The Neutering of America

Here's just a few of the more disturbing manipulations taking place in our country that you'd be hard-pressed to find reported anywhere but Fox News:

• In what is clearly an underhanded effort to secure yet another liberal vote in the US House of Representatives, the White House appoints the Republican incumbent in NY district 23 to the relatively powerless position of Secretary of the Army. That move by Obama's White House leaves the seat up for grabs in a special election. The Republican committee in upstate New York nominates Dede Scozzafava, a Republican In Name Only, who is so far left that she's even more liberal than the Democrat running in the race. Doug Hoffman, a conservative CPA with no political aspirations, decides to run on the Conservative Party ticket. And so many conservatives jump on his bandwagon that Scozzafava pulls out of the race. A day later, she endorses not Hoffman the conservative, but the Democrat, Bill Owens. Whose side is she really on anyway? And where do the best interests of her constituency figure in? Personally, I think she was bought off like the Republican committee who nominated her to run, but you best decide for yourself.

• In the race for governor of New Jersey, the Democratic National Party, on the eve of the election there, admits to bankrolling a robocall for the third party independent candidate. Obviously, the Dems were hoping to split the Republican vote to assure Corzine, a corrupt Democrat whose lips appear to be firmly planted over Obama's rectum, four more years as governor. And Obama made three appearances in New Jersey to "get out the vote." This news comes on top of even more disturbing news that 3000 or more absentee ballots have already been set aside for "discrepancies" such as signatures that don't match. Add to this the fact that the Democratic Party in New Jersey is demanding that those questionable absentee ballots be counted in a race that's too close to call. Doesn't this kind of behavior by any political party trouble you? There's more than a dozen states with voter fraud investigations currently going on, but where is the hue and cry of the mainstream media? Largely nonexistent, save for Fox News.

• While the boondoggle that is the 1990+ page Health Care Bill is all the news that's fit to print, at least according to the Obama/New York Times, the Cap and Trade bill is making its way quietly through the House and Senate. Cap and Trade, also known in my household as Crap and Tax, will not only raise everyone's electricity costs in the form of new taxes passed on to the consumer, but also drive even more manufacturing and jobs out of the country. To say otherwise is to be unable to understand the most basic math.

• Why, it's almost as if our politicians, Democrats and Republicans, are desperate to neuter as quickly as possible America's ability to manufacture anything, including a self defense should the need arise. What do we make here anymore? Very little, judging by the wares on the shelves of Wal Mart and other stores. And if we cannot manufacture anything, such as arms and tanks and planes to defend ourselves, what happens when, say, a country with too many people like China decides to turn all those modern factories we've helped build to weaponry? How do we defend ourselves then? Do you think the Chinese will be happy with us if we default on our loans? Perhaps they will want to foreclose. What do you think?

• Who's bankrolling this scheme to render us incapable of defending ourselves? The European socialist-billionaire George Soros? Probably, among others. After all, he's only visited the White House 22 times since Obama took office a year ago. That means over two visits per month. What's Soros checking on anyway? The return on his investment?

• Why won't Federal Reserve chairman Bernanke tell us and Congress just who he's lent a couple of trillion of our money to in the last year or so? Why is Bernanke continuing to print money at a record-breaking pace? To weaken the dollar? Perhaps collapse our currency to allow for the introduction of a new, global currency? I know what I think, but I'll let you be the judge.

• What and who is behind the so-called "climate change" treaty to be discussed, and possibly signed, in Copenhagen in December? Coincidentally--or not--this global meeting of over 150 nations will occur at the same time Obama is due to pick up his Nobel "peace" prize. Just an FYI, this treaty's wording includes the phrase "global government" and would, in effect, should Obama be treasonous enough to sign this thing, give our national sovereignty away.

• Why is land here in this nation being grabbed left and right by Congress under the guise of "environmental protection" so that no oil exploration or drilling is allowed to take place? Why does Obama encourage Iran to develop nuclear power plants to serve that country's electricity needs, but we Americans, in this time of so-called "energy crisis" and "green solutions" are not allowed to build any, not a single one? Is this to prevent us free Americans from using our own resources to become energy independent of the rest of the world? Again, I insist you be the judge.

• Why is it that Obama seems to have plenty of time to, for example, fly overseas to bid for the Olympics or fly overnight to Dover for cheap photo ops to "honor" the dead soldiers returning from Afghanistan, plus manipulate the politics of upstate New York, and make campaign appearances for candidates in Virginia and New Jersey, and attend fundraisers all over the country, but he can't seem to spare a few moments to make a decision on Afghanistan, or address the issue of the flagging economy here in America, or even push Congress to enforce existing laws to close our porous borders?

• Why is it this White House has the time to waste picking a fight with Fox News and no time to at least decry the nasty and despicable acts of voter manipulation and outright fraud in New Jersey by Obama's own political party?

• Why is it that Democrats like Pelosi and Baucus "claim" to be able to cut hundreds of billions of dollars from Medicaid and Medicare, but need to pass a health care bill that includes no less than 13 new taxes and the creation of 111 new bureaucracies to do so? Why has Obama not taken the time to appoint someone to head Medicare even now, yet we have all these unconstitutional "czars", more than 32 I believe, already in place and in record time?

• Why is the mainstream media, in print and on television, with the exception of Fox News, largely silent on all these issues and more? Who's bankrolling their concerted silence?

Now, add up the above and tell me there's not a concerted attempt by someone or many well-heeled global someones to neutralize, control and otherwise takeover the only country left in the world whose citizens are yet free to speak, to rise up even and prevent this. Just like South Carolina's Joe Wilson shouted at Obama recently, I will also shout, "You lie." And you and I both know I've only shone a tiny light on just a tip of this increasingly alarming iceberg.

The question we are left with in the face of overwhelming evidence is what are we, the free People of America, going to do about this?

My first answer is to vote out every single incumbent--local, state and federal. If that doesn't stop this takeover in its tracks, if our politicians--Republican and Democrat--continue to allow themselves to be bought off by the "global governance" interests so obviously intent on neutering America to extinction, then I believe we have no choice but to follow the example of our Forefathers and throw the tea into the harbor, every harbor--sea-going or landlocked--all over America. Our nation, our children's future depends on us and what we do right now and in the coming months.

Tornado Talon--Thirty-One

The pictures on television, the front page of every major newspaper, the cover of damn near every magazine in the country told the story.

Six members of Tyler's innermost circle--the heart and soul of the KIC campaign--lying flat on their backs near the holey gas grill with blood darkening their shirts. The spokes of Maude's wheel. What the picture couldn't possibly show was Tyler hovering over his crumpled body at the hub of the wheel, half his head gone. Yet, he'd never felt the pain, nor had his soul hit the ground.

They'd all forgotten about CJ, little by little, bit by bit, as time passed with no word of him. Relaxed their guard really. All except Grandma. Apparently. And there they all were, gathered at Tyler's ranch, ready to bar-b-que, to celebrate what they all believed might've been nothing short of a second American Revolution at the polls.

Video on the nightly news showed Grandma leveling her shotgun to take out CJ at point-blank range. And they called her a hero. Media did indeed have cameras in the trees, like she'd always suspected. For the Cosmic instant he yet hovered, Tyler worried this violence would dampen the KIC campaign, but just the opposite occurred. His death seemed to serve as the catalyst for millions of American patriots to get off their asses and vote, and fire their incumbent elected employees to Congress.

The media, doing some real journalism for a change, would eventually report that the late CJ Bishop had escaped jail with the help of none other than members of a splinter group loosely affiliated with ACORN. Ten were charged and convicted of conspiracy to commit murder, sentenced to spend the rest of their lives in federal prison without possibility of parole. Due to the overwhelming enmity of the inmates, however, nine of the ten would not live out their first year behind bars.

Unfortunately, or maybe fortunately, none of the fired cowards in Congress waited around to receive their pink slips in person, and neither was the would-be dictator and his family doing any more than squatting in the White House after the 2010 election results were final. Except for the small watering of the Tree of Liberty by the blood of seven patriots, six of whom would recover completely, there was no more violence.

The world stood in awe of America and its People once again.

The press guesstimated that upwards of five million people paid their respects to Tyler Tornado Talon, American Patriot, lying in state at Feinster's Funeral Home. Two weeks passed before the funeral procession made its way down the town of Crawford's main street, the flag-draped coffin bearing Tyler's body followed by a riderless Twinky to the family plot where Tyler was buried with other, and to his way of thinking, greater members of his family, like his Grandpa Joe.

Boy, time on Earth sure went by fast compared to that of the Cosmos. Certainly.

Still, in looking back, Tyler reckoned the proudest moment of his whole life, aside from the successful rescue of the gallant lady America, was the birth of his baby boy. Yet one important matter weighted his spirit and, for that reason alone, he couldn't freely leave the way station for parts unknown. Not yet.

"You have to let her go for now," Grandpa Joe said. So Tyler hitched a ride on the Earthly winds and hoped Lydia might feel a need to ride the next thundercloud that passed near the ranch.

She burst into tears upon hearing her name. "Ty?" she shouted from the center of the storm.

Read my mind, he said to her, and opened his thoughts.

She shook her head. "Hurts too much to even think about that right now," she said.

WILL OF THE COSMOS, he thundered.

"I should've brained you with that frying pan," she said, a smirk developing out of the wet frown.

He laughed. CJ beat you to it.

"That was an awful thing to say," she said, her brow furrowing.

Truth is what it is. Think.

"Do I have to?" she hollered finally.

You're free to do what you will, Tyler said. But Bob already asked, didn't he?

"Sort of," she said. "Think he plans to wait me out."

Not a sin to be happy.

"But my heart, my soul belongs to you," she said and looked down through the swirl of black clouds to Earth, "and our child."

How big is the heart of your soul, Lydia?

"Your mother never," she began and snuffled a sob.

Eight kids and plenty of life in between. Tyler enveloped her body with his soul. This here is way different. Too young to be alone like that. Besides, you want more kids, don't you?

"I can still do the children's ho--." Suddenly her eyes widened. "You're giving me permission."

America needs a First Lady like you. Why he thought that, right then, he didn't know.

"Are you saying Bob Brown's going to be the next President?" she yelled.

Shit. Should've stepped lightly there. Tell my son I'll meet him in the wind, Tyler said, surprised that he wasn't jealous. Not even an itty-bitty bit. Hell, if he couldn't be around to raise his son, he knew he couldn't have picked any better man for the job.

*****

In a thought, Tyler had returned to the way station of the Cosmos.

"Are you ready now?" Michael Talon, Senior, said to his seventh son.

"We can fly," Travis cried.

"What happens to the CJ's and Sally Stepford's of the world?" Tyler asked.

Grandpa Joe chuckled. "Why, they get to go right back to Earth and do it again, and again, if need be, until they achieve the level of true human being."

"Then you move on," Tyler's father said.

"How will I know when Lydia's...?" Tyler couldn't finish.

"Don't bother God with that shit now," Grandpa Joe said. "Just have faith and enjoy the ride. You'll learn how everything works soon enough."

"But, how will I...?"

"Never you mind," Grandpa Joe said, his tone approaching annoyed, "let's just go, dammit."

Michael Talon said, "We can hitch us a ride on the Cosmic winds for starters."

"Come on, Daddy," Travis shouted and shot out among the closest stars. "Let's fly!"

Links to previous chapters in the right-hand sidebar.

© Copyright 2009 by M.L. Bushman. All rights reserved.

Tornado Talon--Chapter Thirty

Breakfast turned from speculation on CJ’s fate into a debate on the wisdom of a march on Washington.

"You can't hope to succeed, Ty," Jon Thompson said.

"Why not? Anyone ever tried it before?" he said. No one answered and he added, "Then don't say it can't be done. Got to try is all. Reward's in the effort, not the outcome." But was a march the right, the most effective effort?

"Boy, ain't you the philosopher now," Fleet said.

"I think it's a great idea," Helen said and Maude, her solid blue Buddha grandma nodded her agreement.

"I wish I could see the future now," she said hesitantly, as if she, like Tyler, was having some doubts about a march. She looked at him. "But I can't."

And that bothered the hell out of Tyler.

"Well, I'm in," Dusty said and forked the last of his scrambled eggs into his mouth.

"They'll kill you," Curly said and no one asked who he meant.

"Probably try," Tyler said.

Dusty looked up, puzzled a second, then said, "Bull might kill us anytime we get on one, too."

"Bulls try all the time."

Silence at the table while the women exchanged looks suggesting the men in their lives might just be morons.

"Who's they anyway?" Lydia snapped. "Not the people, for the most part. Just the crooks in Washington and their band of assassins."

"Army, National Guard," Jon said, "even those FBI agents out there still checking the goddamn mail, they might have a thing or two to say."

