Picklefinger's Saloon had been a part of Revelation Springs since the town was settled. It always looked rundown and disreputable. To most, it was a last resort. Where you went when you weren't in a hurry, for a drink, or to grab a bite to eat, wager more money than you should on parlor games, maybe pick a fight.

Apparently, however, it hadn't just been the Gold Mine Hotel that benefitted from the Founders' Day Fair. Even from the outside, I could tell that it'd done wonders for old Picklefinger's patronage as well. Both the front porch and the balcony were nearly overflowing with sojourners from all over. Behind them, the whole façade was windows. A hand with one thick, green finger was painted on each, but I could still see inside through the glass fogged by sweaty men. Looked like standing room only.

Climbing the steps, I heard my name called from behind me.

"Dale," I said, turning.

"Might as well call me Jesus," he said.

"Excuse me?"

He laughed uncomfortably. "No room at this inn. You know, like… with Mary and Joseph and—"

"You ought to work on your jokes, friend."

He frowned. "Been running all over town, looking to get us a room or two since I’ve been told there’s none here neither. Nothing at all unless you wanna sleep in a stable with your horse.”

"Her name is Timperina, and it wouldn't be the first time," I said. "But c'mon, I’ll talk to Picklefinger myself."

"Don't think it'll do no good. He said they’re ‘packed to the rafters’."

"We'll see." I waved him on, and we entered.

Inside, it was like a zoo. Actually, it looked like a freak show—of the carnival variety. Seemed the fine people at the other venues wanted to keep some of the riffraff clientele out. But hey, what better place for a Bearded Lady, World's Strongest Man, and a half-pint dwarf than a place called Picklefinger's?

"Some place," Dale said. "But like I said—"

I didn't hear what he was reminding me of. Something felt… off. An itch in my chest, and it wasn’t Shar. Instinctively, my hand moved a bit closer to my Peacemaker. It didn't take long for me to spot what had me on edge.

Turned out, anyone unlucky enough to be forced to spend the night here would be getting a private show. Leaping from the balcony to the chandelier and back again was the carnival's Beast Boy. I’d heard about him, but never seen him. Described as half-man, half-ape, though I knew better. Always suspected he might be a Nephilim, and now that I was seeing him in the flesh the first time? I knew I had to be right.

Call it a hunch. A sixth sense.

The strange, short guy had long body hair, coarse and matted, an unnatural shade of dark yellow.

It’s rare, but not all Nephilim are inherently evil or desperate for power like that goat beast. At least not in my eyes, though I suspect the White Throne feels differently. Wicked by association and all that.

But some seem to forget their allegiances to Hell and just want to get along. This little guy is proof enough of that. He wasn't eating anyone or cutting deals for souls. Just did his thing, performing while his compadre—a colorful jester type—took up tips in a metal tin.

Chances are if I gave Shar the opportunity, she'd tell me to send him packing, so I wouldn't. But I’d keep one eye on him. If Lucifer did call upon the creature for a favor, somehow I doubted he’d refuse it. Call me a cynic.

I made my way to the bar and said, "The usual," to the barman who wasn't looking.

"Going to have to wait your turn," he said, eyes still focused elsewhere.

"You're gonna make an old friend wait?"

"Look, buddy—" he started, turning to face me. When he saw me, a giant, gap-toothed grin split his face.

"James Crowley!" He slapped the bar hard, his already wet hands splashing in something questionable. His pointer finger was totally black with frostbite, and in the dim lights—and it was always dim in here—almost looked a grungy sort of green. Hence his nickname. Joshua "Picklefinger" Hayes, the one and only.

He'd gotten frostbit while climbing some this or that mountain in the north. It was a whole heroic tale about saving a damsel, which I'd heard him tell every time I passed through town. My best guess was it was all hogwash, but he sure knew how to spin a fine story.

Joshua had run Picklefinger's ever since. These past years hadn't been overly kind to him. His now bald head was surrounded by a ring of bright red hair that fell to his shoulder blades, and I wasn't sure he could turn around back there without his belly clearing the shelves.

