Fistful of Reefer

Fistful of Reefer: scene nine

Out of sight around the corner of Bravo’s, Chancho slammed himself up against the wall at the same moment the door to the restaurant rebounded violently, slamming shut again.

“Why, Ranger McCutchen.” Daisy sang sweetly, revealing an edge of concern.

Chancho gathered himself and cursed under his breath when he realized he’d left his bundle on the boardwalk out of reach. The tractor parts alone represented half the season’s mohair. 

“What on earth has come over you?” Daisy continued, now with an audible quiver in her voice.

Lightning quick Chancho braved a glance around the corner. It wasn’t pretty. Even the fleeting glimpse told him the rinche was glazed with bloodlust. He’d seen the look of crazed zealotry before on the face of Villa himself. He couldn’t leave without his supplies, and besides, Daisy was in danger even if only he knew it.

“Out of my way, slut.” The rinche’s voice rattled, emerging from deep within his chest.

Without another thought Chancho swept around the corner, snagging the bundle in his left hand and staying low as he rushed toward Daisy and the rinche. Daisy squeaked with fright, the rinche’s forearm knocking her from her feet. Chancho used her shadow to mask his approach. With the door of Bravo’s swinging open again, Chancho spun to his right, flinging his bundle forward while replacing it for the second time that day with Miss Lickter’s delicate frame. 

Brushing past her backside as she fell, he embraced her at the last possible instant. Continuing to spin, Chancho lunged backward past the rinche. With a lighting flick of his wrist he spirited a .45 from its holster as he kicked the door of Bravo’s, catching the sheriff’s arm in the threshold and sending his pistol skittering across the boardwalk. Finally losing his feet, the pair crashed down in a heap. After spinning on his behind in a terrible flurry of kicking legs, Chancho managed to face the rinche, still embracing Daisy with one hand and gripping the .45 in his other.

The rinche stepped forward with a second .45 pointed directly at his head.

“It figures you would have two.” Chancho paused to catch his breath before whispering in Daisy’s ear, “Now that, señorita, was a dance.”

“Let the girl go, you coward.” Sheriff Lickter emerged from Bravo’s rubbing his wrist.

“Mr. Lickter, you mistake my intentions. The only reason I’m currently embracing your daughter in such an undignified manner was to spare her backside and her dignity from a bruising.” He lowered his voice again to a whisper. “One out of two isn’t bad.”

Squirming in his lap, Daisy endeavored to straighten her dress and recover her dignity which had indeed been bruised. He pinched her lightly. She elbowed him in return.

“Your daughter is merely a guest in my lap, not a prisoner.” He removed his arm from around her waist as a sign of his intent.

She gave him a sideways nod. “Gracias, Señor Villarreal.” He winced at the use of his surname. Brushing herself off, she rose to her feet and turned toward the rinche. “Now what’s all of this about?”

“Step away, honey. We’ve got business with this cretin.” The Sheriff reached for his daughter’s hand.

Daisy crossed her arms and stamped her foot. “Nonsense. All this man has done today is save me from a spill twice, the second time after Ranger McCutchen caused the matter.”

Chancho used the opportunity to get to his feet, remaining sheltered in part by Daisy’s slight shadow and keeping the stolen .45 trained on its owner. The rinche glared, shaking visibly as Chancho leaned close to Daisy’s ear. “Would you mind inching my bundle just a few feet closer? I might need to leave in a hurry. Muchas gracias.”

Daisy looked at the three men in turn before deciding she might as well assist the only one of them who had been treating her like a lady. She bent down to drag the bundle of supplies close to Chancho’s feet.

“I should kill you now.” The rinche finally spoke, his voice a mere croak.

“Well señor, not from my perspective, but to each his own.”

Finished with her task, Daisy turned to face him, her face less than a foot from his own. Despite the temptation, Chancho remained riveted on the rinche’s smoldering eyes, looking for any indication of whether he would shoot to kill like he apparently had that morning. Something told him he would be dead already if the rinche had not wanted him alive. Reluctantly he decided this suspicion was his only card to play. “Now señorita, I have one last request, and it is the most important of all. Por favor, stand several paces away, in the street.”

She hesitated before eventually conceding. As she brushed past him he whispered one last thing, “And for the love of God, close your eyes tight.” Addressing the rinche he continued, “Now gentlemen, let us put down our weapons and discuss this misunderstanding like civilized men. Hmmm?” Chancho shifted slightly until he stood just left of his bundle. Placing the pistol in his left hand he held it out prone, waiting for the rinche to do the same thing.

Finally the rinche spun his pistol, holding it by the cylinder and barrel instead of the grip. The two men’s eyes never broke from each other. Slowly Chancho began to bend his knees. The rinche followed suit. When the two men neared the ground Chancho nodded and waited for the rinche to drop his pistol first.

A long moment passed before Sheriff Lickter broke the silence, “For God’s sake, McCutchen. Just drop it. What’s he gonna do? Shoot us all? After he let Daisy go?” Without blinking the rinche dropped his pistol and began to straighten up.

Chancho dropped his pistol as well. Grabbing his bundle of supplies with his right hand he hooked his index finger through the loop of his bootstrap. Keeping the rinche’s eyes locked on his own, he extended a nearly invisible rip cord from the side of his boot as he simultaneously brought the bundle to his waist. Much further and he knew the charge in the tip of his boot would detonate, God willing the powder had stayed dry and the phosphorus igniter still worked.

He hadn’t even thought about the custom addition to the boots for over a year, put there by his once best friend—the same Ah Puch he’d only hours ago been accused of killing for gold. Without another word he gave Daisy a wink and leapt upward, clasping the front lip of the overhang with his left hand.

The rinche reached for his .45 while the sheriff lunged for Chancho’s legs. Before either could be obtained, Chancho extended his right arm, heaving the bundle onto the roof, and at the same time detonating the chili bomb in the tip of his boot. With a small display of fireworks and an innocent pop, the feather-light dust burst into the air. Quickly spreading six feet across, the cloud of chili powder enveloped both the sheriff and the rinche.

Kicking his right leg, Chancho swung himself up and onto the roof. Without looking down he shouldered his bundle and bolted noisily atop the tin sheeting. Gunfire cracked as the rinche fired blindly, only sound to guide him. Still, he came closer than Chancho would have liked. Three more long strides and Chancho decided it time to come back down to earth. Leaping the several feet to the ground he hit softly and rolled. “Little Sister! Am I glad to see you!”

His horse, a tiny sorrel mare, snorted and nodded her head.

“Here, help me with these supplies.” Chancho picked up the knotted bundle and looped it over the saddle horn. His left foot in the stirrup, he slapped the horse on the rump while heaving himself into the saddle.