Two Guns

An approaching draft of chilly winter air was announced by a single and solitary ding of the magnetic door chime, which also heralded the entrance of a customer. Benjamin Dreher stood up sharply and grabbed the white rag draped over the chrome faucet behind the counter, wiping his hands with it. The Two Guns Town Coffee Shop was a bit of an oddity in an already odd and all but abandoned ghost town. The only coffee that had been brewed in the building that day was what Dreher made when he opened over twelve hours earlier, and it had long boiled into nothing but black carbon on the warmer.

"Closed" he grunted to the would-be customer, a young man in a short-sleeve button down shirt and blue pants. A tourist, and one woefully underprepared for tonight's expected winter weather at that. He halted for a moment, then continued towards the counter.
"Closed." The shopkeeper repeated, this time even more tersely. "Get out."
"I just need a few gallons to get me to Winslow before the storm hits"
replied the tourist as he unlatched his watch from his wrist.
"Can't help you, go to the Shell station you passed to get here."
"He turned me away" he said, laying the Timex sportsman on the counter.
"It's all I got, sir. If you can't help me, can I at least make a phone call?"
Dreher looked at the watch, then slid his unamused gaze to the tourist as he set the phone on the counter. He sighed, took the watch, and walked to the till. This was the first customer he'd seen for days; customers only seemed to show up at inopportune moments in Two Guns. The tourist picked up the phone and dialed the operator.
"La Posada Hotel in Winslow please."
Dreher retrieved his keys from his pocket and unlocked the till. The cash drawer thunked open, and he retrieved a single five dollar bill. He glanced at the clock as he slid the cash to the young man.
"The Shell closes in 30 minutes."
The tourist covered the microphone with his palm.
"You can't do ten? I paid twenty for it last month."
Dreher shot him a momentary icy glare before proceeding to ignore him. The young man spoke to the receiver
"I'm in Two Guns. Yes, sweetheart. I'll be there in an hour or two."

The first hints of snow were beginning to fall in the light cast from the windows into the dark night beyond. In the distance, a faint and ghostly glow of light could be seen from the Shell Station's pump islands a third of a mile east. Only in a place like Two Guns, Arizona could the first customer in a week walk out richer with the shopkeeper poorer. The traveler thanked Dreher, who followed him without reply and locked the door after he walked out. He hung around long enough to watch the traveler's ragged white Ford station wagon exit the parking lot. The small exchange only solidified Dreher's resolve; he removed the meager amount of cash that was left in the till and stuffed it in his pocket, then grabbed a matchbook and waited for the soft glow of the Shell station to go dark for the night.