Rhino Ranch

by Larry McMurtry

  A moment later a white Lexus drew up and parked beyond Boyd. It was Dickie Moore, in a suit that matched his car.

  “What a handsome son you have,” K.K. said. “Besides which he doesn’t miss much.”

  As they headed up the sidewalk to the courthouse they saw Hondo Honda, minus his rifle for once, walking ahead of them.

  “My Ranger,” K.K. said, and smiled.

  A moment later, not wishing to be upstaged by Boyd, Bobby Lee emerged from his Toyota pickup. He wore a Rhino Enterprises dozer cap and Levi’s so new they practically stood alone.

  “If there’s any excitement happening I want to be in on it,” he said. “I was the first local employee of Rhino Enterprises—beat Boyd out by an hour.”

  K.K. laughed; she liked Bobby Lee, though it was a different liking from what she felt for Boyd Cotton.

  “If we count that Texas Ranger we’re a force of six,” Bobby Lee said. “One more and we could call ourselves the Magnificent Seven.”

  “Double Aught should be number seven,” Duane said. “If the charity folks get cranky we could have him stomp on their cars or something.”

  There was a moment of silence. Then they all went in.

  32

  DONNA L’ENGLE, head fieldworker for the Texas Chamber of Commerce, was rather Annie-like—skinny, good-looking, short brown hair and, at the moment, pissed off.

  “Who’s this mob?” she asked, as the bunch of them trooped in. They were in an old shabby courtroom that the county had no money to fix up. There was no podium or judge’s bench, just three bare tables and some chairs.

  Hondo Honda, unasked, strolled to the front of the room and stood there stiffly, doing a good imitation of a bailiff.

  A young man with long blond hair, a fringed leather jacket and snake-skin boots smiled when he saw Hondo.

  “What are you doing here, Hondo?” he asked. “Concerned as we all are about the situation I’m not sure we needed to call out the Rangers.”

  “Fuck off, Rick,” K.K. said. “I asked him to come.”

  “Rick and I work out of Fort Worth,” Donna said, quite obviously still pissed off. “Hugo has offices in Dallas, thirty miles away. You were in Fort Worth last night yourself, K.K. So why did we have to drag ourselves up here?”

  “I thought you might want to get your pictures taken with the sixteen new rhinos we’re getting any minute now,” K.K. said. “After all, your money helped bring them here.”

  A tall man in a dark suit walked in.

  K.K. smiled. “Thanks for coming, Hugo,” she said.

  “Thank us all for coming,” Donna L’Engle said. “Who are the three gentlemen I don’t know?”

  “My crew,” K.K. said. “I thought while we were here we might thrash out the little tizzy Donna has been having over the Slater Trust.”

  “Little tizzy?” Donna said.

  “If put in perspective, yes, Donna,” K.K. said. “Families quarrel. My own mother tried for twenty years to break that trust and she failed. My brothers are at most half as smart as my mother, and I would bet the Hope Diamond that they fail too.”

  “You don’t own the Hope Diamond,” Rick said.

  “I know—that’s why I’d bet it,” she said. Then she smiled.

  “These legal challenges can take years, K.K.—you just said that yourself,” Donna pointed out. “Who’s going to fund Rhino Enterprises while this little family quarrel works its way through the courts?”

  “No problem, we will, ma’am,” Dickie said, startling everyone.

  “Who’s we?” Donna asked.

  “Moore Drilling,” Dickie said. “We’re your neighbors from just across the road.”

  Except for a sneeze from Bobby Lee there was dead silence in the room.

  “Not to be rude, sir, but do you know how much money this enterprise absorbs?” Donna asked.

  “I do, and we have it with room to spare,” Dickie said.

  To everyone’s surprise, Hondo Honda, up to then as stationary as a wooden Indian, suddenly grabbed his hat and went racing toward the door.

  “Forgot to lock my car, somebody might steal my rifle,” he announced as he disappeared.

  “Odd fellow, that,” the tall man named Hugo said. It proved to be his only comment on the proceedings at hand.

