STRONG LANGUAGE, ADULT SITUATIONS
Psycho Rodeo
Reilly Conall
Chapter 2: Land of the Dead
“I know you. You know me. And we both know, where this is gonna lead.” –Chris Stapleton
The Man Cave was alive with the hum of machines. Computers, generators, radios, big screens all running on jury-rigged power from the gas turbine, fueled by natural gas wells. Longshot looked around, hands in pockets, eyes roaming over racks of rifles, electronic maps on the wall, a half-dismantled Ford Raptor pickup in the garage. Its engine was on the workbench, an axle strewn across the floor. Mountable weapons systems for the trucks and buggies. Machine guns on display everywhere. “Benegan,” he said, turning in a slow circle, whistling low. “This is… hell, this is freakin’ amazing. Where’d you guys land this kind of cash?” Things got quiet. The laughter that was bouncing around the room died off. Chairs creaked. Nobody made eye contact. Nervous looks all around. Benegan cleared his throat, self-conscious. “Well uh, Rick. Now… don’t you uh, get concerned see, but uhm we kinda… used Erin’s money, for a lot of it,” Rick's eyes snapped back to Benegan, glaring. Benegan shrunk, then brightened, snapped his fingers and pointed. “INVESTING! Seed capital, son! You own a lotta land now! And, all these computers,” arms out, sweeping the room. Sixkiller leaned forward, eager to defuse the tension. “I made a new rifle for you, Longshot. It's a real fuckin' humdinger!” “These here Raptors ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at, bro,” stated Edgar. Then he zipped up, remembering Longshot hadn't seen the other two yet. Rick wasn’t hearin ‘em. His stare was locked on Wilford Benegan’s icy grey eyes. “Wil, I sent Erin just shy of twenty-seven. Million.” Rick said quietly. “How much?” Benegan looked away, mumbling. “You don’t wanna know. Makin’ whiskey ain’t cheap, Rick.” He swallowed a huge shot of whiskey, looking back up. Rick feinted, making Benegan flinch. “How much, Wilford?” He paced deliberately around the table, flexing a big fist. Up against it, Benegan finally blurted it out. “Maybe three, four Big,” confessed the old scoundrel, almost proudly. Rick blinked, considered, took Benegan’s highball, slammed it back, and sighed in relief, looking around the Man Cave. “That ain’t so bad,” Rick commented, nodding strangely. He poured more whiskey and chugged it all. He asked the other guys, “Right?” More nervous glances, heads turning to catch each other’s eyes. But not Rick’s eyes. He noticed those looks. Guilty, uneasy. Kids caught lying about the dog. Looking at Benegan, Rick zeroed in, eye to eye and crooked his finger, twice. He examined the room again. Every dadgum face. All this damn machinery. “Uh, Rick. It's more like…three mil LEFT, son.” Longshot’s eyes cut back to Benegan. “What.” Colonel Benegan hesitated, swallowing. “More like. Three million. Uh… left, son.” The bottle hit the table, rattling the ashtrays. Rick rose slow, snatching his battered Shady Brady. Putting his hat on, he headed for the door. “We’re done, old man.” over his shoulder. Then he turned. “No.” The room froze. Freaking Jimmy Sixkiller maintained his pose, in the middle of reaching for a magazine like it was Simon Says. Smartass. Longshot pointed a finger around the long table. “You. You. You. ALL of you. Except Lawn Dart,” holding his hand towards his best friend, palm facing out. Lawn Dart leaned back with a gloating look, absorbing more whiskey. Rick’s voice dropped to a dangerous calm. “We’re all at fuckin’ war now. You bastards. You stole my money? Is that what you thought? You idiots. You stole Erin’s money.” He pushed through the door, boots echoing on concrete. Outside, the old Ford thundered, roaring off with Big Dog barking like Doom. They listened as the truck faded, heading away from the building. Colonel Benegan looked around the table at these very tense men. Waited a long second, catching each in the eye as everyone slowly relaxed. Leaned forward, arms around his whiskey glass and took another slug. Finally, “Well… that didn’t go too bad, at least.” They all started giggling hysterically.
