“So then where was this witness?” Judge Mason asks while he sniffs the stickers. He catches the scent of oil and a needle of doubt enters his mind, but he refuses to let this outsider claim control of his courtroom. “I will indulge you, but understand that Cami is not on trial. If she lied under oath then she will be dealt with appropriately. It is a lesser crime in the eyes of man than what Mr. Tenay is accused of. The eyes of God is a different matter, so I will tell the witness that she best think carefully. Now, where was she?”
“She was with me,” Cassidy states with a wicked smirk. Seeing the confusion that she was hoping for, the blonde puts her hands on her hips and arches her back. “I mean she was . . . with . . . me.”
The courtroom explodes with noise that continues even after Judge Mason bangs his gavel with all his strength. Cami is screaming her innocence and condemning Cassidy to Hell, which the blonde accepts with a shrug. An impassioned preacher tries to jump the barrier in order to proselytize, but the guards force him back to his seat. Coins and pebbles are thrown at Cassidy and Cami, the mechanic hiding behind the protective side of the stand. The only person who is not talking is Lloyd, the serial killer closing his eyes to enjoy the chaos. The crowd finally calms down when Judge Mason puts on headphones and pulls an air-horn out from under his robe. It is a blast of noise that bounces off the rafters long after everyone quiets down and stops rubbing their aching ears.
“I will not have such anarchy in my courtroom!” the Magistrate declares, his booming voice shaking like his hand. It is unclear if he is upset about Cami’s possible lying under oath or the implied homosexuality. “We all have different opinions on how the scripture handles such things, but that is not what we are here to discuss. There is a murderer we must bring to justice and this one witness may have lied. This doesn’t discount everyone who came before her. Even if this sticker caused Father Ken to target Mr. Tenay, it did not play a hand in his murder. Mr. Tenay is the one who chose to kill instead of walking away like a civilized, good human being should.”
“There was a mob,” Lloyd points out, opening his eyes and standing. Cassidy joins him at the table and gives a subtle tug to his pants to prevent him from sitting again. “I gave Father Ken every chance to leave me alone. I was trapped and couldn’t escape, so he had to be the one to back off. Also, I didn’t want to kill him with the rock. Just knock him out, give him a black eye, or bust his nose open. My only excuse is that I’m too good at what I do.”
Judge Mason’s calm exterior cracks and he is about to speak when the doors to the courtroom are kicked open. Henry Allred and several of his fellow rebels storm in with guns drawn, several guards having been knocked out in the hallway. People scream and try to stampede toward the exits, many of them grabbing as many Bibles as they can. The police inside the room try their best to control of the crowd while keeping their weapons trained on the Mormons. Henry holds his sniper rifle over his head with his finger still on the trigger, but the position points the barrel at an empty wall. Nodding his head to the guards, he fires a bullet into the concrete and waits for the terrified mob to freeze. The plan backfires a bit when an old man starts having a heart attack and the rebels are forced to let a doctor hurry the elder to the nearest hospital.
“We’re here to free Lloyd Tenay and prove that you can be stopped,” Henry declares in a confident voice. Having decided to make an impact like Cassidy suggested, he hopes his unwavering smile is enough to make people believe he knows what he is doing. “We have stayed in the shadows for too long and are declaring our intention to take back our home. Salt Lake City will return to its true owners. This young woman showed us that we need to take action. With her leading us, your time will soon come to an end.”
“Arrest the rebels and we will continue the trial,” Judge Mason orders, hitting a button under his chair. Heavily armed officers burst through a wooden door that has been painted to blend into the back wall. “Now if we could-”
The Magistrate stops when he sees that Cami has been knocked out by a rock to the side of her head. She is still breathing and he can see that half of the fallen projectile has been covered in bubble wrap, the cushioning material marked with a few dots of blood. A faint breeze touches Judge Mason’s cheek and he jumps to his feet with his gavel clutched in a quivering hand. The lower half of a stained glass window has been shattered and the two outsiders are gone. Instead of ordering the police to chase down the fugitives, the Magistrate chuckles and is eventually laughing so hard that he cries.
Is Lloyd Not Entertained!?
The jeep turns into a parking lot where the friendly attendant guides them to an open spot and gives Cassidy a ticket. Having already driven through the busy town, the travelers are hoping they can finish their business and move on without incident. A chuckle is shared as the thought fades from both of their minds and is replaced by an acceptance that something will always go wrong. With only goldminers and storeowners outside the copper-plated gate, they are sure that if anything is going to go wrong, it will be inside the Battle Mountain Arena and Resort. One would think it safer to keep driving, but Nevada is the only state that has retained a monetary system instead of bartering like the rest of the country. No longer interested in bills and coins, travelers can only buy supplies and cross the borders if they have gold. Cassidy notes that a person does not have to pay to get in, so she assumes the whole thing is designed to create a trapped workforce. Though the happy and gracious employees of the resort disprove her cynical assumption.