The man was built to eclipse the sun, and I told him as much.

"Not all of us can be immortal," he replied. "Seems like you haven't aged a day since we met."

He didn't know the truth of his words. This was one of the first places I'd stopped in after coming back from the dead. Woke up not too far away, actually. It's all thanks to Shar—giver of gifts and blessings. And yeah, minus some extra wear and tear from serving the White Throne, I looked exactly the same.

Not a new gray hair. Not a new wrinkle.

I puffed out my chest. "Amazing what whiskey and eating right can do for a man."

“I’d better fill you up then,” Picklefinger said.

A sign of a good barman is when he can remember your drink. Picklefinger's the best of the best. Three years since the last time I'd darkened his doorway, stopping through town on my way out to the west coast to deal with a gaggle of sprites, or was it fae? Truth is, they're both the bad sorts of Nephilim, and hard to tell the difference. Anyway, all those years passed, and he poured me three fingers of the high shelf bourbon.

Funny thing, with his bulbous finger, that means he poured a little more than most.

"Here ya go, friend." Picklefinger offered it to me with the complimentary mini pickled cucumber everyone had come to expect. "What brings you to town? Don't tell me you're here for Founder's Day. You hate smiling and enjoying yourself if I recall."

I laughed, took a sip. "Look at this place! Why shouldn't I?"

"Nuh-uh. I don't believe it. Not you."

"Believe whatever you'd like." I reached back and patted Dale's shoulder, dragging him just a step closer. "I think you met my friend, Dale?"

Picklefinger noticed him for the first time. "This ninny?" He laughed. "You really are full of surprises. Said he was with you. I asked him where the cuffs were."

"Now hold it there—" Dale started.

I squeezed his shoulder to shut him up.

"He says you couldn't spare us a room," I said.

Picklefinger's gaze narrowed. "This is for real? You're running with a deputy? You?"

"Thought it time to make an honest man of myself. Now, how about that room? I'm sure you've got something."

He leaned in. "I'm sorry, Crowley. Look around." He could barely hide his excitement at such a full house even while delivering the bad news. "There's just nothing left. Tell you what? I can telegraph the Rarebreed—it's just a few miles north of here in Yantsville. Quaint place. You’ll love it. Don’t even got a bank yet. Easy ride back in the morn."

"I’ve gotta stay here," I told him.

"Any other time, you know I'd help you out." A few patrons at the other end of the bar were getting rowdy waiting for Picklefinger's attention. "Look, make yourself at home in the bar. But like I said, there're just no beds."

He turned to tend to the folks, but I stopped him, kept my voice low. A place like Picklefinger's would be crawling with travelers. Likely many other bounty hunters who'd be happy to kill off competition if they got a whiff that I, too, was after the Frozen Trio. Not to mention any of these folks could be helping the outlaws. Could be them in here even, all dressed up to hide. Maybe that’s what burning my chest, and it wasn’t Beast Boy after all.

"Say, Picklefinger. You get a lot of folks through here," I whispered. "Any ideas who might want to get back at Mr. Dufaux for… something? Who might hold a grudge?"

"This about those robberies?" Unlike mine, his voice was normal volume. So much for not blabbing.

"Just a curiosity."

He eyed me sidelong, but he didn't turn away. People in positions like Picklefinger know that most times, it's best to say too little than too much.

"Well, I'm not sure there's a man or woman within a hundred miles who hasn't been rubbed wrong by the old baron here and there," he said. "But you didn't hear that from me. This here is his land I rent. And his city has built me a fine life."

"Hey! Ginger!" called one of the drunken, angry patrons.

"Names like that'll just get spit in your gin," Picklefinger barked back over his shoulder. "All right, I—"

"Need to get back to work," I finished for him. "I'll leave you to it."

"Good to see you again, Crowley. And there's plenty of floor space to pass out on if you drink too much."

At that, he left me to do his job. I lifted my cup of bourbon. My chest hit the bar. Half my drink spilled out just before I could take a sip. Someone had bumped me.