"Could just join us instead, too," Tyler said. “Swore an oath to defend America and the Constitution from enemies, foreign and domestic."

"Can't just go around inciting revolution like that," Frankie said.

"Why not?" Marci retorted.

"Ain't American," he said.

Everyone stared at him and then Tyler said, "What ain't American? Revolution? You ought to put down the Playboy and read a little history once. Besides, ain't planning on inciting no violent revolution."

"But that's what you're talking about though, ain't it? Revolution?" Fleet said.

Bob Brown laughed softly. "All Ty's suggesting is that we the People of these United States exercise our God-given rights to freedom of speech, to assemble, to protest, to defend our country and its Constitution from the domestic enemy within."

But a march on Washington? At the back of Tyler's mind, a glimmer, there and gone, of an even better idea. Maybe.

"There's nothing in the Constitution that prevents us from walking across the county to tell those criminals in Washington to leave," Lydia said.

"Politely," Maude suggested.

"A bloodless coup," Helen said.

"Right," Tyler said. “Just like the Feds in Washington already done to us.”

"Right," Bob Brown echoed. "A march like this would be nothing more than a peaceful request to vacate your job, to which if you, Mr. Senator or Ms. Representative, do not acquiesce, we the People of these United States and your employers, might get really mad and throw tea into Boston Harbor for a second time."

Frankie looked up from his plate and said, "Boston Harbor's in Washington, D.C.? Thought they was landlocked there." Marci looked at him as if he'd grown a second head. "What?" he said to her.

Every woman but Marci giggled, all the men but Frankie grinning, and Lydia reached across the table to pat poor Marci's hand. "At least he can work, think of it that way," she said.

"Well, he's good for other things, too," Marci replied.

"Good for what?" Frankie asked.

Dusty muttered, "Only the Cosmos knows," and soft laughter prevailed for about eight seconds.

Shelly snorted and said, "You really think the American People are going to stop what they're doing to join you in a march?"

"Why not?" Lydia asked.

Was a rift in the women's union developing here? Tyler surreptitiously studied both women with keen interest.

"The people, the sheeple?" Shelly said, and shook her head. "Follow a bullrider and a bunch of cowboys across country to fire Congress and the President." She looked at Lydia. "Who's going to feed them?"

"Yeah, what she said," Fleet added, staring at Tyler.

"Nine million and counting will go a short way toward that," Sam the Bulldog said from the front door, turning everyone's attention.

Only a short way, Tyler thought. Couple that with asking people to leave their comfort zones, their jobs, if they still had them, their lives...

"Oh yeah, that's what's in the coffers now," Sam said, taking a seat in the recliner in the living room. "But more mail arrives every day, with even more and bigger donations." He ran a hand over his hair and grinned. "I should've charged you one percent at least, maybe ten."

"See?" Lydia said to Shelly. "We'll feed them."

Lydia could sell manure to a feedlot, just as Grandpa Joe had suggested once upon a time, Tyler was certain.

"Ok, I'm in," Shelly said. "If we don't do something soon, we won't have a country left anyway."

"Right," Derry piped up, finally. "Nothing to lose."

But people had much to lose if they joined Tyler on a march, of that he had no doubt. Lydia warily glanced his way.

Jon eyed everyone, looked to Sam and said, "So, are you in on this conspiracy, too?"

"You know, when I first decided to go to law school," he replied, "I thought I might make Constitutional law my specialty." He laughed, almost helplessly. "And I would've starved to death."

"Ain't Congress all lawyers though?" Curly asked, leaving his seat at the table to plop down on the couch.

Sam winced. "Unfortunately, yes, nearly, and they're giving honest lawyers like me a bad name. Been doing that since 1913, when the Federal Reserve was created--in glaring violation of the Constitution." He looked at Tyler. "Those are the bastards who'll do their damnedest to stop you, even if it means outright assassination."

Wouldn't a march on Washington put everyone at risk? Lydia looked at Tyler, the corners of her mouth down turned.

"Yeah," Marci said, "like JFK or Martin Luther King."

"John and Bobby Kennedy," Bob Brown said. "Fear is an awesome tool to keep people in line."

Fear might've killed Sally Stepford, too, Tyler thought and caught Lydia narrowing her eyes at him.

"Sure, it is," Sam said. "Look at the IRS, another wholly unconstitutional organization."

"Modern day Gestapo," Lydia said, scowling at Tyler, as if he'd done anything other than think there might be a better solution than a grueling cross-country march.

"Someone might let CJ out just to stop us," Maude said suddenly.

The silence hurt Tyler's ears.

"You think you're fit to walk to Washington from Nebraska?" Curly asked Tyler finally.

"Well, thought I might ride Twinky, but if I do get tired, I can always fly." If we do this at all.
Lydia's brow furrowed instantly and she wasn't even glancing his way now.

"Like a hover craft," Maude said, although she, too, was eyeing Tyler.

Tyler recalled the hub of the bloody spokes then.

"Don't worry about that," Maude patted his arm, "don't let anything stop you from what you think you need to do, especially fear."

"She didn't see coffins, did she?" Lydia said tersely, effectively ending all noise in the room.

"No, I didn't," Maude said, pulling her hand away from Tyler's arm. "And I haven't seen anything like that again, so the future may have changed. Or I may have been merely picking up on CJ's subconscious plans."

"Ok, then who's the woman, the Queen of Swords in that reading you give me?" Tyler asked her.

She shrugged. "I don't know the answer to that."

"What if it's the political machine?" Sam said abruptly.

"What?" Fleet said before Tyler could manage.

Bob Brown clapped his hands. "That makes perfect sense. America's always been a lady, hasn't she? We always refer to her as such. And right now, those crooks in Washington have taken her over, raping the people in her name for their own ends."

"So, whatever we do could be viewed as a rescue of sorts then," Jon said.

Lydia nodded. "Yes, exactly. Saving the gallant lady America from the greed of politicians and a would-be dictator who wants to be king of the New World Order."

Would a march do that? Tyler wondered. And what if there was a better way?

"Might find our asses in jail, we keep this up," Frankie said.

"Or dead," Bob Brown said quietly.

"Any way you look at it, gotta give your life to save your soul," Tyler said.

Fleet stared, wrinkled his nose and said, "Man, ain't nothing worse than a bullrider pretending wisdom."

Tyler scowled. "Ain't pretending nothing here."

"You're the only one pretending anything, especially intelligence," Helen said, grinning. "The rest of us are bona fide." She looked at Frankie. "Well, except you."

"What?" he retorted, obviously mystified, reminding Tyler yet again of a steer. Lydia giggled when Marci scowled.

"Well, some of us got our props, Home Boy," Jon said. "All right, I'm in."

"What he said," Shelly added, smiling at him.

Bob Brown said to Sam, "So, are you going to be the first Chief Justice of the new Supreme Court?"

Sam gaped briefly, then laughed. "If so honored to be asked, I will serve."

"What about you?" Tyler said to Bob Brown. Yet, there it was again, that flash of a better idea across Tyler's mind, as if more from without than within.

"Would I serve or am I in?" Bob said.

"Both," Lydia said.

He stroked his stubbly chin, stared thoughtfully into space, and said, "You betcha. But I'm not judge material by any means."

Tyler grinned and said to Bob, "Ain't what I had in mind." But what did Tyler have in mind? Better than a march even. And wholly Constitutional.

"Well, what about us?" Frankie said.

"Yeah, don't we get a job?" Curly said.

Dusty said, "Each suited to their talents."

"Man, that boy never says much, but when he does..." Shelly said.

"You tend to listen, huh?" Jon said, almost jealously.

Shelly shook her head and said to Lydia, "Lot of testosterone running rampant here. Where's that frying pan?"

"So, what did you have in mind?" Bob Brown said, looking between Tyler and Sam.

"Interim president," Sam said unexpectedly, "of these United States until the People choose their own after the Second American Revolution."

He laughed and said, "What qualifications do I have for that?"

"Oh, all that talk about delegating authority, the right manager solves many problems," Derry said. "Besides, you're tall enough that most people have to look up at you."

"What's my height got to do with anything?"

"Perception," Lydia said. "People like their leaders tall."

Tyler wasn't sure he liked Bob Brown much at all, height or no height. Lydia narrowed one eye in warning at him. Damn if she didn't look a little like Grandma right then.

Bob grinned, his cheeks flushed. "So, provided we're successful with this march, how long you figure I'm going to be in charge of the Army, Navy, Air Force, Marines, Foreign policy, abolishing the IRS and the Federal Reserve--."

"Thirty days," Sam said, interrupting Bob Brown before Tyler chanced to say a word. "Shouldn't take the States that long to get an election up."

"If they can get it up at all," Dusty said, eliciting a smile from everyone.

"But that'd take months," Curly said. "Got to be a campaign, that sort of shit."

"Wait," Tyler said. "If we're talking new here, new everything, President, Congress, and no lawyers, then..." He looked at Sam. "Sorry, but I've always thought there ought to be a law against lawyers in Congress. We need regular Joes," he caught Lydia's frown, "and Jo-ettes, honest folk who truly want to serve their fellow men and women and write laws everyone can understand. No more used car salesmen in lawyers' clothing who don't want to work." Again, he looked at Sam. "No offense."

"None taken," Sam said. "In fact, I agree. The job of Senator or Representative shouldn't be a lifelong pursuit, just a time out from a regular career to do something for your fellow citizens. And lawyers shouldn't be making laws for the rest of us. That's a blatant conflict of interest."

"No perks," Lydia said. "No more pensions."

"No voting themselves raises while the rest of the workforce begs for an extra dime," Bob Brown said. "We ought to call everything but the Presidency a part-time job. How many laws can they make anyway before they run out of laws to make?"

"Term limits, too," Sam said. "Across the board. That would kill a lot of those backroom deals, my vote for this, your vote for that."

"Salary ought to be figured on how many hours they actually spend working for the People," Jon said.

"No, let's tie all salaries to the poverty line instead. No more private medical care either. Let 'em have Medicaid and Medicare," Tyler said. "See how they like government-run health care."

"But only while they serve," Lydia said. "After that they go right back to the workforce and take their chances with the rest of us."

"Bullriding ain't much like work," Derry murmured and Dusty nodded.

"Is that our fault?" Fleet said to them. "And where do most of us end up after? Right back on some ranch somewheres, working our sorry butts off."

"Provided we don't get crippled or dead," Curly said.

"Same with football players," Jon said.

"Only they get a lot more money," Shelly noted.

"Usually," Jon replied, guilting Tyler briefly in a glance.

"Lobbying should be against the law," Maude said.

"All lobbying, from Mothers against Drunk Driving to labor unions to Acorn, the corporations to the Pro-life Pro-choice outfits," Sam said and got up from the recliner to get himself a cup of coffee.

"I think if we even look like we might pull this off the corporations will freak out," Helen said.

"Meaning what?" Fleet said. "Economy's on the skids. Stock market's cooked. Banks are standing in line to get our tax money, that cap and trade's just a scheme to dig deeper into our pockets. Congress we got now ain't gonna do a thing except cover their own asses. Think we ought to cut the entire gravy train off ASAP."

"Let free market principles work," Bob Brown said.

"Wait," Tyler said, but no one paid him any mind.

Bob continued to talk. "If the Feds hadn't meddled with the free market to begin with," he said, "the economy wouldn't be in the shape it's in now."

"If the Fed had never been created, we might not be teetering on the edge of a second Great Depression," Sam said. "They created the crash of '29 with their irresponsible policies, they're responsible for the Great Depression that followed, and Roosevelt's so-called New Deal only made government bigger while prolonging the suffering for millions because investors were waiting to re-invest in the economy to see what else the Feds would do."

"Thought Roosevelt saved us back then," Frankie said.

"World War Two bailed his ass out," Fleet said.

"And saved his reputation," Bob Brown said. "But if he and the Federal Reserve hadn't meddled with any of it to begin with, millions of Americans wouldn't have been out of work or going to bed hungry at night for a decade or more."

"If they even had a bed to go to," Lydia said.

"Lot of 'em didn't," Dusty said and Derry nodded.

Frankie glanced at Marci. "Well, if you all think this march'll solve America's problems," she nodded and he said, "I'm in."

"Won't solve all our problems, not right away," Bob Brown said, "might even get worse for a little while before it gets better, but returning the country to the Constitution's a good start--."

"Ok, looks like we all agree we gotta do something to save America," Tyler said. "Can't just sit around and hope. Congress and the President'll take that as a green light to continue ripping us off."

"What happens if people leave their jobs to join us on this march?" Shelly asked.

Bob Brown smiled. "Could shut down the country for a short while."

