Static Shock Fan Fiction ❯ Banditos ❯ The Arrival ( Chapter 3 )

[ Y - Young Adult: Not suitable for readers under 16 ]

Extreme AU, OOC, non-historic West, violence...supernatural themes, violence...Just be prepared for the amount of violence and utter chaos.

Disclaimer: I DO NOT OWN STATIC AND OTHER ASSOCIATED CHARACTERS!
Based somewhat on that thrilling vid-game, Darkwatch. Heh. My inspiration for something gory and dark.


Chapter Three:
The Arrival




The afternoon was bright, but there were thick, thunderous clouds that roved ahead, moving over the area and bringing with them brief episodes of rain. It smelled heavenly, but at the same time, the pungent scent of the cows across the way overtook some of those pleasant smells. All in all, it was a very cheery day, not considering the inner circumstances.

The correl took up over five acres just outside the town, but was located near the boarding areas that men commonly used when passing through the territory. The bars were located nearby, with the rest of the town sprawling toward the north in a sort of jumble that offered many services that were needed. Just beyond the correl’s north east side was the back road that would lead out of town, and into the mountains that were often tipped with snow during the cold months. It would be a week’s worth of riding through that dangerous, uncharted territory, with a non cooperative band of Indians watching over the area, highway and mountain men that liked to prey on unsuspecting settlers, and basic variety of dangerous animals. The terrain wasn’t nice, either.

The small town was surrounded with an interesting and often irritating to travelers terrain, dotted with shrubs, boulders of broken variety from the nearby mountains, and canyons that followed the main river. It was all uneven territory, graced with knolls, sudden dips of earth, and trees that weren’t too tall. But it worked, giving the area a sort of untarnished beauty that gave a visitor unexpected glimpses of treasures that hid within the area.

Hotstreak didn’t tell Virgil what had happened to him last night–that was way too embarrassing and humiliating. To bring up something like that would mean circumstances that he didn’t want to think about. Hotstreak frowned sullenly as he sat atop of Charger, watching as Adam and a few other hands milled about, watching their cattle as they were inspected by the workers. At two cents a pound for each cow, the money was adding up. Soon, the group would then be resting up, then heading back to the ranch. They had planned to leave at night, following the main road out toward the south end of town, and taking the lonely trail back toward the canyon they’d followed to get back to their territory. Moving at night was dangerous, but they knew the roads well. They just wanted to avoid the heat of the day, to keep their animals from overheating during the long journey back to the ranch.

Virgil was busy talking with the elder man that oversaw the operations within the correl, and the pair were discussing today’s politics. Something Hotstreak really wasn’t interested in, unless it concerned him in some way.

Last night had been pretty shocking; even more so to stumble back into his room and discover that half of his cash was missing. He had no doubt that little scumwad had taken it before he awoke.

The little scumwad with odd eyes that reminded him more of beer than anything else. Which really wasn’t that unpleasant...and he really didn’t smell bad, either...he was just scum for being who he was, and for what he did.

In some uncertain way, he felt bad for the chit–no matter that he was a boy, he was still almost girlish and worked a woman’s profession, so Hotstreak made himself feel better by referring to him as a girl. The chit didn’t look very old, nor was he anywhere near masculine. Just a young, awkward boy that shouldn’t be where he was.

He wondered why Alva had taken the chance with taking in a young boy and making him work the profession. Was there really men out there that would take the chance? How long had the chit been working here?

He sighed low, Charger shifting with a snort as one of the cows tried to escape the confining pen she was standing in.

Hotstreak shifted his hat, to look over at the building that Alva owned. It was a dump, for sure–two stories, made out of weathered wood...at night it looked festive and wonderful, eye catching to those that were looking for a good time, but during the day, it merely resembled something useless and foreboding. The back of the building faced the correl, with a wooden stairway curving up from the side and topping at the second floor. There was a despondent door that faced the correl, and he remembered that he’d taken it last night; some scummy man ordering him to leave, that his business was done here. He’d been escorted down those stairs as if he were some sort of... criminal.

