Payday

Deke Benton pushed the battered straw hat back on his head. “This is the spot right here.” He gestured expansively at the calm pond backing up from the river.

“About god damned time.” Bunk Corbett said as he pushed his way through the last thicket of scrub. “Where the hell are we anyways?”

“This is my best fishing spot. I come down here when I want to be alone.”

“Alone, huh?” Bunk dropped his bag and rods onto the sandy ground and wiped his sleeve across his slick forehead. “What are them two Mexican kids doin’ over there then?”

“Aw, they don’t count, they’re always here. Their folks live on down the river a stretch.” He waved to them. “Hola boys.”

They waved back, before returning their attention to their handmade fishing poles.

Deke unfastened his line and deftly cast the hook deep into the pool, where it landed with a satisfying “Plop”. He sat in the sand and watched the ripples radiate slowly across the surface.

“Ah, Deke.” Bunk was looking over the older cowboy’s shoulder. “Aint you gonna stick a night crawler or such on your hook first?”

“Naw,” Deke never took his eyes from the diminishing ripples. “Hate to waste bait. I ain’t ever caught anything down here.”

“Why in hell did you drag me down here, through miles of poison ivy and sticker bushes if there ain’t any goddamned fish?”

“Theres fish in there alright, I just never hooked any.”

“Sounds like a waste of time to me.”

“Speaking of wasting time, what are you going to do now?”

Bunk looked at his uncle. “Huh?”

“Cole Beeman told me he had to let you go.”

“Dang, don’t good news travel fast around here?” He flopped down next to his uncle in the sand. “Said he didn’t have enough work to keep me on.”

“There’s gotta be a job somewhere hereabouts,” Deke turned to study his nephew. “Even if it ain’t cowboying.”

Bunk rubbed a calloused hand over his stubbled chin. “Well I don’t see how I need a job. I am an entrepreneur.”

Throwing his head back, Deke let out a braying laugh. “Entrepreneur huh?”

“All I know, is no man ever got rich working for wages.”

“A man on wages at least has money in his pocket.”

“Yeah, well,” He shot a hurt look at his uncle. “I’ll strike it rich one of these days, and then we’ll see.”

“You’re a married man, Bunk. You got responsibilities now, Lynnie, and that baby need you to come through for them.”

Bunk dropped onto the sand next to the older man. He pushed his sweat stained hat back on his head. “Yeah, I know. I am doing my best, you know.”

“I know. It ain’t easy.”

Both men sat silent, watching the late afternoon sun on the tranquil water.

Standing up, Deke said, “Well this ain’t getting any fish for supper is it?” He brushed the clinging sadn from his jeans and opened his satchel.

Bunk watched him, a quizzical expression on his broad face, “I thought you said you ain’t ever caught any fish in here.”

“Aha,” said Deke, pulling a grey cardboard tube from the bag. “I only said I never hooked any.”

Bunk jumped upright. “Is that what I think it is?” He took an unconscious step backward.

“Damn right it is. Good old dynamite.” He rummaged around in the open bag with his free hand until he found a small pack of blasting caps. “You didn’t think I caught all those fish on my own did you?”

Sticking the dynamite in his jeans pocket, he reached into the bag again and pulled out a red safety fuze.  He deftly pushed the fuze into the metal cap. That done, he rummaged around in the bag once more. “Dammit. Where the hell is it?”

“What you lookin’ for?”

“Durned crimper, I was sure I put it in here.” He shrugged casually, and put the fuse in his mouth. Biting down, he crushed the top of the cap onto the waxed tube inside it. “I wouldn’t tell Cora I did that if I were you, Bunk.”

He walked the water’s edge and held the dynamite over his head. “Ready, boys?”

Across the backwash, the two junior anglers pulled in their lines and jumped to their feet, waving. “Go ahead, Senor Deke. Do it now,” They called out.

Pulling a zippo lighter from his jeans pocket, he called back, “Ok then, you asked for it.” He held the lighter under the waxed fuse until it sputtered into life, emitting a sulphurous smoke.

Deke cocked his right arm back and watched the fuse burn for a couple of seconds. When he was satisfied, he sent the smoking dynamite cartwheeling in a lazy arc toward the water.

It hit the water with a wet sound and immediately disappeared beneath the surface.

Bunk looked disappointed, “Won’t the water make the fuse go out?”

A column of water erupted twenty feet in to the air from the centre of the backwash, accompanied by a muffled WHUMP.

Bunk threw his hands in the air then slapped Deke on the back. “Yeeha! Hot dog, ain’t that something.” The Mexican boys jumped and danced happily on the opposite bank, congratulating each other in excited Spanish.

Deke didn’t answer. He simply stood there with his hands on his hips and a pleased look on his face as the waves washed over his wrinkled boots.

After a few seconds, stunned fish began popping to the surface, drifting and bobbing on the radiating ripples, their silver bellies shining in the afternoon sun. Across the water, the pair of Mexican boys stripped off their rough shirts and rushed into the water. They began to gather the floating fish, tossing them into a woven basket on the bank.

“Hot damn! I ain’t never seen nothing like that.” Bunk still had his hands raised in triumph.

“Yup, it sure works a charm.” Deke’s hands were still firmly on his hips. He turned to Bunk. “I just thought of an idea for you mister entrepreneur.”

Bunk looked at him. “What is that?”

Deke grinned widely, “I think you better get them damn boots off and get in there before those boys take all our damn fish.”

***

“Buenos Dias, Senora Ruiz.” Deke tipped his hat to the elderly lady.

Shielding her eyes from the slanting afternoon sun, “Beunos  tardis, Senor Benton.”

“Some fish for your dinner?” He lifted a string of silver bodied fish from his saddle.

She took them gratefully. “Gracias, Senor Benton. You are a saint.”