  33

  DICKIE MOORE’S SUDDEN intervention, plus Hondo Honda’s strange dash, left the room momentarily stunned, except for the tall, inscrutable Hugo, who showed neither interest nor concern.

  “If you knew you had a patron why didn’t you just call us and tell us, K.K.?” Donna asked.

  “Reasons of my own, darling,” K.K. said.

  “And stop calling me ‘darling,’” Donna insisted.

  “Oh, Donna, relax, we’re all friends here,” Rick said. He fiddled with his key ring, which was shaped like a buffalo.

  “In a pig’s eye,” Donna said, and just as she said it Myles Vane, wearing an Australian bush hat, stepped into the room.

  “Sixteen rhinos at your pleasure,” he said. “We’ll be unloading in about half an hour. The TV trucks are all in place and there’s a fair sprinkling of press.”

  “Thanks, Myles,” K.K. said, standing up. “Let’s go, folks. Another great day for the black rhino, and a pretty good day for Texas, for that matter.”

  Mention of photo ops seemed to heal all wounds. Donna L’Engle dashed off to the ladies’ to freshen her makeup, and Rick, whose last name Duane didn’t know, combed his hair carefully before putting on his hat, which was leather, like his coat.

  Outside the courthouse Hondo Honda was showing his rifle and scabbard to two old-timers on the spit and whittle bench. Hondo seemed to enjoy being a Texas Ranger, now that his rifle was secure.

  “You can go along, sweetie, if you want to,” K.K. said.

  Hondo beamed.

  “You were a big help,” K.K. added. Hondo beamed some more before humbly getting behind the wheel. He took off his hat, put it on the seat beside him and drove away.

  “Sweetie? You called that asshole sweetie?” Donna said. “Why?”

  “Because I adore him,” K.K. said.

  34

  DUANE WALKED OVER and had a word with his son, who was chatting away with Donna L’Engle. Duane had plenty of faith in his son’s judgment but he was still a little surprised by what had occurred. However, Dickie and Donna seemed to have it off because Donna hopped in the Lexus.

  “I make friends quick,” Dickie said to his father, with a grin.

  “You do,” Duane said. “And you also seem to have gotten us in the rhino business quick.”

  “That’s because I’m betting on K.K..” Dickie said. “K.K. don’t lose.”

  Dickie hopped into his Lexus, made a big U-turn and headed for the Rhino Ranch.

  Boyd and Bobby Lee followed the Lexus, in their respective cars. Duane noticed that K.K. and the tall, enigmatic Hugo were in animated conversation, in a language that Duane was pretty sure was French.

  As Duane approached, the two kissed one another on both cheeks. Hugo nodded to Duane and then folded himself into a silver Jaguar, which smoothly purred away, toward the photo op.

  “That was French, wasn’t it?” he asked.

  “It wouldn’t be to a Frenchman, but of course I had my years in Paris. Hugo and I resort to it when we don’t want anyone else to know what we’re saying.”

  She started to get into the Hartman twins’ battered pickup, but noticed that Duane held back.

  “What? You’re not interested in our new babies?”

  “I’ll be by,” Duane said. “I just feel like walking.”

  “Okay. I know you were enjoying a hike when I dragged you into this,” K.K. said. “Anything wrong?”

  “What do the two Ks stand for?” he asked.

  “Kittie Kay—that will give you some idea of how evil my mother was,” she said.

  They pondered that a moment, then she put the pickup in gear.

  “Enjoy your walk,” she said, and drove awa
y.

  35

  NOT EAGER TO join the crowd of press, local gawkers, rhino handlers and whatever flotsam drove up on the road, Duane walked over to his house and slipped into the hot tub for a while.

  He kept the hot tub set at 106 degrees, which was hotter than most people liked it, but which was just right to cook Duane into a state of relaxation.

  Just before the breakup Annie had given him some fancy walking shoes with unnecessarily long strings. He had to tie them in triple knots to keep from stepping on the ends, and usually he stepped on the ends anyway. He was a mind to throw the irritating shoes away, but held back for the moment. He was ninety-nine percent certain that Annie Cameron was out of his life forever, but one percent was one percent; if she should show up he didn’t want to have to tell her he’d thrown her final gift away.