The truck’s headlights cut through the dust like searchlights, growling as Rick jammed it into reverse, tires spittin’ gravel. Leah caught him running across the sunset, boots pounding, red hair wild around her shoulders in fading light. The door on the trailer slammed open when he hit the brakes. “Rick! Don’t go! Not yet! DON’T!” He leaned over, cranking down the window just as she got there. She leaped, grasping the door for dear life. Concho snagged the collar of Leah’s denim shirt, hauling her through the open window like she weighed nothin. She hit the seat hard, half laughing, half breathless, clutching her straw cowboy hat. She jammed it onto her head, blowing a lock of hair out of her mouth and grinned. “Where we goin, Cowboy?” Rick didn’t answer. He stared straight ahead, jaw clenched, eyes cold. The truck rumbled, waiting. Finally, low and flat, “Find out about Erin’s money.” She gave a short nod, catching her breath, one hand on Concho’s head. “Pretty much what I figured.” He put the truck in gear, launching into gathering darkness. In the mirrors, the lights of Crazy Creek flickered through trees in the red distance, embers dying on the wind.
Scents of mutton, chili and fresh bread filled the armory. A platter full of food sat on a bench for Big Bill and Jimmy Sixkiller. Here in his workspace, Bill Anderson was quiet and deliberate, nothing like the whiskey-burning laugh machine known at the Whiskey Moon Saloon. A bolt carrier from a captured rifle lay on his workbench. Bill was scraping carbon from it with a dental pick. It was tedious, mindless, yet gave him quiet satisfaction. Bill got some of his best thinking done while cleaning parts. Behind him, Sixkiller moved silently, inspecting new shotguns. He watched Bill working. “You’re really gettin’ the hang of that,” he said. Minimal praise, but coming from Jimmy, it felt like a medal. Bill didn’t look up. “Just a machine.” “Everything’s a machine to you,” Jimmy grunted, ghost of a smile. He turned back to his work, silence settling, comfortable and professional. After a few minutes, Bill set the pick down. “Jimmy,” he began, “I need to ask for some time off tomorrow.” Jimmy stopped, leaning against a weapons rack. “Somethin’ wrong, Bill?” Bill looked up. “Aunt Rita requested a consultation.” He felt a flush of awkwardness. “Part of, you know, other training. Figuring things out.” Understanding crossed Jimmy’s face. He knew about Bill’s training, not just the armory, or survival, but also counseling from Rita on “social relations.” “If Rita calls,” Jimmy said, leaving no room for argument, “That’s an order. Don’t be late.”
They climbed the winding dirt road out of Owens Canyon. The big engine's rumble echoed far-off thunder to the east. The night, black and heavy, swallowed the headlights. Ragged clouds covered the full moon, letting it free to roam now and then. Neither spoke for miles. Rick’s face was unreadable, eyes shadowed in black by his cowboy hat. Leah finally broke the silence. “Rick. You, um, you know… they didn’t mean— ” “They meant exactly what they did, Leah,” waving a hand. “Don’t feed me that shit.” She stared straight ahead, teeth clenched. “They kept it alive, Rick. Crazy Creek, the Firebase. Everything. Erin’s money built something real.” “Somethin’ real? Cowboys, playin’ soldier.” Sharp laugh. “They believed you were done, Rick. Dead, all but name. You didn’t answer the radio, mail, nothin. Five years I waited, Rick. For you. We all did. You think she wanted that money sittin’ in a bank while The 37 carved up the world?” She stabbed a finger at him. “Erin believed in them! And she believed in you, Rick. Not some damn legend. You. And so did I.” His grip on the wheel eased a little, looking out the window. Over the valley floor lightning flickered in silence. Leah reached across, hand resting on his. “You’re home now, Cowboy. That’s what matters to me.” “Home’s gone, Leah. Just a few walls and a rooster that don’t crow.” Concho lifted his head and huffed in disagreement. Leah smiled faintly. They rode the rest of the way in silence. Pretty soon, the headlights swept over an ancient wooden sign. BOWMAN PARK PRIVATE PROPERTY Rick downshifted, truck lurching. He clicked off the headlights as they rolled to a stop next to the 1957 Mobiliner trailer. They sat