He thought of the boy once more. Thinking of the way he’d simply curled in on himself, awaiting a beating, not even trying to fight back. Seasoned mechanics, really.

He felt a little bad for it, actually. Hotstreak felt that it was his fault anyway, for getting drunk as fuck. How had that happened, anyway?

Charger nipped at Virgil as the younger man approached, Hotstreak using one of his heels into the stallion’s flank to punish him.

“What you lookin’ at, man?” Virgil asked curiously, tipping his hat to peer over at Alva’s place. “Man...I lost so much money, there. Lost it all on a pretty lil lady named Jessie...but, whew! Was it worth it!”
“Oh, ew, Virgil,” Hotstreak muttered, thinking about her advances last night. “She looked like a man.”

“Oh, no she did not. Don’t be sullen an’ pouty with me, Stone. You just jealous that I got it first.”

“I’m just jealous that I ain’t an idiot like you.”

“You’re always jealous of me, man! Don’t be playa hatin’!”

“Please, son. That’s all your ego, talkin’.”

Both of them laughed briefly, and while Virgil started talking about the money they were going to get from the cattle, Hotstreak saw the little door on the back of the building open, letting out that boy from last night. He was dressed in a greyish shirt, today, with those same tight jeans. Barefooted, he realized, watching as the boy settled himself at the edge of the platform, sticking his arms through the railing to rest against them.

Hotstreak waited for a few moments, wondering if he were going to be recognized. Staring at the boy, he could see how awful he looked in the bright light of the afternoon; the gray smudged eyes, the stark paleness of his skin, the sickly, gaunt frame that made him seem fragile. Someone with that sort of frame didn’t make it very long out here, unless they were taken care of. It wouldn’t do for him to do any of the hard work at the ranch, unless he started out slowly. Virgil had been thin and short, once, but the boy had worked daily since he was old enough to walk. He’d grown into the hard work; Hotstreak had to wonder what the boy was good for if he were in another setting.

Virgil whapped his thigh, making Charger glance over curiously, turning his large head to nibble at Hotstreak’s boots.

“Why you ain’t payin’ attention to me?” Virgil demanded, Hotstreak looking down at him to give him a reply. “I’m givin’ you all my love an’ glory, an’ you throwin’ it all away to ignore me!”

“Ah...that’s the boy we hear gettin' hisself whipped all the time...”

Instead of answering Virgil, he was distracted by the older man that had walked over, noticing whom the other man was looking at. Virgil turned, looking up as well, but the boy either didn’t see them looking at him, or didn’t care. They were off to the side, near the north end of the correl, but Hotstreak doubted that he’d stay out there long once he recognized the big man on the stallion. Either that, or he had some balls sitting out there, watching them.

“What about ‘im?” Virgil asked curiously.

“Word is, Alva had him shipped from clear over the East. Just to work for him. Specially talented, he’d said. Or so I heard.” The older man gave them a pointed look. “Works with the girls, there.”
Virgil blinked cluelessly, and Hotstreak felt his face burn with some color, so he fiddled with his hat to distract whomever was noticing how he was blushing. He wouldn't know, really, having been unconscious that time. But knowing with the familiar aftereffects of orgasm that something had been done.

“Works with...like...a bodyguard?” Virgil looked over with a skeptical expression. “Don’t look very intimidating! Unless he one of those weirdos that does all that kung-fu stuff like them Chinese do. You think? Do he?”

“Nah, Hawkins. I said WORKS with the girls...he does what they do.”

Virgil blinked again, then frowned. “He teaches them?”

Hotstreak finally exploded, frapping him with his hat. “Idiot! He’s a whore, too!”

Virgil startled, then gave them both a bewildered expression, eyes wide. “Not uh! You pullin’ on my boot?”

“NO!”

“He’s right, Hawkins. He’s a whore, too. Didn’t think that men would be too right into that sorta thing. But Alva, he likes to cater to whomever’s willin’ to buy. If men be wantin’ a boy ‘stead’of’a girl, then...he’s gonna git around to pleasin’ them.” The older man shrugged. “Ain’t too fond of the idea meself, but...I hear people are gettin’ around to the idea. Milly thinks it’s a damn shame and abomination.”

