Slim Pickings in Fat Chance, Texas

by Bonaduce, Celia

  “What else is new?” Old Bertha asked no one in particular.

  “So now what?” Fernando asked. “I go back to standing in the middle of Main Street and hope for a signal?”

  “You could,” Pappy said. “Or you could walk to Spoonerville. But you won’t get there till after dark.” Pappy looked down at Fernando’s boots. “If you could get there at all.”

  “So I’m marooned?”

  “Just for the night,” Pappy said. “I’m sure I’ll have the bus working by tomorrow.”

  Fernando gasped. “I can’t believe this is happening to me.”

  “Exactly what is happening to you, young fella?” Pappy asked. “It’s my bus that’s broken down, not yours.”

  “Fine,” Fernando said. “I’ll stay the night and then leave in the morning.”

  “OK then,” Pappy said. “I’ll go tell the troops that the trip to Spoonerville is postponed.”

  “Just till tomorrow, right?”

  “Just till tomorrow.” Pappy turned to Old Bertha. “Jumpy little guy, isn’t he?”

  Fernando watched Pappy walk onto the boardwalk. He took a few deep breaths. “Well, Miss Bertha, what do you charge for a room over at the boardinghouse?”

  “How much do you pay for a room at a boardinghouse where you’re from?” she asked.

  CHAPTER 6

  “Poor thing,” Titan said. “He must have just freaked out when you told him the bus was down.”

  “Yep,” Pappy said. “You’d think it was the end of the world—like he was a hostage or something.”

  “Well, isn’t he?” Titan said. “Can you imagine being stuck in Fat Chance against your will?”

  “Culture shock is good for the system,” Powderkeg said, shoulder deep in the engine of the Volkswagen. “He’ll be fine.”

  Powderkeg, Titan, and Pappy huddled around the battered VW bus on the turnout about Fat Chance. The bus hadn’t been down the trail in years. Pappy couldn’t remember if that was due to the trail finally washing out, the age and condition of the bus, or a combination of both. While Powderkeg clanked around in the rear engine compartment, Pappy started tightening the straps of the canvas he’d stretched over the VW’s roofline. The roof had rusted away years before. Pappy improvised, making the thing look like a combination Conestoga wagon and avant-garde art instillation. The Fat Chancers all called it the Covered Volkswagen.

  “Stop rocking the boat,” Powderkeg’s muffled voice said from deep in the engine.

  Pappy reluctantly stopped fidgeting.

  “How’s everything lookin’ in there?” Pappy peered over Powderkeg’s shoulder into the rear compartment that housed the ancient engine.

  “Should be OK now,” Powderkeg said. “Not sure this fan belt will hold though. It looks as old as the one I replaced.”

  “You know parts are hard to come by,” Pappy said. “I bought a box of spare fan belts so I wouldn’t run short.”

  “When?” Powderkeg studied the broken belt in his hands.

  Pappy shrugged. “I don’t know. Twenty years ago?”

  “Yeah,” Powderkeg said. “Knock yourself out and buy some new ones. Rubber dries up over time.”

  “Don’t we all?” Titan said.

  “Anyway,” Pappy said, “tomorrow, while we’re in Spoonerville, I’ll order some new belts.”

  “Just enough for two years,” Powderkeg said. “Let’s not go crazy.”

  Pappy looked up at the sky, a worried expression on his face.

  “What’s up, Pappy?” Powderkeg asked.

  “I was just wondering about that biplane,” Pappy said. “I haven’t seen it around these parts in quite awhile.”

  “We’ve never seen it,” Powderkeg said, squinting upwards. “And we’ve been here a year.”

  “That’s Mikie’s plane from the Rolling Fork Ranch,” Pappy said. “It’s usually only up there if some livestock are missing.”

  “I can’t believe a ranch the size of the Rolling Fork hasn’t lost any livestock in a year,” Titan said.

  “I’m sure this is a last-ditch effort,” Powderkeg said. “It’s not cheap to fly a plane like that.”

  “You got that right,” Pappy said. “This must be something big.”

  The men returned their attention to the VW. As the shadows started to lengthen, Powderkeg started packing his toolkit.

  “Crap,” Powderkeg muttered. “I don’t see my 3/8 inch spark plug socket. Titan, can you . . . Titan?”

