TEXAS LONGHORNS
By
Waddie Greywolf
Chapter
8
Sidney ~
The boy was
doomed before his mother’s water broke. Wednesday’s child of woe
was not nearly descriptive enough for the implied possibilities from
the boy’s name alone. Sidney Percival Loganbotham Wainright,
Junior. It’s not recommended to read this name aloud; the very
sound, of which, is guaranteed to send out a radar effect attracting
any bullies within a fifty mile radius. They’re drawn to it like flies
to shit. They raise their heads, turn slightly getting the scent of the
fear pheromones produced by their favorite prey, the shy,
reclusive, yellow striped geek; found around libraries, museums,
computer expos, science fairs, and Star Trek conventions. It acts much
like a Sidewinder missile’s heat seeking targeting device; a red flag
for their insatiable wrath. It renders them unable to control
themselves with an unquenchable thirst for physical mayhem to be levied
upon a person with such an unfortunate
moniker.
Sometimes it’s
not the fates who are cruel. Sometimes, it’s the people who claim
to know so much about linage, heritage, birthright, status, and/or
parental love, if any. If you truly love your child why on God’s
green Earth would you hang a sign around his neck reading: “Sidney
Percival Loganbotham Wainright, Junior.” It says to a bully,
“Please, don’t bother to ask, just hit me. Feel free to take
advantage of this offer again at your next, earliest convenience. Thank
you for your valuable time and sharing your wrath with me.” And,
so it was,— young Sidney set out upon his voyage into the world with a
name that would surely spell out his doom.
Ah,— but as
Shakespeare pointed out many times, the fates themselves are a fickle
lot. Sometimes they’re humorous, but other times them bastards can be
down right nasty. Look what happened to poor Titus Andronicus. The evil
queen had his two sons baked in a pie and served up to him for dinner;—
filial frittata? Mostly, the fates have a decided sense of
the absurd;— for when the stage is set for the surest probability for
eminent tragedy, they reverse the polarity of their giddiness, and
after much grumbling from the more powerful pro-tragedy lobbyist
contingent,— they get it right! It might be argued our government could
learn a lot from them. So, again it was with our young
protagonist, Sidney. The fates chose to give him intelligence
greatly above and beyond the average child, and a father who, from the
pratfalls and foibles of his own miserable youth, decided his son would
not so suffer.
Sidney’s father,
Sidney Percival Loganbotham Wainright, Senior suffered an untellable
youth. “Them wicked fates done seen him a’ come’n,” some were
heard to say; however, somehow, he managed to survive on his own
superior intellect and fundamentally sound wits to become an extremely
well-to-do man. Of course, it didn’t hurt that he inherited the vast
Wainright family fortune on top of his own accumulated wealth, thereby
greatly increasing his power base. The old saw, money begets
money, was never more true than in Sidney senior’s case. Money
was no object for him, he could buy and sell most all but a very few of
the names on the Fortune Five Hundred list. Metaphorically speaking,
Daddy Warbucks was a veritable pauper compared to Sidney senior.
For all his
money, Sidney was a man of modest ways. He had no problem
accepting the good life money could provide, but he wasn’t one to be
extravagant or ostentatious. While he wasn’t a religious man, and
certainly had very little truck with the Morman faith, he decided,
after a brief youthful bout with drugs and alcohol, their ideas of
abstinence were something he admired and adopted into his own
lifestyle; however, he was not an evangelical convert to these ideas,
and within limits of moderation, he tolerated other’s individual
choices.
When looking for
a place to settle and raise a family he decided upon a rural ranching
community Northeast of San Diego some thirty miles or so. There he
built his mansion for his home and family. It wasn’t a big
mansion as mansions go; however, what it lacked in size it made up for
in quality and sheer comfort. It was all a reflection of Sidney’s
understated lifestyle. He saw his choices as a subtle put down
against the crassness of the nouveau riche. His personal fortune
was new, but his inherited wealth was very old money.
When Sidney’s
wife became pregnant, and gave birth to a male child, an heir for
Sidney, he was overjoyed. For once in his life, other than the
accumulation of wealth, things seemed to be going right for him;
until,— his wife died quite suddenly at a tragically young age. Young
Sidney was only three years old. Sidney, the elder, was now faced
with raising young Sidney alone. Since Sidney had no urge or
immediate plans to remarry, he set about to raise young Sidney
himself. This shouldn’t have been a great problem for a man of
such means. On the contrary, Sidney found the lack of competence
and personal dedication of hired employees a never ending battle in his
efforts to see to his son’s comfort and well being.
Well meaning
friends told him to find a new mom for young Sidney, remarry and his
problems would be over. Sidney lived most of his childhood under
the abject domination of a wretched step-mother who would’ve made
Cinderella’s mom seem down right charitable. He had no intentions of
taking that chance for his son. No matter the money he offered or
paid, the people he hired to care for his son had little interest in
young Sidney. They were only interested in doing the least
possible for the maximum amount of money.
Somehow, through
several of the common folk of his community, who were not so interested
in Sidney’s money as to be, themselves, charitable of spirit, he
found some quality help. They took young Sidney into their home
as one of their own and cared for him approximately two and a half
years during brief periods when Sidney senior had to be away on
business; however, both were elderly and it was becoming increasingly
difficult for them to care for young Sidney. So, once again,
Sidney, the elder, had to find help. Young Sidney was now almost
six years old and would began school that year. His father hit
upon a radical plan.
He remembered
from his troubled youth making his escape from his tyrannical,
overbearing, fundamentally religious family by disappearing onto his
own family's ranch. His great-grandfather managed to secretly
hire him on as a cowboy. Only a couple of men knew of his
whereabout for a little over six years. It was a hard life to
adjust to but Sidney had perseverance and determination. Nothing,
no matter how hard, could be as emotionally devastating as the life he
left. Sidney grew up in those six years. He worked hard and his
great-grandfather grew to respect his great-grandson.
One of the few
people Sidney could count on as a mentor or confidant was an older,
common man, a man of the Earth, a cowboy, who befriended him, but asked
little in return; however, he demanded three things of Sidney: respect;
honesty; charity to those less fortunate than himself; and, moderation
in all things; oh yes, and to always plumb kill a rattlesnake!
>From this man he also learned the meaning and power of unconditional
love. Even today, he would seek the man’s counsel. Sidney
secretly thought of the old cowboy as the understanding, loving, caring
dad he never had. This man who Sidney held in such high esteem
just happened to be a man who loved other men; however, he never made
that a criterion for his friendship with Sidney. Neither did he try to
hide his preference nor did he apologize for it. He neither
flaunted nor tried to proselytize his lifestyle; however, when he was
asked directly, he would never lie to anyone.
