by Nathan Poell
I know you’re not about to be swayed by emotion here. So ready yourself for some argumentation now. I took the time to read your letter and detailed plan, and I hope that you’ll take the time to read this rebuttal to it. I went around to a few other nearby ranches, as well, and every one of them had the same response. BAD IDEA.
First and foremost, you’re not a god damn horse rustler, much less a bandit, cow-poke, -boy, -hand or anything -else. After you took all those “prep” classes and graduated from Burgin, snagged yourself a Berkeley degree, gigged at internship after internship and then scored yourself an MBA. We couldn’t believe it. Our scholarship boy. Didn’t hear from you for almost five years, except for the regular semester transcript and dean’s list announcements and periodic postcard from your latest post that “needed a person to survey the situation, develop a plan to remedy the wrongs and put that plan in action... and who wanted a good lackey to serve that person coffee their way.” (Your words.) But the end result, hey, that was terrific and we all respected it and knew you’d do great things with your smarts. Then Denver. You gave us a heads up, but we never knew what happened to you, with you while you were in Denver. Were you skiing, watching the Broncos, the Avalanche, the Rockies? You couldn’t have been watching the Nuggets, could you? Not a word. You never called, never e-mailed, never wrote for over a year and a half. Never even sent us an address. We only learned that you’d moved to Denver after you’d moved on to Abilene, and only then after you had already been in Abilene for three months. Had your corporate compadres kicked you out? Had you chased a skirt out there and then to Abilene, or fled from some crazy person? No clue. Anyway, by that time I’d taken up with Kat (then Monegan) at her folks’ abode, working with the foals, but I could still see our folks’ place from the MOBAR ranch. They left the front porch light on as they always had. Before you wrote from Abilene, I know I saw Mama out there once or twice a month, at least, sitting on the swing. Anyway, we finally got word from you that you were there in Abilene. Weren’t sure what was there for you, as all you’d sent was a manila envelope with a box of chocolates and a “Kansas at night” postcard with “prettiest town I ever seen” written on the back and tucked inside it. We all laughed at the joke you were making, but later on we weren’t sure that we or you truly knew the joke you were making there. Mama mentioned that she ate one of those chocolates out of the box every week, even the cherry mash kind. (Yeah, I know.) And at least you’d included your return address this time, and so we wrote back. Mama said that she felt like you were coming back home to us, one time zone at a time. Then, of course, the clocks stopped working. I don’t want to talk about that. We saw hardship in the first couple years afterwards. I’m sure you saw hardship. Chocolate probably isn’t all that high on the list of necessities once the power and water goes out and your car turns into a brick. But the fact remains that once you made your mind up on what you wanted to do – which I think we all agree was when you were 11 or 12 – you pushed forward with your professional plans and never spent time getting to know much else. And that spirit of yours is what inspired you to come up with this idea, but ideas are cheap and work ain’t anymore. You’re a businessman, Mike, a manager – not a ranch hand.
The risk in what you propose so far outweighs the possible benefits that, for me, it’s not worth discussing. But Duke Monegan said I’m not doing this for my own benefit – though I wonder about that – so here goes. None of us here know the men you’re falling in with to do this. Are you certain you can trust them? Not to not stab you in the back or anything silly like that. But are they going to stand by you if you get in a jam? Are they going to risk getting trampled if you fall off your mount in the middle of a stampede? Risk drowning to save you if there’s a flash flood in a gulch? It sounds to me like this is a pretty mercenary operation, and that can often draw the wrong kinds of people. I know you mentioned that you had good prospects for “selling” your herd once you acquired it, but are these solid offers or just rumors? How in the hell are you going to keep that many horses alive and corralled long enough to sell them? You didn’t mention any of this in your plan, and I know you know better than to just let them roam in some fenced-in farmer’s pasture. That’s always been a good way to get into mighty hot water, even moreso nowadays.
You might have maps, and the roads are probably still passable in your neck of the woods, but have you scouted things out? Do you know exactly where the herd is, what its range is? The temperament of the group as a whole. Also, since I more or less backed into this topic, a few words on your quarry. Mustangs are the most worthless god damn animals on the face of this earth. You’re right that they’re fast, but they’re so blinkering stupid and bad tempered, I can’t imagine a good use for them except as in a stew of some kind or glue. I’m dead serious. They sure as hell aren’t going to be any use to couriers – they’re probably a bit quicker than a bike, if you can even get them broken in. But they’ll just go native once they’re out on the range again. None of those couriers know how to handle an animal, anyway. Good kids, just not horsemen, and I doubt your meager and dubious “contribution” would do much, if anything, to change that.
All in all, your idea is terrible and I’m sure as hell not sending saddles and tack and what few good hands I have here to risk their necks for some shot in the dark. I don’t want this to be completely me busting you out, so let me make you a counteroffer here. I’ve got more business on my hands now that I can reasonably handle. Burros, mules, and pack and draft horses – people need breeds capable of doing real work, and we’ve got them but not in sufficient numbers and their manners still aren’t all they should be. If you trust them as much as you seem to, bring your boys back here to work at the MOBAR. We’ll put them up, feed them decent food and provide a cozy spot for them to hang their hats. I’ll tell you what to have them do, and you make sure they do it. You’ve always been much better at working with people than me. Then, once we’ve got a good handle on the current business, we can look into getting some Arabians and working them into good courier mounts. They’re so much better than those wild ass mustangs.
