Hey, Cowgirl, Need a Ride?

by Baxter Black

  “Ah, yes, barbecued gorilla fingers. Very, very good, but piquant.”

  Cody wound up filling his plate. The Bengal tiger tri-tips were excellent, as were the musk ox cheese curds and panda chips. He made a second trip to the hors d’ouevres table to try the blue whale pâté, which the chef admitted had been imported.

  Chrisantha ate heartily as well. Soon she was picking food off of his plate and he was eating out of her hand. A second glass of wine. Their knees were touching. She was facing him, leaning over occasionally, allowing him a free peek.

  He was aching.

  “Vould you like to come vith me? I seem to have lost my contact.” She smiled.

  “Where?” he asked with a stupid grin.

  “Give me your hand and I’ll show you,” she tempted.

  He turned toward her just as she swung her long leg between his and touched him. It was electric.

  “Oooh,” he groaned. “Stop!” he said breathlessly. “I can’t do this.” He wasn’t sure if he had said it aloud or to himself.

  “What?” she asked innocently. “This?” and she pressed her knee into him.

  He backed away enough to break the physical contact. “I can’t.” But this time he knew he had said it only to himself.

  It has been said, I believe earlier in this very book, that resistanceto temptation is the true measure of character. Most encounter this dilemma while trying to diet or quit smoking. Not necessarily frivolous goals, but insignificant in magnitude compared to selling government secrets or cheating on love for lust.

  So far as we know, Cody has been faithful in mind, heart, and body to the woman who swept him off his feet two years ago. He has probably had no desire for anyone else, and living in the outback of the United Western States has helped reduce his exposure to the opportunity.

  Yet here, far away from the chance of discovery, the siren comes calling. Cody has no one to tie him to the mast. He must wrestle with the Devil alone. And you know, friends, he’s not accustomed to sayingno.

  “I didn’t mean right now,” she said, “but venever you vant. Or vatever you vant. Are you having a good time?”

  Cody was afraid to speak, not trusting himself. He stubbornly gathered his composure and resumed picking at the food on his plate. As he was sucking the last morsel off of a gorilla finger, he felt a buzz go through the crowd. Ponce de Crayon was making his entrance.

  “Who is that?” Cody asked quietly.

  Chrisantha leaned close to him. She smelled like a wet snowsuit, which reminded Cody of his Wyoming home, and of his sweet Lilac who was holding down the fort. “That is the Ponce de Crayola, our host here at Ponce Park, and behind him is Mr. Pankaker, the owner of Pharaoh’s.”

  Ponce found a central location where he could address the crowd, most of whom were seated. The man was a formidable presence who immediately drew the attention of every man and woman in the jungle atrium. The jacket he was wearing was made from a jaguar pelt. The pants were tights fashioned from the skin of a thirty-foot anaconda. The boots were Malaysian crocodile with spotted lemur tops. A red silk scarf wrapped twice around his neck and ran through a keeper made from the vertebra of a lynx. His jet-black hair with its jarring white streak, the scar running down one side of his face, the lone blue eye, and the black goatee made him look like the Devil dressed up as Santa Claus.

  One barely noticed the taller, less garishly dressed man behind him, who could have been mistaken for an overweight high school football coach.

  Ponce smiled his crooked smile and began in a vaguely Eastern European accent, “Bienvenue, bienvenidos, willkommen, bonavida, and welcome to my most honored guests. I hope the accommodations at the Pharaoh’s Hotel and Casino have been up to your standards. Most of you have met F. Rank Pantaker. He has made the arrangements with you all to be here.

  “I am Ponce de Crayon, a simple animal trainer, magician, and lover of exotic dining and sport. This is my modest facility.” He made a sweeping gesture with his hand. “Our plan for tomorrow is for you all to gather here by nine a.m. for a weapons fitting, guide acquaintance, gear acclimation, and attire, transport accommodation, and sporting preference.

  “Each of you will have your own guide who will know how to outfit you perfectly for your special needs. All the big game is within a fifty-section fenced area here at Ponce Park. The perimeter fences are eight feet high and electrified to prevent escape and the invasion of unwanted visitors, man or animal.

