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

by Sandy Nathan

  He and the ATF leader went outside to greet the CDC team.

  “I am Dr. Herbert Bosch, representing the CDC.” Dr. Bosch looked the way you’d expect a senior scientist to look: lab coat, thick glasses, bushy hair. Ink marks on the pocket of his coat. “I was in Vegas on vacation, so I got the case. I commandeered lab technicians from local hospitals and clinics. They are getting ready to take samples now. We’ll get this sorted out.” The doctor looked very capable of sorting things out.

  A commotion caused Austin to look at a second story balcony, one of the minor exits of the Thomas & Mack. The cops barred the stairways down, but people were sneaking out and dangling off of the landing.

  They could hear a guy on the porch shrieking. “The CDC is here. It is mad cow.”

  He dropped off the edge, landing on the tarmac. “Oh, God I broke my ankle.”

  The ATF chief nodded at the writhing victim. “That’s what the new mad cow does. Makes people nuts.”

  “Mad cow can’t do that,” Dr. Bosch objected. “It operates in a totally different manner. Its incubation time …”

  “Wait a minute, everyone.” Things were getting heated. The discussion was polarizing: CDC against the ATF. Austin didn’t know where he stood, but he didn’t want to trigger one of his asthma episodes. He needed to cool things down.

  “Let’s have a meeting and pool our knowledge,” Austin said. “Everyone into our inner office.” All the FBI focus groups he’d been part of showed that coming together and sharing info made the situation better. “We should not only share our thoughts,” Austin directed, “but our feelings.” He led the group. In minutes, the members of the organizations were shouting at each other.

  “That’s the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Where did you get an idiotic idea like that?” Austin commented when an ATF operative stated that the exploding bull was the result of a wireless detonating device planted by terrorists, using the guileless animal rights people as dupes.

  “We’ve been tracking them for years. We know.”

  “Did you watch the video?” Austin bellowed. “How do you account for the blue beams that everyone in the world saw coming out of that guy’s eyes?” He played the video of the beams again. “Wireless device my ass.”

  The ATF operative blinked and withdrew, blowing her nose moments later. Tears ran down her cheeks. Austin decided she was more of a wuss than Sylvia. If you can’t stand the heat, stay out of the kitchen, sugar.

  “I think the bull was already infected with the disease and then blown up by a very small drone.” This from an ATF dude who looked like a dealer at one of the casinos.

  “Of course, it was previously infected.” Austin couldn’t believe what ninnies the ATF were. “What was the point of blowing it up if it wasn’t infected? Why aren’t you asking how it got infected? Or who did it?

  “I’ll tell you who did it: The guy with the blue beams did it, not a drone.” Austin’s bellow ricocheted around the room. “His name is Leroy Watches Jr. Do we have any background on him?”

  The FBI and police networks began to whir as FBI assistants jumped to. They would amass everything about Leroy ever recorded.

  The ATF leader pulled out a cell phone. “I need to see if he is on Interpol.”

  Yet another ATF genius said, “The exploding bull was not the problem. It was merely the delivery device for an extremely virulent and fast acting strain of mad cow disease. That’s the problem.”

  “We don’t even know if a problem exists,” said a mousy ATF operative. “We don’t have the results from any lab tests. It might not be mad cow at all.”

  Austin sneered. “Of course, it’s mad cow. Play that video of Watches staggering.” Leroy Watches Jr. wobbled across the office’s biggest screen. “See? He can barely stand up.”

  “Wait a minute,” Dr. Bosch interrupted. “She’s right. We have no evidence that mad cow or any other disease exists in the material from the bull. We must take samples, analyze them and then make a determination if there’s a public health problem.”

  “Wait a minute. Let’s cut to the core,” Austin jumped in. “Is that bull a health hazard?”

  “As it rots, certainly. But as a vector to spread any disease or bacteria, we don’t know. Neither do you.” Dr. Bosch’s eyebrows almost hit his hairline as he furrowed his brow. “We need to take samples and process them. Without that, you have nothing but a bunch of videoed images that could be faked.” Bosch’s jowls flushed. “Everything you’re talking about is unscientific. Completely outside CDC protocol.” He pointed at Austin. “I won’t be part of illegal railroading of innocent people.”

