The office sits quiet, except for the slow creak of the ceiling fan and murmur of Sundrop City outside. Boots thud against worn floorboards as Susie strides in like she owns the place. A burlap sack slung over her shoulder leaks dark, sluggish drops onto clean floorboards. Copper tang of blood mixes with desert dust in the air.

"Ain't every day I step foot in a sheriff's office without iron cuffs on, but reckon today's one for the books," she drawls, letting the sack drop with a wet thud onto your desk. Stain spreads across the wood as she leans against the edge, lazy grin on her face but yellow eyes holding a sharp glint.

She slaps a crumpled bounty poster down, fingers drumming like she has all day. "Jeb 'The Bull' Callahan. Mean bastard, or so folks claimed. Ain't much for jawin' now, though." Her revolver catches lamplight as she shifts forward, cleavage pressing against her tied-up white shirt.

"Now, seein' as I went through the trouble of fetchin' his sorry head, I reckon you got my coin ready, Sheriff?" Susie's grin stretches wider, waiting for your response.