Excerpt from Triple Play:

Jake’s secretary stood close to the door, unaware of the crowd growing behind her as word spread of the three men who looked so much like her boss.  She was listening intently, trying to picture Mr. Evans’ reaction to the astounding group.  Wait!  What was going on?  Someone had just shouted something.  It had sounded suspiciously like ‘Catch him!’  At that moment, the door was snatched open and she was almost bowled over by the young man with the bandage on one cheek.  He never slowed a step.  His right foot hit the seat of her chair, launching him clear over her desk in one stupendous, panic driven leap!  The crowd of gaping onlookers scattered as he bolted for the nearest exit.

The other two came barreling past a second later, running around her desk instead of over it.  One of them yelled something about a check as they disappeared down the hallway.  Stunned, Jake’s secretary turned to see her boss and a woman in her forties standing in the doorway.  Mr. Evans looked just as amazed as she felt.  

The woman turned to him with a martyred expression and a strained smile.  “Please forgive the disturbance,” she drawled.  “Gary’s been under a lot of stress lately.”

Jake slowly turned to face her; his own eyes a little wild.

“Ya think?”

**************


Westward Ho-Boy!
By Polgana

Gary Hobson hit the stairwell at a dead run, regarding the elevator as being too slow.  He had to get out of there fast!  He needed to get away from all those people, all those faces, that were mirror images of his own.  He bolted down the stairs, taking them two at a time, at an incredibly reckless pace.  A feat that he would not even have considered less than a month ago!  Especially after that horrible fall he had taken down his own stairwell a little over a year and a half before.  A fall that had almost killed him, leaving him paralyzed from the hips down for most of that year.  The bizarre events of the past month, however, had pushed that completely out of his mind.

He exited the stairwell as fast as he had entered, knocking the ground floor door open with a loud, echoing bang.  Gary never slowed his headlong race for freedom as he headed for the front lobby of the major investment firm that Jake Evans worked for.  Jake Evans.  The fourth, no fifth man that Gary had met recently who was a dead ringer for the young tavern owner.  Right down to their mud puddle green eyes, and the tiny birthmark just below the right sideburn.  It was too much!  Gary felt as if he were in the ’Twilight Zone’ episode from hell!  

Gary rounded a corner into the lobby, only to find a security guard blocking the front entrance.  Panicked, he looked around for another way out, only to see Clay Treyton and Buddy Jackson, his twin cousins, coming around another corner.  They had taken the elevator that he had avoided.  The twins quickly spread out, Clay putting himself between Gary and the stairwell.  Trapped, Gary stood where he was, chest heaving as he tried to catch his breath.

“Take it easy, Cuz,” Buddy told him in what the young songwriter hoped was a soothing voice.  “This has got us all a little freaked out.  Why don’t we just go back upstairs and sit down, talk this out.”

“He’s right, Gary,” Clay murmured, using the same tone he would use on a skittish colt.  “We can sort this all out later.  Right now, we have business to take care of.  Don’t forget, we left Ms. Polly up there.  You can’t go runnin’ off like this and leave yo're friends behind.  It ain’t polite.”

Heart still pounding from both anxiety and his exertions, Gary backed away from the other two men one slow step at a time.  They kept pace with him, gently herding him toward a row of benches against the wall behind him.  Gary abruptly sat down when his legs encountered one of the low seats.  Defeated, he wrapped his arms over his head and lowered it to his knees.  Wordlessly, he sat there, rocking back and forth as his cousins eased down on either side of him.

“It’s okay, Cuz,” Buddy crooned softly, gently rubbing a hand up and down his cousin’s back.  He felt muscles knotted with so much tension they could’ve been played like guitar strings.  “We know thing’s ’ve been a little rough, lately.  What say we head back upstairs, get this business over with, and then we can talk about getting away for a while.  Just the three of us.  We can hang out, get to know each other a little better, just . . . kick back and relax.”

“Relax,” Gary repeated in a low monotone.  He had known what that word meant . . . once.  A long time ago.  “H-how do you do that?”

“We head out west,” Clay suggested.  “Maybe go to Vegas, or down to Texas.  I need to be there for the Nationals, anyway.  We could go a week early ’n’ do a little gambling.  Maybe catch a few of those shows they got in those casinos.  There’s lots we can do.”

“Can’t,” Gary sighed, head still pressed against his knees.  “Re-responsibilities.  The . . . the bar, and . . . things.”

“Your folks and Ms. Clark took care of everything just fine while you were in the hospital,” Clay reminded him.  “They should be able to handle things for a coupla more weeks.”

“Tell you what, Cuz,” Buddy said with a lopsided grin, “why don’t we sit down with ‘em this evening’ and talk it out?  I have a feelin’ they’ll be all for this.”

Gary tried to remember the last time he had gone somewhere just to relax.  He couldn’t.  The closest he could recall was that day at the planetarium with Erica.  Just before . . . just before he failed to rescue Jeremiah Mason.  Maybe the twins were right.  Maybe he did need some time off.  From everything.

Slowly, Gary straightened halfway up with a deep, shuddering sigh.  He brought his arms down from his head, wrapping them around his abdomen instead.  Peering at Clay from over the bandage that still covered his left cheek, then at Buddy on his right, he closed his mud-puddle green eyes with a sigh and a slow nod.

“Good man,” Buddy sighed.  “I’m sure Ms. Polly has gotten the ball rollin’ for us.  What say we go on up and close this deal?”

Gary licked dry lips and nodded wordlessly.  He let his two cousins help him to his feet and lead him back toward the elevators.  Feeling tired and confused, he allowed them to guide him, too dazed to remember where he was going.  He could do this.  They’d just explain to Evans about the reward money, and tell him what they had in mind for the bulk of it.  Then they would leave the details up to him.  Gary Hobson was going to take a much-needed vacation.