Established by the wealthy rulers of Nevada, the impressive collection of buildings looks like the spoiled child of a Florida amusement park and Las Vegas. Billboards showing various battle champions hocking local products have been erected on several of the rooftops. Marble columns surround the entryway and give way to fountains that have been adorned with replicas of famous statues, many of which are nude. Bodegas have been set up beneath a wide variety of trees, the boisterous owners in charge of both their wares and maintaining the plants. Half of the buildings are designed to resemble what a person raised solely on movies would think ancient Greece looks like while the rest are more modern constructs. Walkways arch over the bigger streets, both of which are traversed by people using methods that range from walking to pogo-sticks. Flags and banners wave in the gentle breeze, which manages to dive at anyone wearing a skirt or, unsurprisingly, a toga. Only the employees enjoy the sudden flash while guests blush and fight to retain their dignity.
“So the plan is to earn a few gold bars to get passage through Reno,” Cassidy whispers as they follow their guide. The young man is dressed in a red loincloth while carrying a large shield and spear, the uniform obviously influenced by fiction. “Remember that we want to find out the rules to the arena before we agree to a fight. If it seems like too much trouble or danger then we ask to work in the hotel. That will take longer, but I’d rather wear one of those ridiculous costumes than get myself killed or deal with another headache. Right, Lloyd? Lloyd? Oh for fuck’s sake! Are you still giving me the silent treatment?”
“You were so mean,” the killer pouts, his eyes falling on a roped off garage. Three hearses are inside with their drivers lounging on deckchairs by the small office. “I went through so much in Utah and you denied my one request. It would have made me so happy. Sure, we’d never be able to go back to Salt Lake City, but do we really want to?”
Cassidy rolls her eyes and rubs her thumb on the safety of her concealed handgun. “For the last time, I wasn’t going to let you steal Cami’s cats. There were thirteen of the vicious things. Even one of them would have been impossible to take care of on the road. They have a habit of vomiting and pissing on stuff. Do you want to travel in a jeep that reeks of feline bodily fluids and musk?”
“I’m sure we could have taken Judas and she wouldn’t have cared.”
“How do you know she named one Judas?”
“There was a mural on her bedroom wall that had her and the cats in the Last Supper scene.”
“Is that what you call it?”
“Wh . . . I didn’t sleep with her!”
“Sure sleeping wasn’t involved.”
“Shut the flying fuck up, Lloyd!”
A long flight of stairs with several offshoots leads the pair to the top of the arena, which gives them an excellent view of the roller coaster that circles the entire resort. Lloyd whistles when he sees that artificial hot springs and multi-level pools take up the opposite side of the stands. Under the supervision of Battle Mountain’s leader, workers hurry to clean the fighting arena in time for the next set of matches. Blood-caked dirt is removed and replaced with fresh soil that is raked to avoid lumps that combatants could trip over. Litter is gathered by children who will get a game token for every pound of garbage their shift finds. The smell of cooking food wafts from the venders who are ready for business on the upper walkway, which is broken up by the balconied rooms for special guests. Far below is a short tower with a winding staircase that leads to the announcers’ box and a plush recliner for the referee.
Lloyd and Cassidy are handed skewers of meat as they are escorted into the central viewing room. Seven medal-wearing fighters turn to watch the newcomers, their enamored groupies continuing whatever they are doing for attention. A large man is sitting in a throne that can swivel and lock to face either the door or the arena. Jeweled rings are on his thick fingers and his body is covered in scars that are highlighted by tattoos that resemble shadows. Placed across his folded legs, the veteran has an enormous sword that cannot possibly be wielded by anyone besides the video game it originally appeared in. Even the muscular leader of Battle Mountain would find the weapon ungainly and one real swing would result in the blade snapping off at the hilt.
“Another heavily scarred muscle head?” Lloyd asks, receiving a slap from Cassidy. The other warriors growl at the insult to their leader, who is smirking at the question. “Sorry, but I already fought a guy like you. He didn’t end well. Though he was all steroids and you appear to be all natural. Nice collection of scars too. Serious question, but have you ever heard of dodging or blocking?”
“I am already entertained by this one’s honesty and courage,” the veteran states while grabbing a handful of grapes. Instead of jamming them into his mouth, he gently plucks one from the batch and savors the taste. “The messenger said your name is Lloyd and your friend is Cassidy. It is a pleasure to meet you. My name is Commodus and I am the top champion of Battle Mountain. Yes, I have heard of blocking and dodging, but injuries happen when you step into the arena. Taking a superficial wound to win is wiser than avoiding all blows and extending an exhausting fight until you are defeated. Now, I assume both of you are here to earn some gold in my arena. That is the only reason you would be brought here and not to one of the resort’s caretakers.”
“We only need enough to get through Reno and into California,” Cassidy answers after finishing her food. She flings the wooden skewer into a nearby trashcan, putting a little flourish on the movement to impress the observant warrior. “Though I’d like to know the rules before I sign up. As much as we need to keep moving, I don’t want to take on something that would end my journey here. Been through a lot of fights already in a short amount of time, so I’m getting tired and sore.”
