Holding Their Own: The Toymaker

by Joe Nobody

  “At least shoulder-fired weapons,” added the other lawman.

  “I see,” Bishop nodded. “The last time I was in town, that wasn’t the case. I appreciate you two gentlemen letting me know. Next time I’ll leave it back at the room.”

  “Are you staying at the Manor, sir?”

  That did it, Bishop’s temper going from a slow simmer to medium boil. Technically, he was a sworn Texas Ranger, even though the honorary award had been mostly for public morale and ceremony. But that didn’t matter. It didn’t make a difference if he was a king or a pawn, the two lawmen were crossing the line. “This is becoming intrusive, guys. Where I’m staying is none of your business. Now is there anything else before I continue on my way?”

  “Let’s see some ID, please,” came the command, both deputies now becoming agitated.

  “ID? Are you shitting me? Did I just wake up on another planet or something? I haven’t had any ID since the world went to hell in a handbasket. You do know we had an apocalypse – right? I’m positive I wasn’t just dreaming about the collapse of society.”

  “The Alliance will accept expired identification created before the event, although we highly recommend every citizen procure new documentation in Alpha or any of the other government centers.”

  Shaking his head, Bishop responded, “And how much does new documentation cost?”

  “A driver’s license is $10, sir. An ID card is $5. Our orders are to issue a warning to operators of motorized vehicles and a strong suggestion to all others. In a few more months, we’ll start issuing citations that will carry a $50 fine.”

  “Orders? And who might have issued those stupid-ass orders?”

  “Sheriff Watts, sir. By order of the council.”

  Bishop felt like his head was about to explode. Yes, he’d been secluded at the ranch for several months, but had everything really changed so much, so quickly? “Well, why don’t you get on your radio and ask the good sheriff to come down here and ask me for my fucking ID personally? And while you’re at it, you might want to advise him to bring a bunch of reinforcements. This is ridiculous, gentlemen. I know the man personally, and I ain’t buying this line of crap for one second. Better yet, let’s get Diana down here and let her ask me for my ID.”

  They didn’t like his response, not one bit. Both of their postures snapped stiff as if they were expecting trouble. “There’s no need to get aggressive, sir,” one of the cops stated while the other moved to flank Bishop’s position. The tactically-thinking officer’s hand dropped closer to his sidearm.

  “You’ve not even begun to see aggressive, pal. While I appreciate the job you’re trying to do, there’s a limit to…” Bishop began. But he never got a chance to finish.

  “Well, Lord have mercy, look what the cat dragged into town,” a booming voice rang out from across the street.

  The Texan looked up to see Pete crossing the pavement.

  “Pete!” Bishop smiled, seeming to forget about the two officers. “Damn, it’s good to see you.”

  Meraton’s barkeep, mayor, and council representative hustled the last few steps, accepting Bishop’s extended hand and pumping it vigorously. “How the hell are you?” he grinned. “What are you doing here? You brought that beautiful wife of yours along, didn’t you?”

  The two cops stood by, mildly surprised that the stranger was receiving such a warm greeting from one of the Alliance’s leading citizens.

  “I was just having a friendly discussion with the local law enforcement,” Bishop answered, nodding toward the two officers. “Things certainly have changed in Meraton since I was here last.”

  Pete turned toward the two deputies and said, “Do you know who this man is?”

  “No,” responded the senior of the two, “We were just coming to that.”

  Pete, noting the small crowd of gawkers that had gathered, shook his head. Wanting to avoid a public spectacle, he stepped close to the lawman and lowered his voice, “Have you ever heard of Bishop and Terri?”

  “Of course I have,” the cop answered. “Who hasn’t?”

  “Then you should introduce yourselves and be polite. Officers, may I introduce Bishop,” Pete said, pointing toward the Texan.

  The two deputies didn’t seem all that impressed. “Councilman, we’re just following orders. This man claims to be a citizen but is carrying a long gun and refuses to show any identification or cooperate with us.”

  Pete sighed, “It’s okay, guys. I’ll vouch for him. He’s one of the white hats and has served the Alliance well.”