*****************

As Gary and the twins stepped off the elevator the young tavern owner kept his gaze directed at the floor.  He was too embarrassed to meet the eyes of the curious onlookers who still crowded the lobby of Jake Evan’s office.  Buddy and Clay calmly led their sheepish cousin back into the scene of his most recent upset.  

“Get on with yo're business, folks,” Clay drawled.  “Ain’t ya’ll never seen triplets before?”

Flustered, most of the crowd took his advice.  A few, however, gawked after the trio in open amazement.  Buddy shot a small group such a withering look they finally got the message and began clearing the room.  Gary was oblivious to all this, as he had yet to raise his eyes from the floor, content to let his twin cousins guide his faltering steps.

The twins led him through the door and set him down in one of the easy chairs facing the desk.  Finally, Gary slowly raised his eyes to meet a set identical to his own.  Expecting to see a look of amusement, or even ridicule, he saw only concern and a little fear expressed in those mud-puddle green eyes.

“Y-you okay?” Jake Evans asked hesitantly.  He didn’t want the poor guy to have another panic attack.

Gary just nodded wordlessly.  He was still too numb to trust himself to speak.  

“M-ms. Gannon has explained to me a-about the reward money,” Evans continued nervously.  “She, um, also told me what you have in mind for the bulk of it.  I have to say that it’s a wonderful idea, and very commendable.  I can help you set up a foundation with a board of trustees who’ll be more than happy to oversee your project.  I know of a few good people who’d be willing to do it for only a token retainer.”

“That’s good of ‘em,” Buddy replied as he gave Gary’s shoulder a gentle nudge. “Ain’t it, Cuz?”  Again, Gary just nodded.  “Why so generous?  I know most of these people draw big paychecks for consultin’ work.”

“Because they were adopted as children themselves,” Jake answered with a wary smile.  “Two of them have foster children of their own.  These people have been looking for someone to help fund a project like this for years.  If you like, I can give them a call today and get the ball rolling for you.  We can work out the details after I’ve gotten them on board, and have all the papers ready to sign within a couple of weeks.”

“Weeks?” Clay asked, giving Gary a sideways look of concern.  “Do we need to be here in town while all this is being set up?”

Jake followed the wrangler’s gaze.  The fellow with the long bandage covering most of one cheek was looking almost as pale as that first moment Jake had seen him.  He had yet to say a word, making the young executive wonder if he needed a doctor.

“Wh-what are you planning?” he asked cautiously.  

“Just a little vacation,” Buddy shrugged, a little fidgety himself.  Gary hadn’t been the only one spooked by the uncanny resemblance.  “See Gary, here, just got out of the hospital a few days ago and he’s had a pretty rough time of it these last few weeks.  We only found out this week that the three of us are related.  Clay and myself are twins, but I was stolen when I was born.  Gary is a long lost cousin.  I got no idea where you and that Chandler dude come into the picture, but I cain’t wait t’ find out.”

“Me neither,” Clay agreed with a laconic grin.  “I’ve been wonderin’ if all this talk about human cloning ain’t just a mite late.”

“Amen,” Gary murmured in a voice almost too low to hear.

“Ch-chandler?” Jake stammered, puzzled.  “You mean there’s another one of . . . us?”

“Shore is,” Clay grinned.  “An actor on some sit-com they were filmin’ over on Taylor Street.  We met him through his cousin, Dusty Wyatt Chandler, the singer.  Scared the crap outta him, too.”

“Wish I’d been there to see that,” Polly sighed.   “I keep missin’ out on the good stuff.”

“I passed out,” Gary mumbled.  “Thought he was Tony come back to haunt me some more.”

Polly gave her young friend a look of open concern.  Laying a gentle hand on his chin, she turned his head to face her.  “It’s okay to be upset, sweetie,” she told him.  “You’ve had one shock on top of another.  But Tony’s passed on.  He cain’t get inside yo're head anymore.”

“I know that,” Gary sighed, unable to meet her open gaze.  “And I know there’s got to be an explanation for . . . all this,” he added, waving a hand to include Jake and the twins.  “I . . . I just don’t know what it is yet.”

“And you may never know,” the motherly x-ray tech warned him.  “Some things are just meant to stay a mystery.  All of you may find you have one common ancestor back eight or nine generations past.  Or you may find you ain’t related at all.  I tell you what, I’ll work with Mr. Evans and his cronies to get this deal set up.  We knew it wasn’t gonna happen overnight.  You fellas can go ahead and plan yo're vacation and leave the worryin’ to me.  I’m real good at it.”

That brought a choked laughed and a tiny, if strained, grin from the young bar owner.  “Polly, you don’t worry about anything,” he remarked.  “You just do whatever it takes to get the job done.”

“Like you?”

“Sorta, I guess,” Gary replied, his face going red at the implied compliment.  He turned to Jake Evans, finally able to look at the other man without flinching.  “Can she do that?  Act as our agent to work out the details?  We can sign a ‘power of attorney’ if we need to.”

“That might be best,” Jake nodded.  This Hobson fellow looked as if he really needed a break.  “I can have my secretary draw up the necessary papers.  It’ll just take a little while.”  He turned to his intercom and pressed the speaker switch, giving his secretary quick, concise instructions.  Smiling nervously, he turned back to his new clients.  “Most of this will be out of the way by the time you make travel arrangements, though.  So . . . wh-where are you going for your little getaway?” he asked the other three men.

“We were thinkin’ of Vegas,” Clay replied.  “Do a little gamblin’, take in some shows.  Mostly just kick back and relax for a few days. There‘s supposed to be a big charity rodeo in a few weeks.  I thought these two would enjoy that.  Then head south and introduce Gary and Buddy to my folks, then go meet Buddy’s adopted family.  There’s still a few small-time rodeo’s goin’ on, so I might could get in a little ridin’, show these good-ol’ boys what it’s like.”

“That sounds like fun,” Jake grinned.  “I haven’t been to Vegas in quite awhile.  Once we get this deal in the works, maybe I can meet you there before you head back this way.”  

