Keeping Our Home (Holliday Book 2)

by Sarah R. Silas

  From the secretary in the hall, Pistol had learned that Kenny had, had nowhere else to go after the sale and had hopped onto his motorcycle to find another place to set down roots, believing that the world had forsaken him and his family. He believed he might be able to buy the ranch back one day, but Pistol knew that would never be possible. Besides, Diamondback probably wouldn’t leave the land in any condition good enough for farming, ranching, or anything else.

  He sat, waiting for whomever was going to be interview him for the open ranch hand position. He had been waiting for nearly thirty minutes, unclear if the wait time was supposed to tell him something.

  He hadn't told anyone how bad things had gotten since his own father had died. After showing Lilith her father's bunker, he had neglected to show her the rest of the crap that his father had left him to deal with. He had blown a lot of the money, sure, but not after dealing with mountains of debt. His father had been a miser, neglecting payment of anything. There really wasn’t much left - and the lies he had told Lilith were bound to catch up with him. He had to save face, and save face. And he had to do it quickly.

  His thoughts sank into the events of the past few days. He wasn't sure if Clark had actually murdered Ricky, but he didn't blame Clark or even the real killer for Ricky's death. He would have probably killed Ricky for doing anything to harm the Hollidays. He sighed. Hurting Lilith was a painful idea, especially with the revelation that the Kent Ranch had been unceremoniously sold to a clinical, sterile corporation. He could feel no love in these walls anymore. Kenny had been a good man, if not a good businessman. He thought the world needed more good men and less sterile businesses.

  Pistol's dating life had been lackluster, and his thoughts had often turned to towards finding other forms of companionship, much like his father had done on a lonely night. Hearing his father have sex with, as he put it, a courtesan was one of the low points of his middle and high school life. But getting older and having no one around made him understand even a small bit of why his father had sought comfort with prostitutes.

  He had driven by some of known places in town, the truck stops, even asking a few people around town he knew who dealt in such things. But something within him stopped him every time from actually having sex with the girls. He had met a beautiful girl named Kelsey. She was a buxom brunette who didn't have a lot of education, but she read a lot. They talked about books, they talked about life, they talked about the world outside where they grew up, and he paid for her time. But he didn't sleep with her. He wasn't very adventurous in that way, and he didn't know if that was the way he wanted to treat a girl. But he liked talking to Kelsey. He liked having her around. She was warm and smelled nice and even complimented his cooking.

  He ran his hands through his hair, setting his sights on the goal at hand. He needed more money to spend more time with Kelsey. He needed more money to pay bills. And he had, unfortunately, switched his drug habit for a booze habit. He just needed money to do anything for himself, from the small piece of happiness that Kelsey brought him, to escaping the world he had been given by drinking. He knew he wasn't a healthy man, and he knew he had inherited many traits from his father. Sometimes, no, most times, he just couldn't help himself.

  The door finally opened and the property manager walked inside. He wore a western hat, boots, and a big belt buckle. Pistol didn't recognize him, thinking he must be from out of town. It also made him dislike the guy immediately. A stranger taking over a family property, especially a property that Pistol felt he practically grew up on. Kenny and Pistol had been somewhat close and Pistol had been on the property many times before.

  "Pistol, is it? Strange fuckin' name."

  "Yessir. My father was a strange fuckin' man," chuckled Pistol.

  "My name's Roger, and I'm the new manager and foreman for the property. I'm looking after the entire operation on behalf of Diamondback. Got a lot of shit going on, sellin’ the cattle, installing the new pumps and drills."

  He sat down behind the desk in the room, propping his feet upon the edge of the desk. He took a cigarette and lit it. "I think it's important to keep this as short and appropriate as possible, ya get me?" he asked, taking a drag and letting the cigarette dangle from his lips, smoke curling around his craggy face.

  "Yessir."

  "So, your resume and skills are fine. I could use a guy like you around here. Especially considering that bitch Kenny up and left, leaving me with some local boys that are lazy as shit."

  "I'm sorry sir, do you mean Kenny Kent?"

