He was called Greasy Bob because he liked to slick down his hair with axle grease.Greasy Bob sounded like one of the faces on a wanted poster I had picked up the last time, so I asked what made him a problem. It seemed that he liked to pick on strangers, especially those who were smaller than him. Now, I only stand 5-foot, 4-inches tall in my riding boots, so most men are taller than me; therefore, I could expect trouble from Greasy Bob, who was 6-foot, 4-inches tall, if I did run into him. I thanked the men for the warning and promised to be on the lookout for Greasy Bob. I finished my beer without getting any more leads, so I left for the next saloon down the street.I had just taken my first sip from the mug of Mexican beer I had ordered in the new saloon when I was bumped very hard from the rear. A voice snarled, "Make room fer a real man, ya scrawny runt!" I looked up into the bar mirror and saw Greasy Bob, himself. I decided to take on a conciliatory air to see what would. ..?" Bloodhound snickered at the word, thinking little of her intention behind it; Madre smirked, "All I mean is that there is no need for you and your little Bird to fly off any time soon." The voluptuous woman gestured towards a cute brunette just a few feet down, her back firmly planted in the dust as her perky breasts were suckled upon by Furore's eager lips. Bloodhound watched his partner, her flush body shivering at the raven haired girl's touch, each of them exploring the other's body with their hands in an intimate dance; any reason to leave grew ever more faded with time to the both of them. "...It's been a while since they left... Longer since we saw those back where we started." Madre chuckled faintly behind her mask, her fingertips ever so gently gracing the plating of Bloodhound's jaw to direct his eyes to her, "Your Ox and Rhino are there, I am quite sure. All has been restored... Tell me, my dear... Have you any greater bond with those whom you have no name for than.
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