volume one IN THE D U D L E Y C L A R K - Ohio Vine Tours

dope and restive sleeplessness. His watery blues are dilated with
fear. He stares in disbelief. He struggles to master his bladder.
THE BAD
Rick’s snarl returns. His upper lip curls. An intense hatred
clouds his rodent’s face. He shifts his weight to face his new
opponent. The tip of his knife stabs the air. He is like any small,
feral animal that finds itself unexpectedly cornered.
THE UGLY
Pete is framed by the doorway. He wears his Cowboys and
Indians robe. His bullet-filled gunbelt is strapped on, hairy legs
stuck into hand-painted boots, feet slightly apart, knees slightly
bent, right hand on the butt of his Colt Peacemaker.
So gladdened is Roy by this surprising turn of events, he
almost forgets about his bladder.
“Pete!”
His voice is a quavering blend of hero-worship and hallelujah.
“This is my brother—” his eyes bounce between the two men
“—Rick.”
Rick straightens from his killer’s crouch and the swagger that
had momentarily abandoned him returns.
“So. This your girlfriend?”
He spits.
A splatter of his venom glistens on the floor.
“Fuckin’ sick losers.”
He snorts, produces a derisive laugh, and returns his attention
to the mattress.
A tide of panic once again rises in Roy, who turns in
helplessness to Pete.
Pete stands like a statue in the hallway. His lips, when he
speaks, barely move.
“I said—I wouldn’t do that if I were you.”
Rick doesn’t bother to turn.
“Yeah, well you’re not me, asshole.”
He lifts the mattress higher.
2 ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY