Trailer Trash

Prologue With his pampered rich boy’s feet wrapped in the rich, soft suede of his Mezlan Wingtip oxfords, Dezi Falconi stomped down on the accelerator of his new car and flew down the narrow black ribbon of the long Texas road. He sped up one hill and down another, and then he jerked his steering wheel back and forth as he rounded curve after dangerous curve, taking his life in his own hands. Damn! He loved the way his new MX-5 Miata convertible handled. His father had presented it to him for his twenty-seventh birthday, so he took it out to see it perform, and now with a smile on his face, he watched the hills, trees, and country roads whiz past him while he felt the wind in his face. Freedom! That was what it was all about. He knew he was taking chances driving at breakneck speed, especially on these winding roads, but it was okay. He was just breaking in his new car. Everyone did it. And then, just as he rounded a curve, he saw some kind of shabby-looking structure located way back from the road that made him stomp on his brakes and come to a screeching stop. To see better, he hoisted himself upon the back of the car seat squinting through a pair of binoculars at what he thought was some kind of broken down shack. My God, it’s a trailer! As Dezi kept staring, he saw a beefy young man come out of the shaky front door drinking what looked like beer. He was dressed in ragged cutoff jeans, a thin, tattered half-shirt, and cowboy boots. As he looked him up and down, one name came to mind—trailer trash. What the hell was this trailer trash doing making himself comfortable on his father’s land and guzzling beer as if he owned the place? It was his father’s land, wasn’t it? To make sure, Dezi moved his gaze away quickly, raking it over the familiar highway, the trees and the brush, and even the wide open spaces of tall grass that stretched into the distance and waved in the warm breeze. It was wide, long, and flat. This typical Texas land that he saw every day was valuable property that was connected to the ground his father’s mansion sat on. The bastard’s a trespasser! From the corner of his eye, he saw movement, returned his gaze to the trailer trash, and noticed the loose way this guy moved. He might be dirty, he might be poor, and he might be nothing but trailer trash, but God, he was sexy. The longer Dezi watched him, the more he realized that it didn’t seem to matter to this guy that he was dirty and poor as a church mouse, his body language cried out long and loud that he didn’t give a rat’s ass. Dezi slowly maneuvered his car onto the shoulder, got out of it, and leaned against the fender watching him. As he stood there, he became almost mesmerized. He could feel a definite craving and a swelling of his c**k as he stared at this trailer trash’s overt sexiness. He continued to watch him strike a match with a fingernail, real cool-like, and then touch it to his cigarette between two fingers, drink the sweaty beer without a coaster, and prop his feet on a plastic egg carton. Since they were probably about the same age—no, scratch that. This guy couldn’t be over twenty-five. Hell, he might even be younger than that. He looked like nothing but a dumb kid. When Dezi was twenty-five—well, he wouldn’t go into that since this kid’s life was nothing like Dezi’s. Still, he couldn’t help comparing them. This guy lived in squalor, but Dezi had his own penthouse apartment in downtown Austin, and while this guy probably ate anything he could find, Dezi ate steak. Dezi noticed that the sorry-looking trailer parked behind this blond-haired beefcake had just about seen its best days. There was more rust than paint, and if a strong wind came this way, the damned thing would be lying on its side. Just then the trailer trash looked up, and their eyes met. The cold look in his eyes told Dezi that he knew why he was there. Dezi knew the type. Guys like him lived for the moment, and at this moment he was saying to Dezi that he was damned tired of people who thought they were better than him. He was what he was, and if they didn’t like it, they could damn well be on their way. While that silent message sank deep into Dezi’s psyche, the trailer trash sat drinking beer, taking long drags off his cigarette, and daring Dezi, with those piercing eyes, to come closer. Dezi decided he could do one of two things. He could just leave and tell his father about him, or he could check the guy out himself. After weighing the silent challenge that came from the trailer trash’s eyes with the fact that he wanted to get a closer look, he pushed himself away from his car and began walking toward him. As he got closer, he could almost feel the stab of his sharp gaze, but Dezi continued, stepping carefully over the rocky ground, last night’s rain puddles, twigs, debris, and wet grass. Dezi noticed that his gaze never wavered. Did he even blink? Damn, this guy seemed to have nerves of steel. When he finally came within speaking distance, Dezi put on a smile and said, “Hi, there. You livin’ here?” “What’s it to you?” Since this trailer trash didn’t seem to be any too friendly, Dezi jumped right in and said, “You know this is private property, don’t you?” “Yeah,” the trailer trash said. “Mine.” “No, it’s not yours. This property belongs to my dad.” Dezi pointed up the highway. “It’s connected to—” “Is that right?” Trailer Trash said, interrupting Dezi’s words. With slow movements, he set his beer aside, flicked his cigarette in the dirt, and stood up in an intimidating stance. Without even the sign of fear or retreat, he stood his ground threateningly while looking Dezi in the eye with another challenge. “Look, I don’t want any trouble. I’m just tellin’ you it won’t be me you’ll be dealin’ with. It’ll be the police when my dad finds out you’re poaching on his land.” “Look, rich boy, I didn’t steal anything. I bought this trailer from a friend of mine who had been living here for three years, and no one said anything about it being someone else’s property then.” “You bought it, huh?” Dezi said sarcastically and looked up at the trailer. “Why, you must have paid all of ten dollars for this place.” “Ten dollars or ten thousand dollars, it’s mine, and I ain’t leavin’ for anybody.” “Fine, suit yourself,” Dezi said. “But don’t say I didn’t warn you.” Dezi turned and began walking away when suddenly he felt a whack on the back of the head—and then darkness.