"Ten bucks, and I'll give you my room," slurred the culprit. I turned to see a fella that was more beard than man. Judging by his hat and his gun, he'd picked up a few bounties over the years. Had that look. He leaned on my back, one of his smoky blue eyes twitching slightly. "Sound like a deal?"

"Sounds like ten-times the going rate," I told him, turning back to my drink.

Dale leaned in and whispered. "I got a few bucks I could chip in."

I glared at him. "Thought you said you were broke?"

His face went red. "Come on, Crowley. I don't—I don't wanna sleep in the dirt."

"Listen to your little friend," the Beard said. "Ten greenbacks, and the room is yours."

I heard an uproar from the other side of the saloon and watched as a man stood shouting and running from the room with a cloth sopped in red over his hand. Gave me an idea.

"Tell you what," I said to my new friend. "I'll play you for it. I win, I get your room."

"And if I win?" he said, skeptical.

"Twenty bucks."

"Stranger, you don't look like you've owned twenty bucks in your life. You're gonna have to show me the money first."

I leaned over to Dale. "Got that cash?" I usually had some, but another result of my burial in Elkhart—my pockets had been picked clean.

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Dale stuttered a response. "I… that was when I was buying a room. Not… gambling."

"Don't be a baby. It ain't gambling if I can't lose."

"This is all I got in the world," Dale complained.

"And you'll still have it. C'mon. Piper's calling."

Dale rummaged around in his bag and retrieved a handful of crumpled-up banknotes.

"Ten bucks?" I whispered to him.

He looked sheepishly at me.

"This is only ten," the Beard said. "You said twenty."

I dug around in my satchel, looking for something worth enough to wager. I heard a clatter and looked down to find Dufaux's silver dish had fallen from my bag. Damn my feelingless hands. I bent, snatched it up, and shoved it away.

Beardy pointed to my bag. "Toss in the silver, and you’ve got a bet."

"That's worth a whole lot more than twenty bucks," I said.

"You want the room or what?"

"Mr. Crowley," Dale said, tugging on my arm. "Why don’t we just give him the ten for the room?”

“Price went up," Beard said.

"We could find someplace else?" Dale whispered.

The bounty hunter leaned in close. I could smell the liquor on his breath. "You both too pansy?"

I looked around the room. A couple nosy patrons were watching us now that things were getting interesting. And I’ll be honest, watching the bank from a room or sitting by the front window, it didn’t really matter to me. But when you’ve been around as long as I have, sometimes, interesting tips the scales.

"Five-finger," I told him. "Last one to bleed wins it all. The room, cash, silver, and pride. What do you say, pal?"

A wicked grin wracked his features, and I say wracked because it looked like it hurt him to smile. And that smile told me his answer. While Dale whispered protests, I followed the bounty hunter to the spot from which the previous loser had just run. His blood covered a tree stump set between two wooden chairs that looked like they'd break if anyone bigger than Dale sat in one.

But we sat, and they didn't.

A small crowd gathered as it always does. One thing I've learned in my time, men out here live to gamble. And why wouldn't they? Surviving these parts is a gamble enough. What's one more.

Beard stood again for a second and raised his hands as if conducting an orchestra. Christ, he started singing.

I hear the drink calling, but I ain't got a dime

The boys say a knife will help passin' the time

So I sat down to play, taking bets on my aim

What's started with five, I pray winds up the same

I knew the song. There were five more verses, and I was glad he didn't sing them all, though he wasn't a terrible singer. When he was done, the man guffawed and sat back down, pulling a knife from wherever he was keeping it. The blade had hundreds of nicks. He spun it along his finger and handed me the hilt.

"Ladies first," he said, which stirred up some more laughter.

"You're gonna bleed, stranger," said one from behind me somewhere.

"Anton don't never lose!" shouted another.

“Mr. Crowley, I really don’t think this is a good idea,” Dale said.

I ignored him and grabbed the knife. "First blood?"

Anton nodded once. I know, it wasn't exactly fair considering only dust runs through my veins, but what's a guy to do?