Commodus nods his head while his champions rudely chuckle at the young woman’s declaration. He rises from his throne to get a better look at his guests, revealing that he is entirely naked. A few of the groupies whistle at the man in an attempt to be chosen to sit next to him during the next set of fights. Like every time they try to curry favor, Commodus ignores them and concentrates on his job. He takes more time examining Lloyd than he does with Cassidy, which makes the serial killer stand straight and puff out his chest. The cautious warrior reaches into the young woman’s pea coat to remove her handgun and hands it back when he is sure the safety is on. His eyes fall on her locket, but he knows that silver will not get one very far in Nevada.
“Physically, you two are not the greatest specimens I have seen,” Commodus admits, returning to his throne. He beckons for the pair to get closer and snaps his fingers for them to be given cups of ice water. “Both of you are rather slight and unassuming, but that could be misleading. Speed, agility, and stealth can overcome brute strength if used properly. The scars tell me that you have endured pain, so there is something to be said for your toughness. Most importantly, I see a fire in your eyes that means you will be entertaining.”
“Thank you, but I’d still really like to know about the rules,” Cassidy states as she senses that somebody is sizing her up. She uses the decorative mirrors to pinpoint the source of her unease, but all of the other fighters are looking in her direction. “I assume firearms and explosives are illegal in there. What about non-lethal range weapons?”
“Stun guns and tranquilizer darts are out while paintball guns like the one on Lloyd’s back are allowed,” the friendly veteran explains. He reaches into a basket and hands the young woman a scroll with the rules written in shimmering ink. “Blunt weapons and blades are allowed. Killing your opponent is not a disqualification or illegal, but we do frown upon such actions. Doing so may result in nobody wanting to fight you, which ends your career. This means it is preferable to win by knock out or submission. Now, new fighters don’t get to choose their first opponent, but you won’t be pitted against anyone here. It will be a lower tier member that tests you. Cassidy will have to fight another woman even though we do allow cross-gender matches. Before you argue, this is for your protection until I know what you’re capable of. It would be a waste to pit you against the wrong opponent. Oh yes, I do get final say on match-ups because I want my guests to be entertained. Nobody enjoys a one-sided fight expect for the person who has the advantage. The only other rule is that winning and your performance will determine the amount of gold you receive. Considering your goal, I would say you two need a combination of five matches to earn passage to California.”
“Sign me up,” Lloyd declares with a wide grin. Unclipping the machete from his waist, he spins it while it remains in its sheath. “I’ll even lock this baby in its home to make things more exciting. Hope you have excellent doctors here because I’m going to send them a few juicy paydays. Oh, can I have a theme song and fireworks when I come out? If not that then a cool name that sounds like it was created by a ten-year-old?”
“I’m more of a bar brawler, but I think I can put on a show,” Cassidy says, removing her pea coat and draping it over her arm. She is surprised when a young man dressed as a butler takes the jacket and nods his head. “That does make me wonder what the room and board situation is around here. People talk about how expensive things are in Nevada. I don’t want to fight solely for food and housing.”
Commodus strokes his chin and retrieves a ledger, which tells him if there are any open rooms. “Housing for fighters is provided by us. Only basic accommodations in the barracks, which means communal living. Meals are provided three times a day, but only simple foods that focus on energy and good health. Anything extra must be bought or earned. There is the option to steal such things and nothing can be done if you eat the evidence. Yet, I should warn you that those actions are highly frowned upon and could damage your reputation. Let us see how each of you do in your first fight and discuss the future. Perhaps one or both of you will earn a place among my bodyguards. They get to live in the hotel alongside the high profile guests and be treated like royalty.”
“Barracks will be fine,” the young blonde claims, her desire to stay on the road overriding her curiosity about the perks. Hearing one of the groupies coo and giggle, she can guess that there is another way to get into the better rooms besides fighting. “I only want to be here for a week at most. No offense to you. This looks like a place I’d enjoy relaxing in and Lloyd definitely would have a blast in the arena. It’s just that we’ve run into so many delays that I don’t want to keep my mom waiting much long
er.”
“Perfectly understandable and I will do what I can to help you on your way,” the warrior says, flipping a gold coin to each of his new fighters. Bracing the giant sword on his shoulder, he leans on his fist and smiles at how they examine the money. “Use that for whatever you want. It is a special coin that will purchase one item. Within reason, of course. Nothing too expensive like a vehicle or alcohol. Perhaps some local delicacies or the young lady can choose a weapon to use in her fight. There are some clothing stores that you may indulge in too. I believe there is a sale on polyester items if I’m not mistaken.”
Becoming a little suspicious of their friendly host, Cassidy nods and leads Lloyd toward the exit. A cocky laugh slips from one of the champion’s mouths, the noise swiftly followed by a high-pitched yelp of surprise. Turning around, she sees that her companion has snatched a hot sauce-covered turkey leg from the fighter and stuffed it up the long sleeve of the man’s baggy shirt. From the way the bodyguard is flailing and wincing, she imagines the food is extremely hot, but is confused by how much pain he is in. When he takes his shirt off, everyone sees that the spicy leg is pressing against a fresh battle wound. Commodus does not laugh, but there is a disturbing spark in his eye that causes Cassidy to practically drag her friend out of the room by his waistband.
*****
Crossing Bedlam Page 28