Free Black Stallion's Shadow by Steven Farley Page A

Rotasky stepped forward. The driver folded his arms across his chest and smirked in the background.
    â€œMs. Taylor, I’m here on behalf of the Club Sagebrush Members Association. The noise produced by your film crew has brought about several complaints by residents. We’ve talked about this before. It’s got to stop.”
    â€œPlease let me explain …”
    â€œIf you people keep carrying on this way, we’ll never sell the rest of our units. You’re scaring off prospective buyers. I’m afraid this must serve as our last warning before—”
    The screen door flew open. Wes came out onto the porch brandishing a double-barreled shotgun. He looked like a character out of an old Western. His face twisted into a menacing snarl.
    â€œAnd I’m telling you one last time, Rotasky. I don’tgive a damn about you and your prospective buyers.”
    Wes waved his shotgun in the air. A wild gleam sparkled in his eyes. “Get off my land. And take your goon with you. Go on. Git!”
    Rotasky stared at the gun and back-stepped to the car, his legs trembling. “What the … Are you crazy?” he cried.
    Ellie gasped. Diving past Alec, she ran up onto the porch. “Put that thing down!” she cried. She stepped in front of Wes and then pushed him back through the doorway. Rotasky took the opportunity to escape inside his car. The thug in the sunglasses ducked into the driver’s seat and started the engine.
    Ellie came outside and pulled the door closed behind her. Her face had turned slightly pale. Catching her breath, she stepped down off the porch. Rotasky lowered his window, keeping an eye on the kitchen door. “You’ll be hearing from our lawyers about this, Ms. Taylor,” he called. “That man should be in an institution.”
    Ellie called an apology after Rotasky. “Sorry, Mr. Rotasky. He’s just been under a lot of …”
    The black Mercedes spun its tires in the dirt and sped down the driveway. Wes poked his nose out the door. Ellie turned to him. “Are you trying to land yourself in jail or what?”
    â€œAw, it wasn’t loaded. Besides, it ain’t illegal to chase someone off your property. Damn Rotasky and his yard-proud tenants. Why don’t they move back to Beverly Hills where they belong?”
    Wes stepped toward his truck. “Okay, folks,” he said. “I have to get over to the production office at the studio.”
    Ellie nodded to the house. “You’re leaving the gun here, right?”
    Wes gave a mischievous smile. “Of course. Want to come along, Alec?”
    â€œI think I’ll stay here. Thanks. Ah, about the Black …”
    Wes raised his hand. “We’ll get to it later.”
    â€œLater,” echoed Alec. He couldn’t help sounding disappointed. Once and for all, he wanted to know if Wes could help the Black.
    Wes picked up a leather briefcase from the office and then walked out to his truck.
    â€œYour grandfather do that often?” Alec asked Ellie after Wes left. “Pull guns on people?”
    Ellie shook her head. “No, but then, he really can’t stand it when Rotasky brings that chauffeur or bodyguard or whatever he is around here. That guy is just a thug.”
    They walked over to the porch and sat down.
    â€œIf you ask me,” Ellie continued, “we’re the ones who should be filing the complaint.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œI don’t think that generator fire was an accident.”
    â€œWhat are you saying? You think someone set it intentionally? Why’d anyone want to do that?”
    â€œIt’s a long story. The bottom line is that we could lose our
Drover Days
contract if things keep screwing up around here. Without that money, we’d start missing loan payments and be forced to sell out. Rotasky would love that. He’s trying to buy up the whole canyon.”
    Alec had