"Well, we the People have to show Washington we mean business," Sam said. "There's no other way to do it, in my humble opinion, but toss the bastards out on their keisters and start over again." He ran a hand through his hair. "I wish there was, but there's no other way. Washington's too corrupt now, everyone working there has too many connections, too many allegiances to each other to adequately serve the people. Even if they wanted to, which they obviously don’t."

"And what about all the promises made and broken?" Bob Brown said. "All that rhetoric during the Presidential campaign about not hiring lobbyists and transparency and wasteful spending? Triple the national debt and every single one working in Congress owes someone other than the American people a favor."

"All those tax cheats, too," Maude said. "Proclaiming their innocence, saying they merely overlooked or didn't know they owed hundreds of thousands of dollars to the IRS. And if you or I," she made quote signs in the air, "overlooked that much money, do you think the IRS wouldn't have us in jail?"

Both living room and kitchen were a sea of bobbing heads, then Bob Brown looked to Tyler. "So, what's the plan, Stan?"

"Change the face of Congress," he said, the idea blooming before him like a wildflower.

"Throw them all out, you mean," Lydia said, her eyes slitted. "March on Washington."

Tyler slowly shook his head. "What could be simpler for all the People of these United States, all the voters of this nation than simply voting every single incumbent out of Congress as their turn comes up?" He grinned at everyone staring, gaping at him. "Nine mill and counting would go a long way toward advertising that message, a longer way than just hoping enough people would be willing to leave their lives for a long, hard march on Washington."

Sam jumped in first. "All the connections in Washington would be destroyed."

Bob Brown grinned. "Sure they would, all those long term bastards making deals with other and the corporations, what have you...that all flies out the window if they're all gone."

"If we ran a campaign..." Lydia said thoughtfully, the suggestion of a smile on her lips.

"And we spent our money on ads, lots of them," Tyler said, hopeful now.

Everyone was nodding, grinning.

Maude said, "That's brilliant, Ty." He tried to ignore that momentary frown flashing across her face.

"I like it," Sam said.

"So do I," Bob said.

*****

July 4th dawned with clear blue skies under a hot sun. But even hotter was the political firestorm ignited by Tyler Tornado Talon’s press release two weeks earlier calling on every American patriot to join him in rescuing the gallant lady, America, from the clutches of long-term politicians who'd forgotten just who they'd been elected to serve.

Tyler fretted for a day after the initial announcement that no one would bite. But, much as his jealousy might object, he was ultimately thankful for one thing: Bob Brown.

Bob handled every little niggling detail of the upcoming campaign to vote every single incumbent out of Washington. Proved handy at talking to the press, too, just like Lydia. And people by and large liked him, too. Mail and donations from Americans of all walks of life and political affiliation fed up with the corruption and greed in Washington D.C. had started arriving within 48 hours of the announcement and Bob Brown saw to it that every letter was opened, read and responded to in a timely manner as well as coordinating personal appearances for each of Tyler's regular Joes and Jo-ettes that made up his inner circle.

Sam, too, proved to be most capable of handling the shifting moods of the mainstream press along with the corporations' offers of money, labor, materials, whatever was needed. Turned out that a lot of companies out there in America--micro-sized to maxi--didn't want their industry nationalized or all Americans to be forced to buy health care or pay for Cap and Trade or any other new tax Congress wanted to shove down the People's throats in order to generate new revenues to benefit only themselves.

Once the announcement went out, and support began to grow in leaps and bounds, subtle changes in the media’s attitude toward the sitting president and Congress were noted by the ragtag team who made up Tyler’s inner circle.

“The media is merely a few corporations that want to survive, too,” Sam said when Tyler professed his skepticism. “They’ve wet their fingers and stuck them into the political winds and now want to be seen as supporting the winning side, just to ensure their own futures.”

Bob Brown nodded. “Have you noticed most of ‘em are driving Fords lately, too?”

“No Government Motor cars for them,” Lydia said, smirking with her women union members.

“Well, hell. Communist Russia never built a car worth a damn,” Fleet said. “Why would anyone think a socialist American government could? Can’t even handle Medicare or Social Security really.”

Helen turned a smile on him. “Have you been reading?”

Jon laughed out loud. “So, that’s what you’ve been doing downstairs on the computer.”

Fleet feigned a wince, then said to Helen, “Didn’t you tell me I had to get educated?” She nodded, and he continued, “Well, I done it.”

“Shit,” Tyler muttered, grinning to beat hell. Working the woman in his life to his advantage, he thought, light and fast, before Lydia turned a look on him that asked what he was up to.

“Looky there,” Dusty shouted from the living room, pointing at the television. “Tea Party protesters all over America saying they’re behind us one hundred percent.”

Grandma blew in through the front door, followed closely by Tyler mother and a herd of kids. She cradled her shotgun in her arms. “Got press all over the place now.”

“Where’s my brothers?” Tyler asked.

“Got most them outside on patrol for now, left Steve and Charlie to take care of the homefront,” Tyler’s mother answered, then ordered the kids outside to play, but stay near the house. “CJ’s escaped.”

“What?” Tyler said, Lydia rising from her seat at the kitchen table.

“Sheriff come by to tell us this morning,” Grandma said. “Wants to act as your personal body guard, every appearance."

Before Tyler could repeat the “what”, Lydia said, “We’ve got all those former FBI agents for that.”

“You understand, though, that no one’s really going to be able to protect anyone,” Sam said ominously.

“Too many people showing up everywhere we go for that,” Bob said solemnly.

“Another watchful set of eyes won’t hurt none.” Grandma cuddled her shotgun, the gleam in her eyes making her look slightly deranged. "Can't wait to fire those bastards in Washington."

Tyler’s mother said, “You can just stop this right now, stay home, you know.”

Tyler slowly rose to his feet. “Our forefathers didn’t have to take on Britain either, but they did. Least we can do is show them that their efforts and example didn’t go to waste.”

“Our lives are just a spit in the bucket of the Cosmos,” Lydia said firmly, her eyes glistening.

“Now we're making 'em count for something,” Grandma said, nodding.

"Gotta trust to the will of the Cosmos," Tyler said.

Dusty stood up from his seat on the couch and patted the six-gun in the holster on his right hip. "We’re all packing. CJ tries anything on any one of us and we’ll get him."

"Already planned that we wouldn't ever appear all together really," Tyler said to the fear in his mother's eyes. She knew about Maude's prediction, too.

"No violence, if we can avoid it," Bob Brown said.

Everyone nodded, then Fleet said, "If they don't bring the SH, they won't get no IT."

"But if CJ or anyone tries anything," Helen began.

"We'll finish it," Curly said.

"Crowds'll finish it, that's for sure," Bob said. "Lot of NRA members in every state offering to help with security."

Sam’s reading of the Declaration of Independence to begin the Kick the Incumbents to the Curb campaign brought tears to many an eye, even among the reporters.

One little thought nagged Tyler throughout that first day of the campaign leading up to the 2010 election: how did CJ escape? Or maybe more important was who let him go?

Six in a circle, flat on their backs with blood on their shirts, and Tyler hovering over the center.

“How do you feel about the White House press secretary saying the President wasn't aware America needed any rescuing?” a FOX reporter shouted at Tyler on his way through the gate to the airport to his first stop in promoting the KIC campaign.

“Wasn’t aware of any Tea Parties either and where’d that get him?” Fleet hollered through the open passenger window of the new Ford SUV. “Man ought to read the newspapers for more than just his name.”

Chuckling, Tyler glanced back over his shoulder to Lydia seated between his mother and his Grandma. All three were grinning.

The plot to rescue the gallant lady, America, had begun.

Links to previous chapters in the right-hand sidebar.

© Copyright 2009 by M.L. Bushman. All rights reserved.

Tornado Talon--Chapter Twenty-Nine

Tyler was restless, tossing and turning, fear hovering over his efforts to rest like a black cloud.

If old man Bishop died suddenly like Sally Stepford, then who would testify against CJ? Sam had pointed out the lack of DNA evidence at the crime scenes proved CJ wasn’t stupid. And what would've given a young woman like Sally a heart attack? Did she have a weak valve in the organ? Was a drug slipped to her somehow? Or was her killer just plain fear?

Fear could kill easy enough--fear of taking a fall for something she didn't do, fear of spending the rest of her life in jail, fear of being exonerated and CJ somehow getting out of jail and coming after her; fear, fear, fear, a most potent weapon if ever there was one. Fear was killing Tyler right now, or so he felt.

And once Lydia mentioned the possibility, however remote, that the recordings made of CJ's confession might not be admissible in court, sleep was off the table.

All that itching for nothing. Calling the man out, for what? Maybe nothing.
Possibly.

The law sucked, to be sure, just as she'd said. And how she could sleep there, next to him, just boggled.

When lightning flashed and thunder rumbled in the distance, Tyler slipped out of bed to go to the porch, to stand outside and watch the storm approach in fits and starts.

Six like bloody spokes of a wheel, he hovering above, CJ polishing a belt buckle to one side.

Travis at the way station. "Daddy I can fly."

Meeting his own father who had said...

Lightning, thunder..."I'll meet you in the wind."

Against all reason, Tyler opened the screen door quietly and stepped off the porch onto the lawn. Thought eagle feather and rose into the sky, sailing west to meet the approaching storm head on. Almost as if he wasn't in charge of himself.

Hoping his father had spoke the truth and could be found. "You have good work to do, son," he'd said at the way station.

Tyler glided to the top of the thunderstorm, the air thin and he fighting to draw a solid breath, then he dropped into the churning moisture, soaking him instantly, the convection tumbling him end over end until he managed to regain his balance near the center and hold his own against the buffeting.

The roar deafened, taking the words from his mouth as he shouted, "Daddy, I'm here," repeatedly, to no avail.

Static electricity gathered beneath his feet to burst from the cloud and strike the earth. The rain pouring suddenly, furiously, the convection drawing him down while he struggled to keep his place, reaffirming the eagle feather in his mind against the fear that threatened to overwhelm and drop him to earth like a rock.

Then a shining moment of dazzling energy, white hot, on the back of a thunderclap owned his awareness.

"Good work..."

"What?" he screamed, the wind returning, the wet, the boiling twisting and turning him round and round, a great and terrible voice yawning, harking in bass notes bent and distorted.

"Give your life, save your soul."

And for an instant, all noise stopped, the buffeting ceased, all reality held in abeyance and Tyler buying into the notion that he must be dead.

"Not yet, son," his father whispered in both ears, "not yet," and tossed Tyler free of the storm moving swiftly, leaving him suspended in air, watching lightning strafe the earth near the ranch, then beyond. And all the while pondering just what give your life, save your soul really meant.

Suddenly the CJ's of the world seemed small and inconsequential to the larger picture of life, liberty and the pursuit of happiness, of all men--and women--being created equal, and fear being a convenient excuse simply to hide from the good, yet difficult work ahead.

*****

Lydia pounced the minute Tyler slipped through the porch into the dark bedroom.

"Where the fuck were you?" she said, giving him a start.

He realized a sharp breath before his smart answer that she was afraid, frightened, like he'd been. Tyler opened his wet arms. "Riding the storm." He corralled her easily and said, "Needed to talk to my Daddy."

"Next time you tell me," she snapped, rigid but a moment before collapsing against him.

"Didn't think of it. Didn't really plan to go."

"You're soaked."

"I know."

"Was it a tornado?"

"No, just a thunderstorm." He bent his head to kiss her and she jerked back.

"I almost called Stokely up here."

He tightened his arms about her. "I'm sorry."

She pounded his chest briefly with her fists. "Why'd you do that?"

"I don't know."

"You don't know?"

"No, I don't. Not really."

She rested her hands on his wet shirt. "Were you moved?"

"What?"

"God, did he move you?"

Hadn't thought of it like that, had he? Not until this very moment. "One minute I was on the porch watching the storm, the next I was flying to meet it."

"Not good enough."

"That's all there is, hon."

She broke free of his embrace, went to the bed and clicked on the lamp on the night table. "You didn't want me to go."

"Had nothing to do with that," he said, irked now. "My daddy told me at the way station that we'd meet in the wind."

"You never told me that before."

He ignored step lightly, think lightly to say, "I did, you just don't remember."

She scowled, said nothing, and plopped down on the bed, crossing her legs, her robe opening to reveal her shapely calves, ankles and her lovely toes.

"You pissing me off now," she said. "Get your mind out of the gutter."

And you weren't pissed off before? his helpful mind asked before he could stop it.

She shot to her feet. "Of course, I'm pissed. You just take off out of here like that."

He tacked a new course and sat down at the foot the bed. "I was afraid, just like you, but now I'm not."

"How do you know I'm afraid?" she said.

"Because you're pissed." He almost grinned at her deepening frown, then said, "And you ain't even asked what happened or why I'm not afraid anymore."