  "Yeah. Kid just left, thinking he was gonna return with some fortune, gonna buy the property back. Doesn’t matter, he worked like a broke mule anyway. But he didn’t tie up his loose ends around here. That ain't right." He took a drag, looking at Pistol, judging him up with a cocked eye.

  "Yessir." Pistol felt uncomfortable. Roger was basically calling the previous owner an untrustworthy, broke, slow mule. The old days were dying, and with them all respect for the generations of families that took care of the land before the corporations did. This guy was just there for money, as a job. He had no respect for the land as something to be passed down, hopefully forever.

  "So I heard a rumor that Holliday fired your ass, is that true?"

  Pistol froze, unsure how to respond. He really hoped they hadn't heard about that, especially considering the operation being a new group of people. "Yeah, I wasn't fired exactly, but I took leave of my position. I resigned, you could say."

  "Forced to resign, you could say?"

  "Maybe something like that."

  "Alright, here's the deal kid. I heard rumors about you. You do any of that stupid shit that you did on the Holliday property, I will personally take you out behind the barn and take payment for damages, lost wages, and my own personal anger out of your sorry hide, you get me?" He squashed the cigarette out on the desk, causing Pistol to wince. That desk was very old, an antique even.

  "Yessir. I am changing my act, sir. I ain't gonna be doing anything stupid anymore," he said, gritting his teeth and pushing the words out. He already hated this foreman, hated his arrogance.

  Lilith's father was a fair, kind, and exceptional boss, Pistol remembered. And he had fucked up his only chances at keeping that job. It was his fault that he lost that job, and now he had to deal with this situation that had moved from being human to being a sterile money machine.

