Chapter 1 #2
“People like me? What does that mean?” I asked. There were two possibilities he was referring to.
“You know. Ones like…” he paused and twirled his hand in the air at me.
“I don’t understand what that hand gesture means. Ones like what?” I pushed.
“You know. Don’t play dumb,” the dad said.
“I’m not dumb. I want to see if you have the guts to say it. Guess not. However, we’re talking about your demonic shithead of a son. Make him behave, or else.”
“Or else what?”
“Or else you’ll be the one to pay the price.”
“Don’t threaten me. I have witnesses,” the kid’s dad stated.
As he scanned the seats around him, everyone looked away and pretended to be deaf. I grinned.
“It looks like it’s your word against mine. You wouldn’t want someone doing to you what your kid is doing.”
“I didn’t see him do anything to anyone. Why don’t you go back to your seat and mind your business?”
Not bothering to say more to him, I took a step back, but only so I could lean down and whisper to the person seated behind the dad. It was a guy in his mid-forties, if I had to guess.
“Excuse me, sir. I hate to ask, but would you be willing to trade me seats for a bit? I feel like I need to stretch my legs. Mine is Sixteen-A. It’s an aisle seat as well.”
“I’ll gladly do it. Take all the time you need. Hell, stay here for the remainder of the flight and stretch all you want,” he said, winking.
When he stood, we shook hands, and he went back to my spot.
I sank into his and got myself in position.
I waited a few minutes before I started.
I lowered the table from the back of the chair in front of me, then slammed it shut.
That was followed by me slouching in my chair and driving my knees into the back of his seat.
Then, I crossed a leg over the other at the knee before setting up a continuous tapping with the toe of my boot.
Finally, the kid’s dad whipped around and glared at me. “Do you mind?” he hissed.
“No, I don’t mind at all,” I said cheerfully.
As soon as he faced forward, I grabbed the back of the headrest and shook his seat.
His head bounced on it as if I were dribbling a basketball.
People snorted and snickered. When he looked back at me, I raised an eyebrow but didn’t stop.
His fury was evident, but he kept his mouth shut.
A couple of minutes later, the flight attendant came down the aisle. He stopped her.
“Miss, this man is annoying me. He keeps shaking and hitting the back of my chair. Will you tell him to stop or make him move somewhere else?” he asked.
It was the one his boy had cursed out. She gave the father a bland look. “I’m sorry, sir, but I’ve seen nothing of the kind. I don’t know why you’re trying to get this man in trouble, but he’s not doing anything offensive. I suggest you enjoy the remainder of your flight.”
Walking past the sputtering man, the attendant winked at me as she happily sashayed past. For the next hour, I continued to torture the guy.
I didn’t stop until we were on the ground and taxiing to the gate.
At a tap on my shoulder, I turned and was handed my magazine and carry-on.
The man I exchanged seats with gave me a thumbs-up. I returned it.
When we stood to disembark, the man practically shoved his wife and kid ahead of him. They were racing away when I reached the concourse. The man had his son by the collar and was speaking urgently into his ear. The kid wasn’t happy. As I watched them, several passengers told me, “Good job.”
The old couple hailed me. Walking over to them, I shook Herbert’s hand.
“Sir, it was great to meet you. I hope the end of the flight was better.”
“Oh, it was. And to show our appreciation, we’d like to take you to dinner, if you don’t have any plans,” Herbert said.
“That’s sweet of you, but there’s no need.”
“There is in our book. Would you do us the honor? We’d love to get to know you if you’re not busy,” Doris chimed in.
“Then I’d love to have dinner. You tell me when and where, and I’ll be there.”
As we made our way to the luggage claim, we made arrangements to meet in a couple of hours.
Vegas was their home. I assisted them with their luggage and got them out to their car.
This move had them insisting on dropping me off at my hotel and returning later to pick me up for dinner.
No protesting would change their minds, so I accepted.
