Unwelcome wagon Pt.8

Charles hadn’t heard the gunfire die down or seen the rest of their attackers flee. All he could focus on was the stench that seemed to envelope his wrestling partner.
Between the occasional swing that connected and the aching pain from having the guy land on him, Charles couldn’t think enough to place that odor. If he wasn’t concerned about keeping the gun out of his hands, he definitely would have brought it up.
The big man ran up to the two and in his toughest sounding voice, barked "Ay! Ay!!"
Hearing the mechanic startled them both, Charles only just meeting the guy and not recognizing his voice right away.
Relieved that his side had won, he took his opponents fearful panic to get his knee under and push him off.
"All a ya friends are gone. Ya wanna chance ta walk away from this alive…?" He tried to think of a good finisher for that line, but the moment took too long, so he finally just added "Scumbag??"
It might have been the rush of the fight and the lack of fresh air given the would-be robber’s aroma, but Charles couldn’t take the mechanic seriously and began a coughing/laughing fit that only made his chest ache more. Seeing his fellow hand having a similar reaction reassured his opinion, which only added to his own attack.
In between these fits, he finally got a good look at the robber and got a miraculous lightbulb. Booze and cigars, mixed with cheap cologne. Put it with the awful thing the guy had called a beard and Charles realized he kinda knew him.
“He-coughing laugh-, I seen you, las-laughing cough-, last night!”
With a sudden anger in his face and a strained push, he gave a kick to the man’s hip. He followed it by spitting some slightly bloodied phlegm in his direction.
“That’s for cheating, ‘lucky draw’ my ass!”
Charles then pushed himself back towards the cart and away from the gun being pointed, though he stifled himself as he remembered who was holding it.

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