He had her on the ropes, he knew that, and after a long moment's glare, she said, "All right. What happened?"

"Give your life, save your soul."

He studied the shifts in her expression, not at all surprised when she sat down beside him. "What's that mean?"

Tyler took her hand, shifting to face her. "Means we can't be afraid of what might happen, we got to do what's right, even if we die doing it."

She raised her brows. "One life on earth is only a spit in the bucket to the Cosmos."

He grinned then. "You got it."

"Then we're going ahead?"

"You bet." With something, he wasn't sure what. Not yet, anyway.

"What if CJ gets out?"

He shrugged. "Can't let him or anyone stop us from what's right."

She studied her own feet a long moment, then softly said, "You're right. I'm afraid."

"I know."

"I'm worried about," she looked up at him and placed her hand over her abdomen," this."

"Honey, if we don't fight for this nation's future, he won't have one. He'll just be a slave."

"She...she will be a slave, like we all are now."

Exhaustion caught him and he dropped her hand to come out of his clothes. Two breaths after his wife snapped off the light and snuggled next to him, Tyler was finally asleep.

Links to all previous chapters located in the sidebar.

© Copyright 2009 by M.L. Bushman. All rights reserved.

Tornado Talon--Chapter Twenty-Eight

No one asked what happened when Tyler returned to the living room, even after the Sheriff had left. The women all knew, he was certain. Impossible to hide anything from these members of that not-so-secret union, mind readers, his thoughts tangled like a web gone mad. He imagined his Grandma champing at the bit to get over here and put CJ down like a rabid dog.

CJ a serial killer, all this time, the bullriding tour his cover. Possible killer of Travis, of Grandpa Joe, even Lydia's parents maybe, their gun--a rifle--still missing, according to everyone, the news, the FBI, Sheriff Handley, a rifle of the exact caliber that almost left Tyler a paraplegic for life. A rifle of the same make and model and caliber that had been behind the potshot at his buddies around the grill.

He drank whiskey with the rest of the steers, forced a smile to his face, as if he didn't have this smoldering anger burning holes in his soul.

Parker had left an extensive collection of movies on DVD and everyone decided Eight Seconds was the one to watch, despite everyone having seen it at least ten times, the opening credits leaving Tyler free to mull silently over the madness swirling about his life like a deranged tornado.

The first question, when it came to him, took his breath.

What if that first shot at the cliff wasn't intended for him? Took two or three others to dispatch Grandpa Joe to the way station of the Cosmos and beyond. And the ambulance sniper, the white van--whoever was doing the shooting then wasn't really a crack shot, was he? Getting the attendant between the eyes was probably pure luck. And who was driving?

Could've been the private dick and his loitering pal, but Tyler had his doubts, hundreds of them. He sipped his whiskey, seeing the movie on the big screen television, but his thoughts a million miles away.

The second short go of questions came and he drained the whiskey in his glass.

What if CJ planned to use that noose he'd not been able to use on Sally, on Tyler instead? Might've been intending to set it up to look like some kind of murder/suicide even, although no one in his family would've ever believed that. Not for a New York minute.

At gunpoint, he might've marched right to the tree. Might've. Probably. Anyone would really. Especially with their Grandpa Joe dying or dead.

But why? Tyler hadn't done anything but rescue Travis from his abusive mother. On their way to Denver. Riding in first class, no less, though from all accounts she couldn't have afforded the tickets.

To meet who?

Travis all along not wanting to sleep like the baby. Whose baby was it? CJ's? Or someone else's?
And how did Sally Stepford get out from under old man Bishop's thumb unless he let her go? Why did he cover for her disappearance long enough that she was able to kidnap Travis, kill Lydia's parents and steal the camper?

Unless she never kidnapped Travis, stole the camper or killed Lydia's parents. Was that possible? Could it be that someone else was already scouting the Harvey ranch and saw an opportunity when the report surfaced that she was missing? Where was CJ when all this murder and kidnapping was taking place?

He started at his next thought and looked up to Lydia eyeing him keenly. What if that noose in the forest hadn't been put there until after the authorities had processed the scene? Just minutes even before he and Grandpa Joe were standing on the cliff. That would explain why the investigators had missed it the first time. And why the tracks were fresh.

Lydia suddenly snapped her head around to Maude Greenberg. The old lady was deathly pale.
A glance at CJ made Tyler get up out of his chair. The smirk was there, but only for a second before the harmless smile of the mask returned.

What boiled Tyler's blood on his slow shuffle to the kitchen was that CJ appeared to be enjoying every minute, as if just like Maude had said, he lived for the idea that he was putting something over on everyone. And Tyler couldn't do a thing about it. He took his wife's hand, marching her down the hall, ignoring the suggestive remarks about rabbits, the laughter from the party in the living room.

"What?" he whispered to Lydia before he even reached the bedroom door. "What did Maude think that made you turn your head?"

"The woman in your reading, the enemy?" she said, quietly closing the door behind her. She faced him. "What if it's not Sally Stepford?"

"Who else could it be?"

"CJ's mother."

He almost couldn't breathe. "What?"

Lydia nodded. "Is anyone even looking at her? He had a mother, right?"

"Call Sam then."

"Then I'll call my brother," she crossed the room to her purse and sat down on the edge of the mattress, "he's an insurance man, they've got investigators, too."

"Not as good as the authorities, I bet."

She grinned, yanked the piece of paper out of a side pocket. "If you were someone focused on covering your tracks, or that of your assassin, you wouldn't see an investigation coming out of left field, would you?"

"You think an insurance investigator wants to get involved, possibly risk his life?"

She reached for the cordless and pulled it to her lap, then gave him the don't be ridiculous look. "How exciting can insurance be, anyway?"

The phone rang before she could punch the first number. A wide-eyed look at Tyler, she hit talk with her forefinger and said, "How did you know I was about to call you?" She giggled, a glance at Tyler, and added, "Sure, Rita. What you got?"

She lost the smile instantly, her brow furrowing. "The hell you say."

Tyler wished he could read minds.

"I'll be damned," she said a moment later. "I'll be damned."

"What?" he said and she glared him quiet.

"Unreal."

He wobbled across the room to his side of the bed and sat down on the mattress. Wasn't fair, being kept in the dark like this, forced to wait like a good dog for a small bone.

"Hold on a minute," Lydia said and turned her head to him. "Sally Stepford's dead. Found her dead in her cell a little while ago."

"Suicide?" he said, not at all surprised. "Or murder."

"News isn't speculating." She turned back to the phone. "All right, I'm back."

Tyler lay back on the bed, studying the ceiling. What the fuck was going on, truly? The mystery was eating him alive. Sally Stepford dead now? Well, anyone could understand suicide. Maybe. Except how would she be able to do it? Alone. In her cell. But if she'd been murdered, then wouldn't the fingers point to her lawyer, old man Bishop? He'd get a good looking over, that's for sure.

As if someone wanted that, as if someone was trying to control the authorities, direct the investigation, cause others lots of problems at the very least. Someone like CJ. Or his mother. Maybe the tree from whence this bad apple had dropped wasn't all that healthy herself.

"His mother's dead, Ty," Lydia said wearily, holding the cordless phone in her lap. "Died giving birth to him." She sighed and said, "My brother's smarter than I thought."

"Trying to help us, or you I should say?"

She replaced the phone on the charger and lay back beside him, feeling for his hand. "I guess he does care," she said.

"How'd he know about CJ?"

"I've been talking to Rita since the funerals."

"You gals really stick together, don't you?"

"Is that bad?"

Despite his mood, Tyler chuckled. "That's entrapment," he said, rolling slowly to his side to look at her.

She giggled, rolling to her side to face him. "Maybe."

"How you keep the upper hand on us men, ain't it?"

"Work smarter, not harder," she said flippantly, "besides you're the one thinking your buddies are all steers, not me."

He laughed softly. "Well, they are, ain't they?"

Suddenly she sobered. "Not you."

Tyler snaked his arm over her shapely hip. "You're stroking me now."

"No, I mean that." She wriggled closer. "I've been thinking about what we should do."

"About CJ?"

"Bigger than that--with our lives."

"Well, if we don't do something about this guy, we might not have much life left to do anything with."

"I'm not worried about him."

Well, I am, he thought.

"Ty?" she said and he looked into her eyes. "What do you think the Cosmos intends for us to do with our...you know, our gifts?"

"Thought we settled on that children's home."

She frowned a moment, then smiled. "It's a good idea, and we can still do it, but there's something else we could do that might change the course of the nation."

"Because we can fly," he said flatly, his tone belying his disbelief. He rolled to his back to study the ceiling once more and she snuggled up to his side.

"You're famous, Ty," she said softly.

"So are you."

"Not like you are. Agent Stokely told me that you get ten times as many letters as I do. People like you, Ty, because you're real, you're one of them."

"You're pussy footing around."

"Softening you up is the way I see it."

"Spit it out then."

"Why not run for President?"

He laughed, the idea so out there, so ridiculous, he figured she must be joking. President Tornado Talon? He couldn't see it.

But she never laughed, never giggled, just waited until he finished, then said, "This country's gone to hell, Ty. I think you're meant to save it."

He laughed anew. "Yeah, right. Like anyone would vote for me, a lowly bullrider."

"A three-time world champ," she reminded him, "a man who can fly."

"You're not serious."

"Yes, I am."

He grasped at mental straws, looking for any objection, and said, "Why would I want to ruin my good name by associating it with any political party? They'll all corrupt. They're all bought and sold as easily as cows at a sale yard."

She rolled to her back and took his hand. "You're right there." He thought he'd dodged that bullet until she said, "What we really need to do is throw all those bastards out, start over, get back to the Constitution and stay there."

With sudden clarity, Grandpa Joe’s suggestion that he was meant to do something larger than the children’s home rode in on the gist of a conversation he and Lydia had had right after they'd decided to get married.

She'd said, "Maybe we ought to have another revolution then."

"I'd be there on the front lines if we did."

"Maybe we could start one. Maybe that's what we're supposed to do with ourselves."

He remembered imagining for just one moment all the regular people of the country rising up to ride those petty little bastards in Washington out on a rail.

"People might be too lazy to get involved," Lydia had said then.

"I don't think it's lazy so much as distracted."

"By what?"

"Everything, honey. Internet, television, bullshit controversies those pricks in Washington stir up to keep people fighting amongst themselves."

"Why do they do that?"

"Called a smoke screen. So we don't see what they're really up to until it's too freaking late."

"A conspiracy," she'd said, nodding her pretty head.

Grandpa Joe had said basically the same thing, hadn’t he? Called the takeover of the country of a bloodless coup, in fact. Just before he died.

"But what about the people here, your countrymen," she'd jabbed her forefinger at him, "what happens to them?"

"They'll either wake up or die."

"Then let's wake them up."

He recalled wheeling right into the parking lot of Corral West, finding an empty spot and saying, "You figure out a way, and I'll help you."

"Give me some time to think about that, cowboy," Lydia had said.

And she had thought about it. Certainly.

"Never really stopped thinking about it, Ty," she whispered. "God gave us these gifts for a reason. Gave us the money to do whatever we want in this world practically, gave us a national platform for a launching pad."

"He also gave us a child on the way."

"And what we do now will secure the future of all of America's children."

"Then you think we ought to start a second revolution." He chuckled anew. "What're we supposed to do, march on Washington?"

She propped herself up on an elbow, grinning at him. "You know, that's an excellent idea."

"What?"

Lydia slapped him lightly on the chest and sat up. "Yes, that's the answer, we'll just march on Washington and throw the bastards out. No blood unless they spill it."

Hadn’t Grandpa Joe wished for something like that? Just before...? "Then what?" he said.

"We have brand new elections in every state and return America to the Constitution." She scowled and said, "First thing we'll do is get rid of that stinking Federal Reserve. Send those bloodsucking traitors packing."

"What if I don't want to be a leader? Lot of work there, running a whole country." And wasn't he the guy just months ago bitching about being bored?

"You don't have to run the country, just lead the Revolution and let the People choose their own leader afterwards."

"But someone's going to get stuck running the show in the interim."

She giggled. "You're already sounding like a politician."

"You ain't answering the question."

"You know, a national election could be held in a month, if push came to shove."

"Well, then why ain't Congress ever let us decide what's best for ourselves?"

She laughed softly. "What? And give up lining their pockets at our expense?"

"A national referendum, once a year, on the issues that directly affect us--why can't we make an amendment?"

"We can," Lydia said, hiking her brow, "after we take our country back."

"But in the meantime, between kicking the bastards out of Washington and that first election, who's going to run things?"

She cleared her throat. "Don't laugh here, but..."

"If you say Fleet, I'm done with this."

Lydia laughed out loud and said, "Whiskey for all." She waited a minute and then said, "Bob Brown."