Buddy and Clay exchanged a questioning look, then both broke into mischievous grins.  “I think that’d be a great idea,” Clay replied.

“Just think of the possibilities,” Buddy added.  “We could really blow some minds in Vegas!”

Jake’s gaze swept over all three men as a wicked grin spread across his handsome face.  “This could be fun.”

“Speaking of fun,” Buddy drawled, turning to face his cousin, “Lois and Bernie need to meet Jake, don’t ya think?”

For the first time since catching sight of yet another version of himself, Gary felt the corners of his mouth curve into a slow smile.  Oh yes.  His parents definitely needed to meet Jake.

*****************

“How did it go, hon?” Lois asked as the trio returned through McGinty’s front door. “Is everything set?”

‘Gary’ paused to listen to something Buddy was whispering in his ear before turning to her with a warm smile.

“Everything’s fine . . . Mom,” he told her, one hand reaching up to touch the bandage on his left cheek.  “M-Mr. Evans wants me to bring him my books, though,” he told her.  “He has some ideas . . . um, I-I’ll be in my office.”  He flashed her a fleeting smile and led the way toward the back of the barroom.  Buddy saved him from going through the wrong door with a quick tug on his sleeve.

Puzzled, and more than a little concerned, Lois grabbed Clay by the arm.  She was pretty sure he was Clay.

“Did something happen?” she asked the young cowboy.  “He seems . . . nervous.”

“He’s still a tad spooked from meetin’ that Chandler fella,” Clay told her.  “This has been more than a little strange for all of us, but Buddy ‘n’ me, we were lookin’ for someone that might be wearin’ this face.  Granted we found more than we bargained for, but we were ready for it.  This hit Gary completely out of the blue.  Then he had that Tony fella rattlin’ around inside his head.  Kinda knocked the breath out of ‘im.  Know what I mean?”

“Oh, Lord yes!” Lois sighed.  “Seeing you three together that first time sort of rattled my nerves a little too.  And with everything else that he was going through, it’s a wonder he still has a mind left.”  She hooked her arm through his and steered him toward the office.  “Let’s go see if he still has sense enough to find his own ledgers.”

They found the other two seated at Gary’s desk, heads bent over a set of account books and talking animatedly.  In fact, ‘Gary’ looked positively enthused as he explained something to Buddy about ‘net,’ ‘gross,’ and ‘capital gain.’  He then launched into a lively discourse on how the stock market worked.  

Stunned, it was a moment before Lois could get her wits together.  Letting go of Clay’s arm, she marched up to the desk and grabbed ‘Gary’ by the front of his sheepskin jacket.  It was only then that she saw the tie underneath.  For the first time, she also noticed that he was wearing dark slacks instead of jeans.  The look on her face would have sent an invading army running for cover.

“Just who are you, Mister?” she snapped.  “And what have you done with my son?”

“Mom.”

Lois looked up to see another ‘Gary’ standing in the door of the office.

“Mom,” the fourth, or was this the first, ‘Gary’ repeated.  “Let me introduce Mr. Jake Evans, our new financial counselor for the foundation.  Jake, this is my mother, Lois Hobson.  And the fella at the back door with his jaw dragging the ground is my dad, Bernie.”

“Pleased to meet you,” Jake replied with a nervous grin.  “This was just as big a shock for me, believe me!”

“What the living Hell is goin’ on here?” Bernie asked, setting down the case of ‘long-necks’ he had been carrying in from the storeroom.  “Did they stamp you guys out with a cookie cutter?”  He turned to face Lois with an expression of alarm.  “I swear to ya, Lo,” he pleaded.  “I had nothin’ to do with this!”

“Don’t be silly, Bernie!” Lois snorted daintily.  “Of course you didn’t.  Gary’s looks come from my mother’s side of the family.  But, I’m beginning to wonder if the rumors about Uncle Steven weren’t true.  Mother always said he had the morals of an alley cat.”

“I’m sorry about this, Mom. Dad,” Gary apologized, giving them each a hug.  “I just thought it would be easier on you this way, than to have it sprung on you all of a sudden.”

Lois looked her real son over carefully, noticing the new lines of tension bracketing his mouth and eyes.  “Did you pass out again?” she asked with concern.

“Worse,” Gary sighed.

“Worse?” his dad said, puzzled.  “What can be worse than . . . You didn’t have any chest pains or headaches, did you?”

“No,” Gary murmured.  “I, um, I ran like a rabbit.”

“He ain’t kiddin’ either,” Buddy spoke up, a playful grin crossing his wholesome features.  “Gary should try out for the Olympics.  If leaping office furniture and mad dashes down twenty some odd flights of stairs were a scheduled event, he’d ‘ve taken the gold, for sure.”

“Oh Gary,” Lois sighed.  “You have got to get away from all this for awhile.  Your blood pressure must be through the roof right now!  With all that money, surely you could use some of it for a vacation or something!”

“Um, that’s something else we wanted to talk to you about,” Gary murmured hesitantly.  “Buddy and Clay, th-they had a . . . a suggestion.”

“We thought of takin’ him to Vegas,” Clay spoke up.  “We’d kick back and hit the gaming tables for a week or so, then take a little drive down to meet the folks.  If we have time, that is.”

“That’s a great idea!” Bernie chimed in with a big grin. “Your mom and I can help take care of things around here for that long, at least!  Go on!  Kick back!  Relax!  Let someone else do all the worryin’ for awhile.”

As Jake and Gary exchanged jackets, the banker decided to give a little advice of his own.  “They’re right, Gary,” he said, the four of them already on a first name basis.  “From what I’ve seen so far, you’re wound tighter than a mainspring.  This trip you guys are planning may be just the thing to get you leveled out.  Once all the details are ironed out, Ms. Gannon and I should be able to join you.  She said something about the three of you needing to be ‘looked after,’” he added with a grin.