I placed my hand palm-down on the stump.

The rules of the game were simple. Some called it the knife game, others five-finger filet, and others still, stabscotch. I called it dumb, even when I was living. You can have any number of players, really. Though, it's best mano a mano. The first player does like I did, places his hand face down, and spreads his digits. Then, with the other hand, he grasps a knife. It can be any blade, as long as it'll cut when it hits.

I've seen kids playing with sticks, but they'll reach a certain age where that just won't fly anymore. The game is about having nerve.

I took a deep breath, faking anxiousness. I wanted Anton to think I was nervous. But I'd been doing this undead thing for a while now. Took me a bit, but I discovered all the things I'm good at. And it turns out, without fear of losing a finger, I was really good at this game.

I started off nice and slow, setting the pace. I cleared all eleven gaps—from thumb to pinky back to thumb—without a problem, then handed Anton the knife.

He did the same, never breaking eye contact with me. Show off.

I was tempted to try the same trick when I got the knife back, but instead, I just accelerated my stabbing and slammed the blade into the stump when I was done. Dale squealed from the thud, like his heart was getting ready to give out.

Leaning back, I watched Anton match my speed.

"Faster!" the crowd jeered.

Then a fella with teeth as yellow as the sun hovering over Anton's left shoulder picked up the song again.

Won the first round of drinks when I finished intact

Went straight to my head, my aim started to crack

See, I started with five, but now I'm down to four

We're all reckless and stupid but, hey! Pour me one more

The crowd had gathered in by the end, their fervor seeming to energize Anton. He did as they asked, speeding up. I'll hand it to him; the guy was decent. When he was done, he flipped the blade with a flourish and stabbed it down right back in front of me.

"Let's go, moneybags," Anton taunted.

I spotted Picklefinger standing at the back of the gathered crowd. It seemed our little game had become more important than tending the bar. As a matter of fact, Beast Boy had stopped swinging, staring down at us from his perch on the light fixture above. The others from the freak show were watching, too.

What's one little finger when I've still got his friends

The whiskey is strong, and my wounds they will mend

I started with five, but now I'm down to three

It's reckless and stupid but, hey! The drinks are all free

Anton stood and joined them, sweeping his arms side to side like a maestro.

The barmaid was dancing and gave me a start

The knife struck my hand, and it wasn't too sharp

So I bit off the rest, and I gave the salute

Yes, I started with five but hey! Now I'm down to two

I raised the knife, and as I did, I caught a glimpse of a familiar smokey swirl in the blade's reflection.

"Stop this foolish game of the Children," Shar said. "You're drawing attention."

I disregarded her warning—a thing I'd become quite the pro at these days. With Beast Boy in the room, the itch in my chest was dull and constant anyway. Plus, Shar was wrong. Attention might be good at this point. Draw the Trio or any allies they might have out of hiding if they were amidst,.

They knew my face after Elkhart. So, let them come to me if they so pleased. I’m sturdy enough, and better I take their focus than all the innocent people of Revelation Springs.

"You're not bad," I said to Anton over the din. "But you're all flash."

With that, I placed my hand down, memorized where it was, and closed my eyes. Now Shar couldn't distract me.

The tale will be told from the slaves to the masters

Like Arthur and all of his round-table bastards

I'm getting faster and faster and drinking a ton

Yeah, it's reckless and stupid, but hey! It's bloody good fun!

I began stabbing, the crowd so inspired by my risk they ooh'd and aah'd with my every motion. Dale made sounds I wasn't even sure could come from a grown man. When I finished and stabbed the blade down, I opened my eyes again. The knife was swaying, metal humming.

No blood.

Though, I realized I'd messed up. There was a line across my left middle finger where, apparently, I'd sliced clean through it. Looked like a knuckle at first glance, but it wasn't. I quickly covered it with my other hand, hiding the lost fingertip within a fist.

"I'll be taking that room," I boasted.

