Chapter I
Rise and shine all you rascals out there, mh mh mmmh smells like a good ol’ day for some ratscallion tom-foolerin ad-venturing to me. And to all my new fans and friends, I blow a kiss and take a bow, for my name is Rusty, Rusty Garcia. Kind of like Dirty Sanchez, only it’s my actual name. Or you can call me Coyote for short. Or Foxy Coyote for long. Heheh.
What’ll we get up to today? Well, it’s a crisp blue sky on a June 1995 Texas day and that breeze sure feels nice don’t it? Rushing down this open road, it’s a beautiful doing this every day, to go and do as I please. But to maintain this free roamin lifestyle, I got to put in my share of work. It can’t all be breezy. And so far, all my rogue living has really been all fun and games. But I’ve learned that sometimes you gotta settle down a bit and make a more reliable wage. Which is why I’m around here in the first place, to see if my old pal Wilbert has got any work for me. It’s just, the solo gigs have been a lil slow recently cuz the folks around these parts don’t carry as much like they do in the bigger towns, but speaking of which, luck shines on me today. I’ve spotted a nice grey SUV parked on the side of the highway, and with no other cars in sight I figure it’s time to cash in. I slowed to a stop to find a couple of geezers flipping through a manual outside their vehicle.
“Oh thank goodness, we thought we were stranded,” said the woman. She had a pleasant air around her as she spoke with a kind Georgia accent.
“Oh don’t worry miss, there’s a town just 10 miles down,” I said with a big ol’ smile.
Her husband was keepin his distance, givin me the stink eye. “We’re doing fine, I just need to find the right signal and call Double A,” he said planting his feet. He was sizable sure, a little taller than me, with big forearms and a turtle shell for a belly. A lot of dudes are bigger than me, usually just by a little. I’m kind of a runt, not big enough to have an impact on people but not small enough to get picked on either. I’m scrappy skinny but not skeleton skinny.
“You sure? I can take a look.”
“It’s alright, I already gave it a look, the engine is just overheated,” he said.
“Oh I see, well it’s miserable to wait any longer out here that’s for sure. Where are y’all coming from?”
“Nowhere,” said the husband before the lady smacked his belly.
“Oh hush. We’re from Georgia. Hubby here just retired and now we’re taking on route 66,” she said.
“Oh wow, now that’s quite a journey,” I said.
“Yes we’re so excited. Are you from around here?” she asked.
“Look we’re good for now thank you,” said the man.
“Excuse my husband.”
“Oh no it’s okay, he’s just wary of strangers, and he’s right, I mean, I only stopped here to take your money,” I said chuckling.
They gave a warm laugh.
“Ah yeah, well, I mean it, seriously, take out your wallets,” I said pulling out my revolver. Oooh boy was he pissed; I mean just look at that mean old face. He looked like he wanted to tear me a new one. And the woman… well, she wasn’t shocked or scared like I thought she’d be. She looked more… disappointed. Her eyes and shoulders sunk like a little kid being laughed at. I stepped back.
“Now I want real slow movements. I have no qualms doin old people in,” I said.
“Go on honey, take out your wallet,” the husband said.
Damn, today’s got all sorts of curveballs, I never thought an old cowboy like him would just give up the dough that easily.
“But this is for our trip,” she said.
“The money isn’t worth dying for,” he said.
“He could be bluffing,” she spat.
“Even if he is bluffing, we don’t know if he’s waving a loaded gun or not.”
“Hey at least I ain’t asking for your weddin rings,” I said holding out my hand in a “gimme” motion.
I wouldn’t press my luck selling things anyhow, not after last time.
They took out the cash and right as the old cowboy unclutched his grasp, I cocked the hammer back. His hand retracted like a rattler as he stuttered and stammered with red-faced irritation, staring at me like an abysmal bull.
“If that is a loaded gun you’re waving, God damn you, you stupid sonofabitch, you don’t know what your riskin just for some pocket cash,” he said.
I stepped a few paces back and while keeping the gat aimed at them, I counted the cash as I moved the bills around with my fingers before scanning them every few seconds. Nice, $300 dollars. Not bad. I went over to my motorcycle and lugged my leg over. They started to move forward, and I pointed my gun right back at them.
“Did you hear me?! Three paces back, now!”
I revved the engine. But… ah shit. I felt that lady’s disapproval stinging the corner of my face, like sun rays through a magnifying glass. I have no clue what came over me, I swear I ain’t soft. Still, I unzipped my jacket pocket, took out the wad and counted out half, before hurrying over to them with my gat still aimed in their direction.
“Hey just a moment. You, miss, stick out your hand. You sir, stay back.”
She wouldn’t do it. She just looked at me with big teary eyes and shook her head. I noticed the windows on their SUV were halfway down, so I just inserted the money into their car. One hundred and fifty would have to do.
I hurried back, revved, and rode off.
Now you might be thinking why don’t I just get a job? Well, I can’t, not anymore at least. I’ve had to lay low behind big ol’ rocks because I’ve been making quite a name for myself heh heh. Don’t worry, the oinkers hardly come out this far, unless they got a big reason to do so.