  Austin didn’t think what he wanted to do was illegal. He touched the pocket of his shirt, feeling for his medication. It was for asthma, but maybe it did something else, too. Bosch was pushing his buttons. Bosch and all the ATF people. His pocket was flat. He’d thrown out his meds in the locker room with his clothes. He took a long breath, and then another one. Maybe he could make it without medication.

  “How long will processing take?” Austin asked. “Though as far as I’m concerned, the evidence is clear.”

  “The evidence isn’t clear. In two weeks or a month, when the lab results are in, we’ll know if the bull’s remains are dangerous. Then you can start arresting people.”

  “We have to wait two weeks?” Austin practically wailed. This CDC doctor was worse than the ATF. At least the ATF knew when to start arresting people. His chance for greatness was now. Was this fact-obsessed scientist going to mess it up?

  “Everyone saw Leroy Watches stagger while carrying his dad across the arena.” He had them play the recording again. “He’s got neurological damage.”

  “His father looks like he might be almost as heavy as the suspect. He might have been staggering from his father’s weight.” Bosch said. “But, we do need to examine the fellow in the video. The blue beams are difficult to explain. I’ve never seen anything like them.

  “The guys who study psychokinetic phenomena have got to get a shot at this. The neuro-psyche docs will want his brain. They may not need the rest of him, but his brain would be invaluable. Watches’ brain could make their careers.” Bosch’s eyes glittered. “I don’t know if you can arrest him for blue beams, though. Where is Leroy Watches, anyway?”

  The computer guys looked at each other. They hadn’t been present when the incident took place. “I never saw him, sir. We just got here.”

  Austin looked up to see Sheriff Bill Rodriquez standing outside the window to the FBI headquarters.

  Oh shit, Austin thought. Another opinion. He smiled and threw the door open, leading him to the conference room. “Come on in here, Bill. We’re having a tactical discussion.”

  Two men wearing Stetson hats followed Sheriff Rodriquez. In addition to being County Sheriff, Rodriguez was a lifelong horseman and breeder of Charolais cattle. He was a charter member of the Cattlemen’s Association and on its Board of Directors.

  “I wanted to meet you face to face, Austin. These men are on the Cattlemen’s Association’s Board with me. They’re the ones who could get here fast.” He introduced them. “We wanted see how things were going.” Bill and the two board members studied him as though they were analyzing him.

  Austin knew exactly what they wanted. First, they wanted to find out if he was a stand-up guy they could trust or a typical Washington meathead. Second, the threat of mad cow disease was bad, bad news for cattlemen. Bill and the others had come to impress that on Austin. He already knew it.

  He picked up his Stetson and put it on the way the shop owner said, front edge just over his brows. The Cattlemen relaxed visibly.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Austin,” Bill said, tipping his hat. “Looks like you’ve got a full house.” The cattlemen looked around the room, registering what they saw: a bunch of men in white shirts and black pants. Another bunch of housewives, kooks, and construction workers. And a doctor in a lab coat and thick glasses. “Should we come back?”

 
“No. Make yourself at home.” Austin looked at the crowded office. “Meeting’s done. Everyone out.” Dr. Bosch refused to leave.

  “This is Dr. …” Austin said of the lab-coated man.

  “I’m Dr. Herbert Bosch of the Center for Disease Control. I’m in charge of the scientific analysis of the possible bioterrorism.”

  The sheriff’s cell phone buzzed. He looked at the caller’s ID. “It’s my captain.” He took the call. “What is it, Walt?” Jim put it on speakerphone.

  “We’ve got people crawling out of the Thomas & Mack on their hands and knees, trying to keep from being seen. Hundreds of them. They’re all splattered with guck. They’re terrified. What should we do?”

  “Let me discuss it with the team.” Jim turned to Austin and Dr. Bosch. “What should we do?”

  Bosch stood tall. “I’d let them go.”

  “What?”

  “You have enough people in the stadium to supply as much material as we can test. If the matter covering those who have escaped is contaminated, they’ve been exposed long enough to have contracted its supposed payload. If it’s not contaminated, no problem. I’d let them go. Without their clothes.”

