Hey, Cowgirl, Need a Ride?

by Baxter Black

  T.A. glared at him.

  “Busby, if you will help me, please, I think Mrs. Pantaker is ready to accompany us.”

  They lifted T.A. into the back of the Suburban.

  “Relax and enjoy the flight,” he said to T.A., and shut the doors. Pike took the backseat, with the job of keeping an eye on her.

  Valter climbed behind the wheel of the Suburban. “We’re just ahead of the storm, heading south, so I’m going to be pushing hard till we hit the freeway. They might have got a call out to the police, but odds are that it’ll take a while. Besides, they won’t be looking for a white car. All aboard,” he said grandly, and pulled onto Highway 225. Elko was seventy-five miles away. He made it in less than an hour.

  40

  DECEMBER 7: A CALL TO CODY

  Lick sat up in the hospital bed. It was 8:00 a.m., just turning light outside. Ten inches of snow covered the valley. The power had come back on at about 4:00 a.m. The clinic was bustling.

  Lick’s lip had been sutured, and so had the ceiling-fan injury on his forehead. The Physician’s Assistant had given him a sedative and a local anesthetic to do the treatment. He’d also insisted that Lick spend the rest of the night in the hospital to ensure there were no concussion repercussions. The old man had slept in the chair next to his bed. It was the old man’s snoring that had finally woken the patient.

  Lick was pulling on his boots and he accidently banged the chair where the old man lay honking like a rooting sow.

  “Whoa!” said the old man, sitting straight up. “Alowishus Sitting Bull Bean, Corporal, U.S. Army 305 02 3470.”

  “It’s okay, Al! It’s jus’ me, Lick.”

  “I ain’t talkin’! You can tie me to the stake, make me do the bunny hop or eat brussels sprouts! I ain’t talkin’, you Nazi scum!”

  Lick shook the old man’s shoulders. “It’s me, Al. Lick. Wake up!”

  The old man shook his head and his eyes opened. He blinked. “Lick,” he said, “what are you doin’ here?” He looked around. “What am I doin’ here? Am I hurt bad? Maybe it’s just a flesh wound. Randolph Scott always had a flesh wound. He could still keep firin’.”

  The old man’s mind began to devolve from his bizarre dream into reality, like a Laundromat dryer full of soggy thoughts slowly winding down.

  “T.A. got caught last night,” Lick began, his enunciation still impaired by swollen lips.

  “So you said,” acknowledged the old man.

  “Yes. By those guys who chased us across de desert. Now listen, I’ve got a plan.”

  “I remember,” said the old man. “You said we couldn’t get the police involved because she was a drug dealer.”

  “No. No, she’s not a drug dealer but she does have a warrant out for her arrest, so she’s on de run. Her husband, dot really her husband, but her husband, de guy that sent de goons after her that chased us, he knows about de warrant and if she gets caught by de police they will check her ID, or worse, find him, and she’ll go to jail. So, that’s why we can’t tell Sherrill that’s she’s been kidnapped.”

  The old man looked into Lick’s eyes. They were the eyes of someone not pondering the consequences of life’s stupid choices.

  “Like a chew?” he asked Lick, as he shredded a stomped-out, half-smoked cigarette, ate the paper, and stuffed the burnt shreds of somebody’s old Camel Light in between his cheek and gum.

  “You know I quit last month. Besides, it ain’t Copenhagen,” said Lick disgustedly.

  “Well, son, I agree we can’t just let those goons get away with this. She is part of our family now, your sister. And if we can’t call the Rurales ourself, then we better mount a posse. ’Course, there are some obstacles. . . . We don’t have a car, we don’t have any money, you look like a poster for Revolutionary War bonds, and we don’t know where they’re takin’ her,” said the old man.

  “Wrong,” said Lick. “We do know where they’re takin’ her: Las Vegas, Pharaoh’s Casino.”

  “What about a car, and some cash?”

  “I’ve got an idea about that. Bring me that phone over there . . . please.”

  He dialed.

  “Cody . . . It’s Lick.”

  “So, you rodeoed with this Cody feller,” said the old man after Lick hung up, “and he still said he’d come? He must not have much sense, or doesn’t know you very good.”

