Leroy Watches Jr. & the Badass Bull (Bloodsong Series)

by Sandy Nathan

  All he had to do was take care of his father for one more sparring session with the bulls. Then he could collect his purses and head for New Mexico.

  9

  THE THOMAS & MACK

  They arrived in front of the Thomas & Mack Center at the University of Las Vegas, home of the National Finals Rodeo. A big basket-like structure, a half-oval of metal rods, was mounted over the entrance, making the facade very impressive. Niles made his way around a circular drive in front of the building and waved at the security guards. They seemed to know him.

  “Well, here we are,” he stopped the car in front of the stairs leading to the main entrance. “I’ll pick you up later.”

  Austin’s heart beat hard and fast. They were at the Thomas & Mack. It wasn’t for the Nationals, of course; it was for a lesser rodeo that probably featured third string players. But it was a rodeo! And it wasn't on TV!

  He hoped his asthma didn’t kick up. He’d brought his medication. With his passionate love of rodeo and all things cowboy, the fact that he couldn’t breathe around animal hair and dust was viciously unfair. He liked to watch those big, tough guys risking their lives subduing stupid animals

  Sylvia was rolling her window down. A crowd eddied around them in the driveway. “What are you saying?” She spoke to a teenager even more unkempt than his children. The girl hovered outside the window, waving something.

  “This happened at this rodeo.” The girl held a photo poster mounted on a stick. It looked like a tiny baby horse had been trampled to death in a pile of manure.

  “What is it?” Sylvia was horrified.

  “A mare in the bucking stock was pregnant. They didn’t know and put her in with the other horses. She had her baby in all that filth, and the other horses trampled it to death!” Rivulets of moisture ran down the girl’s cheeks.

  “They did this, too. Yesterday,” a grubby boy with another poster took the girl’s place. A calf lay in the dirt, its neck broken. “That’s from calf roping. They call it tie-down roping now so it doesn't sound so bad.” The boy sneered. “Look at this,” he switched his sign around. A horse with an obviously broken leg was being led out of the ring. “The horse broke its leg in bronc riding. They made it walk out instead of putting it down in the arena … they didn’t want anyone to see them kill it. So they tortured it instead.”

  The Metro’s finest police moved in and forced the demonstrators back. They shouted and began shoving. A cop lifted a truncheon, but didn’t use it. Austin wanted to join him. Didn’t they know rodeo was America’s sport? Sure, animals got hurt, but what about the cowboys?

  “Is this where we’re going, Austin?” Sylvia said, pointed out the window toward the demonstrators. “You didn’t say rodeo was like this. Did you see that baby horse? And the calf with the broken neck. That is wrong.”

  The protesters had gotten away from the Metro police and were marching in front of the building. In addition to the photo posters, they held signs saying things like:

  Would you rope your dog?

  RODEO: Pay to watch animals abused!

  The hoodlums harassed decent people going into the building to watch America’s sport. The protesters screamed, “Animal abuse! Abuse! Abuse!”

  “What they’re doing in there is wrong!” Hysteria tinged Sylvia’s voice. “This is worse than boxing!”

  “It’s the most American sport there is, Syl. That’s what we came here to see.”

  “I’m not going in. And the kids aren’t either.”

  “Wait a minute, Mom! Dad and I talked about this for years when we watched the National Finals on TV. I want to go to the rodeo!”

  “I want to go, too.” Hannah squeaked. “I’m not a wuss.”

  “You want to see people torture animals? You’ve discussed it with your father for years?” Sylvia looked dumbfounded.

  “Yeah, mom. We watch rodeo all the time. You never pay attention.”

  “You’re always in the kitchen, mom.” Hannah pointed out, her mouth a pout. “Or on the phone.”

  “You want to see that …” She waved her hand toward the protesters.

  “It’s not so bad, Syl. They exaggerate. The kids and I will go. Come on. Niles wants to go. Come with us.”

  “Mr. Zemsky, I will not be going to the rodeo,” Niles said with his mannered, charming voice. “I have an appointment. I must keep it. She will be mad if I do not.”