  "Alright. Get out there and do your new fuckin' job. Some of the other guys will direct you towards the wells and whatnot. Do it well, and don't fuck it up," said Roger. "And if you see Holliday, tell 'em that if I die, we'll all know who killed Ricky." Roger laughed at his own joke and waved Pistol out of the office.

  ~~~

  Pistol leaned against the barn, age old dust and cracked paint leaving remnants on his dark blue shirt. He slipped his hand into his back pocket, grabbing a flask and taking a swig. He wiped his brow and took another, longer, swig.

  He didn't like where this sort of habit would lead him, but it was the only thing keeping him going. He took out his phone and sent a quick message to Kelsey, asking her if she was free that evening. He could probably get paid in cash for today's work and get some kind of deposit set up later on. He definitely needed some money today, mostly so he could see Kelsey.

  She responded quickly. She was free, but not for too long, she had another client who wanted to see her later that evening. He chuckled at her use of "client," instead of something more raunchy. She took her trade seriously, and that was nice, even if it made him a little jealous.

  And should it make him jealous? She was a prostitute, this was her job. And he never even slept with her, he just talked to her. He took another swig from the flask and sat down in the dirt, thinking about perhaps asking her for more. He slapped his forehead. He was paying her after all. But something worried him about the entire thing. He sorta wished she would just offer it without the payment.

  He sighed, realizing he wanted a girlfriend. He probably just wanted Lilith lik
e some kind of horny teenager. But regardless of what Marty thought or twisted his words to say or mean, that was all a long time ago and he had moved on.

  He drained the flask when another worker walked behind the barn and took out his own flask. "Hola, como estas?" asked Pistol, taking a chance that the man was Mexican. It was a good bet these days, especially on the bigger operations.

  "I'm fine, thank you," the man replied. "Name's Guillermo. You?"

  "Pistol. The name's Pistol. I see you got the right idea man," he replied, shaking his flask.

  "Whatever gets ya through the day, right?" said Jorge, taking a long drink. "You new to the place?"

  "I guess you could say that," said Pistol. "I grew up around these parts, and I spent some time on this property back in the day."

  "Yeah, I grew up around here too," said Jorge. "A bit farther down the road. But I'm glad I found this job out here, ya know? New company laying down roots."

  "Yeah, what do you know about this entire fuckin' thing?"

  "Well, I don't know that much. I've been working here for a bit now, mostly after the Kent family sold it. I was working for them for a few weeks before the sale, and I was one of the few people Diamondback and Roger kept on, ya know? Cause I'm trustworthy and I work hard," he said. He took another long swig from his flask. “I’ve been helping set up the new drilling rigs. There’s another outfit who’s here doing a lot of the work on that, but it’s good to help out where you can. Shows initiative.”

  Pistol couldn't tell if his comment was a joke or not. But he took out a cigarette, offering the pack to Jorge. "So you think these Diamondback people are good people?"

  "I mean, they're a corporation man. Good or bad, they're here to do work. Not any of this family shit. Bankruptcy is a big deal to them. They ain't gonna let all this prime land out of their sight."

  Pistol nodded along, not wanting to cause a fight or make a bad impression on his first day. He just wanted to get along, get his paycheck, and then go home and talk to Kelsey. Or ya know “talk” to Kelsey. He got up and dusted himself off. Did he even want to finish this conversation? "Yeah, prime land," he managed to say. "But there's a lot of family owned properties out this way, ya know."

  "Nah man, you're behind the times. Diamondback is buying up a lot of these failing family properties. They're going to make billions off mining and energy, natural gas, and maybe even build a mall. Monetize the shit out of the entire place. They got big plans. I saw some of it. I think they're going to offer money for a ranch a little bit away next. Kinda like a divide and conquer. Flank them, but like, buy them all soon. Lots of natural gas and other shit to get. Something like that , ya know?" Jorge seemed really excited to share this news. His eyes lit up at the prospect of divulging more supposed company secrets. He was, purportedly, a man in the know.

  "Wait, you think that Diamondback is going to buy the Holliday Ranch down the road?"

  "Yeah, man. Holliday Ranch. I saw it on some papers. That's a big ranch too. Lots of money and lots of mining. I heard Roger mutter that the land had a lot of stuff still left out there. Maybe if we work hard we can be first over there, maybe start our own outfit, and then we can all get a bigger piece of this pie. Ya know? That's where the big money is. We'd make damn good money. You should be glad, gettin' in on the ground floor of this giant operation that's about to just gobble everybody up."

  Pistol felt sick learning this news. He was going to have to cancel his plans with Kelsey and go and tell Lilith what he had learned. He was afraid that this might be the news that would put Lilith's old man into an early grave. That family had lost so much and now they were going to be competing and getting almost bought out by a large company that would destroy everything they worked so hard for.

  "I'm gonna get back to work," said Pistol, nodding at Jorge. "Maybe I'll see ya around, we can talk some more?"

  "Yeah yeah," said Jorge, taking another swig and lighting another cigarette. "The world is our oyster man. We're going to awesome fuckin' places."

  Pistol waved and nodded and walked away. Bewildered at what he'd learned, and even more worried that he was inadvertently working for and helping cause the downfall of the Holliday Ranch.