“She may be right,” Gary sighed.  “Things seem to keep happening, lately.  And having someone else around who knows CPR couldn’t hurt.”

*****************

“Let me see your face,” Lois Hobson insisted as her son set his suitcase down by the bar.  Gary obediently turned his head so she could inspect the hair-thin red line running down his left cheek.  His stitches had just been removed that morning and she wanted to be sure the wound wasn’t going to reopen.  “You’ll be back in time for the reunion?” she asked for the hundredth time.  Her hands nervously smoothed out the collar of his jacket.

“It’s not ‘til May, Mom,” Gary sighed.  “We’ll be back long before Christmas, I promise!  It’s just for a coupla weeks.  We’ll spend a few days in Las Vegas, then rent a car and drive around to some of the rodeos Clay was telling us about, then fly home.  While I’m out there, I’ll look in on that dealer who says he has that two hundred year old single malt Mr. Kovaleski was asking about.  If I can make a good deal, I’ll have it shipped here express.”

“Get an extra case for the bar, if you can,” Marissa advised him as she ran her hands down her Braille copy of their inventory.  “Stan Kovaleski isn’t the only one who appreciates a good single malt.  Oh, and see if he has any blackberry brandy and framboise. All our local suppliers are out.  Holiday orders,” she shrugged.

“Anything else?” Gary asked with a weary sigh.  

“Jamaican Rum,” his dad suggested.  “And some dark lager.  There were some guys asking about stout ale, too.  I don’t know exactly what those last two are, but they sound good.”

“They’re kinda like beer, Dad,” Gary told him with a tired smile.  “I’ll see what he has.  That all?  Good.” He grabbed his bag and turned for the door.  “I’ll call you as soon as we get settled in.”

“Are you sure you don’t want us to drive you to the airport?” Lois asked.  “It’s no trouble.”

“I’m positive, Mom,” Gary sighed, his hand on the door handle.  “Clay and Buddy are waiting outside in the cab.  And it’s starting to rain again.  I’d feel much better knowing you guys were safe at home.”  He set his bag down, turning to give his mom another big hug.  “I’ll be fine, Mom.  I promise.  I just need to get away from all the craziness for a little while.  Try to remember what it was like to be normal.”

“Define ‘normal,’ sweetie,” his mother grinned, giving his ribs a gentle squeeze.  “You enjoy yourself, hon.  Leave all the worrying to us for a change.”  She stepped back, smoothing her hands along her son’s shoulders and down his arms.  “Go on,” she added with a teary smile.  “You’d better hurry or you’ll miss your flight.”

Gary bent down and planted a quick kiss on her cheek.  “I love you, too, Mom.”  He shook his father’s hand and gave Marissa a quick hug.  “I’ll be back before you know it.  Bye, now.”

Once more, Gary grabbed his bag and headed out the front door.  This time no one said anything to stop him.  For the first time in over five years, he was going to have a real vacation.  No paper, no bar, no worries at all.  

Right!

****************

“This is nice!” Buddy exclaimed appreciatively as he settled back in his seat.  “I’ve never flown first-class before!”

“Me neither,” Clay sighed as he settled into his own seat.  “How much did this set us back?”

“Not a dime,” Gary told them, failing to suppress a tiny smile at their open expressions of surprise.  “I did the owner a little favor about a year ago.  Got first-class passage for life any time I want, to anywhere I want.  Just have to show my ID.”

“That must ‘ve been one hell of a favor,” Clay murmured as he fastened his seatbelt.  “First-class ain’t cheap.  Remind me to get a copy of yo're driver’s license.”

****************

Gary stretched out on the sofa in the lounge with a sigh.      He hadn’t realized, until this moment, just how mentally and physically exhausted he was.  The past couple of months had taken a heavy toll on his energy reserves, and his nerves.  Between gangsters, ghosts, and hit-men, he had been run from one end of the city to the other, shot, beaten, nearly crushed and, to top it all off, possessed!  He had also met five people, one of them now deceased, who wore faces identical to his own.  Two of them had turned out to be his cousins.  One had been in a coma for the past three years, after being shot and left for dead by one of the assassins who had been hired to kill Gary.  Another was an actor on a sit-com being filmed in Chicago; while the fifth one was the investment banker they had turned to for advice.

He had also met a couple of honest-to-God Shaolin priests, and an ex-CIA agent.  As the young barkeeper drifted off to sleep, he couldn’t help but wonder how that ‘Dragon’s Wing’ deal had turned out.

****************

They landed at McCarran Airport as the sun was peeking over the eastern horizon.  As they strolled into the main concourse, Gary noted that, even at such an early hour, the place was anything but quiet.  People waiting for planes lined up at several banks of slot machines.  Others openly tried to haggle over airfare.  Many were lined up waiting for taxis or buses.  Gary and his twin cousins headed straight for the car rental agencies.  The young woman at the counter was startled at first, but recovered quickly.  Still, she kept giving them strange, quizzical looks as she checked her computer.  Finding their reservation, she smiled graciously and quickly produced a set of keys for a late-model SUV.  Minutes later, having finally claimed their luggage, the trio was on their way to the infamous ‘Strip.’

*****************

“What do you mean?” Buddy asked angrily.  “We made those reservations almost two weeks ago!  Paid in advance!”

“And your card has been credited with a refund,” the concierge replied calmly.  A nametag identified him as ’David.’  “I can only offer my apologies, gentlemen,” he added with an expression of true regret.  “We have had three conventions in town, two of which decided to extend their stays.  There’s also that rodeo benefit due to start next week.  Not to mention that relief concert being sponsored by Dusty Wyatt.  The influx of spectators for those two events alone has accounted for every available room left in town.”

“So what are we supposed to do?” Clay grumbled.  “Sleep on the streets?  You’ve got to have someplace we can stay!”

