Fistful of Reefer

Fistful of Reefer: scene eight

After spotting Daisy through the window of Bravo’s, Chancho forgot about his rush to return to the Catholic Hills. Mesmerized by her bounce and sway, he watched her, pouty lips and all, swish her way toward the door. Finding it stuck, she heaved against it with her backside.

Entranced, Chancho failed to recognize her predicament until the door whooshed open, spilling her right into his lap. With a clatter entirely too loud he dropped his supplies while cradling her around the back and knees. The heat of her bare flesh against his skin erased the distasteful encounter at the cantina. After calculating, and subtly surpassing, the polite limits of the embrace he placed her back on her feet.

“How embarrassing! I really must beg your pardon, sir.” Daisy turned around to face him.

“Oh, it’s nothing, señorita.”

“Why Mr….” she paused slightly, “Villarreal. Del Rio Villarreal, I believe?”

“Si, señorita. But you can call me Chancho. I mean, that’s what my friends call me. Chancho.”

Daisy regathered her poise. “I should say you don’t look like a pig.” She batted her eyes.

“It’s just a nickname, señorita.” He laughed, “The kids at the orphanage, they…” he trailed off, leaving an awkward silence and cursing himself for such an amateur mistake, and for drawing such attention to it.

“I must apologize again. It seems my clumsiness has caused you to drop your burden.”

Chancho stooped to gather the supplies he’d been carrying. “Oh it’s nothing, really. Perdoname for being so bold, señorita, but I dare say your stumbling rivals the most graceful dance for most.” On his way down to the sidewalk he noticed Daisy’s bare legs, golden brown and smooth, and lingered until he was sure she’d noticed.

She allowed him to stare a moment, before bending politely with her knees together. Chancho soon realized this motion had emphasized her knack for pressing her breasts together and keeping them between her and to whomever she was speaking. A very powerful means of controlling the conversation. Happily he allowed himself to swim under her control, even as he faked gathering his supplies.

“It’s just that my father, you know, the sheriff, and these ranchers were prattling on and on about this awful El Chupacabra killing goats. I couldn’t take it any more. In my rush it seems I nearly bumped you over.”

“¿El Chupacabra?” Chancho snapped out of the spell. He stood to look through the front window of Bravo’s, where two chilling eyes sought him and held him in their grip, blaming him for something he prayed to God he hadn’t done. After what seemed several seconds he squatted back down. “Who is that man sitting with tu padre?”

Daisy smiled, “Oh? The stunningly handsome one? That’s Ranger McCutchen. I hear he killed four men just this morning.”

“Rinche. Dios mio.” Chancho caught himself, “Really, a Texas Ranger?” He tried to sound nonchalant as he rushed to bundle his supplies into a large canvas cloth. “Killed four men? All by himself?”

“Such a terrible thing.” She shook her head and leaned closer, her chest heaving. “Another ranger was killed in the shooting.”

A chill engulfed Chancho. He’d assumed Primitivo had done the killing before taking a bullet himself. “That is terrible.” He resumed gathering his goods.

Daisy seemed to dismiss the topic with several bats of her eyes. “My, what an odd selection of goods you’ve got here.”

Shoving goat sheering equipment, mechanical parts, gunpowder, cleaning supplies, food stuffs and female unmentionables all back into the bundle, Chancho made a quick effort to tuck the latter underneath a bag of salt, but failed.

“Those were pretty.”

Chancho tied the fabric in a knot, tighter than he had last time. “They’re not mine.” He winced. “I mean—”

“Well I should hope not.”

“It was real nice running into you, or I should say, catching you, señorita.” He winked, hoping she wouldn’t notice how sweaty he’d gotten. “But I, ah.” Squatting on his heels now, he peeked over the sill of the storefront window. “Maybe we can…” through the window he spotted the rinche moving quickly toward the door. He smiled weakly before blurting out, “usted es muy bonita.”

At the same moment the front door burst open, spilling loud voices into the street.