His wife’s name was spoke with much respect and fondness. “Could be millions of other things for a boy his age to do. To be...doin’ what he’s doin’...well, that ain’t right. Got them new preacher up the way makin’ a big to-do about it. His religion states that for men to want to perform such acts are goin’ to Hell. Hah, ain’t like anyone really cares, though, huh? Half of these people are already headed there. Most of them think they already there, in fact!”

“Is that right...?” Virgil trailed off, looking over at the boy once more, who seemed to be lost in his own thoughts. “Huh. Never even gave thought to that sorta thing. I mean, it ain’t that uncommon. Those Indians up there, they speak about that sorta thing. But...it’s like...coveted. Ain’t no one talk about it.”

“‘Sides, them two working the Plum Creek ranch up south is suspected of being that way,” Hotstreak muttered.

“Tha’s right! George and–and–!”

“Tom.” Hotstreak then looked puzzled. “No...Frank? Fran....Franz.”

“Albert! Not George...huh...not even close...”

“Franz and Albert Wilkins? Said they were cousins!” the older man muttered in incredulity. “Huh. Germans...”

“They ain’t bad at all! They don’t do nothin’ that makes them disgusting,” Virgil placated. “They still just rough cowboys with a mad load of ale on them!”

“Pretend to pass out one day at their house, then, Virgil. See what happens,” Hotstreak said with a grin as Virgil looked at him with a scowl.

The older man laughed. “You boys stop baitin’ on each other. Well, on this note...heard you had another kid along the way...?”

“Aw, man, no way! I ain’t seen her in over half a year–! Fuck. Well...hm. NO! It’s not mine, this time,” Hotstreak said with some confidence. He counted the months off his fingers, then shook his head firmly, grinning. “Not mine.”

“You visit them kids, yet?” Virgil asked suspiciously.

“Well, I was thinking of stopping by before we leave...take them some stuff...but if her husband’s around, I’m just gonna leave some things at the mail carrier’s. Arrange for them to take it to them.”

“Pussy.”

“Don’t want no drama.”

“Pussy. You just afraid of the real man.”

“Afraid as fuck, man. He all big and large. Might have loosened cheeks when I come back.”

They laughed again, the older man chiming in with a shake of his head. “You two...”

Hotstreak laughed again at the very idea, but his eyes snaked over to where the boy continued to sit. He couldn’t see where the boy was looking from his position, but his face drew with a frown, and he wondered how he could get his money back. He took Charger by the reins, tapping the roof of his mouth with his tongue.

“Gonna go look for something, V. I’ll be right back,” he muttered.

010101010110

He still couldn’t sleep; racked with immense guilt, trouble, and homesickness, Richie sat outside his room, his legs dangling over the edge of the second floor platform, arms swinging from the railing. He was staring out over the correl, hearing thunder rumble in the distance, and listening to the cows braw morosely. The shouts of the men that worked the cows within the correl corresponded with the sounds that filled the small town. Everyone seemed to be doing something except for the men that were hanging around the correl, laughing and talking over something funny. He couldn’t really pinpoint sight from sight, as he was without his glasses, but the blur of shapes and color told him what he needed to know.

He kept thinking about the cowboy he’d serviced, last night. He couldn’t help but blush over everything that had been done, over what he’d touched, smelt, and tasted. He didn’t know what to make of it; perhaps it was his first pleasant experience, and it would linger with him throughout his lifetime. Something nice after a period of all things horrid. He couldn’t remember ever getting this way over someone, even before he’d come here. Touching that man’s body had left his palms warm and hot, and his stomach to flutter with something other than anxiety. He could still smell that man on his bed–the combined mixture of his scents left Richie feeling almost giddy in a sense.