  As he passed Jenny Marlow’s house she stuck her head out the door and waved.

  “They’re unloading the rhinos right now—I can watch it on TV and not run the risk of getting trampled,” Jenny said. “You can come in and watch if you want to.”

  “Thanks, but if I don’t walk I’ve got nothing to do,” he told her.

  “I can remember when you worked harder than anyone in town,” Jenny said. “That boy of yours sure looks good in a suit.

  “I wonder where he gets that from?” she asked. “I don’t ever remember seeing you in a suit, long as I’ve known you.”

  “I wore a suit to Ruth Popper’s funeral,” Duane said. “And I wore a suit to my most recent wedding, although I never got around to putting on the tie.

  “Annie said a tie made me look like a social climber,” he added. “Don’t you think that’s kind of an odd thing for a bride to say to her groom?”

  Jenny grinned.

  “You want to know what I told Lester when we got married—I told him to wash his dick. I was real prudish in those days.”

  “On that cheery note I’m leaving,” Duane said.

  36

  WHEN HE REACHED the edge of town he looked up the road and saw that the Rhino Ranch was, for the moment, a mob scene. Pickups with horse trailers and oilfield vehicles filled the shoulders of the road on both sides.

  Of course that was normal. How many chances did roughnecks, cowboys and snowbirds get to see a group of African black rhinos get unloaded?

  As he got closer to the scene the size of the crowd alarmed him even more. Why had Hondo Honda left just when there was a real crowd control crisis—just the kind of crisis Rangers were supposed to be good at?

  For no clear reason, Duane found himself growing ever more anxious. The rhino handlers were professionals—they had transported many large animals and knew what to do.

  And, in any case, what was happening was none of his business. He had no responsibility at the moment at all. He could just circle the big spectacle, go to his cabin, and rest. But something was shaking him up, and he needed to figure out what it was and what it meant.

  He could see his own son, in his brilliant white suit, chatting happily with Donna L’Engle—Rick Rice, from the Nature Conservancy, had joined them. K.K. was listening soberly to the mayor of Thalia; nearby was a pudgy woman that Duane thought might be the lieutenant governor. Bobby Lee was chatting with one of the local newscasters—when he spread his hands Duane deduced that he was probably talking about his fish.

  Several people saw him and waved—Duane politely waved back, but did not join the crowd. He circled the unloading and the celebration and went on to his cabin. Since his heart surgery he had acquired a kind of crowd-phobia—perhaps that had caused him to skirt the celebration.

  When he was a mile or two beyond the North Gate he began to relax. He heard the popping of brush behind him and looked around to see Double Aught following him, just as he had the other night.

  When Duane stopped, so did the rhino.

  “Now this is foolish,” Duane said. “You ought to be back with your new friends, getting your picture taken. You might get yourself a nice frisky girlfriend if you sniff around a little.”

  Double Aught ignored this advice, but he did investigate a patch of sunflowers growing near the bar ditch. Not finding the sunflowers to his liking, he turned his attention to a small yucca plant—with better results.

  “You don’t see that many yucca in this country now,” Duane said. “There’s plenty of it farther west.”

  Double Aught rumbled.

  Duane took that for an answer and strolled on home.

  37

  DUANE TOOK A nap and woke up hungry. The only food in the house was a can of tomato soup, which he heated and ate. He would have liked some crackers but unfortunately had none. The Asia Wonder Deli was a blazing six miles away. He usually kept a cheap bicycle at the cabin for just such emergencies, but his last one had been stolen, by some meth dealers likely.

  He had hoped Dickie would swing by, to explain why Moore Drilling was suddenly expanding into the rhino import business—but Dickie did not swing by.

  One thing Duane did know was that Dickie was thoroughly profit-driven. If he linked Moore Drilling to Rhino Enterprises it was because he expected to get something out of it: profit, publicity, new investors, something.

