by Hondo Jinx
Callie turned bright red. “Um… what?”
“Sure, she can,” Nina blurted. “Brawley’s a bull, and she seems to arouse him.”
“What I mean,” Sage said, “is could you use your Bestial powers to put cattle in the mood for sexual intercourse?”
“I think so,” Callie said, seeming to think about it. “Yeah, I should be able to do that.”
“What about the cows? Could you put them in heat?”
Callie shrugged. “You mean actual heat? That would be trickier. I mean, I could affect their cycles but… I’m not sure.”
“We will experiment soon, perhaps even this evening,” Sage said, and she explained her plan.
If Callie could control bovine urges and the cow’s biology, they could continue to leave the bulls with the cows year-round but also control calving to whatever degree Pa saw fit, thereby reaping some of the manifold advantages of that approach without stressing the herd.
Brawley pulled the blond genius into a hug. “Great work, darlin.”
“Thank you, husband. However, I am not finished. I have an idea that could generate a good deal of money if my suspicions prove true, but I will need to wait for Hazel to assist me in my calculations.”
“All right,” Brawley said, and he wondered what was taking Sage’s old mentor so long. Supposedly, Hazel, Tammy, and the kids were on their way. Brawley had told Tammy to give him a telepathic shout once she’d shaken the cop. Maybe they were having a hard time ditching Jamaal.
“And finally,” Sage said, “there are certain mechanical improvements that could positively affect productivity and reduce vulnerabilities. I need to speak with Frankie.”
“She’s in the shower washing that sweet body of hers,” Remi said, pretending to lather her perfect breasts.
“Mmm,” Sage said, glancing toward the back of the trailer. “I find Frankie very attractive and would enjoy looking at her naked body. It is unfortunate that she is not sexually interested in females.”
“Give her time,” Nina said. “Two seconds after Brawley bonds with her, she’ll bury that pretty mouth of hers between your legs.”
“You mean if I bond with her,” Brawley said.
And the girls burst out laughing as if he’d said something funny.
16
It was a long ride to town. Frankie offered to drive, reminding him that no one drives like a Gearhead, but Brawley waved her off. It was good to be behind the wheel of his old Ford F150 again.
Frankie smoothed a hand over the dashboard. “She’s a nice truck. I’ll fix her up sweet as a top.”
“Sounds good, darlin,” Brawley said, “but I reckon that’ll have to wait. I’m fixing to keep you busy with other work.”
Frankie smiled, and they fell into contented silence for a spell. They had the windows down and were flying along at eighty miles an hour. Frankie leaned one arm out the window. The rushing air lifted her dark hair in a dancing cloud around her head.
Frankie didn’t seem to mind. Whenever her hair lifted from her face, her pretty mouth was all smiles.
Even hammering at eighty, it was a twenty-minute drive to Haboob. Brawley was in no hurry. He liked wide-open spaces, and the trip was pleasant.
Frankie talked about her life. Some of it he’d heard from Remi, but a story always packs a bigger punch when told by the person who lived it.
“I was your typical teenage girl,” Frankie said matter-of-factly.
“With all due respect, I kindly doubt that, darlin. Boys must’ve gone crazy around you.”
Frankie shook her head. “I was a late bloomer and spent a lot of time studying. My mother insisted on it and wouldn’t let me do sports or anything. She was adamant that I would do well in school, get into a good college, all that bullshit.”
“There are worse crimes than wanting your kid to make the honor roll,” Brawley said.
“Yeah, but my mother is a total control freak. She doesn’t work or anything. Just sits around watching TV and complaining and telling Dad what to do.”
“She’s a fuggle, right?”
“To the core,” Frankie said. “Doesn’t even know about psionics.”
Her Gearhead dad lived a constant lie. He avoided the psi community, hid his ability, and worked as a mechanic for US Airways, spending just enough juice to make life easy without arousing suspicion.
His greatest aim was comfort. His greatest wish was that Frankie would never develop psionic ability. And his greatest aspiration was staying off his wife’s shit list.
