The Last Stand of the Western Desperado

June 1, 2009

They’re coming for me, I know they are. I have to get out of here. I have to.

His hand shifts nervously under his poncho as he watches one of the bartenders eye the other, reaching under the bar for something. Odds were more than even it was a gun, probably a sawed off 12 gauge. Might ’cause some property damage, maybe even take out some of the innocents just wantin’ a beer at the cantina, but they don’t much worry about things like that this side of the border. As long as you’re paid up with the right people you can do as damn well as you please, including amputating a guy from the waist up. It’s that look on his face that really gives it away though. Banditos, mexicans, everyone born south of the boarder gets that look when they’re about to kill. A dangerous ferocity in them that gives them this kind of tunnel vision and something resembling invincibility. But something like, ain’t close enough.

The Westerner draws his twin rugers and moves to his right all at once firing a couple rounds off before the shotgun can even get to waist level. The two bartenders fly back against the wall as the The Westerner slides across one of the tables and lands hard on the dusty wood floors.

Landed too hard. Dislocated something, shoulder’s on fire. Gotta fight past it. There’s more of ’em in the back, and some of the customers might look to take matters in their own hands.

He’s not far off the score as two of the customers take to throwing their beer pitchers, while a third much younger and brasher than the rest draws a pistol of his own. Two to the chest without hesitation; The child may have been too young to know this, but you never point a gun at someone unless you plan to kill them. More employees from the back counter, reaching for the sawed off, but stumbling over each other trying to grab it.

Your mistake.

He doesn’t risk it, he unloads what remains of his ammunition into them watching them fly back, one into the kitchen, and one against the wall in the corner behind the bar. But he’s not out of the frying pan, he can hear them outside and he knows he’s in the fire. Mexican army is organizing outside, screaming something in mexican he can’t understand. He’d been worried they’d find him, he did his best to blend in, but a gunfight in an otherwise peaceful cantina was bound to attract attention. No ammo to speak of he takes up the sawed off shotgun and chuckles to himself as he sees a second holstered in a docker’s clutch. He’ll make his stand.

It ends here. Now. Either they’re going down or I am.


Customers at the Taco Time Cantina had themselves a brief scare with an armed gunman – thankfully he chose mostly harmless air-soft guns as the weapons of choice. It’s uncertain what prompted the assailant, one Greg McConnell, to go into this violent outburst. Several eyewitnesses say he seemed disoriented, unsure or unaware of his surroundings. Constable Falkner was the one who made the arrest, and exited the building covered in sour cream and salsa, rumored to have been shot from the large guns used to dispense the condiments on tacos. While no serious injuries were sustained, Cranbrook Crown Prosecutor Bill Henderson says “We know he’s commited a crime, obviously, we’re just not sure what we’re charging Mr. McConnell with yet.” Longtime friend and room-mate of the 25 year old says “This doesn’t surprise me at all.” saying “He’s always been off his [mind] it was only a matter of time before he grabbed a condiment and did some serious damage.”

Tod Demchuk – Cranbrook Daily Townsman

Note: Okay, so, this didn’t happen.


A while ago Greg and I went to Taco Time and he had this thought that it would be really cool to have a shoot out in the Cantina, except with the calking gun looking things they use to apply sour cream and salsa and whatever that green crap is. So I had this image of Greg thinking he was in some wild west shoot out in a Cantina… and it kind of evolved from there.


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