He felt his face redden with a warm blush, and he hid his face against the supporting railing, crossing his arms over that same rail as he thought about last night. He was both glad and sad that he’d most likely never see the man, again. The redhead wasn’t a local, and if he was...Richie would be happy to see him, again. Not in the drugged sense, of course, but fleeting glances here and there.

He wasn’t sure what to feel, or expect now that he’d had this touch. Would there be others that would make him feel this way? Or was this a one time thing?

Richie wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do with these feelings. Men weren’t supposed to feel that way about other men. Especially this one. The redhead had been so angry to wake up, to realize that he was with a boy, not a girl.

And if he was a girl...? Would he enjoy this more? Dream about this redhead to come in and rescue him someday? Was it possible to think that way if he were a male?

But he sighed low and heavy, swinging his abused feet carelessly. The open air felt good on his blistered toes and heel, and he wiggled his toes indifferently. Shifting, he rested his cheek against the railing, opening his eyes to study his toes. His mother had always called him a little monkey–they were long, and he was able to pick things up with them. Thinking about his mother sent a large tear through his mid section. He closed his eyes against the onslaught of brutal feelings, wanting so much to be with her, again.

He wasn’t sure how he was going to reach her; Junior had expressed that he send no letters back home, and if he absolutely had to, they were going to proof read it, first. Which further aided Richie’s suspicion in that this was all some big set-up. If his parents had willingly sold him to this wretched existence, why the need to shelter them from his letters?

His stomach rumbled with some protest, needing something to eat, so he rose from his position, wiping his eyes with the back of his hand. All the dust out in this area tended to irritate them. He wondered if Cook was there in the small, dirty kitchen that kicked out meals only for Alva’s employees and the man himself. If he wasn’t, then Richie figured he’d rummage through the cupboards for something to eat.

Junior had told him to accept only what Cook gave them, but Richie was going to ignore that. Going hungry just made everything horribly worse.

He left his boots off, and lumbered slowly through the hallway, listening for any approaching sounds. Everyone was asleep–he recognized Miranda’s loud snoring from one of the rooms that he passed, and another girl was crying, not trying to muffle the sounds. He crossed his arms tightly, hating how his body felt so strange and foreign to him, lately. He didn’t weigh that much before, but he had been losing some weight since he’d come out here. He could feel his bones pressing against his skin, aching in a way that reminded him of the growth spurts he’d had when he was younger.

Feeling a little chilled, he cautiously approached the curtain, and peered out, seeing that the bar was empty; all the tables were wiped clean, chairs uplifted onto them, legs pointed straight up. The floor was clean, swept, and the outside noises of the street gave the place a sort of calming feel. There wasn’t anybody around, so Richie ventured out cautiously, taking the stairway stealthily, listening for anyone that maybe approaching. He then walked through the doorway by the bar and turned a sharp right, into a darker, smaller hallway. It was quiet–no banging of pots, no curses, no heavy shuffling that the Cook was known for...

He swallowed hard as he entered the kitchen, peering around cautiously, seeing a bag of flour being raided by some rats. He wrinkled his nose at the creatures that ignored him, and looked over at the icebox. Walking to that, he opened it to see that it held only a single leg of some animal he couldn’t even place. Closing that, he turned to the various cupboards and began opening and closing them, throwing the rats a disgusted look each time. Their anxious squeals and hisses made him apprehensive, but he was used to them.

He turned his back to the door, venturing forward for the slender doorway of the pantry, and opened that to see various canned goods, dried packets of meat, and other mixtures of things that made his mouth water. It required a candle to look around, so he searched the kitchen for any that the Cook may have. He just grabbed a flint to lit a well worn stick of wax when he was caught from behind, hand settling over his mouth.

Of course, this made him intensely frightened, struggling as he was pulled into the pantry, darkness overtaking his sight as the door was shut. He was shoved quite fiercely into one of the shelves, making a rattle of sound as he connected, losing his balance as various cans, jars and packets of food rained down onto him. Amid the clatter of sound and jostle, the candle that he’d just found was lit, his attacker setting it down onto one of the shelves just so that the area was lit.