“Dad was nice, Mom was mean,” Frankie said. “I always felt bad for Dad, even when I was little. Mom henpecked him, and he just took it, you know?”
Brawley had seen men like that before. An ugly thing that made no sense.
“Over the years, Mom broke Dad down. By the time I hit high school, he quit everything. Hunting, fishing. He even quit reading because it annoyed Mom. He had no friends, no hobbies, nothing. He worked all day, did the shopping and cooking and cleaning, then sat down and watched TV with Mom.”
Frankie had drilled down into herself, becoming a reserved but mostly normal kid. A little more sheltered than her friends, maybe. And definitely a little on the quiet side. She earned good grades without working too hard, despite a penchant for daydreaming. She would sit in class, half-listening, and doodle little hearts and stars in the margins of her papers.
Slowly and inadvertently, she started down a path toward replicating her parents’ lives. She met a nice guy, dated for a year, and got involved with extracurricular activities to bolster her academic resume.
And just like that, the future stretched predictably out before her: graduation, college, marriage, suburbia, everything nice and tidy. And she would never be more than a phone call away from a Xanax refill if she ever made the mistake of questioning her life choices.
Then her strand had opened, and everything changed.
Suddenly, she cared only for machines. She couldn’t pay attention in class. Instead, she hyper-focused on the classroom clock, picturing the internal mechanics and holding the shifting parts in her mind.
She no longer doodled hearts and stars. Now her margins were filled with cogs and gears and mechanical diagrams.
Unfortunately, so were her tests.
Needless to say, her academic performance crashed and burned.
“Mom blew a head gasket,” Frankie said. “I mean, she went totally nuts. Screaming and cursing, calling me a lazy slut, saying I sabotaged my grades just to hurt her. She whipped her wine glass across the kitchen, and it shattered off the cabinets.”
Frankie turned her face and pulled back her hair so he could see the small scar that ran alongside her eye. “It was crazy.”
The whole time, her punk-ass dad had stood there trying not to cry, letting his crazy wife scream all types of vile shit at his daughter.
“My dad is sweet but spineless. I love him, but I can’t respect him. Not after that night. I really needed him, you know? But he didn’t help me, even when Mom threw the glass and cut my face. He didn’t love me enough to man up and stop her.”
Brawley gripped the steering wheel tighter. It pissed him off, thinking of Frankie’s parents treating her that way.
“Next day, I walked into the principal’s office and quit school,” Frankie said. Her voice was flat. The memory hurt, Brawley knew, but he reckoned her tears dried up long ago. “I left a note for my parents, then hitchhiked north with fifty bucks and a backpack full of shit.”
Life on the road is hard on runaways. Soon, Frankie was out of money and out of options. No garage would give her a chance, but she refused to head back home and beg forgiveness from those who had driven her out.
Then she saw a sign for Cotter’s place, read the psi script, and walked to the yard to ask for work.
Cotter conned Frankie into signing a shitty contract, and she spent the next few years slaving away seven days a week.
“Until you saved me,” Frankie said, her bright smile barely
visible within the dark hair whipping around her head. She reached over to where he was gripping the stick shift and gave his hand a quick squeeze. “Thank you, Brawley.”
“I’m glad you came with us, darlin. I like having you around.”
“I’m glad, too.” Frankie showed him her dimples and turned away. “And I like it when you call me darlin.”
For a while, they were silent, rushing along the highway, barreling through shimmering heat across the hot, dry plain.
At the edge of Haboob, they stopped at the scrap yard and spent an hour gathering stuff Frankie needed.
Next, they went to Garcia’s Gun Shop, where Brawley spent $2500 on ammo and ordered a bunch more in bulk.
“What are you prepping for, Brawley, a range war?” Carlos Garcia asked, ringing him up.
“Nah,” Brawley said, “just a little plinking.”
Truth be told, if he had the cash, he’d buy ten times that much. Oh well. In time. In time.
From there, they went to Kaiser’s Hardware. Clerks and customers nodded to Brawley and said his name.
Frankie filled a shopping cart, pausing with each acquisition to ask again if Brawley was sure he didn’t mind.