Sidney sat down
and created an employment opportunity advertizement for the
internet. He also planned to send it to all major newspaper’s of
English speaking countries around the world. It was clear and concise;
however, it left enough wiggle room for a creative mind to read between
the lines. Although he didn’t realize it at the time, Sidney was
subconsciously looking to ‘buy’ an additional family member.
Could it be done? Would he be successful? Sometime, when
you’re desperate, you take a big gamble.
Sidney’s ad
read: “Wanted: the male equivalent of a nanny for a young, grade
school, male child, age six years, to act as a caretaker, personal
butler, physical trainer, mentor, and friend. Experience and
education preferred but may be waved for other, similar experience,
education or personal recommendations. References essential. This is
not a part time job. After a probationary period, the job
will last until the boy is twenty-one. If service is acceptable
the terms of the employment contract may be renegotiated at that time.
A generous salary will be offered depending on, education, experience,
qualifications, recommendations, and interviews. For further
information, write or send resume to the following address for a more
detailed job description and necessary qualifications.”
Sidney included
the address of a screening agency he hired which was run by a close
personal friend. His agency was to weed out all but the most
qualified with the best credentials. The ad didn’t generate quite the
response Sidney hoped for. While the screening agency received numerous
inquires, resumes, and a number of actual applications the quality of
the applicants seemed marginal at best and some so outrageously cheeky
with exaggerated claims of their experience and knowledge on the
subject of child care, they were immediately dismissed. It provided
Sidney’s friend at the screening agency and his staff grounds for much
amusement; however, after processing all the more promising applicants,
it came down to a choice of twenty possibilities.
All twenty were
screened, re-screened, submitted to thorough background checks,
psychological profiles, and education and recommendations checked
for authenticity. They were also required to have a polygraph
examination. Three dropped out because of personal beliefs against such
practices. Of course, one is never quite sure if it was because
of their personal convictions or because of their possible other
convictions being found out. Nevertheless, it was one of Sidney’s
requirements for all serious applicants. Ten were eliminated for
relatively minor indiscretions in favor of the remaining ten who had
all but faultless background checks and met most, if not all of
Sidney’s qualifications.
Sidney had a
conference with his friend and told him to have the ten remaining
applicants be interviewed by his best interviewer and have the sessions
video taped. From the tapes, Sidney would pick five to personally
interview. The final five were to be the cream of the
applicants. This was the results of almost six months of
searching and labor. It cost Sidney over fifty thousand dollars
for the newspaper ads alone to say nothing of agency cost. Sidney
was not concerned. If he found the right person for the position
to care for his son like he wanted, and could be comfortable with, it
was worth every penny to him.
Sidney sat down
with his close friend and mentor, Frank Mayhew, to watch the
interviews. Five were eliminated rather quickly because of
personal preference or character traits the two men found
objectionable. Of the final five, there was only two who Sidney
felt he might feel comfortable with, and one his friend felt would be
okay. Frank had serious and grave reservations about who would be
caring for his nephew. Sidney loved his old friend all the more
for his honest concern. All applicants were asked their sexual
orientation and had it confirmed by polygraph. Half of the twenty
were more than a little surprised they were chosen for further
processing because they were either gay or bisexual. Of the final
ten, four were confirmed straight; four were homosexuals, and two
were true bisexuals. Of the final five, Sidney picked for
personal interviews two were gay, two were straight and one was a
bisexual.
Since all
claimed to be personal physical trainers, as a final test, Sidney
didn’t see anything wrong with asking the applicants to remove his
clothing down to his briefs. He didn’t bother to explain, but he
would if asked. He would tell them, if they were physical trainers he
wanted to see the results of their training as it showed on
themselves. One straight man refused as did one gay man. They
were thanked, handed an envelope with a generous gratuity for their
time and patience in the interview process. The final three had no
objection and removed their clothing for Sidney to see their bodies.
The gay and the bisexual were by far more personally developed than the
remaining straight man and he was eliminated. Sidney was down to
two choices. He really wasn’t comfortable with either. It had
nothing to do with their sexuality; after all, he was the one who
eliminated the remaining straight men.
He called them
both back for another interview with him and his mentor. Frank liked
the bisexual. He had been Frank’s number one pick from viewing
the ten tapes with Sidney. He seemed like a man Frank could be
comfortable with taking care of his nephew. Sidney, on the other hand,
had a better feeling about the gay man. It became a difficult
choice for Sidney. He told them he would notify them within two weeks
of his decision. He wanted time to consider. Secretly, in the
back of Sidney’s mind he was praying for a miracle. As the deadline
neared, he found himself actively praying for help. To whom or for what
he was praying, he couldn’t clearly define.
That evening,
after reviewing the tapes, he drove Frank back to his bunkhouse on the
Harding ranch. (soon to become the Dunbar ranch) He returned to his
home to be greeted by his exuberant six year old son at the door. Glory
hallelujah, saint’s be praised, blow up the trumpets, his daddy
was home! Sidney senior and junior drove the wonderful neighbor lady
home and graciously thanked her for caring for Sidney junior.
Sidney handed her an envelope with a thank you note and a sizable check
for her kindness and help.
They returned
home and Sidney went into his study to open his mail. Among the mirid
excess of junk mail and a couple of bills was an envelope written in a
childlike hand addressed to him. He immediately recognized the
name and return address. It was from one of his close buddies he used
to ride with on his families ranch along with Frank. In the
envelope there was a brief note attached to a brochure for a boy’s
correctional ranch in Southwest Texas. It was a ranch for boys
whose families considered them to be incorrigible; however, they were
not considered delinquents and had no police record. Basically, the
ranch was the Western equivalent of the Eastern boys military school.
About
three-quarters of the boys at the ranch were there because their
families just didn’t want to cope with the trauma of dealing with an
adolescent day in and day out. They were all from upper middle class or
wealthy families who had the money to pay for their care and handling
during their trying years of hormonal see-sawing. The family’s attitude
was, “Here,— you deal with him, we’ve had it! We have the money
to pay you to deal with him. Don’t call us, we’ll call you, but under
no circumstances bring him home before his eighteenth birthday.”
Today,
there are alternatives for the more monied of our society that are a
bit more socially acceptable, but of questionable success;—
drugs. Some boys were there because of a state or federal
decision. Several were brilliant computer hackers who hacked into the
wrong computer on the wrong day. They were much to young to be
incarcerated and essentially no good would’ve come of it. The
camp was not considered incarceration, but it may as well have been.