Richie quickly turned onto his backside, breathing heavily, intensely panicked at what was going to befell him, now. Once he realized he was staring up at the redhead from last night, of whom was looking at him fiercely, Richie felt his heart drop into his stomach. He’d wanted to see him again, but not in this manner. Not in this threatening and frightening way. He swallowed tightly, pushing backward until his back hit the wall.

“Please,” he heard himself whimper, hands rising shakily. “I had to do it. I had to!”

“Where’s my fucking money?” the man growled, and despite his anxious fear, Richie felt a detestable twisting of unexplained heat in his gut. “I worked hard for that fuckin’ money, an’ to have it stolen by somethin’ sick as you–?! Fuck that shit! I want my fuckin’ money, you little twat!”

“I–I don’t have it! I had to give it to Junior! Everything that I have to take, I have to give it to him! Please, sir, please understand that I didn’t want to do it–!”

“Bullshit–! All you whores are the fuckin’ same! All scheming, wily–!”

“I never want to do any of this! Those are misconceptions!”

“–traitorous pieces of shit! All of you are willin’ to lie an’ scheme ta git what ya’ll want!”

“No! Please, please listen to me! I don’t have your money–Junior does.”

“I know you got some of it hidin’ away! I want my fuckin’ money back, or so help me–!”

“I don’t have your money!”

Once he realized that he was going to be struck, Richie cringed instinctively, covering his face with a startled squeak. Instead, his right wrist was snagged, and he was forced onto his knees as the redhead crouched before him. He couldn’t stop shaking, waiting for more pain and physical torture; but at the same time, he just wanted to see those green eyes, again. Seconds passed before he realized he wasn’t going to be hit–bewilderment struck him, then, and he slowly opened his eyes, keeping his cringing position, feeling that big hand’s heat and strength around his wrist.

Blinking away a panicked filled haze, he saw that the man was staring at him, taking in his features with a sort of assessment that made him warm, inside. He couldn’t help himself from looking into those green eyes, finding them just as enigmatic as they were last night. They were foggy and drunken, last night–now, they were narrowed with suspicion, darker in color. He wished he could see them in brighter light; see what true green they were.

He then found himself blushing slightly under the scrutiny, feeling awkward and uneasy as his features were searched. So anxious and scared was he that he couldn’t get himself to stop shaking. He wanted to believe that this man was going to be kinder than the others had been; mostly because he felt things for him that he hadn’t, before. To have that small dream broken would just be another form of torment.

“How old are ya, kid?” he heard him ask, and forced himself to swallow, lifting his head a little. He couldn’t rightly explain the small, heated warmth in his chest at hearing that voice spoken to him so gently. It made his cheeks warmer than before. “Twelve? Thirteen?”

“I am not,” Richie said, with a trace of indignant reproach, forcing himself to look at him. He struggled not to look away, but being so close to him; being able to touch and smell him, made him a little weird inside. Everything seemed to take a step back whenever he looked into those eyes. “I’m sixteen.”

“You don’t sound like yer from around here.”

“No...I...I was sent out here to teach...But Alva, he–he apparently had other plans.”

For a few moments, he was studied again with an intense scrutiny, then he was shoved away–but this was done with considerably less violence than before, Richie catching himself before hitting anything.

“You? Came out here to teach? On yer own? HAH! That’s a fuckin’ lie!”

“No, sir, please–! My parents were poor, but they’d sacrificed everything to ensure that I had an education! I had wanted to help educate those that were in need of it out here! In hopes that–!”

“Aw, geez, listen to ya! Like a fuckin’ preacher! Workin’ them slick words just fer somethin’ even slicker!”

“Please...I am not lying...I speak the truth...I never even thought to imagine an awful fate like this! To do all these things that I never even thought possible–! I was never to imagine myself working as a–a–whore. I never imagined that my body would be used against my will in such ways.”

Richie heard his voice cracking, and all the dreadful feelings that he’d fought to repress suddenly started surging toward the surface. He had to wipe at his eyes, continuing pathetically with, “I’d never even been struck, before, and ever since I’ve arrived, I’ve been beaten almost every day. Why do human beings have to be cruel to each other?”

