Red and blue consumed the back windshield while the ’95 Buick LeSabre screamed as it was forced over 88mph. Sirens dramatically wailed in vain as Buck Sanchez tried to add some distance between himself and Johnny Law. He felt the blood move all throughout his body. His head was empty with millions of thoughts. His future was uncertain and he loved it.
With his knuckles locked to the steering wheel, he looked over to the passenger seat to his partner in crime de jure, Robert E. Lee Garcia, a stout nervous man he had met in the drunk tank just three days prior. Locked in Robert’s hands was a duffle bag. Buck grinned at the sight of the ghastly apparition sitting next to him. He thought back to the boisterous man in the jail cell entertaining all of the other semi-conscious town drunks with stories of his criminal escapades.
“How you holding holding up, Bobbito?”, Buck yelled over the shrieking sirens that had begun closing in.
Robert stared miles ahead at the future that waited for him. A future that was held in the hands of the cackling mad man sitting behind the wheel.
Buck rolled down his window and stuck his head out, hoping to get a better glimpse of their pursuers.
“Hoo boy! Look at those pigs fly!”
His greasy jet black hair danced across his face in the breeze as he continued to pick up speed. The engine screamed in agony as he pushed it to 93mph.
As Buck barreled down TX-62, his head still bobbing outside the window, he noticed something in the road, way off in the distance. Sticking his head back inside, he turned to the nearly shell-shocked Robert and locked eyes with him.
“You see that? Way up there?”
“What? Where”?”, he squinted. “Oh yeah, I think so.”
“Lazy bastards never want to have any fun!”, Buck said as his mood suddenly shifted.
He slammed his hand against the dash.
“Damn! It was just getting good!”
“The hell are you talking about? What’s going on?”
“Little shits set up a barricade. I was hoping for at least another ten, fifteen minutes tops”, he moped.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Jesus man. We’re done. My old lady is going to kill me.” Robert started to hyperventilate.
“Nah, we’re fine. It just means the chase is over”, Buck replied calmly.
Suddenly, he cut the wheel and the car shot off of the road into a clearing next to the side of the road. Much to the dismay of Robert and General Motors, Buck managed to effortless glide that LeSabre across the field like butter, casually weaving between bushes and cattle and trees.
Before they knew it, the red and blue disappeared out from behind them and the wailings grew faint. Robert looked around around in disbelief. He sat in silence for a second.
“Holy shit! What just happened? Why didn’t they follow you?”
“Dick Elroy’s ranch. Cops won’t risk hitting one of his cows. Old bastard owns half of this shit hole town. His brother own’s the other half.”, he said, still sulking.
“How the hell do you know that?”, Robert laughed, quickly shedding his previous layers of terror.
“Got drunk with the deputy’s brother last night.”, he said taking another sharp turn, this time bringing them onto a small side road that traveled alongside the farm.
They drove in silence for another five minutes and then Buck pulled over to the side of the road.
Robert shifted in his seat.
“So…now what?”, he asked Buck who had a dead unwavering glare behind his eyes.
“This is where you get out.”
“Oh you bastard. You cheating, slimy, fucking bast-”
“You can take the bag with you.”
“Oh.”
Robert quickly opened the door and scurried out of the car, disappearing into the brush by the road.
Buck sighed and continued driving.
Lazy bastards. We really could have had some fun.
He drove for another couple of hours until the sun went down and he knew could be himself again. Buck stuck his head out the window and felt the breeze pass through his hair. He closed his eyes and let the car drift for a moment. He waited just long enough for that feeling of mortal urgency to return, that reminder that it could all get snatched away in just a second. He opened his eyes half expecting to see a Mack Truck or at least a deer but was met with only miles of dark road.
Buck stuck his head back into the car and looked down at his phone to figure out where he had allowed himself to drift off to. He wasn’t surprised that Orange, Texas’s finest hadn’t given it their all to find him after their little chase down 62 but his ego was still a little hurt.
Silsbee. Where the hell is Silsbee?
He licked his lips and felt that familiar dryness. It was time to stop. Like a moth to a flame, he only had to drive for another fifteen minutes until he found The Stand, a crumbling roadhouse off of 96. Buck parked the bar in the woods behind the bar and threw the keys as far as he could. Grabbing only his weathered bullrider and his grandfather’s army duffle, he said goodbye to the LeSabre.
Standing at 6’2″ with long, greasy black hair, about five days of stubble, and dark olive skin that he inherited from his grandfather – from whom he also earned his surname, though not much else – Buck figured he would be a less than welcomed sight at The Stand. He looked around the small room and saw sunken heads murmur soften into their drinks.
Sleepy fuckin’ town.
He made his way to the bar.
“Two double Jamesons. Ice”
Buck planted himself at the far corner of the bar and continued to study the room.
“Not from here, huh?”, the bartender asked as he brought over his drinks.
“Nope. What’s my tell?”
He held the drink up to his nose and let the fumes dance in his sinus. He couldn’t help but smile as he reacquainted himself with that familiar burn in the back of his nose. He knew what was coming next and he couldn’t wait.
“People ’round these parts say please and thank you”, the bartender said with a grin on his face, “so where’re you from?”
Buck took the first sip. A little bit watery from the melting ice, a little bit sweet from the cheap whiskey. His gums felt a rush of cool as they were met by the delicious $4.99 poison.
“Oh y’know. All ’round. Just came in from Odessa most recently”, he lied, “workin’ on a ranch. Old man Elroy’s ranch. Good guy. Cheap as hell though”. He continued to stare at his drinks.
Remember, not too fast. Not like last time.