The boys were
worked on a working ranch from sunup to sundown. There was school
classes in the mornings and evenings. By the end of their day they were
too damn tired to even contemplate running away. It was a hard
life, but many learned sound lessons and formed solid friendships that
lasted a lifetime. The lessons learned would stand them in good
stead against the pratfalls of later life, and the quality and strength
of the friendships they made might never have been found in regular
society. Sidney was fascinated by the brochure. The note explaining the
brochure was in a child like print with misspelled words and incomplete
sentences, but Sidney understood every word.
“Hello Sid. long
time no hear from you or me. Sorrie, you no I not good at writin.
Heer you be lookn for top waddie fer ur boy. Frank dun toll
me. Chek out man i send pic in thang I send to you. He be man for
you Sid. he name Sticker Wiggins. fine cowboy. fine man. good man Sid.
Him nos kids good. He best with em I ever did see. he be
good to ur boy an good for ur boy, Sid. Ole Sticker he need famly
Sid. He need loven. His hart need to find a home. never
ever forgit what u done for me, Sid. You good man. you save my
life, buddy. mabe this save urs. Love you, an ur son,
your buddy, Will Shott."
Sidney clutched
Will’s letter to his heart and was wracked with uncontrollable sobs for
the memory and this simple gesture of love from his friend. He
was touched to the bottom of his soul. He knew, at that moment, beyond
a shadow of a doubt, this man his friend recommended, Sticker Wiggins
would be his man. His prayer was answered, and not a moment too soon.
He slowly opened the brochure again to look through it when he saw a
red circle around a picture of a tall, handsome, cowboy who was broad
at he shoulders and narrow at the hips.
Sidney knew he
wouldn’t have to ask this man to take his clothes off. He could
see the man’s body was in top physical condition. He had huge biceps, a
big thick, bull-like neck, and his massive pectoral muscles were easily
seen through his western shirt. He had a big grin on his face with his
arm around three boys on his right and three on his left. They
were all looking up at him and were obviously awe struck by the big
man. Sidney had to admit he could understand their awe. Sticker
was, indeed, an imposing figure of a man.
Sidney junior
came running into the room in his jammies and crawled up into his
daddy’s lap. He immediately saw the brochure and began to look at
the pictures with his dad. He pointed to the circled picture of
Sticker. He carefully ran his small finger over the image of the man,
like he was trying to feel him through the print in the brochure.
“I know him,
Dad?” he said softly.
“What do you
mean, Sidney? How could you know him?”
To say young
Sidney was an intelligent child was like saying Mozart was smart.
Sometimes, being exceptionally bright can have its drawbacks. His
inventive mind and vivid imagination worked overtime to create his own
personal fears and horrors for himself. He became as gifted at that as
any of his other pursuits. He would tell his dad about dreaming
of a horrible dark place in which he found himself alone and
frightened. To add to his horror he would call out to his dad or
anyone who might come to him to offer him comfort or ease his
fear. No one would come. It had become a frequently
reoccurring dream and small Sidney would wake in the night screaming
and crying for his father. Sidney’s dad was becoming concerned for his
child and considered seeking professional help. Then, to his dad’s
amazement, one morning over breakfast, young Sidney announced to
his dad the problem had been solved. He told his dad the
particulars, but like many parents Sidney passed his son’s explanation
off as more of his inventiveness to solve his own crisis and his father
promptly forgot the matter.
“Don’t you
remember, Dad, I told you about a big cowboy who comes to me in
that dark place when I’m scared and tells me he loves me and not to be
afraid, he won’t let anything hurt me? It’s him, Dad. He even
told me his name.”
“What’s his
name, sweet heart.”
“He’s got a
funny name. I didn’t believe him at first. He told me his name is
Sticky or Stickler, something like that, but he told me to call
him Mr. Wiggins. I’m not allowed to call him by his first name
until I’m a man like him.”
This was almost
too much for Sidney to handle. The memory of the conversation came
flooding into his mind. He held his boy to him and once again was
wracked with sobs. How could his child know the name of the man
in the brochure? Was this a sign? Was it possible to reach across time
and space within your dreams and contact someone you’ve never met
before? He knew his son was gifted, but this,— ?
Little Sidney
was reading before his second birthday. He was writing his own
small stories before the age of three. By four he was reading comic
books and kid’s books. Recently, his dad caught him in a corner of his
library curled up with Charles Darwin’s “Voyage of the Beagle.” He
wouldn’t start the first grade for another six months. What other gifts
might little Sidney have? Sidney, could only wonder.
“Don’t cry,
Dad. It’s all right. Did I do something wrong?”
“No, no,
Son. I was just wondering how you knew the man’s name is
all. I didn’t tell you his name and it’s not written on the
brochure.”
“You don’t
believe me, Dad?”
“No, uuh,—
yes! Yes, I believe you, Son.”
“He looks better
in my dreams, Dad. He smells good, too. He smells like
lilacs.”
Sidney sat there
looking at his son and was bemused by his revelations. Who could he ask
about this? Perhaps the doctor who owns a ranch not far from
his? He looked into his boy’s eyes and saw the deepest
trust. How could he not do everything in his power to see this
unique, loving little man had not only the best of everything he might
provide, but also, a healthy, normal childhood.
With the help of
several good people in his life, Sidney overcame his own unfortunate
childhood and became his own man. Sidney was, indeed, a self-made man.
Sidney was a respected mover and shaker in the world. He went out on
his own and made his fortune. He made his own destiny. He
didn’t rely on family money; in fact, he rejected it. Sidney neither
counted on nor imagined, one day, it might come down to the last, and
he would be the one to inherit the family fortune.
Sidney had
little time for organized religion or spiritual hocus-pocus. Because
Frank taught him the cowboy way, Sidney was respectful and accepted the
notion of an intelligent design in the universe; however, he just
couldn’t believe such an intelligence would ever be ‘up close and
personal.’ Did he really believe in miracles? If he prayed for
one, would he understand it as such when it happened? This
unexplainable experience with his own flesh and blood certainly caused
him to pause and reconsider.
No matter his
beliefs on the subject, Sidney was not one to look a gift opportunity
in the mouth. Hell, it was worth looking into,— why not?
He’d all ready spent well over a hundred thousand for his search.
Researching this man would be jump change. He would start
tomorrow to find out who and what this man, Sticker Wiggins, was all
about. Sidney had to agree with his son, it was a funny name. He
didn’t give a damn if the man’s was named Catfish Von Pumpernickel, if
he was the man for his boy, he had to know. He turned on his lap
top as Sidney junior curled up in his daddy’s lap and promptly went to
sleep. At six, Sidney junior, was still small and didn’t weigh
very much. Sidney enjoyed having his boy close to him. He felt
warm and secure. He felt loved, and he radiated his love back to
his boy.