  The two officers didn’t like it but backed down. With a curt, “Have a good day,” they moved off, casually strolling back toward their patrol car.

  Pete and Bishop continued on toward the bar, the local politician nodding and exchanging greetings as they passed through the gathered citizens of Meraton. When they were finally out of earshot, the mayor turned and teased his old friend, “Please tell me you weren’t about to start a fight with the local authorities?”

  “Those guys were getting under my skin pretty quick,” Bishop responded honestly. “They had more than a toe over the line.”

  “They’ve been given a nearly impossible job. We want law and order, yet everyone wants to protect personal liberty. If you had been a vagabond looking for trouble, most folks would be glad they had crossed that line.”

  “What’s all this bullshit about ID cards and driver’s licenses?”

  “New rules and laws. The people want order and civilization. They demand we make the Alliance a safer place to live, and the only way the council could address those concerns was to bring back some of the bureaucracy of the old times.”

  Bishop rubbed his chin, deep in thought. “I can’t argue that, but it seems like it’s all happening so quickly. I’d think trying to get things back to where they were in a big rush would open up the door to a lot of mistakes.”

  “I don’t disagree,” Pete responded, “But three weeks ago some drunk drove his pickup into a crowd of people up in Midland Station. Killed eight folks, including two children, who were waiting in line for shaved ice. It ends up the driver had walked away from prison after the collapse. He’d been serving 20 years for a string of DUIs and vehicular homicide. No one knew.”

  Bishop cringed, “Ouch. That sucks.”

  “As word of the Alliance’s recovery spreads around, we’ve got every crook, con, nomad, carpetbagger, and criminal making their way to Texas. Some of them think it’s still every man for himself, like most of the country. Others think things are business as normal… complete recovery back to the way things were, and that there are banks to rob and wealthy homes to burglarize. We’ve got bathtub gin factories putting out poison liquor that has already killed dozens and dozens of folks. We’ve got meth labs opening up all around south Dallas. Sexually transmitted diseases are near epidemic levels. Hell, I’ve talked to women who would’ve never even considered prostituting themselves, but found sex for food was their only choice to survive.”

  Bishop shook his head, remembering some of the situations Terri and he had encountered on their bugout.

  Pete went on, “So the people want cops. They want big, mean, nasty police officers who can deal with everything from a marauding band of scroungers to a pack of rabid dogs. They want the streets cleaned up, and they want to go to bed at night without a shotgun sharing their pillow. That equates to having driver’s licenses to pay the officer’s salaries and to help them maintain order. We have identification cards for the same reasons. The council couldn’t come up with any other solution.”

  “Next thing you know, I’ll be paying property taxes again and having to fill out all those complex forms in April,” Bishop said.

  “That’s already in the works, I’m sorry to say. Government isn’t free. We’re going to try and keep it as streamlined and minimal as possible, but maintaining rule of law is very, very expensive. We are going to implement a sales tax next month.”

  They arrived at Pete’s Place, th
e sound of the crowd drifting out to the sidewalk. “Sounds like business is strong, my old friend,” Bishop commented, happy to change the subject.

  “We’ve expanded the place a bit. I had to hire a few employees as well.”

  Pete opened the door, a cloud of smoke and laughter escaping through the opening. The place was packed, filled with the noise of people interacting with each other while enjoying a libation.

  Holding out his hand, Pete said, “Why don’t you let me keep your rifle behind the bar? I trust you with my life, Bishop, but we have a lot of new faces in town, and they don’t know you from Adam, or Attila the Hun, or Pol Pot.”

  Nodding his understanding, Bishop handed his carbine over. He didn’t like it. Felt naked without it. But it was Pete’s establishment, and the last thing he wanted to do was hurt their friendship.

  While Bishop’s eyes adjusted to the low light and air thick with pipe and cigar smoke, Pete went on ahead, working his way through the crowded room and exchanging pleasantries with his customers.

  “What’ll ya have?” came a voice from behind the bar.

  Bishop looked up to see a familiar face. “Butter? What? Shit, fire, and cornbread, son! What are you doing tending bar?”