  “He’s comin’ right away. They’ve done worked their cows and are jus’ feedin’ and fixin’ machinery. He’s got a nice crew cab, pretty new—”

  “Did you ask him about a little jingle, a little travelin’ money, a little wampum to foot our expensive tastes?” asked the old man.

  “No, of course not. What kind of person do you think I am? Besides, he’ll have some. He’s one of them responsible types.”

  “So, when does he git here?” pressed the old man.

  “If he leaves today, I’d guess he’ll get here tomorrow night at the latest.”

  “What do we tell Sherrill?”

  “Jus’ what I’ve said. We stay here today, Cody comes tomorrow and we thank her and leave.”

  “You gonna stay at Sherrill’s tonight?” asked the old man.

  “Guess I have to,” said Lick. “Just to keep the story straight. You could sleep on the couch.”

  “Naw, I reckon I’ll stay with Stone again. What say we have some breakfast?”

  “You got enough to pay for it?” asked Lick.

  “Yessir,” he said. “Propeller money, son. ’Bout twenty dollars left.”

  Lick looked at him quizzically.

  The old man reached over and tapped the gauze bandage that was wrapped around Lick’s head.

  Lick nodded with recognition.

  Eight hundred miles away, Cody Wing was explaining the plan to Lilac.

  “He must be in trouble,” she said.

  41

  DECEMBER 8: CODY ARRIVES

  Cody Wing pulled up into the parking lot of the Goose Valley Tribal Police Headquarters at nine the following night.

  The snow was deep, but the roads were snow-packed or clear. He shut the diesel engine off and dismounted the two-year-old, high-wheeled, four-wheel-drive three-quarter-ton ranch pickup with a front-mounted grill guard that looked like Godzilla’s face mask. He stretched, then walked into the building.

  Lick and Cody shook hands warmly, coffeed up, and visited about civilities. Then Cody asked, “So, why am I here?”

  There are philosophical ramifications in the answer to that question, since Cody had interrupted his life, left his pregnant wife on the spur of the moment, and driven endless hours in inclement weather, simply because Lick said he needed him.

  It would help to know the history of their relationship, but that would require reading the prequel to this novel, Hey, Cowboy, Wanna Get Lucky? So, suffice it to say they had been rodeo travelin’ partners for several years and had developed a closeness that transcended even blood relations. They were interdependent, each other’s sounding board, counselor, critic, fan, and friend during high times and when the cards went the wrong way.

  And it’s no surprise that a lonely, lost man like Lick called the only person he felt close to. That, and the fact that Cody was the only one Lick trusted who had money and a car.

  Lick led Cody through the whole story from the discovery of the girl in Bruneau Canyon to his black eye and loose teeth from the parking lot kidnapping the previous night.

  “So, the reason you haven’t called the police is . . . ?” posed Cody.

  Lick had thought this out. “I don’t want to tell you,” he said, “’cause if I do then it makes you an affiliate.”

  “You mean accomplice,” corrected Cody.

  “Yeah, accomplice. But it’s nuthin’ big, it’s just that there’s a warrant out for her arrest.”

  “You mean like for a parking ticket?”

  “No. But still, just trust me on this. That’s why we haven’t told Sherrill everything,” said Lick.

  “Because she’s a poli
cewoman,” cognited Cody.

  “Right.”

  “And it’s your plan to go and rescue the damsel in distress, find the money, stop the endangered species hunt, and marry her,” summed up Cody.

  “Marry her! I didn’t say anything about marryin’,” protested Lick.

  “Then I don’t understand why you’re getting mixed up in this whole mess to begin with. What you have described is a four-alarm, third-degree, double-trouble, titanic train wreck that will take all of you to the bottom of the San Andreas Fault and swallow you whole. I mean, if it all worked out, which I can’t see how, how are you gonna explain harboring a thief, sleeping with another man’s wife—”

  “She’s not really his wife,” interrupted Lick.

  “So she says, but maybe she’s just using you. Hell, she already has. You’re protecting a fugitive and you helped her escape. Now you’re going to risk your life to save her from the claws of the mobsters, so if you’re not going to marry her, why in the name of Jim Shoulders, Casey Tibbs, and Larry Mahan are you risking your neck?”

  It was not a rhetorical question.

  “Are you through?” asked Lick.