"What?"

"Why not? He's like you in a lot of ways, real, down to earth, not a mean, calculating bone in his body, and he knows how to manage a business and delegate authority."

His lone soldier twitched. "You like him, don't you?"

She leaned against him. "You're dying to get a frying pan upside the head, aren't you?"

"What if he don't want to do it?"

"Then Sam's the next logical choice."

"A lawyer?"

"Why not?"

"Got a herd of lawyers in Washington now and they ain't exactly serving our best interests, are they?"

"Sam hasn't charged us one dime for his services. And he definitely could handle things."

"What if he don't want to do it?"

She sat back up straight and said, "You're just raising objections. The idea's sound. Let's just cross each bridge when we get to it and not before."

He had to give her that, recalling Grandpa Joe saying something along that line not so long ago, when he was still alive and smoking his cigars. "So what about the serial killer we got out in the living room?"

Lydia turned her head to him, a grin slow to widen across her face. "Let Grandma have him."

"Aw, she'd be in jail then."

"Really."

"Course she would. I bet she's just chomping on the bit, can't wait to get over here and kill the sonofabitch for what he's done to me, to her husband, to other..." Suddenly, where Lydia was leading dawned on him and shut his mouth.

"And how many years in jail do you think a judge would give an old woman like your Grandma for killing the man who murdered her husband and damn near got her favorite grandson in the bargain? A man who strings women up with new rope just for shits and giggles? A guy whose dad knows what he's all about and protects him?" She laughed softly. "She's never been in jail, never had any problems with the law whatsoever. I bet Sam could get her off with a slap on the wrist."

"Are you suggesting we just encourage my Grandma to shoot him?" He drew a deep breath, if only to clear his thoughts. "That's murder, ain't it?"

"Ok, that might be wrong, but still..." Lydia shook her head. "You're right. I guess I'm still angry over Travis and you and Grandpa Joe."

He slung his arm across her shoulders. "Me, too."

"The law sucks," she said quietly, and a single tear ran slowly down her cheek. "It's always after the fact, not before."

"Well, people got rights, you know," he said, "even killers." She whipped her head about to look at him and he said, "I don't like it either, but if we're going to lead a Second American Revolution we can't act as if we're above the law, because we ain't."

"What law?"

"All of ‘em, the moral ones especially. We first got to deal with CJ," he looked at the closed door, "then we'll decide on this march on Washington." But that had already been decided and not by him, he was quite sure. Still, a nagging doubt, unidentified, persisted at the back of his mind. Perhaps an even better idea incubated there as well.

"How can we catch him out then?" Lydia said, bringing Tyler back to the now. "Sally Stepford is dead."

He sighed and said, "I don't know. Let's think about that some more." Suddenly a thought occurred to him. "Does he know she's dead?"

Lydia frowned. "I doubt it. The steers are watching Eight Seconds out there, not the news, and Rita said she just saw it on CNN."

"Give me the phone," Tyler said. "We'll call the Sheriff, have him get in touch with that Agent Stokely and his bunch camping out in the barn."

"Why?" she said, although she left the bed to retrieve the cordless.

"I got an idea."

Handley worried that they might be putting themselves and everyone else in the house at risk for around eight seconds, until Tyler reminded him that to his knowledge CJ was not presently armed or expecting anything. In two minutes he called back to say, "Ok, boys, ok."

"Tell 'em to meet me on my back porch," Tyler said. "But hurry. My wife and I have been in this bedroom a while discussing what to do."

"Ought to be good for your reputation," Handley said.

Tyler chuckled. "Never thought of that."

Lydia slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "You know you can't lie for shit."

"This time, maybe I can." He replaced the cordless on the charger. "If the Cosmos wills."

"I should do it."

Tyler shook his head. "This here's my deal."

*****

Tyler noticed the ease with which he moved down the hallway now, leading Lydia by the hand to the living room. He had what Grandpa Joe might've called purpose driving him and his reluctant legs, a wellspring of energy coursing up his healing spine. Maude Greenberg gave him a terse smile, the women in the room doing much the same. He resisted the overwhelming urge to scratch his chest like Farley Humiston had done repeatedly, way back when, until Grandma outed him.

Fleet looked half in a bag, propped up against Helen, Jon Thompson and the rest of the steers relaxed, watching the movie with the women. CJ appeared to be nursing that glass of whiskey, just to be sociable. Possibly. Trying to pass himself off as normal. Bastard.

"Ok, boys, listen up," Tyler said from the top step leading down to the living room. He smiled at the women. "You ladies, too."

"Oh, what the fuck now?" Fleet said and sat up a little straighter.

"Pause the damn movie, will ya?" Frankie said to Marci and she pressed the button.

"You know we got us a killer, right in our midst," Tyler said, pleased by the flash of alarm over CJ's face.

"What? This?" Fleet said, holding up the bottle of Jack.

"No," Tyler pointed at CJ. "Your daddy just come clean with the Feds, Bucko. All over the news now. And Sally Stepford's dead."

CJ laughed, surprisingly enough. "My daddy's come clean? About what?"

His smile faded when Tyler said, "Those serial killings of yours, for one. Women sexually assaulted and hung on a regular basis, a pattern uncovered by Sam the Bulldog that's tied to your riding schedule like no other."

"Fuck you say," Bob Brown said and jumped to his feet, Curly and Frankie slowly getting to theirs, Jon and Fleet following suit.

CJ casually drained his whiskey and set the glass on the coffee table. "You lie." He stared at Marci. "Turn on the news."

She tightened her grip on the remote, got to her feet and shook her head. Shelly and Helen were on their feet as well. Maude laid People magazine down on the table and rose out of her kitchen chair.

Tyler grinned, maliciously. "Cops got your rifle, too, the one that got me and my Grandpa. One that took out that ambulance attendant."

"You're lying," CJ shouted, leaving his seat. The cowboys closed the circle a step. "That rifle's--." He cut himself off, a wide-eyed look of fear that his eyes narrowed down to solid anger.

"Rifle's what, CJ?" Bob Brown asked.

"Yeah, what about it?" Fleet asked.

CJ pressed the blood from his lips.

"Might ought to take him down, boys," Jon suggested quietly. "Do us a good deed for all the women and children of the world."

The women had clustered near Tyler's feet.

"No need for violence. Got the place surrounded now. FBI and cops waiting just outside." He glared at CJ. "To my way of thinking you got two choices here. You can either come quietly, or we'll take you out."

He stuck out his hands. "Then tie me up, assholes. Call the cops. I'll be out of jail in twenty-four hours."

"Uh, don't think so." Tyler tossed an old tie of Parker's to Fleet. "Bind his hands."

As Fleet roughly knotted the cloth around CJ's wrists, glaring the whole time, CJ laughed coldly and said, "Did my Daddy admit that he's Travis's father, too? That he was fucking that cunt he was supporting on the side whenever he had an itch? That abusive little bitch killed her second kid, too, called it an accident, and my daddy bought that lie, hook line and sinker."

"You lying prick!" Lydia screamed and Tyler kept her from leaving his side with an outstretched arm.

"Your Daddy's Travis's father?"

CJ sniggered. "Oh, so he didn't tell the authorities that, did he? I didn't think he would. A little DNA goes a long way though."

Maude came to the top step. "But you were happy when she killed her second child. Made your job that much easier, didn't it? You killed Travis mainly so you wouldn't lose the estate. Your daddy changed his will once Travis was born."

Silence so loud it deafened, all eyes glancing between a staring CJ and Maude and back again.

"Didn't he tell you he wasn't keeping a serial killer in high style, even his oldest son?" Maude said softly.

CJ's eyes blazed but an instant, his face frozen behind his mask. "You got no real proof, you know, just my Daddy's word, which ain't worth nothing now."

“That’s why she kept Travis from school, you’re the reason she hated her life and her son. Because you threatened to kill her and the boy, and she ran every time you found her.”

“She wasn’t hard to find.”

And Tyler thought of the private dick and the loiterer.

"In fact, you're the one who stole Travis from the Harvey ranch, aren't you?" Maude said. "And killed Lydia's parents. You thought you'd nail two birds with one stone and get rid of both Sally and Travis at the same time."

"Well, what do you know, an amateur sleuth in our midst."

"You called her up at your dad's place in Rapid because you knew she'd be hiding there," Maude insisted, "told her you had Travis and would kill him if she didn't meet you out there in woods, alone, near that cliff. But you didn't tell her who you were, did you?"

"Hell no!" CJ gestured madly with his hands. "My daddy would've sent his own private dickhead to negotiate, to buy me off. He's done that before. Besides, that little brat was already dead before I made that call." His tone waxed sarcastic, his eyes on Tyler. "Said he'd rather fly like Rodeo Man so I naturally accommodated him." He made a motion like that of a hard push.

A collective intake of breath and this time it was the women restraining both Tyler and Lydia, the boys trading glowers with each other, fisting their hands, edging closer yet to CJ.

"You wanted Sally dead to prevent her from marrying your dad. That's what she was on her way to Denver to do, wasn't it? She got away from you though, didn't she?" Maude said after Tyler and Lydia had calmed a bit. "The minute she saw your face, she ran, didn't she? And you made a big mistake, leaving the keys in the camper. She gave you the slip in the woods and by the time you heard the engine start you were too far away to stop her."

"Fuck you, you old whore."

Fleet nailed him in the kisser. "You don't talk to Helen's grandma like that."

Helen spit on him. All the boys bent over CJ's prone body half on, half off the couch, brandishing their fists, Bob Brown ready as backup, between them and the front door.

"I'll be coming for you next," CJ murmured, murder in his gaze at Fleet.

"Oh, I'm shaking." Fleet backed a step and said to the boys, "See me shaking?" He shimmied and they all laughed, even the women.

"Call 'em in," Tyler said, motioning to Bob Brown.

He pulled open the front door, jerked his head back in surprise, then waved the parties in. "Nice seeing you again, Sheriff. You, too, Agent Stokely."

"Same here, Bob," Handley said in passing.

Tyler yanked his shirt free of his jeans, scratching like hell now, Lydia quick to get to peeling wires and removing the recording device at the small of Tyler's back.

"We got his confession at least three ways," Agent Stokely said once two members of the FBI unit had cuffed CJ and got him to his feet.

John Handley nodded, proffering his hand to Tyler.

"None of this'll stand in court. And I'll be coming for you all," CJ shouted on his way outside, "one by fucking one."

"He won't get out, will he?" Tyler asked.

Both Stokely and the Sheriff shrugged. "Depends on how much money he's got, what the bail's set at," Handley replied and Stokely merely nodded in agreement.

"The law sucks," Lydia said, handing the recording device and all the wires to Stokely, who nodded again.

"What about his daddy?" Jon Thompson asked. "He gonna help him?"

"His daddy's turned himself in, pretty much confessed," Handley smiled at Maude, "along same lines of the stuff you told CJ. He's afraid of his own son, you know."

She raised both hands, a tip of her head, as if to say, whatcha gonna do?

"At least I didn't lie then," Tyler said, although the idea of CJ getting out any time soon was a bit unnerving.

"Let's hope he doesn't make bail," Lydia said.

Maude said, "You know he's got close to half a million dollars stashed with someone somewhere." Everyone stared at her then and she said, "The ransom money Sally Stepford had with her when she went to meet him. But who gave her that money, I don't have a clue."

"Old man Bishop claims he didn't know anything about CJ's call until after the fact," Handley said, Stokely frowning at him, "until Sally called him from the bar in Edgemont, scared out of her wits."

"You think she just took the money from CJ's old man?" Frankie asked.

"Who keeps half a million lying around?" Dusty muttered.

"A crooked lawyer, that's who," Bob Brown said. The Sheriff and Agent Stokely traded a glance and Bob continued. "Had my own lawyer check that guy out--seems he's not against making money, legal or otherwise."

"Still don't know who the driver was either," Tyler pointed out.

"Driver of what?" Curly asked.

"The van chasing us from the hospital."

"What if Hancock's working with CJ?" Lydia said. "He'd know where the money is."

"Then he'd be drunk on his ass, wouldn't he?" Tyler said.

"But what if he's the one who paid that private dick and his buddy to take a potshot at us and give CJ an alibi?" Jon said, surprising Tyler. Maybe his buddies weren't quite steers after all.

Handley looked to Agent Stokely and said, "Guess we have our work cut out for us."

"Someone has to let us all know if CJ gets out," Helen said, looking at Fleet.

"Right away," Shelby said, studying Jon.

"The very minute," Lydia said, grabbing Tyler's hand.

Agent Stokely said, "I'll make it my top priority."

"Me, too," the Sheriff said.

"He'll jump bail," Frankie said, nodding to Marci.