He started
typing notes to himself and his assistant. He had a male
assistant rather than a secretary. He found the man more
efficient, better organized, worked harder, was faithful and more loyal
than most of the women secretaries he had in the past. He knew
Kevin was gloriously gay, but Kevin left his lifestyle at home.
At work, he was all business and wouldn’t tolerate listening to a foul
joke that demeaned anyone. Sidney admired him for that. He
admired Kevin for many of his other qualities as well. (don’t go there,
that’s not what I meant.)
He took Sidney
junior and laid him on the leather couch in his office. He grabbed a
heavy throw and put it over his boy. He got a pillow from
underneath a cabinet he kept handy for just such a purpose. He
liked to have his son sleeping where he could see him while he
worked. He worked way into the wee hours of the morning. He had
note after note of instructions about what information to secure.
He wanted to know everything there was to know about Mr. Sticker
Wiggins before he even attempted to approach him. All his ideas
about interviews, contracts, proper hiring procedures were tossed
aside. This was one situation he knew instinctively he was going to
have to handle personally, on his feet, one step at a time.
If anyone could
get information about another person, Sidney knew how to go about
it. He had contacts all over the world and some in very high
places. Sidney contributed heavily to politicians who would go to
bat for him if he needed them. It is, after all, unfortunately,
the American way. Money may or may not buy happiness, but it goes a
long way to grease the cogs of cooperation. (corruption, too! Can
you say, ‘Theo-cons?’) Sidney even had close ties with several of
the highest ranking men in the Pentagon. One phone call from him
would get him files few other men could even imagine having access
to. It would only take him a couple of days to gather information
on Wiggins. He wasn’t going to stop there. He wanted to know who this
man was and why his boy dreamed of
him.
* * * * * * *
By the end of
the first week, Sidney knew a lot about Mr. Sticker Wiggins.
Short of contacting and interviewing close personal friends, Sidney had
amassed a considerable amount of information about him. What he
discovered about the man amazed even him. Sidney had a tendency
to be somewhat skeptical about many things. When it came to people, he
looked for the best, but always expected the worst. When he was
wrong, he was pleasantly surprised. Frank told him, that way, he
was rarely disappointed.
He approached
this investigation the same way and was more than pleasantly surprised.
There was no record of Mr. Wiggins birth. The closest thing found
was a sworn affidavit he was born on a ranch in West Texas in
1972. He graduated high school forth in a class of twelve in
1990. He immediately joined the Army and was sent to Iraq in
Operation Desert Storm. He suffered a shoulder wound and a wound
to his left leg. He received two purple hearts and a Bronze Star
for heroism under fire. He was honorably discharged from the Army and
went to University of Texas on the G.I. bill. He got a degree in
psychology. He attended two years of graduate school and got a
Masters of Social Welfare. He became a licensed psychotherapist
after a year’s apprenticeship under a psychiatrist. His graduate work
and therapy was with adolescents and young adults.
He had a lot of
problems with Gulf War syndrome and couldn’t seem to adjust to a
routine lifestyle. He couldn’t handle sitting behind a desk and
listening to kids problems day in and day out. He gave up his
practice and took a job with the boy’s correctional ranch. He’d been
there for two years. He was well liked and well thought of. He was one
of the best councilors at the camp. Sticker liked the work because he
wasn’t doing one on one counseling. He was, however, constantly
working with the boys, acting as a role model and mentor. Just
what Sidney was looking for. The icing on the cake for Sidney he
never shared with anyone. Sticker was a cowboy just like Frank
and he, himself, had been. Do you think Frank Mayhew might have
figured that one out for himself?
Of all the
information gathered on Mr. Sticker Wiggins, Sidney found one, almost
insignificant tidbit interesting. Sticker once applied for a
security clearance for an unspecified federal government position. They
did a thorough investigation including any record of sexual preference.
One small notation in the file indicated Mr. Wiggins had never been
known to have a close physical relationship with anyone, female or
male. His sexual orientation and/or preference was unknown.
* * * * * * *
The time to
notify the two final applicants for the job was near. Sidney had
Kevin call and tell them Mr. Wainright would be out of town for the
next couple of weeks and would contact them immediately upon his
return. From years as a successful business man, Sidney learned
to hedge his options. He contacted his buddy Will Shott and asked
if he could come visit? He wanted to meet this man, Sticker Wiggins.
“I’m glad to
hear you wanna’ meet him, Mister Wainright.”
“What the Hell’s
with this ‘Mister Wainright’ crap, cowboy? I’m Sid, Will, just
plain Sid, buddy. We’ve been friends too many years and mean too
much to each other for you to call me mister. You’re letter with
the brochure was the nicest damn thing anyone’s done for me in a long
time, my friend. You damn near ripped my guts out with that
gesture. I sat there crying like a damn baby reading your letter.
Stuck it to me again, you old bastard!” Sidney laughed and heard
his friend laugh with him, “You very well may have saved my life,
Will. If I like him, do you think I might be able to talk him
into it?
“I ain’t real
sure, Sid. I talk to him often. He comes by here to see me
once or twice a week on his days off. He knows about you and my
friendship, but he don’t know nothin’ ‘bout no job. I know’d from Frank
you’s look’n for someone. I don’t know’s he put together just who
you are. I think he’s pretty happy at the boy’s ranch, but I know’d he
had to take a big cut in income from being a therapist in the city to
wrangling kids on a ranch. He complains about not having a lot a’
free time. I can’t really say, but I got a feel’n, he might just go
fer’ it. I never know with him. He’s one of the nicest men
I know, but he pretty quite most of the time. Don’t say a lot to let
chu’ know what he’s a’ think’n on. I sure know he won’t put up
with no foolishness.”
“He sounds about
like what I need, Will. If I fly into San Antonio can I come out and
stay with you a day or two to meet him?”
“Oh, Hell, Sid,—
you know better’n to ask. You don’t never have to ask to come see
me. Jes’ come on! My door’s always open to you. You know
that. Why, jes’ the thought of see’n you again started my tail a’
wag’n. Won’t me to meet chu’ at the airport, Son?”
“No, Will.
I’ll just rent a car. There’s a couple of places I want to see
while I’m back there.”
“You going back
to the old ranch, Sid?”
“You know me
pretty well, partner.” Sid heard the man chuckle on the other end.
“I’d say we know
each other pretty damn well, Sid.”
“Yes, Will, and
I thank God for that and you every day.”
“Ah, git yore’
butt out here. I can’t wait to see ya.’”
“Can’t wait to
see you either, buddy. See ya’ day after tomorrow sometime around
noon.”
“I’ll be here.
Thanks for call’n, Sid.”
“See ya,’ soon,
partner. Bye.”
Sidney hung up
the phone and felt tears falling from his eyes. Kevin walked in
and caught him.