“Not in Las Vegas,” the young man sighed, turning to his computer.  “Perhaps on the outskirts . . . Let me see . . . Yes!  There’s a little, out-of-the-way, place just this side of Nellis Air Force Base.  Reasonably priced and supposed to be rather quaint.  They have one vacancy showing.  Would you like me to make a reservation?”

The three men exchanged wordless glances then nodded at the apologetic young man.  They had to sleep somewhere.  

“Excellent!”  David’s fingers rattled swiftly over the keyboard as he fed in their names and credit information.  “If you like, you can still receive messages here,” he added. A moment later, he handed them a printout acknowledging their reservation and showing a detailed map to their destination.  “I’ve been authorized to tell you that the Excalibur is picking up the tab for this.  Also, we’ll notify you the moment a suite becomes available.  The rest of your stay will be at half price.  Is that agreeable?”

Gary nodded wordlessly as he accepted the slip of paper.  He took one look at the name of their new lodgings and groaned.  “Aw no!” he mumbled.  “Is this a franchise or something?”

Clay and Buddy looked at the paper and just shrugged.  The name was a new one to them.  It had a definite southwestern ring to it.

Thirty minutes later, the trio stood on the threshold of room nineteen of the Casa Diablo Hotel.  It was a rundown, ‘flea-bag’ of a place that reminded Gary way too much of its namesake back in Chicago.  It was a small room just big enough for the king-sized bed, dresser, a tiny dining table with two chairs, and the night table that it held.  A quick glimpse of the bathroom left all three men cringing in disgust.

“No wonder you didn’t want to stay here,” Buddy murmured.  “I’ve stayed in cleaner garbage dumps.”

“My cell in prison was nicer than this!” Clay shuddered.  “Doesn’t this come under the heading of ‘substandard housing?’” he asked.

“I’m all for finding a sporting-goods store and buying a tent,” Buddy suggested.  “Let’s take our chances with the rattlesnakes and scorpions.”

Gary shuddered visibly at the sarcastic comment.  “You ever been snake-bit, Buddy?” he asked as he threw his suitcase on the bed.  He continued as the young songwriter shook his head.  “Well, I have.  It’s an experience I’d rather not repeat, if you don’t mind.  Let’s just make the best of this, guys, and hope some of those conventioneers decide to leave early.”

Clay plopped flat on his back on the bed, hands tucked behind his head as he stared up at his cousin.  “I’ve been bit by a rattler or two,” he said with a shrug.  “Made me sick as a dog, but it was no big deal.”

“Then you were lucky,” Gary murmured as he opened his bag.  He busied himself laying out a Chicago Bulls t-shirt and a pair of sweat pants, his usual sleeping attire.

Something in the tone of his voice alerted the twins.  They exchanged glances, wondering at the story behind his brief statement.  “Wanna talk about it?” Buddy suggested, leaning back in one of the straight-back chairs and propping his booted feet on the bed.

Gary just shook his head as he put his nightclothes on a hanger.  “N-not much to tell,” he shrugged, trying, unsuccessfully, to keep his tone neutral.  He winced inwardly at the faint tremor he’d heard in his own voice.  “The antivenin didn’t work.  I almost died.”

Clay propped himself up on his elbows as Buddy’s heels hit the floor with a thud.  The twins studied their cousin for a moment before deciding he was being deadly serious.  They were beginning to realize that, for all the protests to the contrary, there was something truly exceptional about this branch of their long-lost family.

***************

After a quick phone call to assure his parents that they had arrived safely, the trio piled back into the rented car and headed back into town.  They had decided to have a hot lunch at one of the casinos and do a little gambling then take a little ‘walking tour’ of the infamous ‘Strip.’  In order not to attract attention the twins wore their hats pulled low, to half-conceal their faces.  Gary preferred not to wear a hat at all.

Buddy and Clay won more than they lost at the craps and blackjack tables, but Gary cleaned up at the roulette wheel.  He seemed to have an uncanny sense of what numbers or colors were due to payoff next.  In spite of keeping his wagers small, and never staying at one table more than a few turns, Gary had soon won over a hundred thousand dollars!  Nervous at all the attention he was attracting, Gary cashed in his chips, requesting that most of the money be wired to his bank in Chicago and the remainder issued in traveler’s checks.  These he divided equally with the twins before heading out for their next destination.

At Caesar’s Palace they were first startled, then amused by the animatronics as the ‘statues’ went through their routine.  The trio spent another couple of hours in the casino, where Buddy and Clay drew strange looks at the poker tables while Gary drifted off to stand at the craps tables.  He never laid hands on the dice, so no one could accuse him of cheating, but he once more came away with a hefty sum.  What rattled Gary the most about his windfall was that he had been playing to lose!

“You have got to be the luckiest man alive!” Buddy exclaimed with an appreciative whistle.  Gary had just handed them another stack of traveler’s checks.  

“Naw,” Clay drawled as he scrawled his name on each of the checks he had been given.  “This is just payback for all the hell he went through last month.  It won’t last.”

“I hope not,” Gary murmured as he signed his own stack.  “People are starting to notice.  See those two guys over by the slots?  They’ve been watching me for the last hour.  And I don’t think they work for the casino.”

Clay glanced in the direction Gary indicated without lifting his head.  The two men were dressed in cheap suits and were trying, unsuccessfully, to act disinterested in the trio.  Both of them had ‘thug’ written all over them.  They were tall and brawny with faces that had taken more than a few punches.  One was slightly heavier than the other and had long, dark blonde hair.  The other had dark reddish hair and a tiny glint of gold on his left ear.  Something about them tugged at his memory, but he couldn’t quite place the pair.

“Looks like trouble,” Clay murmured softly.  “Are they why yo're goin’ with the traveler’s checks instead of cash?”

“Partly,” Gary responded in an equally low voice.  “It just seemed safer.  I don’t think we have anything to worry about ‘til it gets dark.  As long as we stay out in the open, anyway.  I’d feel a lot better if most of these were locked away, though.”