"If he gets it," Dusty muttered.

Six with blood on their shirts like spokes of a wheel, Tyler thought and Lydia squeezed his hand.

"There's no championship belt buckle in his future at least," she said.

"Unless that wasn't his buckle at all," Marci said. "But someone else's."

"Serial killers keep souvenirs sometimes," Maude said.

"Yes, they do," Agent Stokely said.

"Shit with him ain't over then, is it?" Jon said and no one challenged. He took the partial bottle of Jack off the coffee table and drained it in several gulps.

Tyler figured there wasn't enough whiskey in the world to relieve him of the persistent fear gathering in his stomach, especially when the bloodied spokes of Maude's wheel kept coming to mind. And he hovering over the hub of boots. Might mean he was already dead.

"Stop that shit, Ty," Lydia whispered harshly. "At least tonight we'll get some sleep."

© Copyright 2009 by M.L. Bushman. All rights reserved.

Tornado Talon--Chapter Twenty-Seven

Tyler wished he could read minds, listening to Lydia's side of the conversation between her and Sam. Asking what and why until she shushed him, pointing instead at a brand new set of gray sweats she'd bought for him. As if he'd be happy to wear anything but his own Talon Wranglers and a nice Talon brand western shirt.

The fourth time he said what, she glared, pointed again at the clothes laid out on the bed, and turned away, idly toweling her wet hair, sitting on the edge of their bed, the cordless phone pressed to her ear.

Wearing nothing, nothing at all. Her stomach not yet showing any sign that a baby incubated in her womb. Her breasts seemed plumper though, no downside there either.

"What about CJ?" Lydia said, but not to her husband. He pulled on the pants portion of the sweats, immediately resenting the elastic about his ankles.

"Call us back then," she said and killed the line.

"Well?"

"What?" Lydia said and left the bed for the dresser.

The music started, country rock thumping the floor, probably from the living room.

"It's just a continual party with you guys, isn't it?" She pulled a sundress from a drawer, held it up and shook it, then slipped it over her head.

That dull ache in his back wasn't helping Tyler's mood. "You knew that much, didn't you?"

She stood up and pivoted to face him. "It wasn't a question."

"What'd Sam say?" he asked just to avoid the argument.

"He'll get back to us." Her clipped tone was a warning.

Tyler tried a smile. "Oh, good."

"What is your problem, Mister?" She crossed her arms.

Suddenly it dawned on him. "Are you picking this fight, Lydia?"

Her expression changed from angry to troubled, then her features softened, the wrinkle left her brow. "I'm not myself lately."

He grinned then. "Actually, you're about two people now. Sort of."

Her hands went to her stomach, her smile like light to his clouded world. "I am, aren't I?" She sat down on the bed beside him. "You just keep reminding me when I get out of hand."

Tyler's helpful mind answered, Right. Like I'm stepping in that, before he could stop it.

She shot to her feet. "I suggest you keep a lid on that kind of thinking."

If you know what's good for you, Tyler's not-so-helpful mind added, pissing him off instantly.

"I ain't a kid," he snapped.

"Then you don't need my help," she said and promptly opened the bedroom door to all that music from the living room.

She was gone, down the hall before he could get up from the bed. The music stopped and he heard her announce, “Gentlemen, this noise is over.”

He wanted to yell, wait, stop, thought it and a dozen other things all at once. Better the enemy you know, Grandpa Joe seemed to whisper within his mind.

By the time he made the living room, the seats were empty, the boys were gone.

"We're having a barbecue," Lydia said sweetly from the kitchen as if nothing had happened, Helen and Marci and Shelly looking up from their respective tasks to smile at him. Maude waiting at the kitchen sink with a paring knife, but not smiling.

"No one left?" he asked, tottering toward the front door.

"Hell, no." Lydia paused, her hands full of butcher-wrapped hamburger packages. "None of you guys would ever leave a party with food coming, would you?"

Marci giggled with Helen, who said, "You should know better than that, Ty."

He made the doorframe, leaned against it for support, wishing his back would quit aching, wishing he was normal again, whatever that truly was in a world where people didn't fly. Normally.

The steers were gathered around the gas grill, Fleet the first to look up and notice him.

"Ty, 'bout time you left your wife alone."

"Never," he said facetiously, garnering Bob's knowing smile.

"I wouldn't leave her alone either."

Laughter at Tyler's frown at Bob, although CJ, true to form, merely grinned. Maliciously. Possibly. Or maybe Tyler was seeing things that just weren't there.

"How you light this thing, Ty?" Curly asked, a lighter in hand.

"Might read the directions," Franky said, staring at the side of the unit.

Jon waved him off. "We're men. Since when do we need directions to light a goddamn gas grill?"

"Why not let the women do it?" Dustin said.

"Grilling's a man's job," Fleet said.

Curly flicked a flame to lighter's end, a hand on the black knob and they all bent over the top.

Tyler's stomach turned at the thought of just sitting outside in the waning day, exposed to anyone who might be watching, or sighting a rifle.

"Lydia," he said, turning back inside. "You think it's safe, all of us out there like that?"

"FBI's at the gate, keeping out the riff-raff," she said.

"What riff-raff?" He wobbled toward the recliner, one difficult step at a time.

"Press, fans, whatever," Shelly said.

Maude suddenly said, "I wouldn't--."

A distant pop, a plink, brought a stampede of steers inside.

"Goddamn, got your grill this time, Ty," Jon said, rolling his shoulders as if shaking off a chill.

"Whiskey," Fleet said, staggering toward Helen.

"You...you might've been right," Dusty said, gesturing at Maude.

"You think she lied?" Derry demanded.

Lydia had the phone, punching three numbers, eyeing Maude, who stepped away from the kitchen sink, the paring knife looking more like a defensive weapon now.

Marci ran to Frankie. "Thank God no one was hurt." She ruffled his hair and he kissed her, then said to Maude, "I'm sorry I doubted you, ma'am."

She smiled almost helplessly, but lost the smile a breath after.

"Where's CJ?" Tyler asked, his heart threatening to beat his chest to ribbons.

Curly, the last one inside, looked out the door. "He's standing out there, big as life, fingering the hole."

"What?"

"Figures," Fleet said. "Probably jealous. Only hole he's ever going to finger." He bent toward Helen for a kiss and got a peck on his lips for his trouble.

"Someone's just taken a potshot at our guests," Lydia yelled, freezing everyone. "That's right." She slammed the phone to the kitchen table.

Curly backed away from the front door and CJ came through, followed by a man in a dark blue suit holding an open wallet to display his credentials in one hand and a handgun in the other, who stopped on the threshold.

"FBI," he said. "Agent Stokely. Is everyone all right here?"

Tyler made the recliner with Jon's belated help. Lydia came around the table, down the two stairs through the excited crowd to introduce herself.

"I just called 911," she said to Stokely.

He almost made a face. "We're already on the scene, Mrs. Talon."

"Paper trail," she said, mystifying Tyler and the rest of the steers, the women nodding as if they knew what that meant.

Stokely almost smiled, lowered his badge, refolding it to slip it inside his suit. "Good." He turned enough to glance back out over the fields, the drive, then turned back to her and said, "You know we'll make a report, too."

She nodded. "I suppose your men are searching out there."

"Yes, ma'am." He looked past her to Tyler. "We expect to have a suspect in custody shortly. Meanwhile, I suggest you keep the party indoors until further notice."

Lydia left him standing there to return to the kitchen. Tyler eased back in the chair and said, "You're all invited to eat, if you want."

"How many of you are there?" Shelly asked.

"Approximately ten or so," Stokely answered. "I'll pass the word." He wheeled away from the door.

Jon beat Tyler to the question. "What's with the paper trail?"

Lydia gave Maude a potato to peel and said, "Just adding to the body of evidence."

All the steers looked at each other, shrugged or shook their heads, and Curly said, "Never would've thought of that."

Me either, Tyler's helpful mind suggested and Lydia grinned his way. "That's why we women are here."

No, that's why you're running the world, Tyler thought at her, and all the women giggled, even Maude, who up until that point, had seemed the most troubled of everyone, troubling Tyler still more. He looked at CJ, a cold chill seeping to the marrow of his bones.

CJ was grinning as if he'd won something, something big. Like a belt buckle.

Or an alibi.

All the women suddenly frowned, glanced at CJ, at Tyler, the wrinkle on Lydia's forehead deepening.

Fleet released Helen and Bob Brown said, "Let's shut that door." And did it himself, before anyone else could make a move.

Dusty said, "Where's the whiskey?"

Jon said, "Downstairs." And he ran off to get some.

"Flick on the television then," Fleet said, headed for the couch. "If we can't have the music."

Nobody had to say they wanted to be able to hear the next shot, should there be one.

And CJ, taking a seat on the couch next to Fleet, was still smiling to beat hell.

Tyler couldn't dismiss the fact that CJ was with them when they were fired upon, but even that seemed contrived. Possibly.

Maybe.

Or was Tyler just looking for someone to blame?

*****

One lone hamburger remained on the oval platter on the kitchen table. The fried taters were all gone, the baked beans, too, the chips nearly. Tyler's plate wasn't even close to empty, Lydia's only half so, but Marci was busy collecting everyone else's empties, Shelly rinsing them off and popping them in the dishwasher, Helen holding Fleet's hand when Headline News ran the initial report. Maude sitting at the table, as if content to merely observe. Tyler nearly shit himself, or would've if he wasn't so busy trying to keep his stomach from rejecting what little he'd managed to eat.

"Two men suspected of firing on a party at the Talon ranch are now being called persons of interest in the attempted murder of Tyler Tornado Talon. They were arrested by the FBI in a field shortly after a potshot was taken at guests to the Talon ranch. We go now to our correspondent on the scene, Jan Marvel."

Dressed for western success in designer jeans and a red silk shirt, a red bandanna knotted fashionably about her neck, Jan held a microphone to her plastic face, a busy crowd of news vans and reporters milling about in the dark behind her. "The FBI reported that a private investigator and..." she paused to consult a paper in her hand, "an accomplice are now in custody and a rifle similar to the one used in the murder of Joseph Harvey and the attempted murder of his grandson, Tyler Tornado Talon, world-champion bull rider, was confiscated. A white van found some distance away, on the perimeter of the property, is believed to belong to the suspects."

"You were on scene when this latest attempt on the Tornado's life occurred, weren't you?" the anchor asked.

"Yes, Clyde, around sunset I was at the gate leading to the ranch, along with..." she waved a hand at the media behind her, "hoping to interview the Tornado or one of his guests. We all heard what sounded like a single firecracker going off in the distance."

Tyler damn near snatched his chest like an old man, certain the big one was a heart beat away.

"The private dick?" Lydia said, scowling.

"Who?" Fleet said, looking to Tyler.

Jan Marvel said, "Interestingly enough, we've done some digging and these two suspects have had dealings with the Tornado in the recent past. Seems they've been arrested twice before, once at the airport in Denver," she consulted her paper, "after they tried to kidnap the Tornado's wife under false pretenses, and once in Scott's Bluff over a fight that the Tornado's friend, rodeo stock provider Bob Brown, was involved in. These two claimed they had pictures of the Tornado, his wife Lydia and the recently deceased child, Travis Stepford--."

"Talon!" Lydia cried, looking about as if expecting some challenge. "His last name is Talon!"

"A Scott's Bluff restaurant," Jan Marvel droned on, "thereby proving that the Tornado wasn't dead or missing after that plane lost its cargo door inflight--."

The phone rang and Shelly answered it, then held out the receiver. "Your mom," she said to Tyler. He shook his head and Lydia jumped to her feet, leaving her hamburger half-eaten on her plate. "I'll take it."

"The mystery surrounding the Tornado deepens," Clyde the announcer said.

"We're just waiting now for a report on the FBI results of the ballistics tests on the rifle," Jan said. "They promised a report in a couple of--."

A knock on the front door turned everyone's head to Tyler, who nodded.

Bob Brown pulled it open to Sheriff John Handley, who stepped past him into the room, followed by Tyler's two brothers, Charlie and Steve.

"Grandma said you ought to have family guarding you," Steve said and Charlie nodded, then gestured toward the six shooter on his hip.

And why she wasn't doing this herself, Tyler wondered, but didn't ask. Grandma would surely shoot someone, prompting recall of Maude Greenberg's vision before his reading. Six in a circle like spokes of a wheel and Tyler hovering over the center. Blood on their shirts. No faces, just boots and bodies.

And CJ polishing the belt buckle, off to the side. He resisted the urge to look at CJ, certain that stupid mask of a smile is all he'd get for the effort.

"Sam asked me to stop by," the Sheriff said, glancing about the faces. Did he hold on CJ's a moment longer than anyone else's? Tyler thought so. And so did all the women in the room, not a semblance of a feminine smile in sight.