  Austin wondered about Niles’ imperative appointment with a woman, but turned to Sylvia. “If you don’t come with us, what are you going to do for three hours?”

  “You can come with me, Sylvia.” Niles’ voice purred like the car’s engine.

  His wife turned to Niles. “Where are you going?”

  “I am going to have, what do you call them?” Niles indicated his long hair. “Highlights? My lady is very busy, but there are others in the shop. Sylvia can go with me and have her hair done. Fingers, too.” He waggled his fingers like he was drying a manicure.

  “That’s a great idea.” Sylvia beamed. “If there’s time, we can go shopping.” She kissed the kids’ cheeks. “Okay, you guys, have fun with your dad. Don’t look if it’s too awful. We’ll pick you up when the rodeo’s over.”

  Austin stood in front of the Thomas & Mack, watching his wife drive off with a beautiful Swedish yoga instructor with construction and car renovation skills. They were going to have their hair done together. That heartened him. Maybe Niles was gay.

  His son interrupted his reverie. “Will there be blood, dad?”

  “I don’t think so. That’s exaggerated. Let’s go in.” He bought the best seats in the house, the front row in a box. He marched along the aisles, deeply troubled. The long-haired rabble picketing the rodeo sickened him. They carried signs saying “Would you bulldog your kitty?” Degenerates. People like that were responsible for everything bad in the world.

  Austin hadn’t thought much about his job while they were at the Yippee-I-O, but here with the raucous protestors and crowds, the lawman in him arose. He saw one hippie hand a folded piece of paper to another. Or was it a plastic bag of white powder? Had he witnessed a drug deal going down? But Austin’s crime radar was working overtime that day. He felt something in the air, vibe of impending violence. All he had to do was wait for the explosion.

  Austin scanned the crowd as they walked around the concourse of the Thomas & Mack stadium. The Antiterrorism Force was there, just as the Sheriff had said. He could spot them, dressed like cowboys and hippies. Their elaborate attempts to disappear into the populace were both admired and laughed at throughout the law enforcement world. Long hair and zits, the real badges of the ATF.

  He could see them easily: people who weren’t wearing Thomas & Mack uniforms talking into nearly invisible devices hidden in their hair. He scanned the grubby rabble-rousers carrying signs whispering to each other. If the ATF was there, terrorists were there. The terrorists must be among the animal rights activists. He could see people passing things and whispering. Hiding behind columns. Acting sneaky. It took someone with extensive knowledge of criminal behavior to see what was going on. Most people would think they were just people waiting for a rodeo, but he could see things others couldn’t.

  Austin was the one representative of the FBI. One Bureau man was worth all the undercover, pseudo-hippies the ATF had.

  He didn’t want to alarm his children. He’d have fun with them now and catch the terrorists when the rodeo was over. “Come on, kids.” He led his kids to their expensive seats. Austin inhaled deeply, pulling in the smell of animals, dirt, and smoke. They created a haze over the arena. He hoped he didn’t get asthma.

  He didn’t get asthma. He and the younger Zemskys had a great time. The family agreed that none of them would do any of that to their dog. But cows? Who cared?

  Jimmy and Hanna shrieked when a gigantic cowboy stormed out of a chute on a beautiful black and white horse and threw a steer on the ground almost faster than they could see it. He said something in a foreign language be
fore riding away. Everyone repeated it, including the Zemsky family. The chant kept going for a while.

  “Well, folks!” The announcer’s voice was too loud and too happy. “There’s your steer wrestling champion, Leroy Watches Jr.” He called to Leroy. “Leroy, take a victory lap so we can see you ride. He’s riding a wild horse he trained this week!” Horns went off, as they did with irritating frequency.

  The jovial announcer kept talking, “Leroy is a member of one of this country’s sovereign indigenous nations. Leroy’s dad, Leroy Watches Sr. will be honored after the show. Everyone knows Leroy Sr. He’s been a bullfighter for forty years; a whole bunch of those years were at this rodeo. The Watches are American heroes!”