for a minute, engine ticking as it cooled in the stillness. The storm to the east was gone, leaving streaks of cloud drifting across the moon. The air smelled of rain, holly, wet dirt. Concho gave a warning rumble. Next to the tractor, lit clearly by a rip in the clouds, lay a coyote in the grass. Its ears twitched once. For a heartbeat, gold eyes fired in the dark. The moon slid behind a cloud. When it flashed back, the space was empty. Leah turned slowly toward Rick. “You saw that, right?” He nodded. “Sure did. Big one.” The only sound was a faint whisper through the trees. Leah finally opened her door and stepped out. Concho trotted ahead, nose to the ground, then padded in and flopped by the heater. Rick sat at the table while Leah rummaged in the antique fridge making sandwiches. They relaxed after eating, comfortably quiet, reading to music. Wind rose through the trees, sound of a forest sigh. The Mobiliner settled into night, Big Dog breathing in the dark. Rick gave Leah the bed, even though she wanted the couch. He stretched out, hat tipped. Couch was too short by a foot. The smell of her shampoo drifted from the bedroom. Faint, warm, blending with the dry scents of coffee and oil. He felt it inside, a smell of home, drifting before sleep.
Sometime after midnight, he heard her stir. A quick gasp, then silence. Dreams again. Erin had mentioned Leah’s dreams. He waited. Seconds passed slow. Soft creak of floorboards. Leah stood in the half-light, hair loose and flowing. She wore one of his shirts, barely reaching the tops of her thighs. Two buttons fastened, shadowing curves in the moonlight.p “Bad dream?” he asked. This actually kinda worried him. Leah nodded normally, awake and aware. “Didn’t like waking up alone. Again.” She sighed, green eyes piercing, glitter in the dark. “Lotta years of it, Rick.” “Wasn’t very far, Leah. Here y’are.” “Mm-hmm,” she murmured, crossing the room, silent grace. She knelt beside him, fingers tracing a hole in the worn denim at his knee. “Seems like you could. You know. Use a better pillow.” A pause. “Come in with me, Rick.” He looked at her for a long moment. She lifted the hat from his face and set it aside. “Leah…” he started to sit up. “Don’t start,” she whispered, hand on his chest. “This ain’t about pity. Or loneliness.” She bowed her head a moment, then caught his eyes again. “Just… about time.” She nodded. When she kissed him, it caught him off guard. It wasn’t grief he was feeling. It was a rushing promise: he and Leah, still alive. He crushed her close, not meaning to, but not stopping. She pulled away, turned back to her bed and reached out. He took her hand and they went to the bedroom. She knelt on the bed beside him as he sat, unsure if he should do this. “I came here because we need to talk. I’m afraid, Rick. For you.” “Yeah.” He felt vaguely ashamed. “I took a long time. Maybe I was insane. Sometimes I feel like no one ever lost more than I did.” “I know.” Leah looked down. “She wasn't just my sister, she was my best friend.” She stopped, tears tracing slowly on her cheeks. “I really do know how you feel, Rick. I do,” she whispered. He took her face in his hands, slowly wiped the tears from her cheeks with his thumbs, gently smoothing a shock of hair away from her forehead. “I am sorry, Leah. I surely never wanted to hurt you.” His hands fell away, dreamlike, as she favored him with a dazzling smile. “Still dream of Erin,” he said. “Just this morning, I figured out what she’s been saying. In my dreams. Been tryin’ to tell me. You know. Fight back.” “Yes, Rick, I know. I dream of her, too.” She sighed. “When I first ever saw you, tall, proud, landing easy on your feet. Real tough ride. Audience living in every second. Ring announcer screaming. That moment’s who you are to me.” Tapped her heart. “Vesuvius. Crazy ranked bull. Insane ride, whole lifetime. Six seconds. But not enough. You were, maybe. Twenty-five? But an old man, in that sport.” She smiled. “What impressed me most was: how you handled losing. Big smile, wave to the stands, walk away proud. Seen a lotta winners in that place. None looked like you did losing.” She began unbuttoning his shirt. “Remember?” she whispered, moving closer. Rick nodded absently. He did remember. All of ‘em, full of life. Before The Fall, he thought.