You want to completely break Mama’s heart? Then just go right on ahead with your plan there. You want to make Mama cry? Come back to Burgin.
Your brother,
Dick
To: Tess Lorantz c/o Eileen Gold, Leavenworth, KS
From: Alvy Garraldo, Geneva, NY
Sepember 29, 20+6
T.-
You wouln’t beleive it. fucking fired. fucking fired me. Said I was drinkning to much and was no good laying abound, hiting the stupid wetbacks to hard.
Those squarhead fucks. Wasnt my fault harvist failed. No shitfuking rain this year. Everything dry as bones.
Show them. so dry, Ill burn it all all down. piss on it the ashes.
Fuckins squarheads. The’ll burn.
Than Im coming for you.
-A.
To: Tess Lorantz c/o Eileen Gold, Leavenworth, KS
From: Alvy Garraldo, Geneva, NY
October 19, 20+3
Tess-
Want to apologize for the last letter. Everything had hit rock bottom on the island and in the metro area. Riots, Papa’s wine tour business had gone under, of course (not that there was much wine then, anyway), there was hardly enough food to cut it here, and people out and out starving in the city, no word from you.
Still none.
Moved to Geneva this spring. Things improved a bit last year – most folks are somehow or other getting enough food to scrape by – but once Papa died I couldn’t stand it anymore. He had a good connection to one of the wineries up here, so I’m upstate for the long haul. I’m a glorified fucking day laborer, but I do mostly supervising and at least there’s enough to eat and drink at the end of the day.
The whole thing is still eerie as shit, though. Like these guys I’m working for, they turn Rieslings by the boatload. I don’t go for it all that much, but again, beggars ain’t choosy. So, they have all this whit
e, and with what doesn’t sell or isn’t the best they make brandy out of it. I’ve been there when they’re doing this. The brandy turns out OK, right, but they’ve tried making moonshine or some shit out of it. They tried it once. Once they get their still rolling and it was pumping out stuff that was 100 proof or above, the weird shit happened. The booze curdled into this gray sludgy shit. It backed up the still and almost blew up before we got it off the fire. That would’ve been the end of me, at least. But instead, it’s just the end of trying to make white lightning. Seriously, what the fuck is that stuff?
Still missing you, T. If you get this, come back to New York. I’ve got a little credit with these guys and can spring – in bottles of Riesling and Pinot Grigio – for your trip. When you get to town, just ask about Wilson Creek Vineyard and Farm. We make plenty of deliveries into town, and can pick you up there.
-Alvy
P.S. – Say hello to your aunt from me.
To: Tess Lorantz c/o Eileen Gold, Leavenworth, KS
From: Alvy Garraldo, West Babylon, NY
July 13, 20+1
Tess-
Where are you? Where are you? Haven’t heard a fucking thing, not a word out of you for over a year now. Things are shit here. Just shit. Are you seeing the date I’m writing this on? You swore to me, PROMISED ME IN FRONT OF GOD AND EVERYBODY you’d always be here for me. And WHERE ARE YOU NOW?!
You fucking liar.
-A.
[Keeping these together, just in case we get more. -Rand M.]
To: Geraldine Engle or RESIDENT,
From: Arlen “Itzamna’s Scribe” Morris, Manitou Springs, CO
May 14, 20+6
Dear Resident-
Through my own industry, the boons of the gods and the magic of ditto machinery, I am able to offer to you and 375 other inquisitive individuals of discriminating taste the first printing of the first edition of MORE NEW MAYAN MYSTERIES REVEALED!
Possibly you are familiar with my previous works, Mayan Mysteries Revealed! and New Mayan Mysteries Revealed! With its publication in 1995 and having accurately predicted Guatemala’s Fuego eruption of 2002 as a harbinger – specifically, the predictive text reads “... and soon the gods will return and bring fire to their constituents and herald the coming of the end” – Mayan Mysteries Revealed! has proven to be of seminal importance to the field of Cosmomayatology. If so, you almost certainly are aware that since publishing that volume’s successor, New Mayan Mysteries Revealed!, so many events predicted within its pages – too many to relate here! –have come to pass that have proven beyond the shadow of a doubt that New Mayan Mysteries Revealed! was a stunningly prophetic revelation. However, since these events did not coincide with the December 2012 dates discovered and put forth in print by yours truly (and other pale imitators and plagiarists) a complete reassessment of the cosmological timeline was necessitated. This was not my own idea, for having miserably seen what I had prophesied come to pass I was contented to let my own minor errors pass into oblivion as a slight shadow next to the blazing golden truth that is New Mayan Mysteries Revealed! Rather, two years ago I was visited upon for four straight nights by the Becabs. Through their visits, speaking only in the complex spiritual geometry they themselves created, the Becabs fully revealed to me their larger plan. It has taken me over a year and a half to parse out, analyze and fully comprehend this plan, THIS GREAT WORK, and another half year to write it out and annotate it.
