"You're not getting your money back, asshole!  I stole it fair and square!"  I waited for the asshole in question to answer.  He was probably fifty meters away, across a sandy embankment, and behind a large boulder.  I had the high ground, but, unfortunately, I had my back to a cliff.  So, here we were, in Mexico, in the middle of the damn desert, in our own little Mexican Standoff.  

"I have your girl, Deadpool!  If you don't throw my money out in the next ten seconds, I'm going to let her brains get a suntan!"

Damn.  I had forgotten that he had the girl.  More importantly, I had forgotten the girl's name.  Maria?  Juanita?  Damn.

"Shoot her, then!  You're not getting the money!"  He wouldn't shoot her.  I was the bad guy in this picture.  I stole his money.  His money that he had saved for the last five years, working construction in that piss poor border town.  A hundred thousand pesos.  

Meanwhile, on the other side, I heard some yelling, a struggle, and a gunshot.

"I got heem Deadpool!  He's dead now.  You can come across to me!"  The girl was lying.  I could hear it in her voice.  She had changed sides.  I suppose that the call of the hero was too irresistible.  

"Throw his gun out!"  She hesitated, I'm guessing to actually talk him out of his gun, then yelled back.

"I have his gun now, Deadpool.  It's ok!"

"You bitch!"  He was yelling at her.  "I thought you were going to help me!"

"I lied, senor."  Good girl.  Whatever her name was.  Rosa?  Damn.

"Shoot him," I yelled.  She wasn't going to do it.  She was still on his side.  Chicks dig bad guys, but when it comes down to it, they want to be on the side of the good guy.  

She fired the gun.  "He's dead!"  Bullshit.  But, hey, what the hell.  I stepped out from behind my cover.  I walked out into the open, got about halfway to their hiding place, then the bullets started whizzing by my head.

"You're the worst shot ever," I yelled, running toward them, firing my pistol.

"I just want my money back!"  He kept shooting at me.  I hit him in the arm and he dropped the gun.  She started to pick it up.

"Just leave it." She glared at me.  He glared at me.  It was a glare-fest.

"That's MY money," he reminded me.  

"I know, I heard you the first fifty times.  I don't think you understand.  I STOLE IT.  Which makes it mine now."  Idiot.  Even in Mexico, stealing works the same way.  

"I'll get my money back, eventually, Deadpool.  You can bet your life on it," the asshole said.

"Hey, guess what?  A hundred thousand pesos is like fifteen dollars, U.S."  I saw the look of surprise and disbelief on his face, then I shot him in the chest, twice.  Red blossoms of blood bloomed out from under his shirt and he grabbed at them, as if to snatch them off his chest.  Then he was dead.

She was still standing, inching her way toward his gun.  "Come on.  Really?  You're not getting his gun."  She continued to glare at me.  "Why'd you side with him, anyway?"

"What's my name?" she asked.  

"Ummmm......"

"You never knew my name!  How many times have we been together and you never learned my name!  You shithead!"  It came out like "sheethead" which made me laugh a bit.  

"I suppose you're right, um..."

"Cynthia!  My name is Cynthia!"

"Well, that's not very Mexican.  No wonder I didn't remember it."

"We're through, Deadpool!"

"You're so right," I said.  Then I shot her in the leg and turned to walk away. We were thirty miles from town, and the vultures had already begun to circle.  I took my hundred thousand pesos and went home.

excellent work, good times

good story lol