Free It Came From Del Rio: Part One of the Bunnyhead Chronicles by Stephen Graham Jones Page A
Authors: Stephen Graham Jones
going to believe here?” I finally asked, then settled my eyes back on him.
He smiled a little.
“That ordnance?” he said, about the canisters bandoleered across my chest, draped now with moss.
“Suppositories,” I said, trying to play the game here. Or keep up at least. “Where am I?”
The hand stared at me and then, with his teeth, peeled some skin up from his lip, turned his head to spit it out. All without ever looking away from me.
“Let’s fast forward some,” he said. “I’ve got stuff needs doing before lunch, here.”
I nodded, sat back onto the submerged barrel. So long as I didn’t get out of the water, he wouldn’t know I didn’t have any boots. It would help in the coming negotiations, I was pretty sure.
“Fast forward then,” I said. “You work for Granger Mosely. He pays you — what? Seven-fifty a month?”
“Twelve hundred. Plus room and board.”
He was lying, prepping his side of the negotiating table too, but I smiled anyway, rubbed a bug or something from the side of my nose. “It’s not enough,” I shrugged, like this were the most obvious thing in Texas. “Unless you ... what’s the good word? Supplement? Moonlight?”
The hand was still just staring at me. No doubt he had a pistol in one of his saddlebags.
“This is a proposition then?” he said. “Like — like marriage. You want me to get in bed with you?”
“Let’s keep our clothes on if we can. But no, I’m not asking you to bend over here, if that’s the question. I’m just ... I guess it depends, really. Let me start over. You knew Sebby, right?”
This heated his eyes up a bit. He danced his horse up so its head was out over the water. It still wouldn’t drink, though.
“Why do you say that?” he hissed.
“No reason. Just — I liked him. And he was smart, Sebby was. Smart enough to, y’know, maybe suggest somebody get work on a certain ranch. It would make things easier down the road. And nobody’d be getting hurt, even. Just people finding work, families staying together, all that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Man. That’s a shame, yeah?”
“I don’t see any families, either.”
We stared at each other for maybe forty seconds, then. Finally he wheeled his horse around, whistled sharp for the cattle. They just moaned back.
I was smiling now.
He reined his horse back around, hard.
“I don’t know any Sebby,” he said, low and in Spanish again, like the windmill might be trying to listen here. “Not for two months, I don’t know any Sebby.”
Exactly. Two straight-money paychecks, with nothing on top.
“Nobody does anymore,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows to me, to be sure he was hearing this right.
I nodded, shrugged.
“Consider me the new Sebby,” I said.
“And why would I want to do that?”
“Why were you doing it before?”
He shook his head, leaned down to cup a mouthful of water up to his mouth.
“Three hundred per,” he said.
“Per head?” I said, incredulous.
“Per crossing.”
Better. Still, though, I couldn’t let myself smile.
“I’ll go three,” I said, my lips purposely thin.
“Cash,” the hand said.
“That might be a problem this trip.”
“Kind of figured that.”
“Well then?”
“Three now, four later.”
“How about for your horse?’
This made him laugh. He took his hat off, ran his hand through his hair.
“That’s just for not seeing you, man.”
“Well then, we might have to reach an agreement here.”
He crossed his hands on the pommel, shrugged with his shoulders and his eyebrows both. Behind him the buzzards were drifting through the sky. I shook my head again, looked ahead, to Uvalde, and agreed to meet him in a week at a bar down toward Carrizo Springs, a stack of cash in an envelope.
But still, his horse wasn’t for sale, period. For five hundred dollars more, though, he’d let me use the phone in the bunkhouse, if I kept it short and didn’t bleed everywhere.
A little
He smiled a little.
“That ordnance?” he said, about the canisters bandoleered across my chest, draped now with moss.
“Suppositories,” I said, trying to play the game here. Or keep up at least. “Where am I?”
The hand stared at me and then, with his teeth, peeled some skin up from his lip, turned his head to spit it out. All without ever looking away from me.
“Let’s fast forward some,” he said. “I’ve got stuff needs doing before lunch, here.”
I nodded, sat back onto the submerged barrel. So long as I didn’t get out of the water, he wouldn’t know I didn’t have any boots. It would help in the coming negotiations, I was pretty sure.
“Fast forward then,” I said. “You work for Granger Mosely. He pays you — what? Seven-fifty a month?”
“Twelve hundred. Plus room and board.”
He was lying, prepping his side of the negotiating table too, but I smiled anyway, rubbed a bug or something from the side of my nose. “It’s not enough,” I shrugged, like this were the most obvious thing in Texas. “Unless you ... what’s the good word? Supplement? Moonlight?”
The hand was still just staring at me. No doubt he had a pistol in one of his saddlebags.
“This is a proposition then?” he said. “Like — like marriage. You want me to get in bed with you?”
“Let’s keep our clothes on if we can. But no, I’m not asking you to bend over here, if that’s the question. I’m just ... I guess it depends, really. Let me start over. You knew Sebby, right?”
This heated his eyes up a bit. He danced his horse up so its head was out over the water. It still wouldn’t drink, though.
“Why do you say that?” he hissed.
“No reason. Just — I liked him. And he was smart, Sebby was. Smart enough to, y’know, maybe suggest somebody get work on a certain ranch. It would make things easier down the road. And nobody’d be getting hurt, even. Just people finding work, families staying together, all that.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about.”
“Man. That’s a shame, yeah?”
“I don’t see any families, either.”
We stared at each other for maybe forty seconds, then. Finally he wheeled his horse around, whistled sharp for the cattle. They just moaned back.
I was smiling now.
He reined his horse back around, hard.
“I don’t know any Sebby,” he said, low and in Spanish again, like the windmill might be trying to listen here. “Not for two months, I don’t know any Sebby.”
Exactly. Two straight-money paychecks, with nothing on top.
“Nobody does anymore,” I said.
He raised his eyebrows to me, to be sure he was hearing this right.
I nodded, shrugged.
“Consider me the new Sebby,” I said.
“And why would I want to do that?”
“Why were you doing it before?”
He shook his head, leaned down to cup a mouthful of water up to his mouth.
“Three hundred per,” he said.
“Per head?” I said, incredulous.
“Per crossing.”
Better. Still, though, I couldn’t let myself smile.
“I’ll go three,” I said, my lips purposely thin.
“Cash,” the hand said.
“That might be a problem this trip.”
“Kind of figured that.”
“Well then?”
“Three now, four later.”
“How about for your horse?’
This made him laugh. He took his hat off, ran his hand through his hair.
“That’s just for not seeing you, man.”
“Well then, we might have to reach an agreement here.”
He crossed his hands on the pommel, shrugged with his shoulders and his eyebrows both. Behind him the buzzards were drifting through the sky. I shook my head again, looked ahead, to Uvalde, and agreed to meet him in a week at a bar down toward Carrizo Springs, a stack of cash in an envelope.
But still, his horse wasn’t for sale, period. For five hundred dollars more, though, he’d let me use the phone in the bunkhouse, if I kept it short and didn’t bleed everywhere.
A little