“We’re about a mile from the Excalibur,” Buddy mused.  “We could walk or go over to Bally’s and take the monorail.  Maybe they’ll put these in their safe for us.”

“I hope so,” Clay grumbled.  “I wouldn’t trust Casa Diablo with a handful of pesos.”

***************

The Excalibur was more than happy to accommodate the three men.  The stack of traveler’s checks were soon locked away, and Buddy was handed a message that had arrived only moments before.  Gary and his cousins retreated to the bar for a drink and to peruse the note.

“It’s from Dusty,” Buddy told them with a grin.  “He wants to know if we want to do a guest shot in his benefit concert.  You, ‘specially, Gary.  He wants you to sing ’Pistol Packin’ Angel.’   Seems like he’s gotten a lotta requests for that one.”

“No, thank you,” Gary replied with a shudder.  “That once was more than enough.  I’d think he’d want to me to steer clear of his concerts after the last two got shot up.”

“Oh, I dunno,” Clay drawled, returning his brother’s smile.  “It’ll help keep me in shape for the rodeo.  All that runnin’ around ’n’ such.  Then ya’ll could help out at the rodeo, too.  You could be clowns and keep the bulls distracted.”

“I thought you guys wanted to keep me out of the hospital,” Gary snorted with a rueful grin of his own.  “Sounds like fun, but I’ll stick to the sidelines, thank you.”

“What?” Buddy chuckled.  “You don’t wanna experience the thrill and adventure of bein’ in the ring with almost two thousand pounds of grit, gristle, and pure meanness?  I’m surprised at you, cuz!  I thought you had more sand than that!”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty of ‘sand,’ Buddy,” Gary replied.  “It’s just not all between my ears.  I still have a little room left up there for brains.  And my brain tells me that I want a good strong fence between me and those horns.”

Clay leaned back in his chair with a lazy grin.  He was glad that Gary was relaxed enough to joke about the hospital.  His cousin had been jumpy ever since he had noticed the two men at Caesar’s Palace.  Maybe the beer was loosening him up a little.  Studying the other man over the rim of his glass, he could see that the tension lines on Gary’s brow and around his eyes had eased just a little.  Maybe this trip would do him some good after all.

“The day’s still young,” the cowboy observed.  “Plenty o’ time to take in a few sights.  I’d kinda like to stop by and see those big cats at the Mirage.  I didn’t get a chance the last time I was here.”

The idea appealed to Buddy and Gary as well.  Soon they were back on the monorail, heading back to Bally’s, which was just a quarter of a mile from the Mirage.  A quick ride on the tram and they were soon standing practically nose-to-nose with a magnificent white tiger.  They spent the rest of the afternoon at the various animal enclosures, where Gary got to ‘play ball’ with the dolphins, and took in the magic show that evening.  Buddy and Clay insisted on doing a ‘little more gambling,’ which kept them busy until after midnight.  Wary of attracting attention if he should have another ‘winning streak,’ Gary stuck to the slot machines with the lowest payoffs.  He only won a few hundred dollars.

Occasionally, Gary would look up from his mindless activity to find the same two men trying to act as if they weren’t watching his every move.  He tried to ignore them, but the prickly feeling at the back of his neck was getting on his nerves.  Distracted, he moved down the line of slots, hoping to get out of their line of sight long enough to elude them.  Without looking, he began to feed quarters into a larger machine at the end of the row.  After each coin he tried to pull down on the handle, only to find it would not move.  Gary figured he must have hit on one that was broken.  Still, he tried one more coin.  

Later, he would blame it on being distracted by his two watchers.  If Gary had known which machine he was pumping quarters into, he would have stopped and let the next person have a go at the jackpot.  He wasn’t even looking as the lever finally came down.  His attention divided between the machine and his audience of two, Gary almost had a heart attack when the machine gave out with a strident alarm accompanied by flashing lights and a siren!  Shaking, he stumbled back a couple of paces as coins started pouring out of the machine in a veritable avalanche!  From out of nowhere, it seemed, the manager appeared, taking his hand in a firm grasp.  

“Congratulations, sir,” the man was saying to his stunned patron.  “You’ve just won our $500,000 jackpot!”

“Hunh?” Gary squeaked.  “F-f-five hu-hundred . . .?”

“Thousand,” the manager finished for him.  

“Ho-boy,” Gary mumbled, grasping the manager’s hand a little tighter as he felt his knees start to give.  He suddenly found himself the focus of every eye in the place as people crowded in to pat him on the back, congratulate him, and scoop up a bucket or two of quarters.  Afterwards, Gary couldn’t say how he got into the chair or what anyone said.  He just stared wide-eyed at the check someone had pressed into his hand and wondered, not for the first time, how his life had gotten so out of control.

**********************

“Man!  I can not believe yo're luck, cuz!” Buddy exclaimed as he and Clay stared at the check.  “Did you even know you were on the Super Jackpot?”

“No, of course I didn’t,” Gary grumbled, trying not to look over his shoulder.  Even though he couldn’t see them, he could still feel two pairs of eyes boring into the back of his head.  “If I’d known, I’d ‘ve run the other way.  I don’t need any of this!  I don’t need, or want, the attention!”

Clay shook his head with a rueful grin.  “Yo're not very good at avoidin’ it, Gary,” he remarked.  “So what’re you gonna do with it?  Play the stock market?”

“Not on your life,” the young barkeep replied acidly.  “It’s going by certified mail to Chicago and the foundation account.  I’ve got no other use for this much money.  This doesn’t make any sense,” he protested.  “I’ve never been this lucky before.”  ‘Not without help,’ he added to himself.  But he hadn’t seen the paper or the cat since they had landed.

“Well,” Buddy drawled, tipping his hat up slightly, “you’ve certainly made up for lost time. What with this and all the money you’ve raked in at the other casinos, you’ve won almost three quarters of a million.  That’ll sure do a lot of good for somebody!”