  “Mr. Bishop? Well, I’ll be. It’s good to see you, sir!” responded Terri’s former bodyguard. “Is Miss Terri in town with you?”

  “Yes, she is, and I know she’ll be absolutely thrilled to see you. I’ll have a cold beer, please.”

  Pete appeared beside his helper, nodding toward the lacquer colored liquid Butter was pouring. “I’ve got three micro-breweries in operation now. One here in Meraton, one outside of Dallas, and a third just opening up between Austin and San Antonio.”

  “Wow, Pete, that’s great. Soon you’ll be a chain,” Bishop responded, genuinely pleased his friend was doing well.

  Butter spoke up, his voice full of pride. “Mr. Nick is training me to become a member of a SAINT team. I’m working here part time until I’m ready to go on an operation.”

  “You’ll do great,” Bishop said, sipping his beer. “It looks like the whole town is just growing like a weed.”

  Pete nodded, “There are two new restaurants opening up, and they’re going to serve my wine. We’ve got a new cigar factory and a gunsmith as well. Things are really looking up.”

  “I hear they’re opening an ammunition factory over by Houston,” Butter added.

  “And a new gasoline refinery in Beaumont is supposed to come online soon,” Pete continued. “The council has been working really hard on that project. With fuel at $20 per gallon, a lot of people haven’t been able to drive or can’t move to find work. That’ll all change pretty soon and make the recovery even stronger.”

  “And then we’ll have traffic jams,” Bishop mumbled, his mind visualizing Main Street and honking cars.

  “How’s the ranch doing?” Pete asked.

  The question, combined with the shock and awe he was experiencing in Meraton, bottomed out Bishop’s already low mood. “Not so good,” he replied honestly.

  Pete, with decades of bartender savvy, detected the cloud behind Bishop’s eyes instantly. “Bishop, you know you’ve got friends all over the Alliance. If there’s anything I… or anyone else can do, don’t be too proud to ask.”

  Bishop managed a “Thank you, Pete,” before Butter’s face lit up in absolute delight. “Miss Terri!”

  All heads turned to see the new arrival, Bishop’s wife sashaying into the establishment like a refreshing, autumn breeze.

  She was wearing a simple black skirt, complete with sleeveless, snow white blouse that accented her smooth, tan skin. Bishop had never seen her look so beautiful.

  In a heartbeat, there were a dozen people crowding her, the throng wanting to say hello, and most receiving hugs. Bishop was sure a couple of the friendlier cowboys didn’t even know his wife but were merely jumping at the chance to embrace a gorgeous woman.

  Even Pete and Butter abandoned their posts from behind the bar, a situation that no one other than Bishop and his empty glass seemed to notice. Given his frame of mind, the complaint, “Can’t a man get a refill around here?” formed in his throat, but he quelled the words at the last moment.

  And then she was beside him at the bar, the smell of his wife’s hair and skin making it all better. “Hi cowboy,” she cooed, “come here often?”

  “No, but now that I know a stunning woman like you frequents this establishment, I’ll be here all the time.”

  “Buy a girl a drink?” she winked.

  “Barkeep!” Bishop barked, doing his best Western twang. “Whatever the lady desires.”

  Butter grinned, catching on to the game. “We’ve got some pretty good white wine, ma’am. Or something stronger if you’re in the mood.”

  “Wine sounds great, Butter,” she smiled.

  Bishop could see the twinkle in his wife’s eye, a sure sign Terri was enjoying all of the attention and social interaction. Even seated at the bar beside her husband, a constant stream of well-wishers made their way to her stool, many of them wanting to discuss the issues of the day… or their own personal problems… or their concerns about mutual acquaintances. Bishop was amazed at how deftly his bride handled the social mayhem, more than once glad it was Terri… and not he that had achieved celebrity status.

  The Texan was content just to watch, amazed at how gracefully she moved, spoke, and listened. Wars have been started over women like you, he thought. I’m truly blessed.