"Think I didn't catch you peeking through eyelashes?" Anton said. “My turn.” He grabbed a dishrag off the tray off a passing barmaid, then tied it over his eyes in a blindfold. He sang the first line, and the rest picked it up.

A man in the corner with a hook for a hand

Bet a hundred against me and struck up the band

The game will keep going cause I ain't no chump

I started with five, but hey! Now it's a stump!

Anton's fans cheered for him while he flawlessly went through the motions without being able to see, same as I had. I honestly wasn't sure how to up the ante next.

The whole bar practically joined in on the final refrain, singing it slow.

I started with Five, but now I've got none

It's reckless and stupid, but hey! It's bloody good fun

Anton was moving now, but on his way back, he stabbed hard, and I spotted a dab of blood on his ring finger.

The whole place went quiet except for Dale whose “Ha!” echoed.

Anton had nicked himself. And while, technically, that meant he'd done better than me, I had no choice but to cheat. I had the White Throne's work to do here in Revelation.

Hearing the silence, he tore off the blindfold and gawked at the wound.

"Good match." I started to rise when one of his compadres pushed me back down.

"Not quite," Anton said. "I like to play a fair game."

"You agreed to first blood. That there's blood."

Anton sucked at his finger. "You gotta cover your eyes like me. I know you peeked."

I spun to see men gathered around me. Some cracked their knuckles. Others, their necks. What was certain was these men were hankering for a fight. Win or lose, I was pretty sure this was always gonna be the outcome. I always forget… maybe Shar knows some things.

See, I couldn't play another round. As soon as I uncovered my cloven finger, I'd be outed as a cheater. Which was maybe true, but "first blood" is an awfully specific set of rules.

"You calling me a cheater?" I asked.

"Or just a big scaredy-cat," he said.

"You got some nerve."

"Uh, Anton, sir," Dale interjected, meek as a kitten. "Mr. Crowley won, fair and square. We really do need a room."

I'm not sure he meant to but leaning in caused him to flaunt the badge on his chest. I probably should've warned him to take it off.

"You think that means anything here?" Anton said, flicking the badge.

"Please, in the name of the law—"

A fist pistoned from Anton's buddy with the yellow teeth and cracked Dale across the jaw. Something about being in a busy saloon with a partner, surrounded by drunkards and loons, had me feeling like the old days before God saw to making me a tool. I couldn't help but throw down.

Shoving the tip of my finger in my pocket first, I lunged at Anton and repaid the debt by giving his jaw a wallop. I put so much force behind it, he flipped ass over tea kettle. He toppled over the back of his chair and cracked a floor plank where he landed. Sometimes, I don't know my own strength.

Dale sprung up quick, hopping on one of Anton's pal's backs and punching his ribs. Not the best technique, but the young, hapless deputy-turned-sheriff-turned-deputy-again was scrappy, that's for sure.

More fists came at me. I blocked with my forearms and swung back. Probably got hit from behind a few times without knowing it too. One thing led to another, and our little fight swelled across the whole saloon as more and more men got jostled.

Picklefinger was all "here, here," and "now, now," but nobody listened. There was a code of honor when it came to brawls like this. Nobody drew their guns. We weren't out to kill each other, just to prove a point. If a gun went off, it would be the barkeep shooting the floor to tell us enough was enough.

But old Picklefinger didn't do that. Complain as he might, a bar like his had a reputation to uphold. That was just the way of things.

Dale got caught in a throat lock. I picked up a chair and bashed his attacker across the spine. Then, I found myself being yanked backward. Anton had grabbed me and thrown me, but my elbow caught his ribs and cracked a bone.

Rising, I spotted Beast Boy, who'd now joined into the fray, howling as he swung down and kicked a man in the side of the head. So, he wasn’t totally averse to some violent fun. His victim staggered, grabbing the Bearded Lady's whiskers to try and stay upright. That earned him an open-handed slap that knocked him right out.

"You damn cheater!" Anton growled. He speared me with his shoulder, and together, we slammed into the bar. Then he clawed at my throat. I managed to reverse the roles, him with his back against the bar, but he got a boot up and shoved me rearwards.