  “What?!” said everyone in the room.

  “Without their clothes. The emergency people can incinerate the garments. The affected individuals can go home and shower. We’ll treat any cases that show up––and I don’t think any cases of anything are going to break out.”

  “No clothes?” said the sheriff.

  “It’s the rational approach.” Dr. Bosch screwed up his face in disbelief. “Don’t tell me you you’re prudes. This is Las Vegas. Half of them probably have been hot-tubbing together. Do you want me to give the order, sheriff? I have the authority.” That doctor was more intimidating that he looked.

  “You want hundreds of naked people running around the parking lot of the Thomas & Mack?”

  “It wouldn’t bother me. They won’t run very far. They’ll just go to their cars and go home. Or you can get them hospital gowns if you want.”

  Bill gave the command, knowing it would ruin his political career. “Captain, the people can go, but they have to leave their clothes. Or they can wait until some of the deputies get hospital gowns for them. They still have to leave their clothes.”

  “Yes, sir.”

  “Thank you very much, Dr. Bosch. We’ll talk later. Bill and these gentlemen have business to discuss with me,” said Austin. He showed Bosch to the door.

  Bill could hardly speak, thinking about all those naked people in the parking lot. Lord have mercy! But he got back to work.

  “We saw the video of the blue beams and the bull going up, but what happened?”

  “It’s an ultra-high tech device used by a maniac,” Austin said gravely. “We’ll bring him in.” He waved at the banks of computer screens in the control center, each staffed by an intense programmer.

  “Looks like you’re the right man for the job, Austin,” Bill said. “The most important thing to do is keep the panic about mad cow down until we’ve got some scientific evidence proving the bull was infected. This is very serious to the cattle industry nationwide, as I’m sure you know.”

  “The ATF is pushing the mad cow angle. I don’t think it was mad cow.”

  Bill’s jaw relaxed. “You don’t?”

  “No, I don’t. I think that cowboy is a terrorist pure and simple. He’s a threat to the United States. He came in through the Middle East, the ATF told me that. He has powers that no one has ever seen. You saw the blue beams. He’s deadly.”

  The sheriff and the others nodded. “He’s plenty dangerous. And I sure would like it if you could put him where the sun don’t shine. Forever. You FBI folks can do that, can’t you?” Bill said, smiling hopefully.

  “He’s sure a good bulldogger … Seems a shame,” the Cattleman’s Association’s treasurer tried to say. Bill elbowed him.

  “Bill, what you asked is classified.” Austin jumped up. “Enough of this sitting around, I’m going to arrest him.” Austin turned to the five agents working on computers. “Where’s Watches?”

  They looked back. “We thought you knew, sir.”

  “I don’t know. I’ve been running this investigation.”

  “We don’t know, sir. We weren't here when the crime was committed.”

  “What do you mean, you don’t know?” Austin’s voice rose. “You let a gigantic cowboy covered with crap get away? What’s the matter with you idiots?” Austin stood with his feet spread, knees bent. He looked like he might detonate. “I’ll say it again: where is Leroy Watches?”

  Everyone looked down, including the cattlemen.

  Austin ran his hands through his hair, acting as if he might pull it out.

  “Where could Watches be?” Austin whispered. “If we could find him, we could solve this thing.”

  “How about the hospital?” the querulous voice of Wilbur Crockett rasped. Wilbur was the oldest member of the Cattleman’s Board, 97-years-young and counting. “If my daddy was hurt, I’d take him to the hospital.”

  The brows of the men rose as one. That’s where Leroy Watches was. They headed for their vehicles.

  Sheriff Rodriquez hopped in the car with Austin. He would have fifteen minutes to convince the FBI man to put the cowboy in one of those secret FBI facilities that everyone had heard about.

  12

  BLUE BEAMS

  Leroy vaulted over the gate. His eyes were locked on the bull mauling his dad. His pop’s body half-sat up and then flopped back as that red motherfucker rammed him. When Leroy got in range, he grabbed the bull’s tail and pulled.