  He reached into his back pocket for his flask, forgetting that it was empty. He lit another cigarette. He decided that he had to talk to Kenny. Kenny could perhaps relate what happened to the Kent property. Maybe, just maybe, Pistol could do something to help Lilith and save the Holliday property.

  Maybe, Pistol thought, maybe he could show everyone he was more than just a drunkard's son, more than a guy who couldn’t even sleep with prostitutes. Show everyone that he was a good guy that wanted to help his friends and save the day. He had never thought of himself a superhero, but then again, the best superheros never did.

  CHAPTER THREE

  "Well, your fuel pump is gone, kid," said Jim Dolmat. He served as the town's mechanic and the usual point of frustration for much of the town. He wore grimy overalls, no shirt, and only wore shoes if it was cold outside. Today his toes were covered in grease and oil, and his shoulders seemed to either be burned or had come in contact with some sort abrasive. They were red and seemed swollen. Lilith decided to tamp down her need to diagnose Jim and instead turned her attention to her truck.

  Ever since the night with Clark, the truck had never run right. It might have been divine intervention that had made her fuel pump intermittently fail at just the right time to get her and Clark together on a starry night, and maybe if he was freed the pump would start working properly again, but she really wanted her truck back. And, somewhere deep down, she had to admit she wanted Clark back too.

  "What do you want?" asked Lilith, staring pointedly at Jim.

  "I mean, you want your truck, right?"

  "Yes Mr. Dolmat, of course I want my fuckin' truck," she growled. At some point, the similarities between her and grandmother Aggie were becoming just plain weird. "I'm sorry, I meant. Yes, I would like my truck back, but more importantly, I want to know how much it will cost."

  "For a Holliday, ain't gonna cost much. Let's just chalk it up to a six pack of beer, eh?" asked Jim, smiling. He had lost a few more teeth since the last time they had seen each other, she thought. But he had always been a friendly guy, especially to her family. At some point in their distant familial history, the Dolmats and the Hollidays had helped each other out. And help out West, back in the day, paid for itself over and over again. They continued to help each other out now, if that meant eating the cost of a new fuel pump, or a small no interest loan to pay for necessities. They tried to have each other's back.

  In the back of the shop sat Jim's son, David. He was a strapping six foot four kid, a freshman in college who was back for the summer. He waved at Lilith as he closed the hood of an old Packer. "Hey Lilith, my dad treatin' ya alright?" he asked, smiling. They had essentially grown up together, with Lilith being almost like an older sister to him.

  "Yeah, as always," she replied. "Do you mind if I grab something out of the truck before I head back to the homestead?"

  "Of course, I'll just lower it off the lift," said Jim. He went over to the lift controls and her old Ford came down towards the ground. He halted the lift before the tires touched the oily concrete. "I was workin' on some other things, best to leave it in the air," he added, chuckling. "I promise, this old lady will be working better than ever."

  She didn't bother reminding him that her 'old lady' was actually a cranky, huffing and puffing, old man. She opened the door to grab a book she had left in the passenger seat.

  As she got out a flash of white caught her eye. On the dashboard was a folded piece of paper. Perhaps she had forgotten about it. She picked it up and brought it out of the car. She carefully opened it. In angry black marker, the note read, "Get outta town!" It was signed "S.Sally." She glared at the paper for a moment, not knowing what to make of the threat.

  "Everything ok?" asked David, glancing over at her and catching her face turn into a scowl. />
  "Anyone else been in the garage since I left my truck here?" asked Lilith, rubbing her eyes.

  "Yeah, fixed this lady Sally's car a few hours ago. She was a nice gal," said Jim, looking at her sideways. "You alright?"

  "I dunno," she replied. "Do ya'll have a truck I could borrow or something? I gotta go see someone it seems." She folded the paper in half and put it in her pocket.

  "Yeah, take mine. This should be done today," said Jim. He threw her his keys and pointed her towards a shiny black '70s Chevy. "Treat her nice, eh?"

  "Absolutely," replied Lilith. Her mind was going in circles over the note. Screamin' Sally had the balls to threaten her, to tell her to leave where she grew up, because of what? One dance? That bitch had some gall, thought Lilith. She was gonna have a talk with Keith and get this all settled.

  That girl had some nerve to leave her a note instead of saying something to her face. Maybe she was getting used to being home, or maybe grandmother Aggie's ghost had decided to inhabit her body, but this was her life, and she wasn't gonna just take shit from anyone anymore. At least, until she decided upon Boston.

  ~~~

  Lilith was careful with Jim's truck, holding in her urge to run over Keith's bike, instead choosing to kick it on her way into the roadhouse. It seemed to have a few more scratches in the fender and side fairings than usual, but knowing Keith it probably functioned more smoothly with every scratch. He cared for his bike in a way that he barely ever cared for anything or anyone, even himself.

  Even in the afternoon the roadhouse was filled with smoke and smelled more than faintly of piss and booze. It was also more full than she would have thought, but she hadn't taken the time to count the bikes outside. She grabbed a beer from the bartender, looking around to find Keith at what she guessed was his usual table, near the back.

  There was no sign of Screamin' Sally. She decided this was for the best since she wanted a private conversation with him. Besides, she was feeling murderous. No one told her to leave town. That wasn't just uncalled for, it was fucking inappropriate.