Stockton Cowboys Book 5: Saddling Cowboys

Chapter 2: Misfortune-1

Chapter 2: Misfortune

At approximately eight o’clock that evening, Fargo turned out the lights inside Saddling Cowboys, set the DSC security system, locked the store’s front door, and walked to his Jeep Wrangler, which was parked behind the business in a small gravel parking lot where other business owners left their vehicles, and patrons. Fargo had over three thousand dollars on him, which was stupid, and would have made a mugger quite pleased had he been violated. A brown leather money bag was tucked inside the rim of his jeans and hidden under his Riding Cowboys T-shirt, which was a navy blue color and snug against his chest. Fargo was a man who could take care of himself, though. He did have some street smarts, although he hadn’t been to a big city like Tulsa or Oklahoma City in quite some time. Frankly, Blue Coyote had next to no crime. Sometimes one of the high school kids would blow through a stop sign or be pulled over for speeding, but other than those law breaking concerns, Blue Coyote was safe to live in with good-hearted Bible people.

A little under seven thousand people lived in Fargo’s town, which was about one hundred miles west of downtown Tulsa. There were a lot of Christians, gay men, liberal thinkers, and do-gooders in Blue Coyote. Some thought the town the new Greenwich Village of the Midwest while others believed it to be the highway to hell because of its left-winged advocates. Outsiders thought that if they visited the Midwest town they would turn gay. Conservatives stayed afar, and Republicans were not welcomed. For those that loved Blue Coyote, finding it to be a gem among the flatlands of America, both straight and gay enjoyed the community, its lack of stuffiness, and ideals of a different Midwest community.

At approximately 8:37 P.M. all hell broke loose in Fargo’s tiny world, as well as Blue Coyote’s. In the semi-illuminated dark behind his shop, while standing next to his canary yellow Jeep and unlocking its electric doors, he felt the cold tip of a pistol pressed against the rear of his head and heard someone’s scratchy and grainy voice say, “Hand over the cash and you won’t get hurt.”

The voice was unfamiliar, but definitely belonged to a male. As Fargo stood still, feeling his heartbeat race and his temperature rise because of fear, he felt the violator nudge the back of his head with the tip of the outstretched weapon. Cold steel aligned with Fargo’s brain, just under the rim of his Stetson. Nervous and shaking, Fargo said, “I don’t have any money.”

“The f**k you don’t, man. Like I said, hand it over and you won’t get hurt.”

“Calm down and we can talk about this,” Fargo said. He wanted to give the guy a jab with his elbow, plunging it against the vigilante’s gut, but two things prevented the action from occurring. One, Fargo didn’t know how close the asshole was behind him. Two, he didn’t know if the gun pointed at his skull was really loaded or not and didn’t want to chance dying, knowing that the mugger was serious, and violent.

“There’s no time to talk, buddy,” the guy said, bashed Fargo in the back of his skull with the butt of his handgun, sent Fargo’s hat flying, and…

* * * *

Unconscious, sprawled over the gravel lot, Daniel Fargo was convinced that he was dead, trespassing into an after-world where the angels looked more like wispy phantoms or black-gray ghosts instead of golden figures with glowing halos. He floated from one white room to the next and admired paintings on their walls, all of which were swirls of dark purples and blues. Then he passed through a narrow hallway of bright orange light, which resembled sunlight, but it wasn’t. He felt his naked skin warm in the luminescence, almost burning. Once he had passed through the bright light he entered a room filled with semi-naked and chiseled men. Most of the men were wearing cowboy hats and carrying longneck bottles of beer. They mingled, danced, and hugged along the perimeter of the Q-shaped bar. Fargo saw other men inside the bar, fornicating in the shadows, practicing blowjobs, ass-f***s, and a variety of other s****l acts that didn’t bother or alarm him. Eventually a round stage decorated like a bull’s eye glided to the center of the dance floor. And from behind a rose red curtain appeared a young man dressed in cowgirl drag. The crowd whooped and hollered the queen’s name at the top of their voices, “Holly Golden Bear! Holly Golden Bear!” Flickering Pride-colored lights filled the bar and Holly started to sing an old Stattler Brothers song from 1982, which caused all the cowboys to yelp with excitement, grab their male partners, and begin to dance.