I hadn’t planned to bother with a rental car for the few days here. There were always rides in Vegas.
???
The dinner last night with Herbert and Doris had been a blast. We laughed and got to know each other.
I told them all about my club, the Horsemen of Wrath MC, and my horses.
Both found them fascinating and asked me a ton of questions.
They told me about their kids and grandkids, as well as the business Herbert had built from the ground up.
They were on my flight because they had returned from visiting one of their children and grandchildren.
They were a delightful couple. They reminded me that I needed to see Dad and Mom soon. It had been too long.
Today, I was in the thick of why I came to Las Vegas in the first place.
I was here for the rodeo’s National Finals.
They were winding up, and the champions in each category would be crowned.
I came a couple of days before the end of the event because it had been a while since I had been to a rodeo.
As I took in the crowds, the December weather in Vegas, which was great, the noise of cheers, the smell of horses, sweat, dirt, and manure, I felt at peace.
This environment had been my home for several years.
I’d loved everything about the rodeo, except the constant travel and the injuries.
Regardless of what your event was, being in the rodeo wasn’t for the faint of heart.
It took skill, persistence, and courage.
A high pain threshold was also a valuable trait.
I hadn’t exceeded my threshold, though it had gotten damn close.
Too close, and I had listened when the doctor told me one more major fall, whipping motion, or being trampled would leave me crippled for life.
It was his warning that led me to retire from the rodeo and move back to Florida.
After I retired, I looked for a way to enjoy my need for the wind in my face and the camaraderie of the rodeo, although some would stab you in the back while acting like your friend.
Getting ahead and winning were what those kinds of people worried about.
I’d met the Horsemen by accident. I was chartering a fishing boat to take my dad and a couple of his friends out.
I went into Hook & Reel Charters. I chose them because word was they were the best. I got to talking to the guy managing it, Wolverine.
He’d told me about his club when I asked about his cut.
Things went from there. Wolverine and I hung out on and off until one day he asked if I’d consider joining his club.
I told him he was crazy, but he insisted I at least come to a party and meet the guys.
I eventually agreed, and the rest was history.
I liked what I saw and asked the following day if they were still accepting people and, if so, what the process was.
Before I knew it, I was prospecting for them.
I've been a member for five years. It hardly seemed real.
These days, I spend my time working at Hook & Reel, hanging with my club brothers, and with my horses.
The club had been cool and allowed me to bring them to the compound as a prospect.
After I patched in, we built a wonderful stable for them.
Over the years, I’d gotten all my brothers on a horse at least once.
The one who rode the most was the newest brother, Swerve.
He’d waited thirteen years to be patched in.
He thought his paraplegia prevented him from riding a bike, a core requirement to be a member.
But due to his best friend, Scorpion, and Scorpion’s old lady, Paige, they found a way for him to do so.
Swerve rode my horses for the benefits that riding brought to him. I wish more people would.
A loud shout brought my attention back to where I was.
People were standing up in the stands, gasping in fear.
I moved to a spot where I could see the ring.
I noticed a rider on the ground. He was competing in the Saddle Bronc Riding division.
His horse had clearly thrown him and was bucking and crow-hopping around wildly.
His team was attempting to get the guy out of the ring while others tried to capture and calm the horse.
Running interference was a bullfighter, or, more commonly called, a rodeo clown.
The fighters were some of the bravest people in the rodeo, in my opinion.
To run out and intentionally draw the attention of a crazed, horned bull or wild horses was madness.
I remained where I was until the rider was safely out of the ring and his horse had been led away.
As the next rider was called into the arena, I turned and walked off.
I wanted to hunt down one of my buddies.
He was always at the national championships.
I hadn’t seen or talked to him in a while.
I hadn’t told him I was coming this year. I wanted to surprise him.
After I made my way through the crowds and past the stands selling various merchandise and food, I wound my way through the sea of trucks and trailers, letting memories of my last event play in my head.