“Oh don’t even–! HAH!”

He looked up in startled surprise when the older man started to laugh at him. He had to blink repeatedly, feeling a couple of tears escape. He wiped them away quickly, then frowned at him in puzzled reaction.

“All you broads are just the same–! Oh, boo-hoo, my daddy sold me off, lookit me now! Whorin’ an’ cryin’ cuz it’s all so fucking hard. Wah, wah, WAH! I don’t fuckin’ care about what you had to go through since you got here! Like I said before, allah you are fuckin’ liars and manipulators! Ya’ll are paid to make a man happy, an’ to git yer way, you’d do what yer doin’ now. Hah! Well, I ain’t fallin’ for it. An’ I want my fuckin’ money, you little shrimp!”

Richie stared up at him in silence, feeling a part of him die a little as he realized that his story wasn’t believed. He had the thought that if he’d ever told anyone else of his past, they would believe him. But this man proved that theory wrong. He realized now that they’d only look at him for his status, and believe that every truth he made, was actually a lie to draw in sympathy. That he was only looking for more money.

If this one wouldn’t believe him–who would?

That was a harsh shock, and he lowered his head as he heard the man continue on with his demands, his threats. That numb feeling he’d had to repress these feelings with were coming back. He wasn’t ever going to see his parents, again. He wasn’t going to have the sort of life that was expected of men; he wasn’t going to teach, nor marry, nor have children, nor have a normal life. He was going to be on his stomach, swallowing and spitting man fluids, taking money and more beatings, and living in a place that was certainly Hell itself.

What had he done to deserve this sort of torture? Had he always been good to his parents? Hadn’t he always helped out when they’d needed it? Hadn’t he devoted every bit of himself to them in the way that they’d desired? What had he done?

Hotstreak stood there quietly, staring down at his lowered face. He kept searching for any indication that the kid was playing with him, just using theatrics to get his way, but there wasn’t any. That pale, sickly face held a sort of accepting expression in defeat.

He started to doubt himself, now. He wanted to believe that the boy was telling him the truth. He couldn’t imagine what had to be done in his place; didn’t even want to.

Before he could even move to ask or say anything else, the scuff of boot against floor made him start. Looking over, he saw Junior and his cronies pulling into the kitchen, and looking at him in startled surprise.

“Th’ fuck?” the younger Alva cursed, marching over as his cronies followed hastily.

Shit, Hotstreak thought, looking back at the boy that didn’t even register the newcomers. It looked as if he were lost in his own thoughts, or resolution. Before he could do anything, Junior reached out to shove him. The smaller man just ended up slapping him angrily on the chest, a little annoyed that Hotstreak was taller than him.

“The hell you doin’ in here?!” he snarled, looking past him.

Hotstreak edged out of the pantry, noting calmly that he was taller than those present. As expected, they backed away, but felt safer in numbers. The moment he left the pantry, one of those men marched into the pantry, hollering up a storm of obscenities.

He watched, with a sense of helpless irritation, as the boy was dragged out of the pantry. Junior screamed something about breaking the rules, about getting tired of punishing him for every little thing that he knowingly did wrong.

A little bewildered, Hotstreak watched them cart the boy out of the kitchen, roughly shoving their way toward the main hall. He began to follow until Junior grabbed his arm, his fingers surprisingly strong for his size and frame.

“If you think, for one second, that you can keep him, yer dead wrong,” he snarled. “Daddy paid for that one good an’ square, an’ he be gettin’ debts paid off with his work! Don’t you even think of trying to steal him!”

Hotstreak was flabbergasted in such a thing was suggested. “What the fuck–?! I didn’t even think of no such thing! Ain’t no business of mine, I was just lookin’ for the money he stole from me!”

“He don’t steal no money. He earns it, rightly. You gave it to him, last night, for service. You don’t be threatenin’ none of my whores for your stupidity!”