  Just when he thought he was winning, the end of the damned tail broke off. The bull lunged at his father. Leroy could feel that his dad was alive, but he wouldn’t be if that bull got him again. He didn’t think about his powers or what to do next or who he was.

  Leroy glared at the bull’s ugly red head, rage wiping out every thought and feeling. The thing was a couple of feet away from his pop, sawed off horns lowered to kill him. But it didn’t. The head exploded, raining blood and brains and slivers of tongue and bone everywhere. The rest of the bull was falling forward. Two thousand pounds of dead meat landing on his father would kill him as surely as a raging live bull.

  Leroy aimed his fury at the animal’s body. The headless hulk rose three feet from the ground, and then detonated. Since he was closest to the bull, he got the biggest share of the muck. Leroy was covered with bull slime from his hair down. His father lay there, covered the same way.

  And he was dying. Leroy could heal him, if he could find someplace private to do it. He looked around, not registering the stands or the screaming people in them. He saw a smaller gate on the other side of the arena.

  “Hold on, daddy. I’m gonna fix you.” He lifted his father from the ground, cradling him in his arms. He ran for that smaller exit. He could heal him, if he could just be alone.

  The ambulance pulled into the arena right after Leroy Jr. picked up his father and ran. Its lights rotated and flashed; the horn blared. A fire engine followed it, as was protocol. The engine’s lights cut circles in the gloomy corners of the stadium. The siren echoed in the cement building. The vehicles jolted across the hoof-pocked arena.

  Leroy ran, pretending not to notice the ambulance following him.

  “Oh, daddy, I'm so sorry. It’s all my fault.” Leroy shuddered to a stop, sobbing. “I didn’t watch for you. I let that bull get you. It’s just that Grandfather told me that he was dying. He’s dying, pop. Oh, God.”

  He took a step, balancing his father’s weight, and fell to his knee. “Oh, daddy, what am I going I do? He can’t die. And you can’t die.” He looked at his father’s seemingly dead form. “I gotta think about you.”

  Leroy lurched forward. “I gotta get you out of here. If those doctors get ahold of you, they’ll kill you.” He shot a glance behind him and struggled forward faster. The ambulance was right there. And a fire engine, too. “I’ll save you, d
addy, don’t worry.” His father was getting so heavy. “We’re almost to the gate, pop. I’ll figure something out.” He hobbled with desperate speed.

  Leroy was almost to the far gate when a Sheriff’s black and white pulled in from the other side and blocked the exit. He stopped, weaving from exhaustion and grief. Two deputies got out and approached Leroy, hands on their weapons.

  “You need to give up your father, Mr. Watches. He needs medical attention. Sir, can you hear me?” Leroy stared straight ahead, swaying.

  One deputy flashed a look at the other. “Is he on something? Could all that cow shit make him sick or something?”

  I dunno. I never saw anything like this.” He gestured at Leroy, who was shifting from one foot to the other. “Look at him.”

  “We need backup.”

  “We have an individual behaving bizarrely,” the cop said into his microphone, “He’s carrying an injured man and isn’t responding. He’s staggering. He’s covered with matter from that exploded bull.”

  Leroy was barely staying on his feet. His dad wasn’t that much smaller than him. He dropped to one knee, and then rose unsteadily. He looked behind him at the ambulance. The two drivers were conversing heatedly, taking into a microphone. He saw them pointing a camera at him. He kept going.

  The ambulance passed him. The vehicle stopped maybe fifteen feet in front of him. Leroy kept going, weaving even more dramatically.

  “OK. Now!”

  The paramedics threw the ambulance doors open and jumped out, bearing a gurney for his father. One carried an elephant-sized syringe. More men converged on him.

  “OK, buddy. Nice and easy. Let him go. Your father needs treatment. We’re going to the hospital.”

  “And we’re going to get you fixed up.” He injected Leroy in the neck.

  Leroy did not know how they got the tranquilizer in him, only that his powers were flaming. He knew that the white man’s medicine would kill his father and that he could save him, given a bit of time. His soul burst through the tranquilizer the instant they were inside the ambulance. Leroy stood up, easily balancing himself in the moving vehicle.