  Powderkeg looked up to see Titan staring at the sky. Powderkeg and Pappy exchanged a confused look—the sky was clear.

  “What are you looking at, son?” Pappy asked.

  “It’s been quiet for at least an hour,” Titan said.

  “What do you mean?” Powderkeg asked.

  “There’s been no sign of the plane for over an hour,” Titan said. “That must mean they found whatever they were looking for, right?”

  “It’s getting on to dusk,” Pappy said. “It might just mean they’re giving up for the night.”

  Powderkeg stood up from the VW engine as a pickup truck pulled into the turnout.

  “Speak of the devil,” Pappy said. “That’s Mikie’s truck.”

  “Who’s Mikie?” asked Powderkeg just as the pickup’s door swung open.

  “You know,” Pappy said impatiently, shooting a glance at a worried-looking Titan while pointing to the sky. “The pilot.”

  The door blocked Titan, Powderkeg, and Pappy’s view of Mikie, except for weather-beaten leather boots, topped with boot-cut jeans, landing in the dust. Then Mikie stepped out from behind the door.

  She had wheat-colored hair, which she’d tied up in a ponytail and thrust through the back of her black baseball cap. She wore an untucked white cotton T-shirt that fluttered in the breeze. Powderkeg tried to close the long-gone engine compartment door as Mikie approached, and caught his finger in the process. Titan started to coo over Powderkeg’s cracked fingernail, but Powderkeg gave him a warning look that said he wasn’t about to look like a sissy in front of this woman.

  “Hey, Mikie,” Pappy said. “Long time no see.”

  “Hi, Pap,” Mikie said, coming over and giving Pappy a hug. “Well, Dodge isn’t exactly ready to throw out the welcome mat for you guys.”

  Powderkeg noted the suntanned crinkles around the woman’s eyes, guessing her to be in her forties. A little young perhaps for his sixty-three years, but stranger things have happened. After all, he was in pretty good shape, if he did say so himself.

  “Dodge doesn’t own the Rolling Fork,” Pappy said. “He just runs the store at Spoonerville. What do I care what he thinks?”

  “What do you care what anybody thinks, Pappy?” Mikie said, giving Pappy another hug.

  “How about an introduction, Pappy?” Powderkeg said, doing his best casual cowboy-lean on the gate.

  “Oh sure, sure,” Pappy said. “Powderkeg, Titan, this is Lacey Carmichael. We call her Mikie. She’s a pilot for the Rolling Fork. Mikie, meet Powderkeg. He does some carpentry and leather work. And Titan, who works our forge . . . and makes earrings.”

  “And bowls and platters,” Titan added, offering his hand, which Mikie took in a firm handshake.

  “I’ve seen your work in a store down in Dripping Springs, haven’t I?” Mikie said. Then she turned to Powderkeg. “And I’ve seen your stuff down there too. You make belts, right?”

  “That’s right,” Powderkeg said, impressed.

  “I bought one.” Mikie gathered the hem of her T-shirt to expose the waistline of her jeans. She revealed a hand-tooled leather belt with a filigree buckle. Powderkeg also caught a glimpse of a pierced belly button—and Titan caught a glimpse of him catching a glimpse.

  “We were just talking about you,” Pappy said as Mikie smoothed the hem of her T-shirt. “Seems like you were pretty busy this afternoon.”

  “Yeah,” Mikie said, her eyebrows furrowing. “It’s Rocket.”

  “He got out again?” Pappy asked disapprovingly.

/>   “Rocket is Dodge’s prized longhorn,” Mikie explained to Powderkeg and Titan. “A real escape artist.”

  “He’s like Houdini,” Pappy said. “With horns.”

  “Rocket is a prized stud,” Mikie said. “The Rolling Fork is happy to keep him around. The problem is, he keeps jumping the fence.”

  “Did you find him?” Titan asked.

  “Nope.” Mikie shook her head. “Looked for hours. I’ll start again in the morning.”

  “Will he be all right?” Titan asked, his voice rising.

  “Probably,” Mikie said. “He’s big and mean, so he’s got that going for him. But if his horns are stuck in some brush or in a tree, he won’t be able to fight off any predators.”

  “Dodge isn’t going to like that news,” Pappy said.

  “I know,” Mikie said with a slow smile. “Why do you think I’m driving around instead of telling him?”

