4/4/2018

“Johnson? Yeah, I know him.” The man took a swig from his gourd and slammed it down on the counter.

I fidgeted slightly in my seat. “What can you tell me about him?”

“For starters, don't think that just ‘cause he's blind don't mean he can't see.” I tilted my head questioningly. “He uses the echo from his gunshots to hear where you are. Or...some crap like that.”

I nodded. “I see.” That would explain how he'd been able to put a bullet between my legs when no one else would have detected my presence at all. “What about his gun? Is it enchanted?”

The man laughed. “Enchanted? The hell would he need to enchant it for?”

“He never misses,” I answered grimly.

He leaned forward, giving me a look that said I was an idiot. “And you assume magic’s to blame for that?”

“I assumed it would be possible,” I answered, no longer feeling as confident in my question.

“Either way, you're wrong. He's missed exactly once.”

I gave him the most quizzical glance I could muster. “How's that?”

With one arm, he lifted his dusty poncho over the opposite shoulder—revealing that the moving arm was, in fact, his only arm. A scarred stump remained where the other should have been. “He was aiming for my head.”

I swallowed what little moisture remained in my mouth.