“You little shit,” Django grumbled with no bite behind it. He turned in his chair to watch Chasin leave in a very much a ‘I hate to see him go, but I love to watch him walk away’ sort of way. He didn’t care what the others thought of him or this playfully little relationship he had with the younger bounty hunter.

It took all of two days for him to finish Nagare’s errand and drag the poor sad back the man’s creepy little pocket dimension. He never paid for time with any of Nagare’s creatures, yet he was so graciously gifted a token that allowed him to pass through this space freely. Once he was paid, he started looking for Chasin’s mob boss. It’s never hard to find information on high-profile marks like that.

By week’s end, he had that one bagged, too.

Maybe a handful of days later, Chasin could find him back in that stereotypical Earth Western-style bar. Django knew Chasin would look for him there. One thing about the younger man, he never went back on his word – at least, he never had with Django. Neither of them did. They weren’t the sort of men to try to weasel out of a deal they’d already agreed to. They were smart enough not to agree to or offer anything they weren’t willing to follow-up on.

Something Django respected.

Sitting at the bar, nursing a beer this time, he waited until the flashy bounty hunter arrived. Once he did, they could decide on someplace more private to close their deal.