“Oh,— I’m so
sorry, Mr. Wainright,— I’ll come back later.”
“Nonsense,
Kevin,— come,— what do you have for me?”
“Is there
anything I can do for you, Mr. Wainright?” Kevin asked with genuine
concern in his voice as he approached.
“No, but thanks
for asking, Kevin. I appreciate that, but I’m fine. I’m going to
visit a dear old friend of mine for a couple of days, and I just got
off the phone with him. I haven’t seen him since his boy died, and I
went back for the funeral. He’s all alone now, and I’m looking
forward to seeing him again. The tears were for joy and
anticipation of seeing him, Kevin.”
“Ahww, I’m glad
to hear that, Sir.” Then Kevin was back to business.
* * * * * * *
The trip into
San Antonio was non-eventful. Sidney rented a car and drove the hundred
and fifty miles to Will’s ranch. True to his word he pulled into the
gravel road leading to the ranch at ten ‘til noon. There was a
newer Ford F250 pickup truck sitting next to Will’s. Sidney
wondered. Sure enough, out of the house comes Will followed by a
big, handsome cowboy, the man in the brochure, Sticker Wiggins. Sidney
looked at the brochure a hundred times or more like he was trying to
send a mental message to the man; a message he needed him and had a
little six year old boy who needed him more. Will got to Sidney
first and wasn’t going to settle for a handshake. He wanted full body
contact. Sidney didn’t hold back his genuine affections for his old
friend either.
“Sid! Oh,
Sidney! Damnation, boy, it’s good to see ya’ again.”
“It’s awful good
to see you again, too, old friend. Look, my tail’s jes’ a’
wag’n.” Sidney partially turned his rump to show his friend. The
three men laughed. Sid continued, “Hell, you haven’t aged a bit since I
last saw ya.’ You must be living good. Something’s agreeing
with ya.”
“Sid, I want you
to meet another good friend of mine, Mr. Sticker Wiggins.
Sticker, this here’s, one of the finest men I ever did have the
pleasure and honor to know. I want you to meet my friend and buddy, Mr.
Sidney Wainright.”
“Call me Sid or
Sidney, Mr. Wiggins,— please. It’s a pleasure to meet you, Sir.”
“Call me
Sticker, Sid. Pleasure’s mine, Sir.” The huge man said with
a decided Texas drawl. Sidney hadn’t been back to Texas in a
while, but he knew within the hour his tongue would start to thicken
and he, too, would be lapsing back into the same speech patterns he
unconsciously used years ago. ‘Must be the water,’ he laughed to
himself.
“Come, Sid. Come
on in. Make yer’self to home. I jest’ about got lunch ready
for us. I bought us some of the Benson’s barbecue down to the
town yesterday. I remembered how much you used to like their
stuff. Sticker stopped by, I told him you was a’ coming,— you’d
be here ‘round noon,— I invited him to stay; told him I want him to
meet chu.’ Don’t think he was gonna’ ‘cause he thunk I might be
a’ cook’n. When I told him I was serving up some Benson’s
barbecue he accepted real quick like.” Will laughed.
Sticker and Sid had a good laugh, too.
“Ain’t a’
damn thing wrong with yore’ cook’n, old man. Ever now and then you get
a pretty good scald on som’um. I ain’t never pushed away from your
table hungry.” Will grinned real big at his friend’s compliment.
Sidney was
immediately overwhelmed by the big cowboy’s genuineness and
self-confident ease around people. ‘Here was a man to be reckoned
with,’ Sidney thought to himself. Will told the two men to take a
place at the table, he’d bring the iced tea. He brought quart
mason jars filled with sweetened iced tea with lemon and a sprig
of spearmint. Sidney almost lost it in front of the two men. He
didn’t get his napkin to his face in time and one damn tear rolled down
his cheek. Sticker saw the tear and immediately reacted. He
gently reached his big ham of a hand over and grabbed Sidney’s arm in a
gesture of empathy.
“You okay, Sid?”
he asked softly in a concerned voice. Sidney laughed.
“I’m sorry,
Sticker. I’m fine. I haven’t been back in a while and to have
iced tea served to me in a mason jar, well — it brings back a flood of
wonderful memories Will and I shared together. It was one of the
happiest times of my life. I almost lost it, big time, there, for a
minute.” He laughed a little embarrassed. Sticker released
his grip on Sidney’s arm and smiled.
“You’re a
sensitive man, Sid. I like that in a man. I think it’s a
good quality to have. I try’n hammer that home to them kids I
work with ever’ day. Some days I think I get through, other days, I
ain’t so sure.”
Will smiled as
he sat down to join them. Will reached out a hand to both men and
they instinctively took his. He bowed his head and the other men
followed suit.
“Dear Lord,
bless this food we are about to partake. May it nourish our
hearts and soul as well as our bodies. Thank you for your many
blessings and small miracles we see around us every day. Thank you,
Lord, for good friends and loved ones. Bless my beloved friend, Sidney.
Please answer his prayer, Father. We ask in Jesus name,
Sir. Amen.” The other two men echoed Will’s ‘amen.’
The men sat
about to eat the good food Will set before them. Sidney noticed
with some amusement Sticker wasn’t shy about eating. He was a big
man and probably required a lot of food. Will caught Sidney
watching Sticker pack it away. Will grinned at Sidney and
motioned to Sticker with his fork. Sidney saw a twinkle in Will’s eye
and knew the flow of bullshit was soon to follow.
“Most times,
Sid, when I have ole Sticker over to dinner, I don’t even
bother to kill the damn cow. I jes’ bring it in the house and hand ole
Sticker the salt and pepper. It ain’t pur-tie, Sid,— you wouldn’t
wanna’ watch!” Will roared with laugher at his own joke.
Sidney thought it was pretty damn funny, too. Sticker just
grinned real big, but it didn’t slow him down a bit, he just kept
packing it away.
“Would you mind
telling me a little bit about your work, Sticker?” Sidney asked.
“Naw, Sir, I
don’t mind a bit. I’m head wrangler over to the ranch where I
work. Now that don’t mean what it does on other ranches.
How many other ranches you know where a cowboy has to have a degree in
psychology and some experience wrangling incorrigible kids?” he asked
rhetorically, “Head wrangle at the ranch ain’t a real great title to
have, neither. It just means I get all the shit when I
can’t get them damn kids to act like normal folk and behave
themselves.” He roared with laughter as he took another bite of
potato salad. Sidney and Will laughed, too.
“Do you enjoy
your work?” Sidney asked.