Hotstreak stared at him in silence, then abruptly shoved him. Junior stumbled and tripped over his own feet, slamming back first into the black stove. Hotstreak left the kitchen, following the chaos that had left him, hearing Junior scream absurd threats after him.

Down the hall was an open doorway, bright afternoon light filtering in onto the hallway. He marched out there, to see the boy shoved against a lone post that was erected within the space of the courtyard. One of the men was preparing to throw a bucket of water onto him; another was brandishing a horse whip. His own back shivered and rippled at the scene, unable to imagine that sort of pain.

With a sense of dumbstruck horror, he watched as the man holding the whip start to hit him. The sharp crack of the connection the thin leather made with wet material and human skin made him jump slightly. The boy didn’t cry out; just clung tighter to the post with both arms, taking the next hit, and the next.

Junior caught up to him by the time he did start to cry out with thin, hoarse shouts of pain.

“You get offa this property, or I’ll have the sheriff in on you like a fuckin’ rat on a carcass!” he howled, making himself look threatening, and succeeding only with a pathetic display of bravado. A couple of men were venturing in to see what was going on, and were rushing to join Junior as he faced off with Hotstreak. Another snap and crack of the whip, another anguished cry of pain, and Hotstreak looked over with a dull sense of understanding. Junior grabbed his chin, then, stretching to do so, and Hotstreak reacted by shoving him away.

“Git off this property, asshole! You ain’t allowed up here, no mo’!” Junior screamed, the other men drawing their guns. “You come back here, an’ I promise, I’ll have yer fuckin’ head! You leave my whores alone! They belong to me, an’ to my daddy! Is that understood?”

Hotstreak gave another glance in the direction of the boy, then turned, to hurry away from the courtyard, Junior shouting after him.

After the cowboy had left, Junior huffed impatiently, turning to see his property start to slump against the post. He signaled for Trapper to stop, then stomped over, heaving furiously. His face was reddened with the scene he’d made earlier with the other man, and his own furiousness. When was this boy ever going to accept things? He was tired of having to punish him for every little crime he committed–he didn’t care for him, just hated the trouble of having to do the punishing every time. It was irritating and took out much of his personal time.

His fingers slipped through limp, golden blond hair, and he yanked back so fiercely that Richie lost his balance and fell back first into the damp dirt.

“You don’t be gettin’ nothin’ for the next few days, you arrogant lil’ cock suck!” he cursed, spittle flying. “No food, no nothin’! An’ I’mah send you the most hurtful men I can fuckin’ find. What you think you’re doin’, hidin’ away with some man? Thinkin’ he gonna take you away from here? None of the girls are allowed boyfriends, an’ you ain’t the exception! The next time I find you outside your room, the very next time I find you with a man outside your workin’ hours, and the NEXT time I be finding you in the food cupboard when it ain’t permitted, I’m going to work you over somethin’ fierce! What the FUCK do I haveta do around here to make you lissen?”

Angrily, Junior shoved his head away, looking at the curious faces of those that were watching the scene with fascination. He settled on Jerry, who looked a little annoyed, and marched up to him. Quickly, before the man could move, Junior had his pistol out of its holster and was whipping him across the face with the butt.

The larger man crumpled to the ground without pause.

“You’re supposed to be watchin’ him,” he hissed. He straightened, then looked around at the others. “Get him back in his room. Make sure he cleans up. Casey...I want you to round up some of your friends. The meanest ones you can find. The kind that won’t hesitate to be mean to a male whore. I want this bitch punished for his constant fuck ups. Is that understood?”

“Don’t have to pistol whip me,” Casey muttered, walking off sheepishly.

Junior exhaled heavily, hands on his hips. “Damn. Got the hardest job there is, out here. Keepin’ stupid folk in line...”

010101010110

Outside the town’s limits, just past ten at night, they walked. Literally thousands of them aimed for the brightly glowing lights of the town Alva owned. None of them made any sounds–their disfigured animals were as quiet as the night.

The only thing that truly gave away their arrival was the silence of nocturnal creatures.