  While the announcer jawed on, Leroy circled the ring with the horse, stopping in the middle. Austin and the kids gasped as the horse reared and pawed the air. The crowd went wild. The cowboy left the arena at a dead run, passing through wide gates at the end.

  “Now that’s a cowboy!” Austin cried. His darker complexion said that Leroy was African American, but a light skinned one. The announcer said he was an Indian. A close up of his face on the big screen showed he had light brown eyes splotched with hazel, full lips, and flaring nostrils. What was this guy? African American, Native Indian, or white? Was the combination subversive? No. That was true blue American.

  This was an all-American day. He and the kids spilled Coke on the floor; popcorn rattled down their shirts. Their feet stuck to the cement beneath them. Austin put his arms around Hannah and Jimmy and reveled in being a parent.

  When the bull riding began, Austin jumped up and applauded like a mad man.

  “Mom was a wuss not to come,” Jimmy announced.

  “You said it, not me,” Austin agreed. They were in a timeless bubble; a glow embraced them. The bulls kept coming. Leroy Watches Sr.’s bullfighting was amazing. The man acted like a matador and a comedian. He wore a huge, yellow and green clown suit. Austin figured he’d saved one cowboy’s life that afternoon, and prevented broken bones for several others. The guy was a master.

  “If you’re wondering why the crowds are so big today,” the announcer said, “it’s because of the man in the clown suit out there. He’s made a lot of friends over the years. They came to pay their respects. We’re having a retirement party for our oldest and best bullfighter, Leroy Watches Sr., after the show.” The announcer had already said that a half dozen times but he hadn’t explained the crowds. Austin looked around. The Thomas & Mack was almost as packed as during the National Finals.

  “Leroy Sr. has been saving cowboys’ lives for forty years! Let’s give him a big hand. Come to the main concourse after the show! We got a cake as big as Leroy and trophy he won’t be able to lift!”

  “Do you want to go, kids?” Austin asked. They nodded, eyes and cheeks bright, popcorn and cotton candy all over their clothes and decorating the floor.

  “You bet, dad. Maybe we can meet him.” Jimmy was completely unlike the hostile child he’d been in Washington DC.

  The horn sounded, indicating a new bull was coming. They turned back to the arena. Austin aimed the video camera he’d bought for the trip at the chute. He had bought the camera to record the many warm family moments they were going to have on their vacation. This was the first time he’d taken it out.

  A hideous monster of a bull burst into the arena. Its coat was a rusty red and hairier than some of the other bulls. A dowager’s hump bulged from its back and a flap of loose skin undulated from its muzzle to its chest. The creature looked like somebody hadn’t cut the pieces of skin right when he was put together. Streamers of slobber drifted from its mouth.

  It bucked, spinning and bucking harder than any bull they’d seen. The bull spun to the left faster than Austin thought an animal that big could move.

  The rider began slipping to the right. He was leaning way over, obviously not going to make the eight seconds. He put a foot on the ground. His left leg remained stretched over the bull. He could have let go and run away, but he couldn’t release his hand from the rigging around the bull’s belly.

  The instant the cowboy’s foot hit the ground, the bull swung to his right, stomping the man’s foot and running its giant, cloven hooves down his shin. Bright red blossomed through his jeans. The bull swung its head like a battering ram, striking the cowboy’s upper body. The rider’s head flew back. He looked like he was unconscious.

  The rigging finally let go and the rider dropped to the arena floor. The bull went after the fallen cowboy with his horns. The horns had been cut off square so they were maybe six inches long. They looked like handlebars on each side of the massive head––the thing was a hammerhead shark stuck on land. Cutting those horns didn’t do one thing to make the bull less dangerous.

  Leroy Watches Sr. dashed to the bull and shook the huge green and yellow pants of his clown outfit and the bull raised its head, then stared. Leroy took his hat off and waved it.

  Watches lured the bull away from the rider with his hat, and then distracted the slobbering beast by waving a big handkerchief in its face. He kept waving that little bit of cloth and backing away from the fallen rider. He acted like a matador. They crossed the arena, ending up in front Austin and the kids. The bull watched the clown like he wanted to eat him. Austin couldn’t get over Watches’ skill. He had the bull mesmerized. The performance was more amazing given Watches’ age. He was old: his head was covered with fuzzy white hair.