“Sometimes I
do,— and sometimes I don’t. I don’t mean that to sound like a
dichotomy, Sid. It jes’ seems like a never ending struggle with
them damn kids. Their families don’t want ‘em no more and
essentially we have to become their surrogate family. They got
more emotional baggage they bring with ‘em than any adult ought a’ ever
have ta’ deal with, let alone a pre or post-pubescent teen full of
raging hormones and conflicting thoughts. Hell, if we kin jes’
keep them little buggers out a’ each other’s bunks at night, it feels
like a major accomplishment to us. Most times we try’n work ‘em
so hard ‘til they’re almost dead on their feet so’s we can get a decent
night’s sleep as well. If’n we don’t we’re up ever’ damn fifteen
minutes chasing one of ‘em out of the other’s bunk. They can have
their dicks in another kid, fuck ‘em and get their rocks off faster’n
a’ damn jack rabbit. God bless me, I swear, I ain’t never seen
nothing like it, Sid.” Sticker shook his head and laughed.
Sidney was
impressed by Sticker’s humor in the face of what would seem to be great
concerns to him. Sidney laughed to himself about Sticker’s take
on ‘head wrangler.’ ‘Yeah, and how many head wrangles would you
find use words like ‘dichotomy’ and ‘prepubescent.’ he thought to
himself. For all of Sticker’s good ole boy West Texas Speak use
of language, many of his words betrayed his education and
intellect. That’s the way it is with folks in Texas. Many
sound like dumb hicks; however, never make the foolish mistake of
underestimating them. A lot of them are better educated than you or I
and know how to use good English when they need to. Texas Speak
has become a dialect of southern comfort and hospitality.
“You any kin to
the Wainright family who owns the Lazy 8 ranch about a hunnert miles
from here, Sid?”
Sidney shot a
look to Will for help. He didn’t want to lie to Sticker, but he
didn’t know if now was the right time for him to learn Sidney was the
last of the Wainright family. Sidney was the sole owner of the
Lazy Eight ranch. He planned to go there tomorrow as a surprise
visit to check everything out.
“Yeah, he’s
distantly related to ‘em. Hell, ‘at’s how we got to know each
other. He was a buckaroo on the ranch same’s me. We ate them
beans and cornbread from the same wagon. I don’t think old cookie
knew how to fix nothing else but beans. We rode together for five
or six years, was it, Sid? Didn’t yore’ second cousin git chu’
the job?” Will winked at Sidney when Sticker wasn’t looking.
“Yeah, as I
recall. I ain’t real sure, pardner. We rode together for a little
over six years, to be exact. Best damn years of my life, too!
Wouldn’t trade those memories for all the gold in that family.” Sidney
didn’t have to, he had all the gold in the family.
“Sidney didn’t
have too much to do with ‘em for years, Sticker. He was sort of
an outcast by choice, ya’ might say. He jes’ didn’t see
eye-to-eye to their way a’ think’n ‘bout things. When I first met
him, I thought he was family-tight with ‘em and a poor little rich boy
snob. I done me some awful things to him I ain’t real proud of
today; however, when I found out he didn’t hold no grudges, and was a
genuine cowboy at heart, I made me one a’ the best damn friends I ever
did have.”
“Ah, you made up
for all that shit over the years, partner. ‘Sides, I got my fair
share in with you. I was just a little more subtle at it than you
were.” Sidney chuckled.
“Damn it all to
Hell!” Will slapped his hand on the table, “I done know’d it was you
what put that damn dead skunk in my bedroll that time!” Will
slapped his leg and roared with laughter, “Rode around on my pony all
damn day with my bedroll on the back smelling a skunk summers and I
couldn’t figure out where the Hell it was coming from. Damn, it
was strong. I’d try to ride away from it, but I jes’ couldn’t seem to
git fer enough not to smell it no more. Then I noticed ever’ time I
rode close to one a’ them other cowboys, they’d turn and ride away from
me. You’s the only one what would let me git close enough to talk
to ‘em and then you kept your distance. I remember you ask’n me
when was the last time I jumped in the tank. You sorry son of a
bitch!” Will exploded in laughter. He had tears running down his
face he was laughing so hard. Sidney and Sticker were about to roll on
the floor laughing at their friend. “I never found it until I
went to bed that night, Sticker. God Almighty, was it an awful
stink?! I had to burn that damn bedroll on the campfire. I
always wondered how it was, you jes’ happened to have a spare bedroll
in old man Wainright’s truck?” Will couldn’t stop laughing. “Got
me good, he did, Sticker! God, I love you, Sid!” He wiped
the tears from his eyes from laughing so much.
“No more’n I
love you, pod’na’?” Sidney told Will.
Sidney smiled to
himself. Yep,— it was beginning to happen he could feel his tongue was
almost twice its normal size. ‘That’s it! It’s the damn ice
tea; might be the spearmint? Ah, who the Hell am my kid’n?
I’m home!’ He laughed to himself. Only in Texas can you
hear the two words ‘iced tea’ and it will contain five syllables.
Things quieted
down and normal talk resumed. Will told Sidney what new projects
he had going around the place, and Sticker was helping him with a
couple.
“Ya’ know it
always helps to have another set of hands around.” Will allowed.
“If you can put
up with me for a couple of days, Will, maybe I can give you a hand
doing some things. Be good for me to get some real exercise. I
try to git to the local gym (his own complete workout area in the
basement of his mansion) two to three times a week when I can, but it
sure wouldn’t hurt me none to git a little bit of exercise here.”
‘Git? Hurt me none?’ he laughed to himself, ‘I ain’t used
language like that in years! Feels pretty damn good,
though!’ Sidney was beginning to relax and enjoy himself. He
didn’t realize how much he missed this kind of association with down
home folks.
“Sticker?”
Sidney began a question, “Is it hard not to get attached emotionally to
the kids? Do you have favorites you particularly like?”
“Sidney,— it’s
the hardest part of my job. Do I have favorites? There’s only a
couple who ain’t my favorites and we got damn near a hunnert kids on
that ranch. We’re told and warned over and over again, don’t get
emotionally attached to ‘em; don’t show favoritism; don’t do favors for
‘em; don’t allow them to do favors for us; however, I’d be lying like a
railroad track if’n I was to say I didn’t have my favorites.
Emotionally attached? How the Hell could any caring man not get
emotionally attached to ‘em? Sometimes I think I’m way in over my
head. They’s a handful of ‘em I’d love to bring home with me to
give ‘em the love they need. The frustration is, I know I can’t.
Don’t take that the wrong way, Sid, I ain’t no pederast. I ain’t
no damn prude, neither. I figure if two men wanna’ rodeo together it
ain’t none of my business as long as they’re of legal age to be
considered consenting adults. Them boys is jes’ too damn young to be
butt fuck’n one another.”
