”Let me tell you a story, boy,” said the gnarled old man in a gust of rancid breathe.
The storm still whipped and whined around the pub. The force of the wind had even torn a horseshoe from a horse’s foot and smashed another window.
“You think this is the end of the world, eh?” said the man over the howling of the wind and odd cry of fear from around the saloon.
“I’ve been in this business longer than you’ve been on this earth, boy,” he snarled.
The Ranger could see the remains of the old man’s lunch lodged between his few remaining teeth.
“And let me tell you… they always say it’s the end of the world. They throw their hands up in the air and run around in circles like mad men.”
The pub was now in silent concentration.
“I’ve heard of this Liboria business — and I know all y’all are peeing in your panties about it — but this ain’t gonna kill us off.”
“We are the cockroaches of the cowboy capital markets! We will always survive!”
Although the metaphor made the Ranger a little queasy — like all creepy crawlies — he was relieved to hear some consolation from a hardened professional.
“Alrighty then, thank you kind old man!” said the Ranger. “I think I’ll be off to my homestead and my beautiful lady!”
But the old man wasn’t done and maintained his fearsome hold of our poor hero’s arm.
“I know you been looking for the source of these here negative rates,” said the man.
“Well, maybe a little…” conceded the Loan Ranger nervously.
“And now you’re in the right place boy,” said the old man. “Or the wrong one… Happens that a certain Dr Seabee knows all about them and what they mean to this here place.”
“He d-does?”
“Dr Seabee is paying everyone's bar tab here in return for being allowed to conduct his medical practice out the back.”
The old man gestured to the back of the saloon. ‘Dr E. Seabee’ was inscribed into a grand wooden placard on a door and an eerie fluorescent light permeated out into the gloom.
“Look around you!” shouted the old man again suddenly, his face another dreadful grimace. “Them negative rates are what is keeping everyone drinking. This whole darn storm is nothing but an illusion of their minds boy. They are all under the spell of the saloon.”
The Loan Ranger dared to take his gaze away from the old man to inspect the scene again – half hoping that someone kind would see his plight and come to the rescue. But even amid all the preoccupied human confusion, the howls of the storm outside and rattling of anything that might rattle certainly still seemed pretty real.
“See that man there boy!” said the old man, pointing to a disheveled looking figure who was feeling his way around the walls of the saloon. “That there is Nikos, though some people just call him the Greek. He has been trying to leave this place for years but he can never find his way out.”
At that point someone tapped this Nikos character on the shoulder and handed him a drink.
“Oh thank you very much,” said Nikos. But after taking a sip of the drink he abruptly spat it back out.
“Sometimes he gets brandy,” said the old man. “And sometimes he gets tea.”
“Tea?” asked the Loan Ranger incredulously. “In this part of the world?”
“It’s grown locally, in a town called Austere.”
The Loan Ranger remembered the place. They had passed it on the way here – a dreary little collection of shackles with a bad smell about the place. The sign had said, “Welcome to Austere. Population 6. Don’t ask for no scones.”
They hadn’t lingered.
The din of the bar was perforated again by the leather-skinned old sea dog in the centre once more scraping his nails down the blackboard. It was evidently his thing.
Once he’d finished assaulting everyone’s ears and got their attention, the old rascal pointed to another guy who had been brawling nearby. The Loan Ranger recognised the second man as the notorious Wild West Lev banker.
“Seems to me this fella has been causing a lot of mischief lately and maybe he should go and see the good doctor,” said the old sea dog. “What do we say boys?”
Everyone started nodding and mumbling their agreement.
Reluctantly the lev loans guy put down his tankard and headed for the door at the back of the saloon.
"What will happen?" asked the Loan Ranger.
"See for yourself!" said the old man, releasing his grip.
The Loan Ranger edged towards the back door nervously, barely noticed by all the others – who were also watching the walk of the nervous cowboy. The Wild West Lev Banker knocked twice and then went inside. He closed the door behind him, but it swung back open slightly to leave a sliver of light.
As he approached the door, the Loan Ranger could hear a calm voice speaking in a monotone.
“Now, this shouldn’t hurt,” said the disembodied voice, “… too much.”
The Ranger sneaked forward unnoticed and peered through the crack in the door. He could see that the Wild West Lev Banker was sitting on the Doctor’s examination bed, wide-eyed.
“We must do an extensive survey, I’m afraid.”
The other figure wore a white lab coat and had his back to door. But the Ranger could tell from the cold chill in the room — this was certainly Dr E. Seabee.
Dr E. Seabee stretched a glove down over his hand. The plastic snapped tauntingly as he released the tension.
“Now, we are just going to do a little probe,” he said gleefully and the Lev man’s eyes widened like dinner plates.
The Doctor applied some gel to his fingers.
“We have clearly got a very tight deadline… but will just have to push on a bit harder.”
The Ranger could not watch the rest of this invasive ordeal. He closed the door to the surgery and slowly backed away — the sound of his Cuban heels on the boarding masked by the audible groans of the patient…
“Would you like to go next boy?” asked the old sea dog, from suddenly close proximity.
The Loan Ranger almost jumped out of his skin, but caught himself just in time and then made a bolt for the desert.
