Another day, another town, if you could call it that. The town was one street with a handful of building in various states of disrepair, and the saloon was the only building that was in any habitable state (unsurprisingly).
I slid in through the front door of the saloon, slipping onto a barstool and ordering a finger of whiskey. The saloon was similar to any saloon: town drunk at the bar, poker game going on at a table in the back, half a dozen washouts lingering around the other tables. Almost immediately I drew a worn deck of cards out of a pocket and started shuffling them: one part old habit from my gambling days, one part intelligence gathering, which soon paid off as the town drunk sidled over (looking for a free drink no doubt).
"'Ey boy, yous ever heard of the The Deck?"
"Who hasn't? What's it to you anyway?"
"Ignore him." the barkeeper chimed in, "He's always spouting some crackpot story about The Deck, saying he saw one of the 54."
I motioned for the barkeeper to let the drunk continue.
"Yeeeash I saw one of them, mean old thing it was, could put a hole clean through three men, front to back! Silent as night too, or so they say."
"Do you know which one it was?"
"The Gunslinger referred to it as "His Haymaker", though that's probably to keep it on the down low, if ya know what I mean!" He said, bursting into hacking laughter. Whilst he recovered himself, I spread the cards in my hand in a wide arc, making sure each card could be easily seen.