“I couldn’t
agree with you more, Sticker, and I certainly never meant to imply that
by my question. I was more interested in how you handled your
feelings to nurture them. Wait,— is ‘nurture’ the word I’m
looking for?”
“Yes, Sir, I
understand; nurture; educate; train; foster. I didn’t take your
question that way, Sir. Dealing with my emotions and need to
nurture them, is a constant conflict. It rips my damn guts out
sometimes it’s so strong, but I know if I’m gonna’ survive there I have
to realize I ain’t never gonna’ have much say in what goes on or how
they’re treated. I can have some influence in the way I conduct
myself and how I relate to them. I’ve learned one damn thing
though, they sure as Hell don’t respond to a hard ass. They
can smell a hard ass counselor a mile away, and I’ve watched ‘em
gather to circle their prey jes’get’n ready for the kill. They’ll
eat ‘em alive! The harder they are, the more uptight they
are, the greater challenge it is to ‘em. I’ve seen big,
stout, stalwart, rugged men who thought they was jes’ gonna’ waltz
right in there and put the fear of God Almighty in them boys be brought
to their knees. Once they figure they got him down, they move in
for the kill. I’ve seem ‘em reduce a man to a pile of quivering,
whimpering mass of jello in a matter of days.” Sticker couldn’t
help but laugh as he was colorfully describing how lethal his wards
could be.
“On the other
hand,” he continued, “you cut ‘em a little slack, look the other way
now and then, and be fair and equal to ‘em, they’ll fall all over
themselves to do for you and protect you against the higher
powers. They’re like wolf packs. They work in independent
groups, together. The way that sounds, it don’t make much sense,
but it’s how they operate. They form small family groups, but
when it comes to a united front, watch out. They learn very early
on, when they git there, you can’t be a rugged individualist. They
might have been on the outside, and it’s probably what got ‘em in
trouble with their folks in the first place; however, at the ranch,
it’s united we stand or divided we fall. Nobody wants to stand alone so
they join a family group. They have to, to survive. Now,— that
ain’t all bad. They learn to cooperate within a group, they learn to
share, they learn to cover their buddy’s back, they learn,—
to get a solid, they have to do a solid,— and they learn
the benefit of trust.”
The more Sidney
listened to Sticker the more sure he was Sticker was the man for his
job. He was reasonable, and he seemed painfully honest and
direct. He was funny, charming, and he had a good grip on
reality. Sidney was beginning to think Sticker was a man he could work
with and feel good about.
“What line of
work are you in, Sidney?”
“I’m head of a
small corporation that produces custom software for industrial
applications. Other than make a lot of decisions and signing checks all
day, I don’t do much of anything but stand in my office behind my
antique ship’s wheel my wife gave me years ago, look out my
window, and imagine I’m sailing our company into profitable
waters.” Sidney chuckled at his metaphor. Sidney told the truth.
His thriving software venture was paying off handsomely, but he was
also the major stock holder in another three-hundred companies or so.
Sticker just nodded his approval.
“Tell Sidney
about yore’ dream you been a’ havin,’ Son .” Will spoke to
Sticker quietly. Sticker turned white and Sidney almost choked on
his iced tea.
“Damn, Will,— I
jes' met the man. I don’t wanna’ make him think I’m a rave’n
lunatic. ‘Sides he ain’t the right Sidney, no how. I just know’d
it. I could tell the minute I shook hands with him.”
“Sticker,— Son,—
Sidney’s a cowboy. He’s a’ wearing boots jes’ like you an me; he
puts ‘em on one foot at a time, same’s you’n me. Ever’ tub’s
gotta’ sit on it’s own bottom, boy. Granted, the bigger the
bottom the heavier it sits.” Will winked at Sidney and laughed at his
aside, “I know’d this man like I know my own soul. He’d never think you
was crazy. Might shy away from you for a couple of days until he was
sure, though.” Will slapped his leg and roared with laugher at
the look on Sticker’s face. Sidney didn’t say anything but
finished up the last bite of his meal. He braced himself knowing what
he was going to hear before Sticker even said the words.
“Sidney,— Mr.
Wainright,— Sir,— you asked me a while ago about how I’m handling my
emotions and I told ju’ sometimes it really gets to me on the ranch;
not so much I’m gonna’ quit my job or go look’n for something else;
however, lately, I told Will, it must be getting to me worse than I
think. I keep having this same dream where a small boy, a good
look’n little boy, is calling to me ‘cause he’s all alone and
afraid. The dream’s always the same. I go to him, hold him,
comfort him and tell him I won’t let any harm come to him; not to be
afraid, I’ll take care of him. He asks me my name and I tell him.
I ask him his and he tells me his name is Sidney.”
There was a
silence around the table you could cut with a knife. Sticker was
looking in his plate and toying with his food like he was embarrassed.
“See?
What’d I tell ya’?” Will spoke to Sidney, breaking the silence.
“Yeah, Will,—
but what chu’ don’t know, and the most amazing thing is, Sidney’s
have’n the same damn dream. Now how can that be?”
Everything was
quiet again.
“You’re having
the same dream as me, Sir?” Sticker asked, raising an eyebrow.
“I’m sorry,
Sticker,— we’re talking about Sidney junior, my son, who’s six years
old next month. He’ll start school this fall. He’s having the same
dream. He took one look at your picture in the brochure about the boy’s
ranch Will sent me and told me your name; except, he said your first
name was Stickly or Stickler, but it didn’t matter anyway because you
told him he had to call you Mr. Wiggins until he grew up and became a
man. He told me the same story about him being alone and afraid
in a dark place and a big cowboy comes to him, holds him, tells him not
to be afraid, and he’ll protect him. He told me the man told him
his name. I had to come meet you for myself. Will never
told me you were having the same dream, he just told me he wanted me to
meet you. So the kindly, well meaning old bastard set us both up.
Way to go, Will! Ya’ still got it, pod-na.’” Will laughed
with Sid, but poor Sticker still looked like he saw a ghost.
“I did tell him
that.” Sticker said slightly above a whisper, “I did tell him he
had to call me Mr. Wiggins until he becomes a man. It’s the same
thing we tell the kids out to the ranch why they can’t call us by our
first names. Jew have a picture of him, Mr. Wainright?”
“What father
don’t carry a picture of his boy, Sticker?” Sidney walked over to
his brief case, snapped it open, remove a glossy photo of his son and
handed it to Sticker. Sidney and Will watched all the color drain
from the big man’s face. He just sat there staring at the picture
of Sidney junior.”
“He’s the boy,
ain’t he, Son?” Will asked.
“Yes, Sir, he
is. How can this be? What does it mean?”
“We think we
know, Son.” Will opened the way for Sidney.