Watching his eyes, Leah could see him flicker alive inside. In this place, with her, he wasn't a legend. She never used that stupid nickname. It belonged to the resistance. To Erin. Leah didn’t want it. To her he was just Rick. Only Rick. Only a man. The one she’d loved half her life, finally returned from a five-year exile, in his… Wilderness of Grief, Benegan had called it. Riding here tonight, she’d seen the exhaustion in him. A man who carried a ghost in his heart. Part of her, the girl at the rodeo, only wanted to comfort him. But the woman she’d become since then, only wanted HIM. She’d come here to bring Rick back. From the Land of the Dead. For Rick to bring Leah back, with him. She remembered that day again. She was seventeen, Erin nineteen. She saw him first. Before Erin, before The War. In her mind’s eye, sixteen years before, Rick strolled by. He caught her eyes, nodding, tip of the hat. “How’s it goin’ over here? Anybody winnin?” Audacious bullrider, too old for it, yet still young, eyes like a summer sky. Leah had looked this tall, proud man up and down boldly, like judging a stallion. The memory surprised her. She'd never be so bold now. “Well now. Hello there, Cowboy.” She’d said it like a movie star. The memory faded slow, back to this dark silvery room. “You’re a fine cut of a Man, Rick Bowman,” she said in a low, proud voice, glancing up at him shyly. It was involuntary, Leah lost in memory. Her eyes fell to his cowboy hat on the chair, white against the room in a moonlit flash. Vest on the chair, lariat in the corner. Boots by the door, his and hers. Then she knew. How to break the ghost. What to say. She whispered quietly to Rick as their eyes met again. “Hello, Cowboy.” He whispered back… “Hello there, Coppertop.” Her breath quickened, just barely. He leaned in, kissed her deep. She put her lips to his ear, whispering. “I. Love you.” “I don’t... I mean, I… ” Rick trailed off, unsure where to take this. “NO! Don’t you dare, Rick Bowman!” He gave her his best stupid look, not understanding. “Don’t…” “Don’t you DARE say Her Name.” She pointed, dainty index finger, with a curve to it, pointed up at the end just like— Leah caught it. Rick, thinking Her Name. Wait. She caught that? “Don’t you. Dare!” Leah scolded. “It’s been five long—Damn. YEARS,” She wiped a tear hard, with her palm. “You’ve grieved, Rick. You’ve mourned. We all have. And then the world just… moves on. All the things we were going to do, to talk about. No more future, just gone with her. Never coming back. The future is NOW, Cowboy." A distant echo in his head. The future is now. His very thought, just that morning. He was paralyzed. Distant. Brain tingling. She unbuttoned her shirt, letting it slide away. Taking his chin, Leah traced a scar on his cheekbone. He could faintly smell her perfume, reminding him vaguely of… not Erin. “I don't want you to forget her, Rick. I know who she was. My sister. My best friend. A Good Woman.” She lightly kissed him, open mouthed. “I don’t want to take her place.” He was stunned. Leah. What if? Nothing would ever be the same. And what he wanted most, was for nothing ever to be the same. She was kissing him again, leaning forward, hands on either side, moving closer, their bodies touching, nearly embracing. Skin and hair tingled, ears ringing, silken threads on his neck. She took his hand, palm up, literally placing herself in his hands, moving his other hand to her breast. Nestling closer against him, she settled her face into his shoulder. She turned her face to his neck, her breath warm and gentle. It was like coming home. She pressed against him, insistent with desire, barely breathed into his ear… “I am a BAD. Woman, Cowboy. And I will take MY place. Not hers.” She finished undressing her Man.