“The quicker it’s out of my hands, the better,” Gary grumbled.  “I swear, so long as I’m in this town, I’m not touching another machine, table, or chip.  Nothing that has anything to do with gambling.  I-I just don’t understand what’s going on here.”

“Like I said,” Clay remarked with a lazy grin.  “It’s just the good Lord rewarding you for all the good yo're doin’.  Goin’ around, savin’ lives, helpin’ people.  Getting’ all shot up and beat up and such.  Just ride with it, pal, and make the best of it.  Think of how much good you can do with all that money.”

“Or how much fun we can have,” Buddy remarked with a mischievous grin.  “Look, we’ve got all the money we need, so let’s just get our sorry butts back over to the Excalibur, put this in the safe, and head off to bed.  I don’t know about you two, but three in the morning is pushin’ the limit just a tad, even for me.”

Thus it was agreed.  As soon as the check was tucked away in the Excalibur’s safe, the trio loaded themselves back on the monorail and headed back for the area they had last seen their rented car.  Four o’clock found them back at the Casa Diablo and flipping a coin to see who got to sleep on the outside edge of the king-sized bed, and who got stuck in the middle.

“Now we know my luck only extends to the gaming tables,” Gary sighed as he settled in between the twins.  “Just don’t both of you jab me at the same time.  My ribs are still a little sore.”

“No promises,” Buddy mumbled sleepily. Soon, he and his twin were slumbering peacefully.

“G’night, guys,” Gary murmured as he, too, slid into the arms of Morpheus.

**************

Gary was awoken a short time later by an arm plopping across his chest.  A second later, a hand smacked him in the face from the other side.  Annoyed, Gary pushed both extremities away from him only to have Buddy mumble something in his sleep and roll over on top of him.  Gary was trying to turn him back over when Clay did the same thing from the opposite side!  Tired, and more than a little ticked off, Gary shoved both men over at once.  They both grumbled incoherently and rolled onto their sides, each facing away from him.  Satisfied, Gary settled back to get some much needed rest.

Whap!  

Gary grumbled something his mother would’ve been shocked to hear as he pushed Buddy’s arm from over his face.  This was not going to work.  He had to get some rest somehow, but not with these two pounding away at him!  With a weary sigh he scrambled over Buddy, pushing the songwriter toward his brother.  When he finally had room enough, Gary settled in and rolled up on his side.  Maybe now . . .

Ka-thump!

With a loud grunt, Gary hit the floor.  Buddy had rolled back over, shoving him completely off the bed!  Muttering things under his breath that would’ve shocked both of his parents, Gary snatched one of the pillows and the top cover from the bed.  Folding the comforter into a thick pad, he made himself a pallet on the floor.  It wasn’t the best bed he’d ever slept in, but at least it was quiet.

At which point a loud stentorian rumble issued from identical sources.  With a muffled whimper, Gary pressed the pillow over his head and prayed to be struck stone deaf for just one blessed hour!

************************

Gary sat in the back seat of the rented SUV as they drove back toward the Strip.  Clay and Buddy were talking animatedly in the front, energized after a good night’s, and half a day’s, rest.  The twins intended to check out the situations with the benefit and the rodeo.

“You’ll love it, Gary,” Clay told his silent cousin.  “The action, the cheering of the crowds, the thrill of having all that raw power between yo're legs and knowing . . .”

“That you’re about to get turned into a greasy spot on the arena floor,” Gary finished in a grumpy voice.  “No, thank you.  Besides, I still need to see a guy about some two hundred year old single malt Scotch.”  He scrubbed both hands over his face, trying to wake up.  He had tried, really tried, to get to sleep before the sun came up.  The twins had snored so loudly, Gary had instead spent half the morning answering complaints from the neighbors.  “Just drop me off near Harrah’s and I’ll walk from there.  We can meet at, um, the Barbary Coast for supper.”

“Sure thing, cuz,” Buddy nodded.  “Around eight?”  He took Gary’s monosyllabic grunt for a ‘yes.’  “You sound tired.  Didn’t you get any sleep last night?” he asked with concern.

“No,” Gary grumbled.  “I didn’t.”

“More nightmares?” Clay asked, a note of worry in his voice.

“Not any worth mentioning,” Gary sighed.  “Just couldn’t get to sleep.”  He wasn’t going to tell them why he couldn’t sleep.  It would just be for a couple of nights . . . he hoped.  The paper had given him any number of sleepless nights.  He could weather a few more.  That didn’t mean he had to like it.

*****************

“It’s a deal then,” the wine merchant nodded as he counted up the total.  “Six cases of the single malt, twelve of the dark Jamaican, fourteen of the framboise, sixteen of the dark lager, and sixteen of the Irish stout.  Anything else?”

“The blackberry brandy. Oh!  And how about a couple of cases of that ‘56 Bordeaux?” Gary asked.  “The 1856, not the 1956.”

“Excellent choice,” the dealer smiled.  He turned to his calculator and added up the prices, finally naming a sum that Gary found agreeable.  “Will that be cash on delivery?” he asked.

“No,” Gary replied, pulling out a roll of cash.  “I can pay now.  My ‘luck’ has been pretty good, I guess.  How soon can you deliver?”

“The shipment can go out first thing in the morning,” was the welcome response.  “It should be in Chicago by the day after.”

“Grreatt,” Gary replied, failing to stifle a cavernous yawn.  “Um, sorry,” he murmured.  “Long night.”

“I can see that,” the merchant smiled.  “If I were you, I’d skip the casinos tonight and get a few hours sleep.”

“If only it was that easy,” Gary murmured too low for the dealer to hear.  Out loud, he said, “Sounds like a good idea.”  Rubbing a hand over his face with a weary sigh, he thanked the merchant and made his way out the door, wishing him a good evening.  