“De nada, ma’am. De nada.”

Bunk thought he saw a blush of red pass over Deke’s tanned cheeks as the older man tipped his hat once more before allowing his horse to walk on. As his own horse passed the woman, Bunk nodded and tipped his own hat. “How do ma’am?”

When they were a short distance along the road, he pulled his horse alongside Deke’s. “Are you gonna give away all our fish before we get home?”

“We got more than we can eat. Shame to waste ‘em.”

Turning in his saddle, Bunk could no longer see the woman. “How do you know that old lady anyhow?”

“Her husband Paolo was in the war with me. He got throwed by a bronc’ after we got back and broke his neck. She mostly relies on people to help her now.”

Bunk looked back again. “Damn, that’s sad.”

“If I catch some fish or shoot a rabbit, I like to give her some. Costs nothing to be kind.”

They rode in silence for a while.

As they came out on to the road, Bunk asked, “If I got my neck broke, would you look after Linny for me?”

Deke didn’t answer. He was looking at the truck sitting silently in the dust at the side of the road. “That wasn’t there before,” he said eventually.

They approached the truck slowly. Deke slid from the saddle and flicking his reins around the rear bumper, walked slowly along the side of the truck. Bunk, his boots still hanging on the pommel of his saddle hobbled down the other side in his damp socks.

“Hello in the cabin,”He said as he tottered over the rough gravel. “Anyone home?” He reached for the door handle.

The door flew open, sending Bunk sprawling in the rough grass. “What the hell?” he muttered.

Out of nowhere man and dishevelled clothes was standing over him, a small pistol pointed at his face. “You son a bitch cowboy!” The man aimed a kick at Bunk. “Try to jack my load, huh?”

“Whoa! Hold up, friend” Still on his back, Bunk held his hands out in front of him. “No need for shootin’”

“You sneak up on a fella, to jack him up, and you don’t want to get lit up!” He wiped his forehead with his sleeve. “Give me one good reason I don’t drill you right now.”

Deke appeared behind the man. “I can think of one.” He grabbed the man by the lapel of his coat and dragged him around to face him. “I told his pa I wouldn’t let no-one shoot him.”

The scruffy man holding the pistol had enough time to make a surprised grunt, before Deke fired a left hook that connected with his jaw. He wobbled backward as Deke sent a right that landed with a loud crack, sending the man’s crumpled cap sailing into the dusty air.

Fists cocked Deke followed the stunned man as he reeled backward. After a moment, he ceased staggering and began to sway, as though caught in a surreptitious breeze. He took the pistol from the man who collapsed to the coarse grass next to Bunk.

“Damn, ain’t this turning into a day and a half?” said Bunk as he rose, brushing dust and bits of grass from his clothes. He regarded the unconscious man. “Who the hell is that?”

“Trouble. That’s who.” Deke stretched his fingers. “If this is what I think it is.”

The man on the ground groaned and tried feebly to sit up. Deke pulled some twine from the bag on his saddle. “Tie him up with that, before he does something stupid.”

Bunk took the twine and knelt beside the man, who was still making unhappy noises. “Son of a bitch, point a damn gun at me.” He pulled the man’s arms behind his body and tied his wrists tightly. When he was done he joined Deke at the rear of the truck. “Now, what?”

“Well,”  said Deke. “Now, we are in trouble. Look at this” He lifted the greasy tarpaulin, exposing a wooden barrel, bound with heavy iron hoops.

Scratching his head, Bunk asked, “Is that what I think it is?”

“Yup, reckon it’s booze. Tequila, most likely. One of Doniphan’s I expect.”

“What in hell would a bootlegger be doing just sitting out here in the boonies?”

“He’s got a flat up front. His buddies must have gone to get a spare. Maybe come back with another truck. We better skedaddle before they do.”

Bunk was looking at the barrels. “I got an idea.”

“No.” Deke held his hands up. “I know what you’re thinking, and no.”

“Think about it.” Bunk leaned close. “We already hijacked the truck when you cold cocked that S.O.B.”

Deke looked uncomfortable, but he didn’t answer.

“Doniphan and his goons will kill us just for roughing up stupid over there.” He gestured to the tied man. “It’s worth the risk Deke. Linny and me could set up house in Austin. You could put up that stone for Cora.”

They stood in contemplative silence for a moment and then Deke looked at Bunk with hard eyes. “Alright,” he said. “Let’s do it. But we do it right.”

“This is our big break pard. But what do we do with that chucklehead?”

They looked at the man seated unsteadily in the dust.

“What’s your name friend?” Deke stood over him, the small black pistol in his hand.

Despite his disadvantage, the man on the ground was defiant. “You’re dead. Both of you. You know that, right?”

Deke fired the pistol, kicking up a puff of yellow dust by the man’s feet, causing him to swear and scrabble backward. “That  ain’t what I asked you.”

Realising the futility of argument, the man answered, “My name is Carey Boyle. Mr Doniphan will kill you both himself.”

“Well Carey Boyle. This isn’t exactly what I had planned when I woke up this morning. I hope your friends don’t leave you out here too long, the coyotes are bad hereabouts.”

Bunk went to the front of the truck and cursing, heaved the crank a quarter turn. The truck shuddered into life, and Bunk quickly climbed onto the cabin. Deke slammed the door behind him and went to collect the horses.

He stood with the reins of both horses in hand and watched the truck wobble slowly down the road on its flat tyre, then turned to Boyle, who was watching the truck slowly disappear. “Mr Boyle, you are only a few miles from town, that-a-way.”He pointed to emphasise the last part.

“I hope you know what you’re doing friend. You and that dunce are swingin’ a big God-damned tiger by the tail.”

“Uh-huh. I know it.” He mounted. “It’s an exciting life being a cowboy. Want some fish?”