The scene opens up with the brown-haired gentleman lying on the bed wearing a pair of tan pants and a white Henley. The first three buttons of his Henley are undone and it lays casually open, just enough to give a peek of skin. His chocolate hair is slightly messed; as though he has run his sensitive fingers through it a time or two. He is propped up with two pillows; his socked feet are crossed at the ankles as he intently reads his book.
The blond ex-outlaw is sitting at a table next to the bed, his back towards his partner. He is still completely dressed, vest and boots still on. His brown hat sits at the corner of the table; his gun belt lay neatly on the table with assorted equipment for gun cleaning perfectly arranged. One leg is crossed over the other as he works diligently cleaning his gun. Polishing the barrel, he abruptly stops. “Heyes”…there was no response. “Heyes,” he called louder.
“Hmmm…” a disinterested noise came from the bed.
“Heyes!” he repeated, sounding increasingly annoyed. Turning, he glared at his partner.
“What?” Brown eyes looked up over the book.
“Do you think she gave up?”
“Do you think she gave up?” Kid repeated.
“Who?” Heyes asked, confusion apparent on his face.
“Yeah, Heyes, Storm. You know, your girl.”
Heyes sat up and placed the book on the bed. “What about Storm? What’s she giving up?”
“Us?!” Heyes almost shouted.
“Yeah, us.” Standing up, Kid buckled his gun belt and then tied the thong. Picking up his gun, he admired it before giving it a twirl and dropping it into the holster as he turned towards his partner.
“She would never give up on us!” Heyes stood up and walked over to the window. “Well, at least not on me.”
“Really!” Heyes defiantly responded, turning to look at Kid.
“Okay, then,” Kid said smugly. “How long have we been in this hotel room? How many times can you read Mark Twain? Huh? If I clean and polish my gun any more it will disappear.”
Heyes ran his hand through his hair.
“Got ya thinkin’, didn’t I?” Kid nodded his head.
Heyes opened his mouth to say something then closed it. He took a breath and lifted his hand in the direction of his partner, and then dropped it. Lightly shaking his head, he asked, “How come you noticed and I didn’t?”
Kid chuckled, “’Cause when it comes to Storm, you have a blind eye.”
Heyes looked at Kid.
“She’s your girl, Heyes. She’s written some real steamy stuff about you.”
“Yeah…” dimples appeared. “And you.”
“Yeah, but nothin’ compared to yours.”
“Well, you got a blind eye towards her. You don’t see or realize we’ve been stuck in this hotel room for maybe a lifetime!”
“She’s been busy. She has a life outside of us…it’s not her choice. Just things get in the way sometimes,” Heyes stated in defense.
“Yeah, yeah.” Kid rolled his eyes. “That’s great for her, but what about us?”
“Fine? Can’t tell you how long we’ve been in this hotel room.”
“Are you hungry?”
Kid shook his head.
Kid shook his head.
Kid shook his head.
“Do we have a nice comfy bed to sleep in?”
“Yeah. So what’s the point? We’ve…”
“…been stuck in this hotel room,” Heyes jumped in and finished the sentence. “Poor us,” he continued. “The law ain’t looking for us. We have food, shelter, a comfy place to sleep and you’re doing what you like doing and I’m doing what I like doing. So how bad is it?”
“We’ll get out of here as soon as she has time and the bunnies start hopping.”
Confusion spread across Kid’s face.
“She calls ideas bunnies?”
“Don’t know; always assumed it was because they can be so proliferous.”
“Proliferous,” Heyes repeated. Seeing it didn’t register with Kid, he added, “They reproduce at will.”
“Heyes! You don’t have to talk about stuff like that, ‘specially when you’re talkin’ ‘bout Storm.”
Heyes chuckled. “They just want ideas to be plentiful and easy to come by, Kid.” He laughed.
“Think they could just say that,” the blond partner stammered. “So how do we get a bunny to hop…aw jeez, it sounds dirty sayin’ that now that you said what you said.”
“Bunnies are cute, not dirty.” The brown-haired man tried desperately to stifle a chuckle. “Not sure how we go about getting the bunny to hop. I don’t think saying she’s giving up on us though, is going to help.”
Heyes walked over to his partner and gave him a small back-handed swat to the arm. “Cheer up, Kid. It could be worse.”
Long neatly manicured fingers wiggled and flexed as they prepared to attack the keyboard in front of them. Slight trepidation slowed the process. It had been months, if not longer, since any real bunnies hopped. She had hoped last month’s challenge of “Tradition” would be the one to break the writer’s block. Instead, the bunny that had hopped so happily at the beginning of the month fizzled and died even after an eleventh-hour surge to resurrect it.
The wind howled outside and through the cracks of the old jail. The sky lit up as a bolt of lightning raced across the sky and the rain continued its onslaught. The deputy sat up front at the sheriff’s desk, keeping warm by the small pot belly stove. Unfortunately, the stove’s heat was only enough to warm the small area, leaving the cells in the back cold and damp. The storm outside surged on as the lone prisoner tried to wrap his sheepskin coat around him for warmth. He ducked his head, pulled his collar up and the brim of his hat down. Sighing, he hoped his partner fared better after they had to split up… got away and was back-tracking to find him… was just biding time…for the right time to get him out of there.
The room was lit by the blazing fire in the fireplace. It not only lit the room but brought warmth, protecting the inhabitants from the cold, brutal storm raging outside. Hannibal Heyes sat comfortably in an overstuffed leather chair, cigar in one hand, and brandy in the other. Lifting his face to the ceiling, he blew out rings of smoke. Raising the glass of warm amber liquid to his lips, he sipped as he gazed at the statuesque woman walking across the floor towards him. A dimpled smile spread across his face as she sat down next to him and leaned in…