  “Since we only have one or two of certain species, you may express your preference to your guide. We will all depart the compound together tomorrow, before the noon hour. You will all be equipped with heat-sensitive laser scopes, the latest in movement sensors, and skilled guides.

  “Everyone is guaranteed to succeed and is entitled to his or her trophy. We have suggested, in the spirit of international relations, that a portion of the meat be set aside from each catch so that we may prepare a sampling for the banquet tomorrow night. Arrangements will also be made to flash-freeze the edibles from your trophy, as well as perform any taxidermy you would like done. All with the discretion you may expect from Pharaoh’s and Ponce Park.

  “As specified in our agreement, the remainder of the fee will be due at the completion of the hunt. Now,” Ponce said dramatically, “as a token of my appreciation and respect, I would like to invite you all into my theater for a private show. Your escorts will guide you and I will see you momentarily.” He turned quietly and disappeared, leaving F. Rank to mingle with the crowd and go over the details of tomorrow’s hunt.

  Cody glanced at his watch. It was almost eight o’clock. He pushed back from the table. “I need to go outside for a bit,” he explained to Christantha.

  “I’ll go with you,” she insisted. She got as far as the entrance before he stopped her.

  “Please wait here,” he said. “I need to talk to my driver.”

  “If you need protection, I’ve got some in my—” she offered.

  “No, I’ll be just fine. I mean, what can happen in a parking lot?” he said, dumb as a post.

  54

  DECEMBER 12: A DISAPPEARING-TIGER ACT

  Several limo drivers were sitting in a comfortable waiting room. It had a television, pay phone, house phone, soft drinks, sofas, card table, bathroom, and daybed. A large window gave them a good view of the limo parking area.

  They’d seen Lick’s limo pull in. Two of them recognized it. They wondered who was driving LV 224 tonight. It wasn’t a tight-knit society but, like cabbies, they were casually acquainted with a million drivers. When Lick got out, they didn’t recognize him, but all agreed he needed a better-fitting suit.

  Lick saw the other drivers watching him through the window. He waved. They waved back. They went back to their business, waiting for him to join them, but he didn’t. Instead he reconnoitered around the sides of the building and found that, as far as he could see, the whole complex was surrounded by eight-foot Cyclone fence with razor wire. He saw no guards, and the pole lights were in the usual places, i.e., in front of buildings, on walkways, in the outdoor arena. Still, it was tight as a drum.

  He spotted what looked like a hog-confinement shed, also some very fancy barns. He spied an observation post. It was a stone castle with windows facing all around like an airport control tower. A dim light shone from the room at the top of the tower.

  Lick explored the compound from his position on the outside and found three large, gated, lighted entrances along the way. All were locked and/or manned by a guard. He stayed well outside the range of the lights, walking through the sagebrush and washes.

  At five minutes to eight, he was lurking in the parking lot. On the dot of the hour he saw Cody coming through the automatic sliding front door, accompanied by a tall, striking blonde woman. Cody spoke to her. She seemed to cling, then turned and walked back into the lobby. Cody waved good-bye, then started toward the parking lot.

  “Man, Cody, she was shiny! What’s her name?”

  “Chrisantha.”<
br />
  “Chrisantha? What kind of name is that?”

  “She’s not from here. North Dakota, I think,” said Cody.

  “Oh,” said Lick, as if that explained it all.

  “Listen, Lick, I got the scoop. Everybody arrives tomorrow morning at about nine. Somewhere around ten they start the hunt. It sounds like it’s going to be like the Oklahoma Land Rush! Everybody takes off at once. Each hunter has a guide. Best I can tell, some will be on horseback, some in army tanks, four-wheelers, on motorcycles, camels—”

  “Camels?” interrupted Lick, remembering his own camel ride through downtown during the National Finals Rodeo two years ago.

  “It’s gonna be pretty exciting.”

  “Have you got any leads on whether Teddie’s here?”

  “Not really, although F. Rank Pantaker is at the cocktail party right now, along with Ponce de Crayola—”

  “That’s Cray-ON,” corrected Lick.

  “Cray-ON,” repeated Cody. “I would think if she’s here— Teddie, I mean—sometime during the evening one of them is going to go check on her.”

  “Not necessarily, but if that’s our only shot . . . ,” answered Lick. “We can keep an eye on them, I guess, but two eyes are better than one.”