  While they were living in Arizona Annie had given him a book called Desert Solitaire. Its author, Edward Abbey, seemed to be a sort of local hero. Duane was not sure why this was so, but, every now and then, he read a few pages at random, and usually enjoyed what he read.

  The one can of soup did not make him much less hungry—he took the Abbey book out under his favorite shade tree and read a few pages. Across the mesquite flats he could still see the numerous cars and pickups parked by the Rhino Ranch. He dozed a little and was awakened by the sound of a pickup coming up the road. From the rattle he knew it must be the Hartman boys’ pickup, but why was it coming up this road. From the other side of the road, Double Aught watched the pickup too. Evidently he didn’t like the sound, because he trotted off to the west.

  The pickup stopped at the wire gate, and K.K. got out to open it. Then she saw Duane, sitting under his shade tree with his book.

  From the west Double Aught was watching them both—though not in a hostile way.

  “I don’t mean to interrupt your reading, but would you take me to lunch?”

  “Be glad to,” Duane said. “I’m pretty near starving myself.”

  38

  THE LINE AT the Asia Wonder Deli was long, but K.K. insisted that they observe the democratic niceties, and stand in it. There were two tiny tables inside the deli, one of which they eventually captured. Sitting at a table meant that you didn’t have to juggle your food, but what it didn’t provide was privacy. The line that they had stood in, still long, was only a foot away.

  That didn’t matter much, because the two of them were too hungry to talk. Mike and Tommy clucked in amazement at the amount of barbecued pork K.K. tucked away.

  “Ever serve barbecue goat?” she asked the two of them, as Duane paid the check.

  “Goat? Baby goat—I have for pet,” Tommy said.

  “You forget about that when you’re eating them,” K.K. said. “That’s two meals you’ve bought me today, Duane.”

  “I’m not usually this extravagant,” he said.

  K.K. looked skeptical.

  “I think you’re as extravagant as the woman you’re feting wants you to be,” she said.

  “Which is a way of saying I think you’re a pushover—at least you are if you like the woman you’re with,” she said.

  Duane reflected on that judgment as they wound their way back along the dusty road. When he and Karla first married they were poor and had to watch their money, though not to any extreme degree. But once the boom came and they became rich, watching their money meant mainly watching it go out.

  Years and decades passed and it was still going out, through the spigots of his daughters and their kids—Willy being the exception to the spigot rule.

  “Now that I’m back to batching there may not be
too many more opportunities for me to be extravagant,” he said.

  “Were you surprised when I said I was broke this morning?” she asked.

  “Are you broke?” he asked.

  “Only until I get back to Fort Worth,” she said. “When I heard my brothers were trying to break the Slater Trust I left so quickly that I didn’t grab a wallet or a checkbook. Mostly I don’t carry money myself—I have a person named Roland who usually travels with me, and Roland carries the money, but his wife is due to have a baby about now, so I left him in South Texas.

  “I’m getting behind with you, though,” she said. “You’re two meals up on me.”

  When they got back to the gate that led to his cabin Duane wondered if he should ask her in and then did ask her in.

  “It’s not much but I like it,” he said.

  K.K. took a quick look inside and came out.

  “It’s what we call a line cabin, on our ranch,” she said. “We have more than three hundred thousand acres under one fence—that’s a lot of line to ride. The vaqueros need someplace they can bunk for the night. We have about twenty of these little shacks.

  “I can see how it suits you,” K.K. said. “It wouldn’t surprise me if you lived out your life here—in which case why won’t you sell me your big house in town?”

  “Because Willy likes the big house,” he said.

  K.K. smiled. “Okay, I can take that as a clincher. If I’m around here much I might just have to build myself a house.”

  “There’s a little hotel that’s for sale, I understand,” Duane said. “It’s got about ten rooms. You could probably make it into some kind of house, if you wanted to.”

  “That’s a thought,” she said.

  When she left Duane closed the gate behind her. The pickup threw up a cloud of whitish dust as K.K. Slater drove along the narrow country road.

  39