But like I was saying before, I thought I could keep this up, but the green wells are running dry. And it’s high time to jump on a new train, that being the olde gig economy. That’s why I’m about five miles down from seeing my old pal Fat Wilbert again. He’s got a real nice shack and owns a big ol’ tin garage where he works on cars that are supposed to be “incognito.” I’m sure he’d help an old friend out.
I pulled up the path and saw his garage was open as he was inside working with his welding mask and torch in hand. There were two beaten up cars inside the shop, with three black bikes parked just outside, next to his 1975 white pickup truck.
“Ayy if it ain’t fat Wilbert,” I said, swinging my leg over my bike. I walked up, and gave him a pat on the back. He removed his welding mask showing off his scraggly pube beard.
“I told you that’s not my nickname, you’re just calling me fat,” he said.
He sure was, especially with that big ol’ gut of his, and that greasy wifebeater sure don’t do him any favors, but it’s his working clothes so what can you do?
“What d’you want Rust?”
“Ah shucks, you know me, I was just chillin all by my lonesome self, and remembered I had just the darndest friend nearby.”
“Oh yeah?”
He must think I’m full of shit but I ain’t, I really cherish my friend here.
“What? I mean it man. You’re my best pal.”
“Well, I’m working.”
“Oh yeah! You wouldn’t have any jobs for me, would you?” I said squinting my eyes.
“Nah I’m good on jobs, just working on my cars,” he said.
“Come on man.”
“Nah, even if I did, you’re bad news,” he said.
“Nah nah, I’m good news.”
“You might have gotten lucky then but you’re starting to make a name for yourself. And not for anything big… just for being loud and stupid.”
That grizzled my gears a bit but I do poke fun at his belly, so I didn’t say nuthin.
“I mean come on man, how are you gonna expect me to give you anything when the last time we worked a job, you ended up lighting the whole damn fireworks section at that grocery store,” he said.
“Ay man I had to see what it’d look like lighting all them fireworks. Don’t act like you never wanted to see what fireworks inside a store looks like? You know that shit had you laughin.”
“No, I haven’t because I don’t think up stupid shit like that. In fact, I don’t think it occurs to anyone but you and the other lunatics like you.”
Ooooo, look at him cracking a lil smile. I knew he thought that shit was funny. C’mon now, anyone would want to do that if given the green light right? So I poked him and I got that grin out.
“Doesn’t matter, once reality hits, shit loses its humor,” he said.
“But we didn’t get caught, and with my secret license plate technique, how were they gonna find us?”
“It’s called luck! But you think it’s cuz you’re this mighty, what is it? Motor cowboy?”
“Road pirate.”
“Road pirate and shit man, you’re delusional if you don’t think us getting away with it was more than just sheer luck.”
“Nah man, I knew, and I knew all them other times baybay! Wooo!”
“Ay what have I told you about being loud.”
“Who cares? You got some company out here or something? I mean shiii, there ain’t nobody out here for miles. Unless…”
I know he hidin something. My eyes narrowed on the man and once I caught that little flicker of the eyes, I knew bb.
“Main, we in the middle of nowhere, whose gonna hear me?” I said.
“Sometimes people just aren’t in the mood for loud.”
I kept a sharp glare on him.
“Mhmm. Maybe your employees in there got work for me… Or maybe it’s a little thang thang. You got yourself a baby mama now?” I said nudging him.
I sprinted right past him, and he trailed right behind, urging me not to go in. I got to his office door and well, you know me, I’m not an unmannered scoundrel, so I pounded on that paint chipped door instead of jiggling that doorknob. The blinds from the room were closed. He gripped my wrist as I put my hand on the loose door knob.
“Rust… God damnit listen to me. Don’t go in there.”
“Yet you can’t tell me why?”
“MMM MMMM,” I heard a muffled scream come from inside and some stomping with some deep muffled voices and some chains too.
I glared back at him and the dragon in me cracked a smile.
“Shiiet…What’s going on in there?” I said with a cheshire grin as I swung the door open to be met with a whooshing steaming heat wave. At the back of the room was a disheveled and desperate man strapped to a chair with a nasty white cleaning towel gagged in his mouth. His eyes shot wide with rejoice. Foolish bastard.
There were three big ass Latino dudes in white tanks surrounding him. I’m talking 6’2 and 6’3 motherfuckers. The other dude was like 5’10 but he was wider and more solid than the others.
“What the hell? Will why you got four dudes cooking in a giant tin box out in this damned Texas heat?
“Who the fuck is this?” said the tallest thug. Imma call him Steve. Steve was tan, with a buzz cut that made him look bald at first with a slight shadow cast atop his head. He was a large 6’3, with some weight to his arms, unlike the lanky 6’2 guy, who I’m gonna call Darrell.
“God dammit Rust,” said Wilbert sounding like he had stubbed his toe on a jagged nail.
“Alrighty fellas, I’m Rust by the way, I don’t know, and I don’t care what you got goin on here, but I am the man for the job so what’re we dealing with here? What, did this bastard steal from y’all? Was he inappropriate with one of y’all’s gals? Huh?”