“Y’dont say! A ranch hand. You should talk to Davey over there if you’re looking for work while you’re passing through. He sure as hell needs it, ‘specially with all that he’s got going on”, the bartender looked off at a group of men chatting quietly in the corner.
Buck looked up from his drinks.
“Oh yeah? What’s he got going on – I mean is everything okay?”
The bartender leaned in closer. “It’s a damn shame. Fella works on his daddy’s farm his whole life hoping to inherit it. His birthright. His daddy up and falls off the roof, Godresshissoul. Get’s the farm, right? Not three weeks later get’s into a nasty car accident, fucks up his spine. Can’t barely work. Drunk driver.”
“Drunk driver hit him?”
“Well, no. Then on top of that, his wife starts screwing around on him, probably because he’s damn near useless in bed now I’m guessing – on account of the bad back – and guess who’s she’s fuckin’? The ranch hand. So he kicks her to the curb. Shitcans the ranch hand. And here this poor bastard is, all alone on the farm, no woman and no help. God bless ’em.”
Taking a big drink, Buck finished off his first drink and then the second.
“Poor, poor bastard. Seems like a nice fella. Maybe I will talk to him. Is…he here a lot? Like if I come back tomorrow, say when I haven’t had a few, do I have a good chance of seeing him?”
“Ha! Davey? Davey might as well be a piece of decoration here. Put him on the damn payroll. I see him more than my damn kids!”, the bartender slammed the bar, “Not that I’m complaining! If he’s not here at opening he’s sure as shit here at closing!”
“That’s real helpful, thanks. I’ll have two more doubles, please and thank you.”
With his bullrider tilted downward to protect against the vindictive Texas sun, Buck slept propped up in the back of a Red Ford Ranger that was parked in the back of a Goodwill in the heart of Silsbee. The rhythmic chaos of the traffic passing by was therapeutic for his blistering hangover, the smell of car exhaust medicinal. It was approaching 2pm and he was at peace.
“Hey! You gotta go!”
Buck was plucked out of nirvana by a bitter, raspy voice and the sound of a broom banging against the side of the truck.
“You goddamn bum! I thought you people were supposed to be hardworking.”
Buck looked up from under his hat and saw a short, tan man with shining white hair in a blue smock wildly waving a broom. He erupted in laughter.
“What the hell are you laughing at? Are you on drugs? I’ve seen you sleeping out here all damn day. Get a job, Cheech!”
“Yeah, I have a job…and you can have me for just $50 for the half hour and $80 for the full hour”, he said with a wink.
The old man swung the broom stick with full force towards Buck as he continued cackling loudly. He jumped out of the back of the truck while blowing kisses towards the old man.
“Be sure to tell your friends you had a good time! Give them my number!”, he screamed as he ran down the street.
Turning the corner, Buck felt the ten or so drinks from the night before catch up to him and slid his back against a wall onto the ground, still chuckling to himself. He looked at his phone. 2:04pm.
Brushing the hair out of his face, he looked up at a desolate blue sky. He squinted, staring at the stillness. The meditative hum of the town at midday filled his head once again. Pushing through the queasiness, he felt a rumble in his stomach. He figured it was time for breakfast.
Buck walked down the street for a few minutes until there was finally someone walking in his direction. A middle aged man with a tucked in flannel and a well trimmed, graying beard. He wondered why a man like that would be out in the middle of the day. A doctor’s appointment maybe? Coming back from the bank? That’d be lucky. Buck bumped into him as they crossed paths.
“Pardon me, sir”, he said, tilting his hat to the side.
The man grunted and continued walking. Buck waited until he made it two more blocks before he checked the man’s wallet.
Empty.
Goddamn bum. No wonder he had nowhere to be in the middle of the day. I guess lunch is on me.
Buck meandered for a little while longer until he found a little Mexican restaurant called Veronica’s on the outskirts on town. Far too large for the nearly deserted neighborhood, Buck was intrigued by the pristine mahogany double doors that guarded the restaurant.
Much like everything else in the town, Veronica’s was all but empty with the exception of a few decaying men sprinkled throughout.
“Hola, ¿será solo para ti hoy?”
“Oh. Sorry, miss. I don’t speak a lick of Spanish.”
Buck towered over the hostess, an elderly woman that was holding an oversized laminated menu in her hands. Her big brown eyes gleamed up at him. She smiled softly.
“Hola, joven. ¿Será solo para ti hoy o estás esperando a alguien más?”
He looked around the room, feeling increasingly helpless.
“I…I’m sorry, lady. I don’t understand. Real nice place you’ve got here. I wish I could eat here”, he tilted his hat and started to walk out.
Just as he had one food out of the door, the hostess grabbed his arm and said, “Solo porque estés solo, no significa que estés acompañado.”
“Right. Okay, then. Have a good one.”
The hostess returned to the station and chuckled to herself. One of the waitresses walked by and said in perfect English, “What was that about? Why were you messing with that guy?”
“Oh, please? I could smell him before he even walked in. Thank God he didn’t speak any Spanish and I was able to get him out of here. We barely have anyone in here. Last thing we need is having some bum scaring what few customers we do have away.”
Buck stood on the other side of those magnificent mahogany doors with a fiery grin plastered firmly across his face. He just secured his afternoon plans.
You don’t want me scaring off your customers, huh? You should have just sold me a damn taco, you sorry old bat.
Buck made his way back to The Stand and was greeted by the bartender, who he had since learned was named Richard.
“Oh welcome back! Are you here to see Davey? He’s not in quite yet believe it or not.”
“No, no. Just here to blow off some steam. Two doubles, please and thank you.”
Buck stared at the two drinks in front of him ceremoniously.
Slower this time.
“Hey, Dick, any hog farmers hang out here?”