Chapter 8 #2
Balta and Coke chattered away in the front, though, like nothing was wrong at all. They always put a good face on.
“Has Doc seen his hand?” That color of black couldn’t be healthy.
“Not yet. Coop is out for a good bit, and I can’t do this one alone.”
He nodded, winced some. The bullfighters, they were crazy. High-dollar crazy. Of course, the others thought he was crazy, too. Too Texan, they said. Too many chances.
The Italian restaurant smelled good from the outside, spicy and red.
There were a lot of pick-ups here—some he recognized, most he didn’t. The big rodeo—there were ropers and roughstock riders, trick riders. Everything. He’d won the event—two years in a row. Well, his event. He’d tried roping, but… No. Only on the ranch, where only his sisters laughed at him.
Everyone nodded at Coke and Balta, him and Nate getting less attention. The newest kid, Bonner, smiled at him, waved.
He nodded, grinned, and stopped at Bonner’s table. “You eating alone?”
“Yeah. I mean, it’s cool.” Bonner’s cheeks went red. The kid was nice, but the other cowboys avoided him because his father was famous.
“Well, come on. There’s room.” Eating alone sucked.
“Huh? Oh, no. I mean…” Bonner lowered his voice. “That’s Coke. And Baltazar Silva.”
“Yeah. And me and Nate. Come on, we gotta talk about something while Gramps and Balta chaw over old times, eh?”
“O-okay.” Bonner glanced at Nate. “Sure.”
“Cool.”
Coke and Nate both nodded and smiled, the expressions almost friendly. He took the seat beside Balta.
Bonner settled in just as Balta’s boot bumped his under the table. “Ola.”
“Hey. Joa said it was cool to join y’all…”
Joa nodded. He remembered being new, being nervous.
“It’s fine, huh?” Balta smiled, nudging Coke with his elbow.
“Sure, son. Eating alone ain’t good for you. You competing in broncs or just bulls?”
“Broncs, too. I need the money.” Bonner could ride, for sure.
“You got some good ones here. Nattie and me been down to look already.”
“Yeah? Well, cool.” The kid ducked his head, seeming like he might explode.
The waitress came by and Balta ordered a round of beer. Joa thought he saw Balta slip Coke something across the table, which Coke took with a grimace and a nod. Poor Coke. At least Balta was always good for the pain pills.
Bonner stared at Coke’s hand, mouth opening and closing like a trout’s.
“Bonner, son. Relax. We ain’t fixin’ to start biting you.” Coke winked. “Well, Nattie might. He’s grumpy.”
“I ain’t. Well, no more than usual. Who wants a fried cheese thing?”
Joa smiled. Nate snarled a lot, but he was a good man. “I want some. And a salad. A big one.”
“Mmm. I want meatballs,” Balta said, making them all laugh. Balta could fixate on meatballs.
Coke ordered a sandwich, Nate had the spaghetti, and Joa went for lasagna. He was hungry.
Balta smiled gently at Coke. “I thought you wanted noodles, huh?”
“I do, but I ain’t fighting a fork, huh?” That mangled, swollen hand was held up, and all of them winced.
“Well, I can share some of mine, if you have a real urge.” Balta wasn’t shy about feeding people off his own fork.
“We’ll see how good it looks.”
“There you go.” That was one Americanism Balta had picked up with enthusiasm.
“I heard Dillon got hurt. Is he better?”
The question got him a glance from Nate and a shrug from Coke.
Balta stared back and forth between them with bright eyes, something evil in there for a moment. Balta didn’t say nothing, though. Nate finally snorted. “His shoulder’s out, but he’ll live.”
“Well, that’s good. They pay him a lot to keel over from tangling with a bull.” Joa smiled. Man, something was up.
“Yeah. Ace said they’d start docking us per injury.” Nate sounded…mean. Snake mean.
He looked from Nate to Coke and let it drop.
The politics of bullfighters was different.
Harder, he thought, than the riders. Maybe it was because they were so few.
They had to do all the rides, all night.
A rider had to do maybe two. And they had paychecks.
They could be fired. Him? If he rode, he was on tour.
The food started to arrive, saving them all from something awkward. The fried cheese smelled so good. They dug in like starving men, laughing as they fought over the last few sticks.
The entrees came, and before Joa could even blink, Balta was forking up noodles for Coke. “They’re so good, huh?”
“They look fine.” Coke took the fork in his good hand, humming over them.
“They are!”
Bonner sat there staring with his mouth open. Joa could remember that, remember finding out that the big names on tour were human.
He ate his food, all of them watching Coke as the pain pills started to work, the man seeming older by the second. He murmured something about taking Coke home in Portuguese, so as not to offend the bullfighter.
“Mmm. As soon as this date is over, huh?” Balta nodded, handing Coke the red pepper when the man asked.
He nodded. “He’s fading, Balta. You drive.”
“I will. No worries.” Balta was a good friend. It was nice to see.
They ordered a second round of beer, and cheesecake for everyone—except Nate, who got an ice cream sundae as big as his head.
“You like ice cream, huh?” Bonner stared at Nate, then the ice cream, just like a newborn fool.
“Shit, yeah. It’s better than cream cheese in a crust.”
“Nao.” Balta shook his head. “Cheesecake is food of the gods.”
“Cheesecake is sour and slimy.” Nate actually grinned.
They all groaned, but no one stopped eating, and they finally were all full and ready to go. Joa noticed that Balta’s second beer was mostly untouched.
Coke stood, swayed a little, and threw money on the table. “I need bed, I think.”
“Come on, old man, huh?” Balta stood, too, picking up the rest of the bill without anyone but Joa noticing. “We’ll get you back for some rest.”
“Yeah.”
Nate hushed Bonner and sent him on his way, as they all headed to the truck.
“Here, Coke. I only had the one beer, huh?” Balta held out his hand for the keys, smiling easily, suddenly not limping at all, so Coke would forget the air cast, too.
“Yeah. Yeah, that works. I’m tired.” Coke nodded, handed the keys over like it was nothing.
They barely spoke on the way back to the hotel. Nate’s mouth was a tight, flat line, and Coke’s hat drooped in the front seat, the old bullfighter dozing.
Joa just wanted out of the truck.
He could go for a run.
A long run.
They parted ways without much fanfare, Balta handing over Coke’s keys with a short man hug, Nate leading Coke off to sleep.
Balta smiled at him. “Bom, doce?”
“You know what’s up with them?” There was…something weird.
“Something to do with Dillon, huh? I think he and Coke had a falling out.” Balta shrugged, patted his back. “Thank you for being so good at supper. It helped.”
“Eh. I don’t like troubles. You know.” He stretched, back and shoulders popping.
“I know. I’m a bad man, huh? To be so interested.” Balta shrugged. “Does this place have a pool, do you remember?”
“Sim. Around back. You want?” He could swim.
“I do! My foot can float and I can exercise, huh?” One tanned hand patted Balta’s belly. “Too much cheesecake.”
He reached out, touched too, so fast. “I’ll get my trunks.”
“Okay, doce.” Balta caught his hand, reeling him to kiss his mouth.
Balta tasted sweet, spicy, and the kiss left him blinking and dazed, lips swollen and almost bruised.
That same hand that had been on Balta’s belly popped Joa’s butt. “Go on. Get changed before we find another way to exercise.”
“Water’s better for you.” He grinned and tugged his shirt off. He was ready for the water.