All hell broke loose when I bumped into the World's Strongest Man.

The enormous, rippling heap of muscle spilled his drink all over. He slammed a fist the size of a cow head down on the corner of the bar, breaking off a chunk. Then he grabbed me by the collar and hefted me into the air.

"Let him down!" Dale hollered, running over and batting at the man's chest. Might as well have been a hug. Beast Boy noticed, hurrying to defend his performance partner. He drop-kicked Dale in the chest just as the Strong Man flung me. Seconds later, we were both hurled bodily through the side window, landing in the alley between the bar and the Miner's guild.

Glass shattered, and we rolled out onto wet earth. A man and his lady who'd been doing God-knows-what in the alley screamed as they dodged us. The horses hitched up on the side whinnied and reared, pulling the hitching post loose. Together, all tied up, they took off. I took a hoof to the gut and one to the shoulder. Dale was luckier, in a sense. He'd landed right in the water trough where Timp remained the only horse still calmly drinking. Poor girl was used to this kind of activity.

He rose a little, but he didn't look like he had enough strength left to fling a pebble at a house rat. Beast Boy was clearly stronger than his stature implied.

I heard footsteps, and Anton strolled outside with his buddies. He blew out his nose, a clump of blood shooting to the dirt.

"These boys troubling you?" said another voice.

Just what I needed. Another newcomer to get in on the fight. Turning my head, the first thing I saw was a familiar hawk perched on the top of the Miner's Guild rooftop, facing the bank. Well, I saw two of it since I was so dizzy from the fall.

I blinked in disbelief, and when I opened my eyes again, it was gone. Either it had flown off or never had been there to begin with. A figment of my imagination.

Then spurs jingled. A pair of fine boots slapped down next to me, and I found myself staring at the sheriff of Revelation Springs, with a mustache so wide it crossed both cheeks. And not alone either. He was with a couple of deputies as well as Sheriff Culpepper of Elkhart, probably doing their rounds to ward off the outlaws.

"If cheating is a trouble, then yeah," Anton said, eyes wide and nodding.

Before I knew it, a bunch of men grabbed hold of me and pulled me to my feet. The world was spinning. Doesn't matter how immortal you are; getting your brain rattled and scrambled like eggs will confuse the best of us. A few more men got Dale, dragging his sopping wet self out of the trough since he could barely stand on his own.

"Seems like you fellas had too much to drink," the Revelation sheriff said, leaning in to get a better look at me. “You need a place to sleep it off."

"Not even a sip," I said.

Just then, Picklefinger arrived at the mouth of the alley, glowering down at me with his arms crossed over his belly.

"Tell them, Pickles," I said.

All he did was shake his head and head back inside. Guess I couldn't blame him. Shattered windows would cost a pretty penny.

"Don't know these men at all," Anton said, acted all flustered. "And one of them just clean swung at my friend for no reason, when all we’re here to do is try and help end that damn Frozen Trio."

"That's a goddamn lie!" I argued.

I reached into my pocket.

"Hands where I can seem 'em!" the sheriff growled, but I wasn't looking for a weapon.

"Wait, I know him," Sheriff Culpepper said, pointing at Dale. Then he chuckled. "This is that squirrelly fella who rolled into Elkhart after the robbery, wanting to be deputized. You're supposed to be back there."

Dale's response was unintelligible, whether from shame or a swollen tongue.

"Deserting your post." Culpepper clicked his tongue. "That ain't right."

"Neither is vandalizing this fine establishment," the Revelation Sheriff said. "I saw this one riding in.”

“Just crooked another bounty hunter chasing riches,” Anton added. “Gives us decent ones a bad name.”

“Couple of Mr. Dufaux's Pinks said he was trouble,” the Revelation Sheriff said. “Clearly, they were right."

"Pinks get paid enough to be right about something," Culpepper chimed in, earning a laugh from everybody.

"Got a nice empty cell these two will be mighty comfortable in until they sober up." The Revelation Sheriff bent down directly in my face and sneered. "Welcome to Revelation."