  Pappy chortled—a sound that startled both Titan and Powderkeg.

  Mikie dug into the rear pocket of her jeans and pulled out a well-creased map. She leaned over the back of the bus next to Pappy. Powderkeg tried to study the map instead of the jeans.

  “We followed his regular path. It’s always led us to him before, but this time there was no sign of him. There’s lots of places we won’t see him from the sky . . . especially down here near the rock spurs.” Mikie traced a path going east from her starting point. “It’s mucky down there and difficult to navigate. If that’s where he is, he either can’t get out or doesn’t want to. Either way, we’re going to have to do some hardcore hiking in the morning.”

  “He’ll be all alone tonight?” Titan asked.

  “Afraid so,” Mikie said. “Look. I gotta get some sleep if I’m going to start this hunt all over again tomorrow.”

  “We’ll keep our eyes open,” Pappy said.

  “Nice meeting you, gentlemen,” Mikie said.

  “Likewise.” Powderkeg lifted his sweat-stained hat to reveal a full head of russet hair plastered to his head.

  “Hat hair, hat hair,” Titan whispered, putting his huge hand over the crown of Powderkeg’s hat and smoothing it back on his friend’s head.

  Powderkeg and Pappy watched Mikie’s long legs and tight butt as she headed back to the truck. Suddenly, she bent over, giving the men an even better view. She stood up, turned back, and faced them. She threw something to Powderkeg. He caught it.

  “Somebody lose a 3/8 inch spark plug socket?” she asked.

  They watched her drive away.

  “I’ll say this for her,” Powderkeg said. “That woman can pack a pair of jeans.”

  Titan looked at her jeans, head cocked in artistic contemplation. Mikie turned back to them suddenly and the men’s eyes darted to their feet.

  “Oh, Pappy, I almost forgot,” she said. “That special delivery you had sent over to the store? It’s there.”

  “That’s great news,” Pappy said. “I’ll be over in the morning to pick it up.”

  “I would,” Mikie said. “Dodge wasn’t all too happy when it arrived.”

  “Understood.” Pappy tried not to smile. He didn’t really care if Dodge was happy or not.

  “You should say something to her before she gets away,” Titan whispered to Powderkeg.

  “What should I say?” Powderkeg asked, watching as Mikie headed to the truck again.

  “I don’t know. But she’s leaving again, so you better think of something.”

  “Hey, Mikie,” Powderkeg called.

  Mikie had already opened the truck door and had one booted heel on the running board of the battered truck. She looked at Powderkeg expectantly. So did Titan and Pappy.

  “I know your name is Lacey Carmichael,” Powderkeg said. “But why would a pretty girl like you want to be called Mikie?”

  Mikie’s expectant half-smile disappeared and then so did she. In an instant, she was in the truck, driving away.

  “Did I say something wrong?” Powderkeg asked.

  “Women these days—especially accomplished pilots—don’t exactly want to be referred to as “pretty girls,” Pappy said. “I’m an old man who’s lived in a ghost town for thirty years. How come I know that and you don’t?”

  Powderkeg stared after the cloud of dust, which was all that remained of Lacey Carmichael’s visit.

  He turned back to see Titan starting down the trail into Fat Chance. “Whoa, Titan. What’s the rush?”

  Titan turned around, his face stricken. “I can’t just let that poor cow stay out all night. I’m going to go look for him.”

  Powderkeg and Pappy watched as Titan rounded the bend in the trail.

  “Let’s hope Rocket takes more kindly to being called a cow than Mikie did to being called a pretty girl,” Powderkeg said sourly.

  Night was moments away. Titan was worried he’d never find Rocket before the entire landscape was pitched into darkness. He stood stock-still, hoping to hear any sound that might indicate a six-hundred-pound bull was in distress. But he only heard the rushing of the creek. He looked toward a small grove of cedar trees upstream, then up at the sky. It was certainly possible that if Rocket got himself tangled in the branches of a cedar, Mikie would have missed him when she flew overhead. As the sun continued its plummet, Titan took a deep breath and headed toward the trees. It was his only hope.

  Titan entered the grove. The branches of the trees seemed knitted together, forming a canopy of shadows. In the darkness, he thought he heard a faint rustle. He tried to keep his heart still. As his eyes adjusted to the low light, he saw the bull.

