Special thanks to String Slinger for inspiring the character and helping me edit the story. I highly recommend his CD, available at http://www.pjshapiro.com

Thanks also to Sarahetc, Archer, Wulf, and Kaythryn for inspiring me to write at all. After you stumble through this, treat yourself to some of their work. You'll be glad you did.

A Gig's A Gig - Part1

String Slinger climbed down from the coach with his guitar in tow. The coachmaster turned to grab his passenger’s luggage off the rack, but there wasn’t any. All Slinger had that mattered was jammed in one overstuffed guitar case. He paused to gaze around the one-horse town and drew a deep breath. It was looking like another lonely night at another sweaty bar in another dusty town. As if the gods had heard his thought, a gust of wind kicked up a cloud of dust that choked his already dry throat. With a resigned sigh, he headed across the street to the local bar/whorehouse/city hall.

The rarely heard sound of ragtime piano wafted out past the swinging doors, bringing a brief smile to the Slinger’s face. It had been a long time since he had heard a real honest-to-goodness piano. Sure, you could get recordings off of the cortex, but the bits and bytes that were the cortex never equaled the warm and sensual sound of a real piano. His smile faded quickly as the sound was chased out the door by the stench of 100 miners ending their week. Despite the smell, he forced himself through the doors and made his way to the bar.

The bar was being tended by a one armed man wearing an eye patch. Slinger chuckled to himself, “There has to be a story there.”

As he got a little closer he could make out the dull grey script on the eye patch that read DON’T ASK. He thought to himself, “Oh, I’m definitely askin’… after the gig.”

As the bartender spun another bottle of liquor in his one hand, he turned his glare on Slinger, “You the picker, 'pard’?” Slinger replied with only a pat on his guitar case. “Name’s Mauser. Stage is over yonder. You make it through your