  “What?” said Cody, momentarily puzzled, picturing a pirate with a patch.

  “Two eyes are . . . I mean four eyes . . . Aw, shoot. You could keep an eye on them, both eyes, and I’ll try and check out the compound. Trouble is, I can’t get in the dang thing. They’ve got this place tight as a Tijuana drug dealer’s medicine cabinet. You need to get me inside somehow.”

  “We’re all going to see a show that Ponce is putting on,” said Cody. “Probably his magic act. He’s got a theater in here. Then I’d guess most would be going back to the hotel after that. Security is tight. I don’t have a plan yet, but Chrisantha might help. I can’t quite figger her out, although she’s hittin’ me up pretty hard.”

  Lick gave Cody a cross look.

  “Don’t worry,” assured Cody, “nothin’s gonna happen. It’s just if she can help us find Teddie . . .” He paused. “Let me think on this a minute. I don’t know if she would help me sneak you past the door or if she’d blow the whistle. Whattya think?”

  “How dumb is she?” asked Lick.

  “Pretty smart, actually. She’s acting the part of the professional hostess, but she doesn’t know what’s goin’ on, about the hunt, I mean. I think she’s just workin’ by the hour,” answered Cody.

  “You got any money left?”

  “Less than a thousand . . . in chips. Listen, let’s check back again in an hour or sooner. I’m not sure how long this show is gonna last.” Cody patted Lick’s back. “And about Chrisantha, let me see what I can stir up.”

  Lick didn’t like waiting. The longer he waited the harder he thought about Teddie Arizona. His mind was clouded as to his motive for trying to carry out this rescue. Every time his heart said, It’s the right thing to do, his mind legitimately asked, Why?

  That was when the flood of emotions swarmed him, filling his chest with anxiety and causing the blood to pump in his temples. I gotta think! he told himself. Al would say, “Pilgrim, you’ve come this far and here you are, still on the outside. Do somethin’ even if it’s wrong so you’ll be able to face yourself tomorrow when you shave.”

  Lick walked into the drivers’ waiting room and asked if there was a phone he could use.

  “On the wall,” one driver said.

  He looked up the number of Pharaoh’s Casino and put in a quarter.

  “Yes, registration please. . . . Yes, could you connect me to the Old Timer Cowboy Reunion that’s holding their meetings there?”

  A voice with a drawl picked up the line: “Old Timer Cowboy Nap and Sleepover, Sunny Day speakin’.”

  “Sunny Day,” said Lick. “Sunny, I’m lookin’ for Al Bean.”

  “Who is this?” she demanded.

  “Lick,” he answered. “Clyde’s son.”

  “Well, I’ll be dipped! Honey, where are you?”

  “I’m here in Vegas, but—”

  She interrupted, “How’s your ol’ daddy? Last I heard he was ridin’ pens in a feedlot in the panhandle somewhere. He could rope, that boy. I remember one time in Guymon—”

  Lick interrupted back, “Sunny, sorry to rush you, but I’m in a bind that I can’t explain over the phone. I need to talk to Al.”

  “He’s left, honey. Him and Cherokee Bob and the Texas Kid went to the rodeo. Don’t know if they got tickets, but they’ve all got a Gold Card. So at least they could get out of the cold.”

  “Al’s got a Gold Card?” asked Lick.

  “Yup,” she answered. “He used to ride broncs. Couldn’t keep his mind on business, though, too smart for his own good. Always claimed he wanted to be a rancher, own purebred cows and raise good quarter horses. I hadn’t seen him for years. He’s still crazy as ever. How’d you get messed up with him?”

  “It’s a long story, Sunny, none of which matters right now. Can you get a message to him?”

  “I reckon. I’ve been married to Cherokee Bob AND the Texas Kid, and I would’uv married Al but he never asked me, so I reckon they’ll find me tonight or in the morning.”

  “Tell him to gather an army and be at Ponce Park by ten tomorrow morning. Tell him we’re going into battle,” instructed Lick.

  “Am I allowed to ask what this is about?” asked Sunny.

  “I’d try and explain it to you but it’s so complicated it would take too long. It’s just that me and Al have got tangled in a problem and it’s startin’ to go sideways on us.”