  The two stared at each other as Lick tried to think of something to say. He looked away, shuffled his feet, and cleared his throat.

  “It’s the right thing to do,” he said with a sigh.

  Cody continued to look at his old friend, who still lived in a single man’s black-and-white world.

  “Okay,” he said positively. “Where do we start?”

  Lick and Cody climbed into Cody’s pickup and slammed the doors. Cody waited for the plug light and cranked the engine. He let it idle a few seconds.

  Lick spoke. “Man, Cody, you’re soundin’ as cynical as I used to be. The ranchin’ life don’t suit you?” Lick was referring to the split-up of their traveling rodeo partnership two years ago, Cody’s return to the family ranch and marriage to Lilac. Cody was now twenty-nine years old.

  “Well, I’m sorry, but that’s the way I am,” he answered curtly.

  “Hey,” said Lick, “I don’t mean nuthin’, pardner. You just used to be more laid back. I was always the one lookin’ for the dark side. You kept me goin’, remember?”

  “I’m sorry.” Cody sighed again. “It’s the way things turned out. Dad got prostate cancer last summer, he’s not been himself. Takin’ radiation, maybe surgery. His heart sorta went out of the ranchin’. Mama’s fine, but it’s a lot for her to handle, too, Dad bein’ depressed and all. Kaycee, my little sis, in her teens and drivin’ us all crazy. Younger brother’s in college and my older brother took a teachin’ job in town. He still helps at the ranch on weekends, puttin’ up hay, brandin’ and all, but they’ve got kids and things goin’ on. You know how it goes.”

  Lick had no clue how it went. He’d never had kids. His first marriage had been a long, drawn-out bust. When it ended, he didn’t lose anything he cared about. Since then he’d lived hand to mouth, rodeo to rodeo, paycheck to paycheck, no emotions spent. He had let his vessel go empty. Cody was as close to him as anybody, and he hadn’t seen him for over a year.

  “How’s Lilac?” asked Lick.

  “I’ll tellya, she’s my savin’ grace. She sold her city clothes, married us all, and never looked back. She is so good. She can do anything she sets her mind to: drive a tractor, saddle a horse, shoot a deer, stack hay, make jerky. Plus she’s so good with Kaycee, Mama loves her, Dad thinks she’s the best thing since sliced bread, and, to top it off, she still loves me!”

  “So what’s buggin’ ya?” asked Lick.

  “Responsibility, I guess,” Cody answered. “I thought I was ready to run the ranch, but now that I have to, I don’t know if I’ve got it in me.”

  “You don’t like it?”

  “Sure I do. I love it, it’s just hard lettin’ go of the travelin’ life. You and I had such a great time rodeoin’. Before I traveled with you, I had some good pardners, too. I read the Rodeo Sports News and keep up. We even made it down to Frontier Days last summer. I saw Loball, and Frank. I miss it, that’s all.”

  “You could still ride in the rodeos around you, Livingston, Cody, Cheyenne, Pocatello, Red Lodge. Wouldn’t be too hard to enter up and go over,” suggested Lick.

  “I did, actually, the first year I went home. Rode in Cheyenne and Denver, but it wasn’t the same. I’d got rusty. Besides, I think about gettin’ hurt now. Didn’t used to, but now with the ranch to run and Lilac bein’ pregnant and all—”

  “You’re gonna be a daddy!” Lick interrupted. “My gosh. I can’t believe it.” Lick looked out the window at the snowy tribal police station parking lot as a gust of wind shook the pickup. A monumental moment passed, wherein he saw the chasm that had developed between them. “Maybe you shouldn’t have come,” he said.

  Cody looked at him and smiled. “Nope, Lick, I needed a break.”

  On the drive out to Sherrill’s house Lick brought Cody up to date on Al Bean.

  “I don’t know how old he is, but he’s dang sure a cowboy from the old school. But he’s not quiet and he doesn’t mind stickin’ his nose into other people’s business, or his foot into your mouth . . . or his. Anyway, he always seems to land on his feet. And he does like to take a drink. And he’s quicker on the wit than you might expect, so don’t underestimate him. He can be slippery and windier than a sack full of whistlin’ lips.”

  “So how did y’all get hooked up with Sherrill?” asked Cody. “Is she Al’s girlfriend?”

