Chapter 14
Chapter Fourteen
“We need to do a sound check. I’m a weirdo, I know, but let’s do this.”
“I don’t know. We’re not quite set up yet, Mr. Walsh. I’m sorry.”
It was another new baby sound kid. Dillon swore they were going through them at a rate of one a second, and he was getting frustrated with it. No one cared that he was the son of a bitch who got pegged when shit didn’t work.
“Trust me, we need a sound check before everything starts. This is a live show, one of the major networks is picking it up, and they’re going to bury us if we get this wrong.”
“They’re bringing their own sound.”
He arched an eyebrow. “Are they? What’s your name, son?”
That sounded just like Coke. The man was rubbing off on him.
“R-Ricky.”
“All right, Ricky. Who gave you this information?”
The young man gave him a blink, his eyes wide as saucers. “Uh…Mr. David?”
“Thanks, I’ll be back.” He held the kid’s gaze. “I want a sound check. Find a way to make it happen.”
“Of course, Mr. Walsh. Yes, of course I’ll make it happen.”
“Good boy.” He saluted, and then he headed off.
He have a go at David, then either Ace or Sandy, and somebody was gonna die.
Chances were it wasn’t going to be him.
The bullfighters were warming up, jogging around. There was a beige covering on the stitches on Coke’s face. Doc’d demanded he wear it to keep the dirt and shit out of it while he was healing up.
Coke bitched about it, but it was that or not work. And Coke hated sitting out even more than he hated the plaster.
Nate nodded to him as he walked by. “You look pissed as all get out.”
“You think? Got one of the networks doing the show. They brought their own sound people.”
Nate’s eyebrow lifted as he jogged. “No space for you, huh? Are they gonna put Hoss on the TV?”
He snorted and shook his head. “Can you imagine that, with his face the way it is? I bet it’s you if it’s any of us.”
Nate blew out a hard raspberry. “My ass, no one’s talked to me. Bet it’s Ace. He craves it.”
“You think so?” Ace was pretty reserved, actually, but he would put his face up there to take the heat off the riders and staff.
Natty shrugged. “He’s always on there.”
“Mmm. I need to go yell. Be right back.”
“Have fun!” Nate winked at him as he headed back off, jogging toward Coke.
He’d wait for his bullfighter, but Coke had a way of soothing his savage beast, and he didn’t want soothing. He wanted to beat someone half to death with their own fucking tongue, and he was going to start with David fucking Donaldson.
It wasn’t hard to find him. There was a VIP area for people who didn’t actually work for a living which included the camera people, the announcer, Ace, Troy— for fuck’s sake.
Okay, well, the camera people wouldn’t be up there because they did work the event. He was just being a bitch. But that guy, that one that was like their suit, he was probably up there.
He jogged up the stairs and opened the door without so much as a by or leave. He heard, “Hey!” and “Wait a minute!” but he just did it, he didn’t even listen.
He pointed at David and said, “Don’t you tell my sound guy what to do or what not to do.”
“What?”
“And not only that, you motherfucker, but you don’t tell somebody else that you know about something about this network shit and before you talk to me about it when I’m the one who matters?”
“Hold on!” Ace glared at him. “That’s not up to David.”
Dillon arched an eyebrow. “Do you think for a second that I answer to you, man? For one fucking second? Have I not been incredibly clear about this?”
“Now, Dillon.” That was right. Ace knew better. “We didn’t find out about the whole network bringing their own music situation until just a few minutes ago. You were already down on the floor.”
“Ace, lying is wrong. Also, I have this neat little thing right here in my ear, and it wasn’t off.” He tapped his earpiece. “If you could get hold of the sound guy, you could get hold of me. Do y’all even know the sound guy’s name?”
Ace’s cheeks turned red, and David wouldn’t even look at him.
“That’s what I thought. Ricky, his name is Ricky.
Now explain to Ricky that there will be a sound check before the show starts, and there will be a sound check by the time that I get all the way down these stairs because your fans are going to know if they can’t hear the jokes, your fans — you know the ones who paid for tickets to see the bull riding and to see me — they’re going to know if they can’t hear the music and they’re going to know if I can’t hear it. This is my job, let me do my job.”
“Fine. Have your sound check.” Ace rolled his eyes. “I don’t suppose you want to do the TV spot for me?”
Did he want to? Fuck yes he wanted to. Had Ace had a brain tumor for breakfast?
He lived for this shit. His entire existence was being on display.
Still, he had to play it a little close to the vest.
“What is it you need me to do?”
“Talk for thirty seconds about the best bull that’s going to be in the short go. No big deal.”
“I can do that. I won’t even dance.” Much.
Ace raised an eyebrow. “Lying is wrong, Dillon.”
He cracked up. “Oh, fuck off, cowboy. No more bypassing me and the floor show in favor of the network. Deal?”
“Deal.” Ace shook on it.
He knew Ace — the man was as good as his word. “All right. I’m going to go down and bother cowboys. It’s a perfect day for it.”
Troy rolled his eyes. “Don’t tease the bulls into apoplexy, now.”
“No stroking out the bulls. Got it.”
He headed out, and sure enough, halfway down the stairs, Ricky started up a sound check. Woo. And also hoo.
He trotted on over toward the chutes, looking to see who might be over there doing cowboy calesthenics.
Sam Bell was there, his very favorite Cajun on earth stretching. It was mostly for Beau’s edification, he knew, but he bounced over, waving.
“Sammy! How goes, man?”
“It does go. Beau’s riding good; I got happy dogs. I cannot complain.”
“Good deal.” He bumped fists with the man when he leaned down from the chutes.
“You having a fit? I saw you storming up the stairs.”
“They were fucking with my new sound guy, Ricky.” He shrugged. “You know I don’t share well.”
“Oh, man. He old enough to shave yet?” Sammy grinned at him, that roper scar splitting the man’s bottom lip in half.
“Nope. And he’s been here like, a day. I swear, I miss Jasper.”
“Jasper’s been gone two years.”
“So?” He winked. “Ace is letting me have the TV spot.”
“Oo-eee! Beau, you hear that? They’re giving the clown TV time!”
Beau leaned over the chutes, stocky little fucker grinning like a monkey. “No shit?”
Sam nodded. “I shit you not.”
“Well, damn. They’ll regret it, I’m thinking.”
“So much for you two being my friends,” Dillon teased, bouncing on his toes to stay limber.
“Anytime. Make sure you say I’m the sexiest.” Sammy winked at him. “Come on, say Sam Bell is the hottest bullrider in history.”
“Oh, yeah. I’m so in.” Dillon snorted and shook his head. “You fucker.”
Sammy blew him a kiss.
He laughed, then checked to make sure no cameras were on before flipping Sam off. “I gotta go do my mic check. You lot be good, eh?”
“If he’s not, he’ll be careful.” Beau waved at him. “Good show, buddy.”
“Good ride, cowboy. Both of you.” Dillon jogged past Coke, wolf whistling just loud enough for Coke to hear. The man was hot as fire, twice as solid, and dependable as the sun.
What was not to whistle at?
Man, he had a TV slot, a fine lover, and a new sound guy that he was going to be able to grump at.
Life was good.