Disc Jockey v. Dispatcher

A blue bird alights on the table next to the Disc Jockey, who is just waking from a long day of drinking. The bird ruffles its feathers before darting off. The Disc Jockey stands, hand bracing the table for support, when it strikes him that he has no idea where he is or how he got to this place. If it wasn't for the overwhelming urge to vomit, he would have stood in bafflement at the peculiar scene around him - the pistols, the oak, the cabin, the forest, the mounds of fresh earth. Instead he staggers out to the grass and lets fall a mouthful of bright orange bile, then another.

With nothing to drink, but feeling a great urge to drink, he walks to the cabin to the north. Which may or may not be deserted, he's not entirely sure.

Stetson called Pepple answers, forehead beaded with sweat. Though the windows to the cabin are open, the Disc Jockey feels the stagnant heat of the cabin from the threshold.

Stetson provides the man with water. To answer the next question that arises, Stetson takes the telegraph tucked brusquely in the Disc Jockey's shirt pocket, opens it, and presents it. The Disc Jockey stares. It's a few seconds before he's able to piece together the memory of receiving the order.

When he learns that he won yesterday's duel - won while blacked out - he's overcome by another wave of nausea.

By luck, the Disc Jockey and the Dispatcher know each other.

They both host shows broadcast at the bottom of the AM dial: the Disc Jockey plays contemporary folk and country; the Dispatcher relays the national police dispatch, with a focus on urban riots, and weather at the 7-s.