  “Let me guess,” she said. “There’s a woman involved.”

  “Well, yes, but it’s—”

  She cut him off. “It’s okay, honey. You don’t have to say any more. Lemme get this straight. Bring the army to Ponce Park at ten tomorrow mornin’.”

  “Right.”

  “Does Al know where this park is?”

  “I don’t know, but he’ll figger it out. Sunny, I know this sounds strange, but it’s important, life or death, and I wouldn’t ask you if it wasn’t.”

  “Can I come?” she asked.

  “The more the merrier. ’Bye, Sunny. I gotta go.”

  “By the way, they’re retiring Kamikaze tomorrow night at the Finals. He’ll buck out and that will be it. Off to the stud farm. They’re gonna have a short little ceremony.”

  “Don’t know where I’ll be tomorrow, Sunny. I gotta get through the night.”

  “Okay, boy. Take care yo’sef,” she said.

  “’Night. And thanks.” Lick hung up and walked outside to wait in the shadows. He exchanged the oversized chauffeur’s cap and jacket for his own cowboy hat and coat. Restless, he decided to make another reconnoiter around the perimeter.

  He headed in the direction of the observation tower, west, as well as he could figure. He heard voices. He eased up next to the fence and stopped still. Then he saw a parade of people walking toward a building. That must be the theater, he told himself.

  Lick was suddenly struck with a micturation urge; scientifically speaking, he had to take a whiz. He pushed his way to the center of some bushes and made sweet relief. As the torrent splattered on the ground a bare patch of concrete began to appear in its wash. It must be an old sidewalk, or septic, or well, or something, he thought. Lick absentmindedly continued to expose more concrete as long as he was able. Then he scraped around in the loose dirt with his boot. Soon he’d cleared a spot as big as a car window, found the edge, and cleared the lip.

  It was a lid. Curious, he got both hands under the lip and lifted. The warm smell of animals and straw rose to his nostrils. He slid the heavy lid to the side to reveal the edge of a hole. There was a faint light emanating from some kind of tunnel. Without a firm plan in mind, he decided to investigate and squeezed through the opening.

  A square pit at least four by four with cinder block sides descended eight feet. Rebar handles were attach
ed along one side to form a ladder. At the bottom of the pit a tunnel four feet tall headed in the direction of the fence.

  Lick crouched and headed into the tunnel. He counted his steps and was sure he was past the fence. As he progressed, the height of the ceiling began to increase. Another twenty feet and his tunnel connected to a much larger tunnel. It was six feet tall and eight feet wide. But the entrance was blocked by a steel gate with shiny bars four inches apart. The door built into the gate was chained shut and pad-locked.

  There was a foot-tall gap between the top of the gate and the ceiling. Swinging his right leg up across the top bar, he began to squeeze through the space. He hooked his nose, buttons, belt buckle, and one family jewel in the process, and for a moment was wedged like a shim under a table leg. He nearly lost his hat.

  He was startled by a sudden rush of air and a blood-curdling roar that literally made him bang his head and his tailbone simultaneously. He heard the sound of movement deep inside the bigger tunnel, the crack of a whip, a command that sounded like “pinhead,” and another growl. Before he could turn his head, something passed below him in a hurry. He stayed stock-still. Soon he heard the slamming of a door. Then silence.

  Relieved to be alive, Lick dropped to the floor. He saw that there were actually two tunnels. Below his feet, running beneath the tunnel, was another passageway covered by steel bars, with a slim boardwalk running down the middle. He guessed this was the way animals were driven from the barns to the theater. He started in the direction of the theater and soon reached a stairway that led up to a door. The animal alley continued on underneath the floor like a culvert passing beneath a low bridge.

  Lick could hear noises now. Low growling, someone humming, crowd murmurs, laughter and applause. There was music . . . bullfight music, it seemed to him.

  He leaned down over the alleyway but couldn’t see anything. He could smell strong animal odors. Like a cat box, he thought. He tried the handle on the door gently. It gave. Slowly he opened it. It was pitch-black on the other side of the door.

  Suddenly there was an explosion of applause! Lights seemed to flash above him. He slipped through the door and plastered himself against the wall. He was backstage in the theater. Two men on the other side of the stage behind the curtain saw him.