“Darlin,” Brawley said, “you need something, get it. I’m going to work you like a mule.”
Frankie laughed. “Not sure how to take that, but thanks.”
They headed into the back so Brawley could price out building supplies. He didn’t have the money to build everything he wanted yet, but he reckoned he might could get the house framed, anyway. The sooner they had a proper home, the better.
Behind the counter, Dave Kaiser raised a pudgy hand in greeting. A smile came onto Dave’s jowly face, lifting the droopy walrus mustache and crinkling starburst wrinkles at the corners of his kind eyes.
Seeing him, Brawley got one hell of a shock.
Brawley had known Dave all his life, and the man looked much the same as ever. He wore his trademark suspenders, and his pocket protector was jammed full of pens and pencils like always.
But there was one remarkable exception. Dave Kaiser was radiating a strong aura of crackling yellow force.
“Brawley Hayes,” Dave said. “Always a pleasure. And bless my soul, you seem to be in the company of an angel.”
Frankie laughed. “Hi.”
But then Dave’s eyes widened, and he bowed deeply. “Not just an angel but a woman who knows her way around machines, I reckon.”
Brawley kicked himself for never deepening Frankie’s cloak. As is, it blocked anyone searching for her, muted her identity, and blurred her strength. But he needed to lock her down tight like the other girls.
Not that Brawley was worried about Dave. He knew the man and trusted him. And it occurred to Brawley then that having a friendly and trustworthy psi mage so close to home might prove valuable.
He deepened Frankie’s cloak and momentarily thinned his own a touch, letting a hint of Seeker force shine through before closing it back up.
“If you don’t mind me saying so, Brawley, you seem… different.” Dave looked around, verified that they were alone, and leaned forward, squinting a bit. “Are you…?”
Brawley nodded. “I’m a Seeker, Dave. Newly minted. But let’s keep that between us.”
Dave’s deep belly laugh stretched on and on until he wiped tears from his eyes. “The wonders never cease. Son, you are the only other psi mage I’ve ever met in Haboob. Well, native that is.” He laughed happily, shoved a boxy hand over the counter, and shook Brawley’s hand enthusiastically. “Is that how you rode all them bulls?”
“No, sir,” Brawley said. “In fact, I only just cracked my strand.” He considered adding that he never would’ve opened his strand if Aftershock hadn’t broken his neck. But he thought better of it. Such information would only make a Seeker like Dave curious, and the man might could start asking some difficult questions.
“Well, better late than never, as they say,” Dave said.
Brawley introduced Frankie and said she’d be doing some work for him.
Dave, in the custom of the country, did not pry into Brawley’s personal affairs. “Well, young lady, if you finish up at Brawley’s and want more work, you’ll sure enough find it here. Folks in these parts have a heck of a time with broken down equipment. Myself among them. I’m down a delivery truck as we speak. Busted last week. And the big chipper is on its last legs.”
“If you work it out with my employer,” Frankie said, nodding to Brawley, “I’ll be happy to help.”
“Much obliged,” Dave told her. Smiling, he slapped a hand on the counter. “Brawley Hayes. Just can’t get over it. What can I do for you, son?”
Brawley explained he wanted to set up a workshop for Frankie and start building a house on the ranch.
Frankie mentioned other things she wanted for the workshop and shared her plans to make the ranch energy independent. She needed a decent solar panel, a large capacitor, and lots of wire.
Dave was intrigued. “I’ll give you all of that for free, Brawley, if y’all’ll come over to my place and set up a similar system.”
“You got yourself a deal,” Brawley said.
Next, Dave asked several questions about the workshop and house then walked them through different options.
They could get her up and running right away, Dave said. He would order the other items and pick them up in two days during the weekly run to El Paso.
“I know it’s unlikely,” Frankie said, “but do you carry Kevlar?”
Dave shook his head. “No call for Kevlar out here, miss. I might could special order it, though. What are you fixing to do?”
Frankie looked uncertain, so Brawley stepped in. “She wants to bulletproof some vehicles.”
Frankie nodded. “Without weighing them down.”