  And the bull saw him.

  “You doing OK, fella?” Titan asked.

  Rocket snorted and shook his horns, which rattled in the branches. Titan was ashamed of himself for being relieved the bull was caught fast. Trying to slow his heart, he took a step toward the bull. Without breaking eye contact, Rocket bellowed.

  “Okay, okay,” Titan said, taking a step back. “We’ll take this slowly.”

  Titan wasn’t sure what to do. Obviously, Rocket didn’t want him to come any closer. But Titan couldn’t imagine that the bull wanted Titan to leave, either. One thing was clear: Rocket was distressed.

  “So, you’re Rocket,” Titan said, hoping the bull would calm down when he got used to Titan’s voice. “I’m Titan.”

  Rocket lowed, but this time didn’t shake his horns. Titan took this as a good sign.

  “Your people are worried about you, you know. I guess if I belonged to Dodge, I’d run away too. Did you know that he tried to trick us into losing our town? He thinks because it used to belong to his family a hundred years ago, he should own it now. But life just doesn’t work that way.”

  He tried to take another step forward, but Rocket snorted again.

  “I mean, I lost something more important than a town. I lost my mom when I was just a kid. My mom was a singer—she was super famous. Mama was a great dancer, but not a great singer. Cutthroat Clarence, the guy who left this town to us, worked with my mom. I was too young to know any of this, but Cutthroat and his people tried to make it seem like my mom was singing in concerts when she wasn’t. My mom wanted to tell the truth when she got nominated for a Grammy, but Cutthroat said no, there was too much at stake. He felt guilty because my mom got hit by a car after she got caught lip-synching. She died. That’s why he left me a building here in Fat Chance.”

  Titan could hear Rocket’s hooves scratching at the ground, but it didn’t sound threatening. He hoped he was reading this right. He wasn’t really up on bull behavior.

  “Just shows you the different ways you can handle things,” he continued. “Dodge just figures since his family owned the town, he’s owed the town. Cutthroat could have never given me another thought, but he tried to make things right. And I’m going to make something of myself here, I know it. Not for Cutthroat, you know, but for my mom.”

  It had gotten so dark in the cedar grove that Titan could only catch sight of Rocket’s majestic horns flashing now and th
en in the moonlight. He could still hear the bull breathing, but the head shaking and snorting had stopped entirely. It was getting cold standing so near the creek. Titan felt it was time to make his move. He inched closer.

  “I make horseshoes,” he said. “I know you don’t need any, but I come around the Rolling Fork and Spoonerville from time to time. I could come visit you.”

  Titan carefully stretched out his hand and laid it on the longhorn’s shoulder, which Titan knew was called the “crop.” The bull didn’t move.

  “That’s a good boy.” He gingerly released some of the tangled branches. “Wow, these trees have got you good.”

  Rocket remained still.

  “Too bad we’re here alone in the dark.” Titan quickly but gently liberated a little more of Rocket’s left horn. “This would make a great YouTube video. You know, like the guy who rescued the whale from a jumble of fishing gear. The great part was, the whale didn’t kill the man who was saving him. He just let the human help him. When the whale was free, he jumped around in the ocean, thanking the human with a big thump of his tail before he went on his way.”

  Titan wasn’t sure if Rocket was getting the subtext, but it was worth a shot. The longhorn was almost free. There was one more stubborn branch. Titan didn’t see any way around it. He would have to break the branch, which might startle the bull. But there didn’t seem to be any other option. He grabbed the branch with both hands and snapped it in two. In an instant, Rocket was free.

  The bull was startled, but didn’t move forward. He shook his head violently, and then snorted at Titan. Titan swallowed as Rocket leaned his head from side to side, making sure he was completely unencumbered. Titan stood, frozen, with the offending tree branch in his hands. He knew that he was at the mercy of the bull. He remembered hearing something about bulls not being as docile as the castrated steers. Titan thought this seemed backwards; he thought losing your testicles would piss any animal off big-time. But this was not the case and Titan was now standing head to head with a testosterone-laden longhorn.

  “Remember the whale I was talking about?”

  Rocket suddenly seemed to snap out of his contemplation. He snorted, shook his head violently, and ran out of the grove. Titan knew the bull would find his way home.