  The action was continuous. Austin filmed it all. Watches lured the bull away as medics quickly loaded the injured bull rider onto a stretcher. Riders came up, keeping the bull away from the stretcher. Austin got all that and then went back to filming the action with the bull and clown. Once the injured rider was out of the arena, a half dozen horsemen charged the bull, trying to drive it away by hitting it with coiled lariats. But Leroy Watches’ battle wasn’t over. Every time one of the horsemen closed on the bull, it spun, threatened the newcomer, and turned back to Leroy like he was the only thing a bull could love.

  “Oh, my God!” Austin shouted, along with everyone else in the stadium. Watches tripped and fell backwards. The bull was on him. He tossed the old man in the air like he didn’t weigh anything, high above his head. A couple of riders crowded close and beat the animal with their lariats. All it did was make the bull mad. It began shoving one side of its head and then the other into the old man. Austin set the lens so he could capture the details, everything. He got the senior Leroy’s expression as he tried to scramble away. And when he passed out.

  People moaned and cried, horrified by the still body. The man was dead, anyone could see that.

  10

  KEEP YOUR EYE ON THE BULL

  Leroy stood just outside the arena. This was the first time he’d been able to lounge around and watch the show. One of the main gates was in front of him. It was a double gate; it opened wide enough to let a drill team, or anything else, enter.

  Over the top of the gate, Leroy could see guys in Stetson hats cruising by on their horses. They were supposed to help protect the cowboys after the bulls tossed them. They could help protect only: the bulls were too massive and powerful to be run off by a man on horseback. A bull could toss a horse and rider out of the ring. The bullfighters were the ones who distracted the bulls and saved lives. Just men in funny outfits, on foot, armed with nothing.

  To his right, Leroy could see a bull’s head through the metal bars of the chutes. The animal’s eye rolled, as if to say what he thought of the place. Down the line, bulls slammed their hooves and mammoth bodies against the chute walls, preparing to maim. One was giving the cowboy trying to settle on him a hell of a time, bucking like to kill him, even in the tight stall.

  Leroy was waiting for the bull riding to be over so he could collect his pop and get out of there. Funny, the Thomas & Mack felt like home even though he’d only been there a few days. The arena footing was soft and sandy, well-groomed by a tractor and drag, and seasoned with a topping of horse shit and cow driz
zle. The rodeo was almost over. Bull riding was always the last event.

  He looked up. The size of the place took his breath away. The stadium could be a universe in itself, if it were in a sci-fi movie. Three months too late for the National Finals, this was supposed to be third class rodeo that promoters put on, trying to hustle the few bucks in town looking for a Western fling. He had expected the stadium to be almost empty. The place was packed. The announcer said it was because of his pop. Would that many people show up to honor a rodeo bullfighter? He didn’t know that all these people loved his dad. He didn’t know a lot about his dad.

  A couple of cowboys in pastel-colored, bat-winged chaps stood by the gate, eyeing him. Bronc riders. Leroy didn’t like being eyed. He glared at one and he looked away. They must have seen him ride. He’d cleaned himself up and didn’t have his number on his back. Leroy thought that would make him invisible in the crowd’s eyes, but he was hard to hide.

  Leroy looked over the gate again. His father moved easily, arthritis tamed. Pop had done a good job yesterday, separating fallen cowboys from the bulls who wanted to send them to hell. Leroy kept his attention focused on his old man all the time he was in the arena. He was healing him constantly.

  Those guys were still eyeing him. “You want somethin?” he fired at them. They came over.

  “Is it true that you rode wild horses that you trained in three days? And you won the bulldogging and tie-down roping on them?”

  “What if it is?” Leroy narrowed his eyes at the strangers.

  “Those wild horses worked like they’d done it all their lives.”

  The number two cowpoke kept up his questioning. “Both of ‘em in just in hackamores––no bits in their mouths?”