“In that case,” Dave said, a sly smile coming onto his face, “I recommend you forget Kevlar and follow me.”
He led them through a locked door into a storage room Brawley had never seen before. The rear of the room was roped off. Dave let them through and pulled a gray tarp from a tall, mysterious pile.
“Bio-plate,” he said with a grin.
Frankie’s jaw dropped. “Really?”
Dave nodded. “Really. Go ahead and touch it, miss.”
“What’s bio-plate?” Brawley asked, staring at the stacked sheets of dull gray metal. The 4x8 sheets looked very thin, perhaps 1/16th of an inch.
“The strongest, lightest metal on earth,” Dave said, “or should I say not on earth.”
Frankie laughed then cooed with awe as she touched the bio-plate. Beneath her light caress, the sheet warbled. Impact rings spread away across the metallic surface.
“I’ve never actually seen bio-plate before,” Frankie said.
“Neither had I,” Dave said. “It’s rarer than hen’s teeth.”
“It’s so beautiful,” Frankie said, her voice full of awe. “And really, really expensive.”
Dave shrugged. “True. But worth every penny if you have the means.”
Whatever the hell bio-plate was, Brawley liked the affect it was having on the beautiful Gearhead. Her face glowed with amazement.
“Incredible stuff,” Dave told Brawley. “You can see how thin it is, I reckon. But that’s not all. Watch this.”
Pinching the corner of a 4x8, Dave flicked his wrist. The bio-plate rippled like silk before settling back into placid, rectangular rigidity.
“Light as silk, stronger than steel,” Dave said. “You can’t stretch it, but until it’s in place, you can cut it with kitchen scissors. Shape it any which way you want, and it’ll harden to form. Kind of like Tyvek wrap… if Tyvek was bulletproof. It’s out of this world. Literally.”
Dave explained that bio-plate was mined in another dimension and transported to this plane of existence via semi-legal Cosmic avenues. A living substance on the order of coral, bio-plate was symbiotic by nature. Once mined, psychic receptors within the material detected the will of the shaping f
orce and hardened on command.
Brawley reached out to pinch a sheet between his thumb and forefinger. It was thin as the silk sheets they’d picked up from Sean. “And this is bulletproof?”
Dave nodded, glowing with excitement. “And then some. You couldn’t penetrate it with a bazooka round.”
“How expensive are we talking?” Brawley asked.
“A thousand a sheet for the 4x8s. That’s a cut-rate for you, Brawley. And don’t let it get around that I’m offering it, or I’ll end up in a shallow grave out in the desert.”
Brawley sensed truth behind the joke.
“What are you doing with bio-plate out here in the middle of nowhere?” Frankie asked.
Dave made a face like he’d swallowed a wad of tobacco. “Got an outfit that moved in recently that’s been going through a lot of it. Money’s no object with these fellas, and they want what they want, so I drove up to Amarillo and set up regular shipments. Like I said, this is strictly between us. I don’t reckon these old boys would cotton to my selling to others. You might know the type. No sense of humor.”
“Blanton Cherry’s crew?” Brawley guessed.
Dave bounced his snowy eyebrows. “Well, well, well. You really are a Seeker, Brawley Hayes.”
“What’s Cherry up to, anyway?” Brawley asked.
Dave shrugged. “Buying up West Texas. Beyond that, I don’t know and don’t want to know.”
“Don’t want to know?” Brawley said. “With all due respect, sir, I have to say that kindly surprises me, coming from a Seeker.”
“They’re bad apples,” Dave said. “Even if I was curious, Cherry has the whole operation locked down. You try Seeking, you’ll come up with a whole lot of nothing… except maybe a hole in the head.”
“You got no idea what they’re up to?” Brawley said.
“Not even a suspicion, son,” Dave said. “I been worried about your Pa, though. Cherry’s taking over ranch after ranch, eating them up east to west, and your Pa’s land is next in line.”
“Cherry’s offering Pa twice what it’s worth.”
“Tell your Pa to take the money. I don’t think Cherry’s a man who takes no for an answer.”