real hero, huh?”

  “Oh, no, I’m not the hero,” he answered with a flushed face. “I’m the guy in the crowd making fun of the hero’s shirt.”

  She gave a small chuckle, which was promptly interrupted by a loud bark. Plugger came bounding out of the darkness and happily fell into step beside Anna, giving her hand a friendly lick.

  “Hey, look who’s here.” She smiled. “This is Plugger.”

  “Oh, hey, Plugger,” Albert said, gamely scratching the mangy dog’s head. He turned and regarded Anna with a look of curiosity. “So … that was your brother, huh?”

  “Lewis, yeah.” She rolled her eyes.

  “Uh-huh. Does he generally commit murder over beverage-related disputes?”

  “He’s always been a little rambunctious.”

  “Yeah, he seems like a character,” Albert deadpanned. “You’re okay, though?”

  “Oh, I’ve seen him do it a hundred times. I don’t have to worry about Lewis, he’ll pull himself out no problem.”

  “Well, that’s … that’s good, I guess. I’m, uh … I’m Albert, by the way,” he said, offering a hand.

  She shook it firmly. “I’m Anna. Nice to meet you, Albert.”

  “So, you guys just got into town, huh? Welcome to our awesome town,” he said, grandly extending an arm to show off the unremarkable shithole that was Old Stump.

  “Thanks.” She smiled. “Lewis and I moved here from Kansas City.”

  “Kansas, huh?”

  “No, it’s in Missouri.”

  “Oh, right. That’s annoying and weird.”

  “Yeah, we were wanting a change, so we came out to the frontier looking to build a farm.” Plugger jabbed at her leg with his nose, a dry stick hanging out of his mouth. She plucked it from his jaws and tossed it farther up the thoroughfare. The dog scurried after it with clumsy urgency.

  “Really? I’m a farmer myself,” he said without pride or enthusiasm. “I have a farm about two miles from here.�
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  “Oh. Cattle?”

  “Sheep.”

  “Ah.”

  “Yeah.”

  “Well, that’s gotta be fulfilling work, right?” she asked, plainly hearing the dolefulness in his voice.

  “It’s great,” he answered flatly. “It’s like being a dog walker for a hundred and fifty really stupid dogs.”

  She laughed openly for the first time. “It can’t be that bad. Sheep are cute.”

  “That’s the problem. I mean, if I was a cattle farmer, that’d be one thing, y’know? That’s a manly job. You use cows to make beef. Leather. Tough things. With sheep you make sweaters. I’m basically a sweater farmer.”

  “That’s good; we’re all hoping for a bountiful sweater harvest this year.”

  Their stroll came to a halt as they reached the fat, ugly tree stump that jutted up from the ground smack in the center of the thoroughfare. “I’m assuming this is why the town is called Old Stump,” Anna said.

  “Yeah, this is it.” He sighed with boredom. “When they built the town, they had to cut down this big tree, but they couldn’t move the stump. They didn’t have any dynamite and they ran out of black guys, so they had to leave it here, right in the middle of the street.”

  “Well, why couldn’t they just build the town fifty feet that way?” she asked, pointing off to her left.

  Albert stared at the stump. No one had ever asked that question before. It was a very good question. He thought it best to move on. “So, why would you leave Kansas City for the Western frontier?” he asked. “I mean, it sucks out here.”

  “I don’t know—it’s exciting,” she said, with a bright, attentive gaze, as if seeing a completely different town than he was. “Everything’s so new and unpredictable.”

  “Well, that is true, nothing is what it seems. Like, look—see that building right there? We have no idea what’s inside. I mean, it could be anything. This whole place has such an air of mystery about it.” He gave her his best wide-eyed impression of awestruck curiosity as he pointed to a shabby structure with the single word BANK painted on the front.

  Anna laughed again. “I’m getting the sense that you’re kind of a negative guy.”

  “Well, Jesus, look where I live,” he grumbled. “Oh, hey, here’s a fun fact about the American West in 1882. You receive the same punishment whether you’re a horse thief or a retarded newborn.”