  “No, she’s just . . . We met her when we got here and . . . she was Stone’s cousin or somethin’. Al told everyone that he was our father, so that made Teddie Arizona and me brother and sister, so that’s what Sherrill thought, though I think she figgered it out, but T.A.— Teddie—and I played along, and I’ve been playin’ along, only ’cause Teddie thought it was prudent, so, I’ve been like, oh, I took Sherrill to the dance and . . .”

  “And?” Cody asked.

  “And nothin’. Except that she sorta thinks that she and I are . . . Sherrill does . . . I mean, that she and I have a relationship,” ducked and dived Lick.

  “Do you?” asked Cody.

  “What?”

  “Have a relationship?”

  “Well, sort of.”

  “Let me cut to the chase here,” said Cody. “Are you and Sherrill sleeping together?”

  “Sleeping together?” responded Lick innocently.

  “I don’t know what you call it when you are doing it with a police officer. Conjugal visits? Penal colonizing? Mounting a Royal Canadian? But are you having sex with Sherrill while T.A. is sleeping on the sofa?” asked Cody.

  “Actually, I was sleeping on the sofa. . . . Aw, Cody. I don’t know what to say. It’s complicated. But it doesn’t change anything. I’m going after T.A.—me and you and Al. And we’re gonna save her, ’cause these crooks that kidnapped her are for real. And they’re playin’ for high stakes and she’s in the way. And I don’t know any more than that. We’re the only ones who know how much danger she’s in, so, for whatever reason, she’s been dumped in our hands. And you’re here, so . . . I know that if anyone can git her out, it’s us. After that, who knows. But right now it’s one step at a time.”

  It was quiet in the big pickup cab.

  “Take a right and it’s the first house on the left. You can see it up there,” said Lick, pointing.

  Cody took a right.

  42

  DECEMBER 9: RANCHO SECO

  F. Rank Pantaker drove his Lincoln four-door sedan through the unremarkable entrance to the Rancho Seco twenty-two miles northwest of Las Vegas, Nevada. He crossed the cattle guard and followed the dirt road another four miles to the headquarters.

  He pulled up in front of the ranch house and parked next to the white Suburban with an Idaho dealer sticker in the rear window. He stepped out, slammed the door, hitched up his pants, and went in.

  “Howdy, boss,” said Pike.

  “Howdy” was the reply.

  Va
lter strode into the big main room. “Glad to see you, Mr. Pantaker.”

  “Everything okay?” F. Rank asked.

  “Yes, sir. Cargill and Loretta have taken good care of us. Mrs. Pantaker is still in the master bedroom. We took the precaution of searching it. Cargill is watching the bedroom and bathroom windows from a respectful distance. Busby is sitting outside the bedroom door. I’ve unbound her wrists and ankles, but she is a serious escape risk. And not averse to trying it,” explained Valter. “I wouldn’t take her outside that bedroom without a leash.”

  “Has she said anything about the, uh . . .” F. Rank didn’t want to mention the stolen money. “About why she left, at all?”

  “No. She hasn’t said two words since we pulled the tape off her mouth.”

  “Okay. Well, let me see her,” F. Rank said.

  He followed Valter to the bedroom door, nodded at Busby, who stood at attention, and went in. He shut the door behind him.

  T.A. was lying on the bed. When the door opened, she sat up and swung her legs over the side. She was wearing a dirty white pullover, dirty black jeans, boots, and one silver filigree earring. Her hair was a mess and her forehead had a red scrape across one side.

  “Glad to see you back,” said F. Rank, without expression.

  She glared at him. Those malamute eyes were piercing.

  “I’ll get right to the point,” he said. “You have my money and I want it.”

  She remained silent.

  “As best I can piece together from the stories I’ve heard this last week, you’ve left a trail of destruction worthy of the Mexican army. A wrecked helicopter, a string of bullet holes, loose horses, marauding Indians, stolen cars, and lovesick cowboys from here to the Idaho line.”

  “You didn’t mention the footsore, barefoot, disarmed three blind goons,” she added defiantly.

  “I guess I haven’t heard all the stories yet. Maybe you can catch me up on this after we get the money back.”

  “What money?” she asked innocently.