Other mysteries abound, entangled with, coinciding with and completely apart from the question of the Becabs’ visitations and revelations. Are there reptoids astride on our planet, and if so are they descendants of Quetzalcoatl (i.e., VENUSIANS) or mere cosmic interlocutors from a separate? Do the Lords of Xibalba have plans to interfere with the great work set forth by the Becabs? What did the government know about my prophecies and when did it know it and is the government even in existence now and can they see you? (Hint: YES, they can!) Surely you are interested in such mysteries. Surely you want to know the answer to these questions. They and many others are answered in MORE NEW MAYAN MYSTERIES REVEALED!!!
More Predictions! More REVELATIONS! Satisfaction guaranteed!
I am not publishing this volume to make a profit, only to further the cause of revealing the truth, so please DO NOT SEND CASH, only NON-PERISHABLE COMESTIBLES to Mayan Revelations, Manitou, CO. Namaste!
-Arlen “Itzamna’s Scribe” Morris
To: Arnold “Smitty” Schmidt, Lawrence, KS
From: Your eastern friends, St. Louis, MO
February 10th, 20+6
Smitty-
Hey, buddy. Been a while since we heard from you. Been laying low lately? Can’t say I blame you. Things blew up pretty good around there, huh?
Word got to us about Biggs’s fuckup. His own range, his own backyard and he can’t run good product past the local yokels without his operation getting found out, and by a bunch of Nebraskans of all people. I’d say it’s a shame, really, but I don’t think that. What little I heard about old Biggs through the grapevine matched up pretty well with the real life version. Only met him once in St. Louis, just before he took over in Lawrence. Seemed like such a clever guy. Obviously totally lazy, and a dick to boot, but clever nonetheless. Not surprising, that shit catches up with you. Heard it was Petey that sold him out. Ha! Always thought Petey was Biggs’s little bitch. Definitely wasn’t good for business anywhere, but good on him for getting out and taking down Biggs with him.
The muckity mucks in Cleveland are peeved about this development, of course, but don’t really want to start any shit down your way. They’ve had enough trouble lately fending off the long arm of the law. Some folks up in Cleveland and Columbus are starting to really and truly reconstitute the local governments, and they’ve got some serious muscle at their disposal. One of the extended operational bosses in Chicago actually got strung up last spring! So, the head honchos can’t afford to move any people into your range any time soon, if ever. They’ve actually been talking about reworking their game plan, shifting the “mission” of the entire organization. Swear to god I was there when one of them dumb bastards used the word “mission statement”. Who in the hell talks like that anymore? Of course, they think I’m just some jerkoff leg, but I bet half a Folgers can of dope (good stuff, not that ditch weed you grow out west) I went to a better business school than he did, and I can recognize MBA-speak when I fucking hear it. No idea how a twit like that made it so fucking far up the totem pole. Chances are he’s in someone’s extended family.
Speaking of families, there’s also been way way too much inter-syndicate violence the past couple of years. Our syndicate and the ranges therein are all run by Poles. Don’t know whether you were aware of the fact. Guess it doesn’t matter so much. But they’ve had several run-ins with the Chicago mob, the Italians. Our syndicate takes out a couple of their boys a year, at the very least, and vice versa. (Ours – yeah right. I’ll never be more than a hired hand. A couple of the real assholes have started calling me Tonto – one of the main fucking reasons I’m writing you.) It racks up, man. Add to those bodies the mistaken hits that get made – the information network ain’t what it used to be, obviously – and the poor dopes who have to get put out to pasture because they saw a beatdown or a deal or just about anything they weren’t supposed to see, and we’re talking serious body counts.
Don’t it make you wonder, sometimes – is there still a Poland or an Italy? Should we make a trip across the pond and start some shit with the locals there, just like old times but in reverse? We’d probably best start with the Portuguese. Heh.
Really, this whole government resurgence thing is our own fucking fault. Well, the bosses’ – yeah, you’d better believe I’m passing that buck up. (Ain’t one of them who’d think twice about blaming me for some fuckup.) With so many of the abovementioned sloppiness, all the outright violence and the general ill-will towards the syndicates – can you blame them, for the price we charge just to get letters from A to B?) – it’s no f
ucking surprise these sad sacks finally started saying enough is enough.
Anyway, it sounded like they’re pretty serious about changing things. First off, they’re talking about making deals with the new-forming governments. Shit like normalizing the ranges and running them under some kind of semi-official, semi-commercial arrangement. Taking almost all the”profit motive” – yeah, what little there is, right? – out of this gig. They fucking just don’t realize the kind of risks that we take day in and day out. I think it’s really a cover story the bosses are pushing. They might actually put some structure into this operation to get on the good side of the law, but they’ll keep the margins on their services as high as they can get away with. If the bosses are good at one thing, it’s obscuring their profits. Even I don’t know how much our syndicate clears per parcel delivered. I know roughly the average of how much it costs, but the profit remains a mystery, and I’ll bet that’s just how they want it.