"They just got here," Lydia said to the receiver, eyeing Tyler's brothers. "Well, who's going to argue with the best watchdog in the family?" A breath later, she said, "Me either." And hung up the phone.

"Anyone eating that?" Steve said, pointing to the lone hamburger. Lydia gave him the platter and he grinned to Charlie's frown.

"Can I speak to you two a moment?" John Handley said, gesturing at Tyler before turning to Lydia. CJ hiked a brow, his smile edging dangerously close to smirk.

Tyler blew off any assistance in getting out of the recliner, and managed to get down to the bedroom under his own power, followed by Lydia and the Sheriff. The door closed, Handley looked for a lock, surprisingly enough, and then tested the door before turning back to Lydia and Tyler.

But she knew already what the Sheriff was going to tell them. Tyler figured that much by the widening of her eyes, her repeated looks between both men, and it irked him.

"Ty, that private investigator," John Handley began, cut off by Lydia.

"Dick, you mean."

He eyed her, but never smiled. "Ok, but he and his buddy, they told the FBI they weren't trying to kill you or your friends."

"What were they trying to do then?" Tyler asked, Lydia shaking her head as if to irritate him even more.

Handley sighed. "Sounds ridiculous, I know, but they were just trying to scare you."

"For revenge," Lydia put in.

The Sheriff nodded, then said, "And you know, after I talked to them, I just might believe them. I'm betting the ballistics report comes back and says their rifle isn't the one that killed your grandpa or tried to kill you."

"You think someone put them up to this, don't you?" Lydia said before Tyler could get a word to come out of his mouth.

Handley shrugged. "They deny that, but some preliminary investigation into their banking shows a highly suspicious cash deposit of five thousand dollars a few days ago. The FBI's trying to trace the source right now. And those boys aren't talking about that either."

"Hancock," Lydia said, fisting her hands.

"Where would he get money like that?" Tyler said to her.

She scowled and dropped her arms to her sides.

"Funny thing is, those two boys and Sally Stepford are sharing the same lawyer," the Sheriff said.

"Who's the lawyer?" Tyler asked.

"High-powered guy out of Denver--Bishop."

Tyler drew a sharp breath and couldn't help himself. "What?"

Lydia's scowl turned to a glower. "CJ's his son."

Handley nodded slowly, solemnly. "Sam thinks--."

"There's a lot more to the story," Lydia finished for him. "That maybe Bishop's been covering for his son for years."

Alarmed, Tyler sat down on the bed before his weak knees dropped him to the floor. Lydia took a seat beside him.

"Let me say this out loud, Lydia," John Handley said, his voice growing softer, "for Tyler's benefit." Tyler looked at him and the Sheriff said, "Sam thinks CJ may have had a prior relationship with Stepford and that Travis is...or was his son."

Tyler's heart leapt and Lydia gripped his hand. "There's more," she said and looked to the Sheriff.

"That noose you found the day you were shot?" he said, waiting until Tyler managed to look at him again. "Sam thinks the noose was intended for Sally, not Travis, because Sam thinks..." His voice trailed off and Lydia gasped again.

"CJ could be her accomplice and that maybe he's a serial killer?" she said, too loud. Way too loud, especially with the guy just feet away in the living room.

All three listened a moment, the television in the living room a soft murmur and nothing more.

"What makes Sam think that?" Tyler said, too stunned yet to believe.

"He's had his associates scouring the newspapers, county and court records in and around Denver, looking for reports on Bishop's activities over the past years. They ran across some interesting information--old man Bishop involved in the disappearance of a young girl, a ten-year-old neighbor, who was later found hanging from a noose in a cottonwood along a stream that abuts their ranch, when his son was twelve or so. And she'd been sexually assaulted."

"CJ was the last one to see her alive?" Lydia said breathlessly.

"Bishop paid mighty large to keep that out of the papers, or so the brother of the murdered girl told Sam's investigator yesterday. Course, he won't testify to any of it. The authorities never charged anyone in the case because there was so little evidence. But it's not improbable to think that old man Bishop or someone working for him got to the scene before searchers discovered the body."

Boot heels on the ground below the noose in the forest. Tyler's heart ached for Travis, for his own inability to protect a small boy from not only his abusive mother, but his biological father now, too. Either way it seemed Travis would've ended up dead. And how would Tyler ever protect ten or twenty or a hundred abused kids should he and Lydia open the home?

"Those tracks I found were fresh," Tyler said.

The Sheriff looked at him and shrugged.

"That's not all, is it?" Lydia said.

Handley shook his head. "Sam started his people looking at the bullriding tours for the past few years. CJ first made the national circuit four years ago. So, Sam's people got a list of every event he entered and at the same time, compared that to women who disappeared around those times to see if there was a pattern."

"No," Lydia said.

Tyler raised a hand, showed the Sheriff his palm. "Do I have to hear anymore?"

Lydia elbowed him quiet and said, "How many?"

"Every third event, like a sick routine. Cities all over the country, the victims sexually assaulted, all of them--."

"Hung," she answered. "With new rope."

"Aw, God," Tyler muttered, sick all over, head to stomach to feet.

"Sam thinks old man Bishop would go to any length to protect his boy," the Sheriff said. "And he's got the money to do it."

Lydia shot to her feet. "Even to paying someone like that private dick and his buddy to give his son an alibi."

"Five or ten grand isn't nothing to this man, pocket change."

"An alibi for what?" Tyler said. "If CJ's the one who murdered Grandpa Joe, and tried to murder me, doesn't that wanting an alibi prove his old man knows? You can take him right now then."

"Not enough evidence to keep him in jail," Handley said.

"They'd be tipping their hand," Lydia said. "Right now, both he and his father must think no one knows."

"So, why is Travis's mother still alive then?" Tyler asked, a rage slow to ignite burning through him now.

"Speculating here but I'd say old man Bishop probably sent the cops to that bar in Edgemont." The Sheriff suddenly pivoted to listen closely at the door, then returned to Tyler. "Because, and this is my theory only, CJ probably had everything to do with Travis going off that cliff and Sally ran, stopped somewhere long enough to make a call to old man Bishop to tell him that his only grandson, and quite possibly her secret meal ticket for the last six years, was dead. So he told her to go wait in the bar in Edgemont."

"To keep his son from tracking her down and killing her," Lydia said softly.

"Ok, say she's the only witness that can put his son behind bars," Tyler said. "But she isn't safe then, is she? If he'd pay two idiots to set up an alibi to protect CJ, wouldn't old man Bishop have her killed one way or another?"

"I don't think the old man's a killer. And if she sticks to her story, that she acted alone in the deaths of Lydia's parents and that Travis tried to fly off that cliff," Handley said, "Sam thinks she might not serve much time, ten years at most. They've already got a doctor who Sam thinks will say she's been out of her mind since the baby died. Bishop will probably keep her quite content for the rest of her life, if she plays by his rules and keeps her mouth shut."

"Ten years is a long time when you're young though," Lydia said. "And what if...how old is CJ's father?"

"49."

Lydia sat back, her shoulders slumped. "Not so old then."

"And he's always got the threat of his son hanging over her head, too, if she doesn't wise up. Or get herself a different lawyer."

"What about the charges in California though?" Lydia said. "How's she going to get out of that?"

"A lawyer with lots of money and connections, that's how," Tyler said, gritting his teeth.

"They may just drop those charges if she's convicted for murder in South Dakota, although the charge will probably be knocked down to manslaughter, just to expedite matters. At least, that's what Sam thinks might happen," Handley said.

"Why's CJ trying to kill me then?"

Handley shook his head. "Who knows? Might just be a sociopath's twisted logic--everything bad that happens to them is someone else's fault. It's your fault Sally Stepford felt compelled to kidnap her son back in the first place, your fault his father had to pay big bucks to keep her from telling the world that CJ is Travis's father. Your fault the boy is dead now."

Before he could think it, Lydia patted his arm. "Not your fault, Ty."

But none of that made any sense. Nor did it jive with Maude's tarot reading and that Queen of Swords, the woman crossing Tyler who was his enemy. Maybe. Possibly. Well, those cards didn't say whether or not she had backing, whoever she was.

"So, how the fuck do I get a serial killer to leave without arousing his suspicion?"

Lydia shook her head. "Let him stay, Ty. We can keep an eye on him that way."

"I'll never get any sleep."

"That's what your brothers are here for," Handley said. "Couldn't exactly station officers here without scaring the guy off. And I wasn't about to let your Grandma hover about. She'd probably shoot him just for the hell of it."

Lydia nodded. "Sam's already talked to your mom and Grandma, Ty. They're keeping the kids."

"We couldn't just chase everyone off then?" Tyler said. "I'm still recovering here."

"And where would CJ go?" Lydia said. "Back to his secret career? We might be saving lives by keeping him here."

Just like my daddy, Tyler thought. In a way. Sort of.

"Better the enemy you know," Handley said, and Tyler took that as a sign from the Cosmos.

"I want to wring his neck," he said.

"Well, he apparently wants to wring yours, so you're even." Lydia rose to her feet. "We should send Sam to Sally and see if he can help her. Maybe take over representation and let her tell the truth."

"I doubt Sam could get to her," the Sheriff said. "And even if he could, I doubt she'd take his offer."

Lydia offered her hand to Tyler. "We've been in here a long time."

Tyler slowly got to his feet, aware of one nagging little doubt surfacing and resurfacing that maybe they still didn't have the foggiest idea what was really going on.

Or why CJ wanted Tyler dead.

Links to previous chapters located in the right-hand sidebar.

© Copyright 2009 by M.L. Bushman. All rights reserved.

Tornado Talon--Chapter Twenty-Six

"Shuffle them," Maude said to Tyler, proffering the oversized deck of tarot cards after everyone else had settled in the living room.

"Why?" he said.

"It's your reading, isn't it?"

"What if I don't wanna shuffle?"

"Then I'll shuffle them for you."

"You can't do that, can you?"

"Certainly," Maude said, shuffling the cards. "I can tune in to the person."

Tyler suddenly wanted to turn around to see where CJ had parked himself, if only to guard his healing back. Probably.

"Can't do this," Tyler said and rolled his wheelchair back from the table.

"Can't do what?" Maude said, cards in hand and ready to deal.

Lydia was at his elbow suddenly and he whispered to her, "Can't sit here, honey, not with my back to--."

"Then don’t, Ty," she said softly and pushed him around to the other side of the table so that his back was not to the door, the living room, or CJ. Everyone, including CJ, was staring his way now.

Lydia gave him a grave look, almost puzzled, then pressed her lips together and left him there with Maude to go to the living room...to stand near...CJ. Sniffing him out maybe? Possibly? Wasn't she the best watchdog he'd ever have? Like Grandma for Grandpa Joe?

Grandpa Joe, who'd warned his grandson to watch his back just an hour or so before...

"Are you comfortable now?" Maude asked softly, shifting slightly in her seat toward him.

"I guess so," he said, although he was having trouble not staring at CJ for some reason. Jon was using the snoring Fleet for a footrest, everyone making small talk in low tones, too low for Tyler to hear what was being said, men and women both glancing repeatedly at him and Maude. He shook off his reservations, or tried to, and turned his attention to the reading.

Maude leaned closer to him and whispered, "You're still not comfortable, are you?"

He thought better of denying that, and smiled instead. "No."

Maude leaned back and placed a card face up on the table. "Then we're just going to fake this, all right?" she said in ultra low tones.

He nodded as if satisfied with her non-explanation of the first card. "You read minds, too, don't you?" he damn near whispered.

"Better than your wife," she replied, turning a second card face up to cover the first and, again, leaning closer to him. "You're worried about a certain someone, aren't you?"

He faked a surprised smile, as if pleased with the reading thus far, aware of a certain air of anticipation from the living room. "You bet."

She leaned back to flip another card face up, then tapped it with her finger. "That one worries me, too."

He smiled so hard his cheeks hurt. "Why?"

"No emotion," she said barely above a whisper, nodding pleasantly, tapping the card again.

"What?" he said, but too loud and everyone glanced his way.

"You really lean on that word a lot." She bobbed her head from side to side slowly, as if to look reassuring. Everyone turned back to their conversations.

"Explain what you mean then," he said softer, ignoring the prick of irritation.

She flipped another card, and staring at the four on the table, murmured, "He has no emotion."

He then tapped a card on the table, leaned closer and said, "I still don't read you."

She smiled, nodded, turned her head to cough and muttered, "Sociopath."

Tyler couldn't help a glimpse of CJ, who seemed oblivious to what was taking place in the kitchen, engaged as he was in talking to Lydia.

"I might be wrong," Maude said, "but I've been studying people for a long time."