“What’da’ you
think’s happening, cowboy?” I asked Will.
“I done, done me
some powerful think’n on it. You know’d ‘bout me and my ‘powerful
think’n,’ Sid. It’s sort a’ like a rusty windmill in a tornado. It
makes a lot a’ noise, but it don’t do much.” Will winked and grinned at
Sidney. “Frank told me how he thought you was still uncertain ‘bout
them two men you’s try’n to decide on. That kid of yours is bright,
Sid. Real bright. Frank done told me all about him. If you don’t
think kids can pick up on their parent’s troubles and frustrations you
better think on that one again. Yore’ kid’s been worried about chu,’
Sid. You spent a lot a time and money on trying to find someone
for him. He knows you still ain’t happy with the results of your
search. He don’t won’t his daddy to be unhappy about him.
He can’t pick up a phone like you and me. So what’s he do? I
think yore’ boy done dialed his-self up some higher form of information
and they give him a dee-rect line to Sticker’s heart. Ole
Sticker, here,— he may look like the meanest bull in the pasture, but
he’s got a soft spot in his heart for kids what’re alone and afeared.
Sidney junior,— he done put his-self in a ‘collect’ emergency, long
distance, person-to-person, heart-to-heart, call to ole Sticker,— and
Sticker,— well, he done answered the phone and accepted the
charges. ‘At’s all it took, brother! Them two’s zall ready
bonded. All you gotta’ do is make the pitch. Slow’n easy,
inside curve ball ought a’ do it, Sid,— right across the plate.
This ball game’s all but over.”
Will slapped his
leg again and broke up laughing. He was so smug and pleased with
himself for his explanation. Sidney had to agree, for all of
Will’s down home spin on the situation, it sounded logical to
him. He didn’t have anything better. Poor Sticker was still
sitting there in a state of shock. He didn’t have a clue what
Will and Sidney were talking about. Sticker started to get a smile on
his face. He looked first at Sidney and then Will. His smile turned
into a smirk.
“I get it,— you
guys are settin' me up. This is all a big joke on ole Sticker,
right? You’re in cahots, ain’t cha’?”
“Gees, Sticker,
I wish it was true. I wish this was all a big joke; not necessarily on
you but in general. Believe me, I’d never risk something as
sacred as my boy’s trust on a practical joke at a good man’s expense; a
man whom he speaks of in such admiring, respectful, loving terms and
describes him as smelling faintly of lilacs.”
“‘At’s the
aftershave Sticker uses, Sidney,— Lilac Vegetal.” Will added.
“I can see how
you might think we’re setting you up, Sticker, but let me assure you,
we’re not. I came here to meet you because of my boy. I
came here to offer you a job similar to the one you have now without
the headaches and frustrations. I came here to offer you a position as
head wrangler, top waddie, to ride herd on my boy. He needs you,
but just as important,— I need you. We need a man of your
experience and qualifications we can trust. Will wrote me a
letter he included with the brochure he sent me about the ranch where
you work. He wanted me to meet you because he thought you were the man
for the job. Now that I’ve met you and talked with you,— I agree
with him. You are the man for the job.”
Sidney got up
from the table, went to his briefcase, brought back a thick manilla
envelope and handed it to Sticker.
“I had my
assistant prepare a proposal for your consideration. It outlines
all the particulars including salary, full benefits package including
full medical and dental plans at a hundred percent coverage; a generous
retirement plan; and bonuses. You’ll find two contracts inside. The
first a probationary, six month contract, which will be superceded by
the second long term contract to be renewable every three years.”
Sticker looked
up into Sidney’s smiling face, looked down at the envelope again and
started to remove its contents. He looked up at his friend who nodded
his encouragement to open the package. He opened the cover page to the
brief, one page outline. Sidney looked at Will who had a smile on
his face as wide as Texas. He was really enjoying this because he
thought it was a wonderful opportunity for both his friends. Sticker’s
mouth dropped open when he saw the annual salary figure to be matched
by an equal amount deposited into a secure retirement account in his
name. He would only be able to access the account on his sixty-second
birthday; or, it would be willed to his designated heir upon the
occasion of his unforseen early demise.
“You guys,— are
really pulling out all the stops. You be joking me, for sure.”
“What? Ain’t it
enough money,— ” Sidney asked sort of dejected.
“Not enough
money? Are you kidding? My salary at the ranch is one tenth
this amount? You’re offering this tax free? You’re willing
to pay the taxes on it? That’s an additional twenty-eight
percent, maybe more.”
“Not with my tax
lawyers, Sticker.” Sidney grinned.
“Where’s the
camera? I’ve always wanted to meet Allen Funt. This is
Candid Camera, ain’t it?”
“Sticker, you
know how I feel about chu,’ boy. You mean too damn much to me to
pull some crazy shit on ya.’ These last few years, you been like a
second son to me. You saved me from grieving myself into an early
grave. Trust me, Son, he ain’t joking wictha.’ This is too damn
important to him.” Will spoke quietly to Sticker.
“What’s this
cashier’s check for a thousand dollars for?” Sticker had the check in
his hand.
“It’s a retainer
fee to take this package to any attorney of your choice to have him
review it and explain it in detail, if you wish. If not, and you
don’t chose to accept my offer, you may keep it for your time and
consideration.”
“You’re giving
me a thousand dollars just to consider your proposal?”
“If you don’t
want a lawyer advising you, but I recommend it for your own peace of
mind.” Sidney urged him.
“How long would
I have to consider it?”
“I believe it’s
there on the next page at the bottom. I asked my assistant,
Kevin, to give you two weeks from today when the proposal expires and
becomes null and void.”
“May I take this
with me, Sid, to look over tonight? I’m off tomorrow, may I
return to ask any questions I might have, Sir?”
“Of course,
Sticker, but I have a trip planned for tomorrow to make a surprise
visit to one of my holdings; however, why don’t chu’ come over early in
the morning and ride along. We can discuss the particulars on the
way. I’m gonna’ try’n talk Will, here, into going with us.”
“May I ask where
we’ll be going, Sir?” Sticker asked suspiciously.
Sidney looked at
Will. Will smiled and nodded to Sidney to tell Sticker.
“To my ranch,—
the Lazy 8.”
Because of his
innate goodness, his strength of character, his sense of humanity, and
his untapped love, the fates,— remember them,— decided the big,
handsome cowboy, Sticker Wiggins, should fall into a deep bucket of
very wealthy shit and come out smelling more like lilacs than he ever
had before. Once again,— them bastards got it right!
End Chapter 8 ~
Texas Longhorns
Copyright 2005 ~
Waddie Greywolf
Mail to:
waddiebear@yahoo.com