Chapter 4: What Do You Say?
599 Words
Chapter 4: What Do You Say?
“You used to work for Dunny Sting as a ranch hand a few years back, didn’t you?” I asked, still craving something stronger than the diet cola in front of me, half thinking I was insane for walking into his bar, unable to push away the desire to enjoy an alcoholic beverage.
“I wouldn’t call it work. It was more like a fling, which got me into a lot of trouble.”
“With Dunny’s brother, right?”
He poured himself a glass of iced water, took a sip, placed it on the bar in front of him, and said, “Dunny wanted me. He made it quite clear that he was into my body. I found him attractive and went with it. Why not?”
I knew the story of his past all too well, just as others had in West Stockton, and half the county. Dunny Sting, Benny’s younger brother, hired Tal for a summer to work as a hand on his cattle ranch. He had a fondness for Tal and flirted with him numerous times. Just as the two were going to become intimate in a hayloft, Benny caught them. He flipped out on Tal and threatened to kill him. Tal hadn’t been back to the ranch since.
Truth was Tal had gone through six months of hell after the event. Benny tried to ruin his reputation, threatened his life, and told him to get the hell out of Stockton County if he knew what was best for him. Tal stayed, opened the Linear Bar, and was doing fine. Anyone could agree he worked hard to stay in the county and run his business. And rumors still spread around West Stockton that Tal and Benny loathed each other, which wasn’t a surprise to me at all, nor others.
“No matter what your past is with the Stings, I want you to help me. What do you say?” I asked Tal, serious as a heart attack with my tone and glare.
In deep thought, contemplating my question, he rubbed his right cheek with a few fingertips, took another swig of his water, and said, “I want to think about it.”
“You really don’t have time to think about it. The sheriff doesn’t know a thing about solving a murder case. Nor does his deputy. You need to stop thinking and trust me.”
He shook his head. “Friends shouldn’t mix business.”
“Sometimes rules need to be broken, Tal. This is about a kid who was murdered and branded. You can help me help him. What do you say?”
“I’d say you’re barking up the wrong tree.”
I was, and both of us knew it. My gaze looked over his left shoulder and saw a number of gin, vodka, whiskey, and rum bottles. I licked my lips, craved something strong and wicked, but didn’t ask for a drink, able to stay on my band wagon.
“Give me until morning to think about it, Joe. What do you say?” he repeated my question.
“I say deal to that,” I said, tipped my cowboy hat, took him in one last time for my visual satisfaction, and walked out of the place.
* * * *
I texted Lilith and instructed her to have the brand—U)(U—looked at by Sam Houston, a collector and specialist of iron brands. Houston lived in Houston and liked Lilith. The two had a history of dating on and off. I had hoped that someday they would become serious and marry since they were both single and could share a happy life together.
She hit me back in a matter of seconds with a text. It read: Would love to visit Houston. His eyes melt me. Will get back to you ASAP.
Good for me that I used my available sources to learn things, having much skill.
- Writer