He sat back and said nothing, crossing his arms, surreptitiously studying CJ, glad the man appeared to be finished with Lydia.

"Why don't you do a reading for CJ then?" Tyler muttered.

She flipped a card and said, "The hanging man."

He met her eyes and stifled the what.

"Don't worry," she said. "It's usually nothing like it sounds."

Somehow, he didn't feel reassured, thinking back to that noose of new rope hanging from a broken tree limb. "Don't you think it's odd that you pull that card when we're..." He shook his head.

"Not odd," she said, then stage whispered, "but it won't work."

"What won't work?"

She tapped the hanging man. "A reading. He's afraid of me."

Tyler kept an eye on the living room. "He'd do it though."

"Sure, to appear normal, like everyone else here. To fit in. But it wouldn't work." Maude flipped another card and said, "He looks harmless."

Tyler nodded. "Does, don't he?"

"Part of the mask he wears," she said softly, smiling at the card.

"Mask?"

"To appear normal." She nodded again, then said, "How much do you really know about him?"

Tyler couldn't recall much about the man's family other than what little had been reported in magazine articles and such, not that he'd paid much attention to any publicity outside of his own.

"Unremarkable in any way," Maude said.

He shrugged. "Can't deny that."

"Why do you think he rides bulls?"

Tyler grinned. "Same reason we all do."

"You think it's just money?"

"Nah. Probably all we're good at or good for, take your pick."

She shook her head and flipped another card face up. "He rides for the thrill."

"That's a part of it for all of us, I'm sure."

"Your thrill-seeking is normal, but his isn't. He lives for the idea that he's secretly in control of every situation, that wherever he goes, he knows what's going on when everyone else doesn't."

"Hidden agenda?"

She pursed her lips and nodded.

The silence in the living room was deafening now. Tyler made sure to share his gaze equally with everyone looking his and Maude's way, careful not to let his eyes stay on CJ too long. CJ looked back though, that smile on his face. Same smile always. Wholly non-threatening. Or so it had always seemed.

"What you all looking at?" Tyler called out, grinning though he felt like doing anything but. "Gonna fuck up my reading, you don't ignore us here."

Maude nodded, smiling as well, but saying nothing, waiting like Tyler for everyone to go back to conversing with each other.

Fleet hollered, "Ok, boys, ok," and bucked Jon's stockinged feet off his hip, right hand drawing circles in the carpet over his head, laughter breaking the tension. CJ's perpetual smile seemed almost malicious for just that instant before he looked away from Tyler and back to Lydia.

"You see that?" Tyler asked Maude softly.

"Didn't have to," she said. "I felt it. He's definitely afraid of me."

So, what really lies behind the mask, I wonder, Tyler thought, looking to Maude, who merely hiked her brows and flipped another card.

"What indeed?" she murmured, her eyes never leaving the table. "Think."

"But," Tyler began, then finished in his head, CJ said he wouldn't be polishing no belt buckle if all his friends were dead.

"Pathological liar," she said. "Saying only what he thinks everyone wants to hear."

And then Tyler thought, CJ never said anything about not polishing that buckle if all his friends were merely shot.

"Bingo," Maude said and smiled at him.

"You think he's the one that wants me dead?" Tyler murmured, head down, eyes riveted to the cards so no one might read his lips. If so, CJ had to be the one that murdered Grandpa Joe.

"I don't know what he wants or doesn't want, only that he's afraid of me. His guard's definitely up."

"Is he connected with the shootings?"

"I don't know that either."

Lydia suddenly looked at Tyler and gave a surreptitious shrug of her shoulders, meaning what, he wasn't sure.

Then one tiny curiosity flared in Tyler's overactive mind and led to all sorts of questions. CJ hadn't shown up at the hospital like Fleet suggested he might, hadn't ridden the plane as far as he knew, so when had he arrived here at the house? Had he met the plane in Omaha even? Did he actually drive here alone or ride with someone else?

Tyler was dying to ask someone he could trust to keep his interest a secret--Helen, Fleet, Jon, even Bob Brown. Maude looked at him, nodded slightly, and flipped over another card.

"Shit." She sighed. "Perhaps we've been doing your reading all along."

"Huh?"

"Well, the first card I turned over was the eight of staves."

"Meaning?"

"You're dealing with new and startling information. Something's that's happened swiftly." She knitted her brows. "True?"

"That could be referring to anything in the last month though..." He risked yet another glance at CJ, who appeared to be ignoring the reading in the kitchen. Just like everyone else.

Maude nodded, barely, and said, "The second card, the one that covered the first is the eight of coins, the one I call the Master Worker." He waited and she added, "So, you know your destiny, you know what you have to do."

He thought of the children's home and nodded. Then Grandpa Joe came to mind, the ride in the pickup truck before the shooting, the old man saying a children’s home wasn’t large enough for a man who could fly. What was large enough then? His helpful mind provided an outrageous suggestion, which Tyler promptly ignored.

"This next one is the Queen of Swords. A woman of great mental ability and intellect poses some kind of challenge or obstacle you will have to overcome if you want to succeed."

Could that be Lydia, or his mother, or his Grandma? Succeed at what? Ferreting out the killer? Or simply the children's home? Or that large thing Grandpa Joe had mentioned? Tyler was more confused than ever.

Maude shrugged and tapped a card on the table. "The three of cups, this is your support, these three women are celebrating your new endeavor." She smiled. "That's right, isn't it?"

"Well, yeah, but..." Who was the woman crossing him then? A woman of great mental ability and intellect?

"This one is your past, the Page of Swords," she said, tapping the card. "This means you have all the learning you need," she pointed to the eight of Coins, "about your work."

"Ok." But he questioned that assertion--did he truly know everything he needed to know to give abused kids a good home? He didn't know enough about CJ, that's for sure. And that larger thing of Grandpa Joe’s, the suggestion his mind had suddenly latched onto? He didn't know shit about that, not really.

Maude leaned forward. "This next one is your near future, which is sacrifice." She tapped the Hanging Man and nodded. "Ah, I get it now. You have to wait for opportunity to strike...uh," she looked at Tyler, "sorry, I mean you have to find the wisdom to be patient."

"Not very good at that patience shit."

"I know," she said simply and looked at the table. "The result of all this is...more patience." She tapped a card and said, "The seven of coins, tending the garden. You just have to keep trying."

Trying what though? To find the killer? To act on his suspicions? Or decide on that larger thing he might have to do? Again, he risked a glance at CJ and the man was staring back at him this time, that benign smile frozen on his face.

Tyler rolled his shoulders to free himself of the shiver up his spine and looked back to the cards. "And the next one?"

"The ten of cups." The card under Maude's forefinger showed a beautiful castle and a sunny sky. "This is how you see yourself. You believe in home and family and happiness, you don't have any hangups about them."

"Well, that's true."

"I know." She leaned back and plucked a new card from the top of the deck. "This represents your greatest opportunity and it's..." she grinned and placed it face up on the table, "more waiting."

"My greatest opportunity is more waiting."

She laughed softly. "It's different than waiting for something you don't know or aren't sure of. See this guy with the three staves? He's like a merchant who's already paid for his goods and is just waiting for delivery. In your particular case I would say you've got to have more faith."

"Sure is taking a long time," Jon said loudly, looking at Tyler and drawing everyone's attention.

"He's not the sharpest tack on the board," Maude said sweetly to soft laughter round about.

Tyler frowned, uncertain if he should be offended.

"Just trying to help," Maude muttered under her breath, then held up another card. "This represents your greatest hope," she glanced at the card, "or fear." She laid a called entitled The Star on the table. "Hmmm...reversed."

"That's bad, right? Being upside down like that?"

"Well, some less experienced tarot readers might interpret it that way. I look at it more as something that hasn't manifested itself yet. This is a good card, probably the best in the deck." She thought a moment, then said, "This card is enlightenment, inspiration, the culmination of your dreams. But having it reversed means you're not believing in yourself enough, or your dreams." She eyed him. "We both know this is true."

"How many more?" Tyler said, irked now.

"One. This is the outcome." She laid down the card and smiled. "Ah, the King of coins."

He'd forgotten everyone in the living room. "But I'm rich now."

"This represents what you value most, which isn't necessarily money. Here in this position, I think it means you'll succeed in the end." She gave the cards on the table a once over and said, "It won't be easy. You'll be challenged by a very smart woman and tested by the need for patience until you feel that your patience has run out and your belief in yourself is practically nil. But this is you," she pointed to the last card, "the King. All you have to do is keep believing in yourself and your dreams."

I'm already out of patience, Tyler thought.

"And your belief in yourself?" Maude nearly whispered.

He didn't have to tell her his belief in himself was at an all time low. He slapped the arms of the wheelchair and angrily stood up. Though his legs shook after a moment, his knees held and, leaning on both the table and the back of Maude's chair for support, he took four small steps toward the living room, then a fifth.

"Who's next?" he asked the room, and then eyed CJ. "What about you?"

*****

Tyler kept an eye on CJ sitting at the table with Maude. The man hadn't wanted to do a reading, he'd shown that much by the instant of utter disgust that'd flashed in his eyes at Tyler's invitation. So, maybe Maude was wrong in a sense, and the man had emotions hidden behind his mask. Or maybe a limited set of feelings perhaps, none of them good.

Still, who was the woman, the enemy, in the reading? Tyler immediately thought of Travis's mother, Sally Stepford, then dismissed the notion. No great intellect or mental ability there, not that he could remember. Besides, she was sitting in a jail cell. Caught while drinking in a bar not 100 miles away, almost as if she'd been asking to be arrested.

"So, who's visited her recently?" Lydia asked softly, sitting on the arm of the recliner.

His mind retorted, how the fuck would I know? And scored her glare for his trouble.

"Maybe we should ask the Bulldog to find out for us," Lydia said.

"Can Sam do that?"

She patted his arm. "I would bet any number of vital parts of my anatomy on it."

His lone soldier twitched at the mention of her anatomy.

"Are you up for some antics?" she whispered. "The hot tub perhaps."

"But," he glanced at CJ at the table.

"Sometimes a little distance gives us the best view." She stood up. "If you can make it to the bedroom without the wheelchair. Think toes, Ty."

He couldn't help himself then, waved off a grinning Jon and Derry, Dusty and Frankie and Bob, shook his head no at Curly and Jeff when they offered their assistance, the women wisely staying back, knowing this was a challenge put forth by his wife to get his ass going for good.

Tyler tottered, wobbled, leaned against the wall a time or ten, but he never fell down. Lydia led the way out of the living room to the bedroom on the right hand side, at the far end of the hallway, opening the door for him to stumble through.

He fell down on the bed, breathing hard, immensely satisfied with himself, his one concern that look on CJ's face, the blazing hate registered in his eyes for only that fraction of a second.

So, what had Tyler Talon ever done to CJ Bishop? He couldn't imagine, other than winning for three years straight, his name in the history books for all time, never to be bested by any normal rider. Maybe. If National Finals Rodeo didn't take away his buckles for being able to fly.

After he'd caught his breath, Lydia helped relieve him of his clothes and he slipped into the hot tub, the warm water soothing.

She climbed in opposite, offered the dripping toes of her right foot as his reward, and once his lone soldier had risen to stiff attention, waiting patiently for marching orders from the master and commander, she rode him like a rank bronc until they were both spent, eagle feathers leading them to shiver at the first soft breeze nightfall produced.

They dropped back to the water with a soft splash, laughing, savoring the post coital bliss.

"CJ's got something to do with all this," Lydia said now, safely ensconced in his arms.

"I know, but I can't figure it," he replied, his chin resting on her wet hair.

"Yet."

"Never did anything to him that I recall." He remembered that one card from the reading--the Queen of Swords, the woman crossing him. "Have you called Sam yet?"

"No, not yet." Suddenly Lydia stiffened. "What if that woman wasn't asking to be arrested?"

"What?"

"Why wasn't Sally Stepford driving like hell after Travis died instead of drinking in a bar?" Her eyes gleamed. "What if she was merely waiting to hook up with her accomplice?"

"And then drive."

Lydia nodded. "Who wouldn't think Edgemont wasn't off the map, so to say? It's so small."

"Highway 18 ain't a major freeway either."

"What if CJ's her accomplice?"

"He's a bull rider."

"What does he do when he isn't riding bulls?"

He tightened his arms about her. "Get laid, party some, I imagine. Go home, work the family ranch maybe."

"Where's he from?"

"Outside of Denver, I think."

They both drew a breath and then she beat him to it. "Shit."

He pushed her away. "We got to call Sam."

She had a large fluffy white towel ready for him when he climbed slowly, painfully over the side of the hot tub to his feet.

Links to previously posted chapters located in the sidebar.

© Copyright 2009 by M.L. Bushman. All rights reserved.