  He loved to study her, always amazed at some new facet of her personality she would allow him to see. Bishop had long realized that Terri’s attractiveness stemmed far deeper than just a pretty face and shapely figure. From day one, she’d been a looker, often turning men’s heads whenever they were in public places. But now, despite weathering society’s breakdown, childbirth, months with barely enough to eat, and mountains of stress, her beauty had blossomed and matured into something far more stirring.

  She had developed an inner confidence and poise that radiated warmth and compassion. She could make a person feel good about himself with a mere glance or rip a man’s soul to shreds with the wrath of her disapproval. Helen of Troy? No, Bishop thought. Eye candy didn’t get a woman into the same league, no matter how big of a war she started.

  There was a rare intellect within her, as sharp and pointed as any edged weapon, ready to be drawn and used at a moment’s notice. But she rarely brandished this advantage… and never for personal gain.

  Hatshepsut? Perhaps, considered the Texan, but so little was known of the Egyptian Pharaohs.

  She’s a hybrid, he decided. The foresight of Empress Suiko, the backbone of Maggie Thatcher, and the conniving appeal of Cleopatra.

  A slight commotion at the end of the bar distracted Bishop from his admiration.

  There was a large man raising his voice, often not a good mix with whiskey and a crowded bar. But Butter was there, already talking calmly to the big fellow, the two even exchanging a smile.

  And then suddenly, everyone was gathering around the pair. “What’s going on?” Terri asked, straining her neck to see over the throng of onlookers. Bishop pined for his rifle.

  “No idea, but it must be pretty interesting. It’s the first time since you came in that every male eye is looking someplace else.”

  Terri swatted her husband playfully on the arm. “Let’s go see,” she said, hopping down from her stool without waiting for a response.

  “Come on, man, Pete doesn’t mind. From Abilene to Marfa, I keep hearing about this unbelievably stout cowpoke who goes by the handle of ‘Butter.’ I drove down off of I-10 special just to meet ya.”

  “But I’m working,” Butter replied innocently. “I’d be glad to give you a shot after my shift’s done.”

  The crowd got into it then, a bolt of energy surging through the onlookers as they started voicing their support. “C’mon Butter, whoop his ass!”

  Pete, evidently drawn by the commotion, appeared from the back
room. “What’s up?”

  “This man wants to arm wrestle me, sir. I told him I was on the clock.”

  Rolling his eyes, Pete gave his employee permission. “Make it quick, Butter. It’s a full house tonight, and I’m still trying to finish the books from yesterday.”

  It seemed like the entire bar was eager for the contest, a table in the middle of the room cleared so the two titans could do battle. Bishop nudged Terri, indicating Pete at the end of the bar taking bets, stuffing money into a cigar box that had magically appeared from under the counter.

  The stranger had his supporters, several folks making wagers against the hometown favorite.

  “I’m going to bet on Butter,” Terri announced. “Give me some money.”

  “I’m not so sure that’s a good idea,” Bishop frowned. “That’s a hefty sized gent he’s facing, and I can tell he’s no softy.”

  “He doesn’t stand a chance against Butter,” Terri beamed with confidence. “Give me five bucks, please.”

  Noting he’d been reaching for his wallet more tonight than in the last two years, Bishop humored his wife, producing the bill. Terri was almost giddy as they waited in line to make the wager.

  And then it was time for the match, the two contestants removing their shirts and taking a seat.

  Pete, after stashing the overflowing cigar box, was evidently the starter and referee. “Join hands in the middle of the table. Your ass must remain in the seat, or you’re disqualified. Both feet must remain on the floor, or it’s over. Understand?”

  Terri clasped her hands together and yelled encouragement to her former bodyguard, “Go Butter! Take him down!”

  Once the two large hams were joined, Pete cupped his palms around the gladiators’ clasped hands and announced, “On the count of three.”

  As promised, Pete did the countdown and then withdrew his hold and stood back.

  Bishop knew enough to understand that the secret to arm wrestling was in the wrist and that getting the initial jump on your opponent was key. Evidently, both contestants understood this as well as the two men immediately tried to surprise the other with a burst of tremendous power.