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

“And, fuckin’ A—I’m not you.”
His gleaming eyes make out something nested deep in the
cleavage of the acute angle formed by the mattress and box
springs.
Pete slides his Colt from its holster.
Roy’s eyes bulge. Involuntarily, his hands seek out the sleek
new Bose headphones and clamps them over his ears.
Pete narrows his eyes.
Roy wonders why shootists always narrow their eyes.
Pete speaks.
“If you don’t stop right now I will kill you, you sneaky son of a
bitch.”
Something in the way he says this causes Rick to stop.
Causes gooseflesh to ripple up and down his spine. Causes
him to clench his ass.
Causes him to turn, to learn what’s going on.
Causes him to utter the word “Fuck”—his favorite word to
utter—and drop the mattress.
The limp, stained mattress thuds down and expels into the
room a gaseous cloud of stink.
Rick faces his challenger.
Here’s a new one.
Not that he hasn’t looked down the barrel of a gun before, just
not one held by an old fart wearing a bathrobe and hand-painted
cowboy boots.
He swells his bantam chest and blusters.
“Put the piece down—now, old man.”
In an effort to appear menacing, he jabs at the space between
them with his little knife.
Pete doesn’t bat an eye.
In fact, he doesn’t blink.
“Put it down.”
Rick shakes his head.
“Fuck you.”
Pete’s right thumbnail whitens as he applies pressure to the
Colt’s hammer.
“C”
Rick’s ears pin back.
ROY ROGERS IN THE 21ST CENTURY 2