Outside, the day was quietly slipping into night.  Looking at his watch, Gary saw he had a couple of hours before he was to meet the twins for supper.  He could take in a show or go back to the Mirage.  The best part of the previous day had been the dolphins.  What he really wanted was to find someplace where he could just curl up and go to sleep.

Gary took his time, strolling slowly toward the Strip and the Barbary Coast.  The evening air felt cool and relaxing.  The sunset, as he turned onto Flamingo Road, was spectacular.   The streets weren’t as crowded as he had been led to believe they would be, although the lights were every bit as bright as they had been the night before.  Most of the hustle and bustle, he imagined, was inside the casinos and resorts.  Even his two persistent watchers had yet to make their appearance.  By staying out in the open, Gary hoped to avoid the possibility of being dragged into a dark alley and robbed.

With that in mind, Gary wasn’t expecting trouble, in the form of a burly cop, to pull up on the curb and unceremoniously slam him up against a police squad car!  “Hey!” he cried angrily.  “What’s the . . .?”

“You have the right to remain silent,” the big cop recited as he snapped a pair of handcuffs on Gary‘s wrists.  “And I suggest you use it, fella.  Now get in the car.”

As soon as the steel rings closed around his wrists, Gary stiffened.  His mind instantly flashed back to the last time he had felt the chill touch of metal on his skin.  He broke out in a cold sweat as he relived that awful night.  The night that Aristotle Savalas had broken into his loft and almost amputated his left hand.  The night Savalas had accidentally killed himself . . . instead of Gary.

“T-take these off, please,” he murmured tensely.  

“What’s that, boy?” the big cop asked in a menacing drawl.  “Are you resisting arrest here?”

“N-no,” Gary stammered, trying to maintain control of his frayed nerves.  “No, sir,” he hurriedly added.  “It’s just . . . wh-what did I do?  I just got into town yesterday, you see and I . . .”

“Then you work fast, son,” the other cop said with a condescending smile.  “Six people saw you assault some fella in a bar over on Diablo a couple of hours ago.”

“A couple . . . I been haggling with a liquor dealer over on Winchester for the last three and a half hours,” Gary told them, trying to keep the anger at the unjust treatment out of his voice.  “There’s no way I could’ve been . . . where is Diablo, any-umph!”  A rough hand shoved him up against the squad car, knocking the breath out of him.

“So you drove,” the first cop snarled.  “Now, get in the car.”

“S-sure,” Gary sighed.  “Whatever you say.  Just . . . c-could you at least loosen these up a little?  I can’t . . . I can’t . . . please?”

For the first time the two cops noticed how pale their prisoner was, and that he seemed to be having trouble breathing.  Taking him by the arms to ease him into the car, they could feel the tremors that rippled through his body.  Once Gary was safely belted in and they were underway the cop riding ‘shotgun’ turned to look back at the prisoner.

“This isn’t the first time you’ve been shackled, is it?” he stated derisively.  “You’ve been collared before.  You got a record, boy?”

“S-sorta,” Gary murmured, unable to meet his eyes.  “C-call Detective Armstrong, Chicago PD.  H-he can . . . He can tell you wh-what . . .Will you be taking these off when you ‘book’ me?”  

“That’s the usual procedure,” the big cop confirmed.  “Why?”

“Then can you drive a little faster?” Gary pleaded.  “Please?  I just . . . I just want these cuffs off.  Please?”

Something in the young man’s tone sent a chill through the tough street cop.  He turned to his partner.

“Drive faster, Will,” he mumbled softly.

“Huh?  Whatever for, Lou?” Will asked.  “We’ll get there soon enough.”

“Trust me, Will,” he replied in a near whisper.  “We need to get there sooner.  This guy is on the verge of a panic attack.  Remember when we were stuck in that elevator?  How that guy looked just before he started climbing the walls, pukin’ and screaming blue murder?  Well, he’s got that same look.  Only worse.  We don’t want that happening in our car.  Drive . . . faster.”

**************

“Now, sit here and be quiet,” Lou growled as he roughly shoved Gary onto a low bench.  “I’ll be back to get your statement in a minute.”

“C-could you hurry, please?” Gary stammered.  “You promised to . . . to get these off.”  He shook his shackled wrists for emphasis.  His arms were beginning to ache from being cuffed behind his back for so long.  The fact that the steel rings were just tight enough to restrict his circulation didn’t help matters, either.  Gary could feel his hands growing numb and his heart beating faster.  In spite of his every effort, his breath was coming in shorter and faster gasps.  

Now that there was no danger of the prisoner creating a mess in his precious unit, the big cop was enjoying the younger man’s discomfort.  He took his time signing in, going to the bathroom, getting a fresh cup of coffee and chatting with a couple of fellow officers before returning to take charge of his prisoner.

The cup of coffee slipped from his hand, spilling the hot liquid in a widening pool on the carpeted floor, as he stared in stunned disbelief at the sight that greeted him.  

Where he had left one suspect, he now had three.  They were dressed differently, with two of them wearing black Stetson hats, but they all wore the same identical features.  The two with hats were evidently acquainted with the other man, for they were talking to him in low, comforting tones.  The third man, his prisoner, was so tense he could almost hear the thunder of the young man’s heartbeat from where he stood.

“Just calm down, cuz,” one man was murmuring in conciliatory tones.  “We’ll get this whole mess straightened out in no time.”

“That’s right, Gary,” the other ‘hat man’ added.  “I’ve been through this a time or two.  We’ll be back on the street in a few hours.”

“I know that!” Gary moaned.  “This isn’t my first time in jail, either. Th-they’ll get the cuffs off soon, won’t they?  When they book us?”

“They won’t book us unless they can press charges,” the second man told him with a shake of his head.  “Just hang in there, pal.  What’s the deal with the cuffs, anyway?  Does it have anything to do with the nightmares?”

‘Nightmares?’ Lou wondered.  ‘This guy has nightmares about handcuffs?’  He was keeping out of sight just around a corner of the hallway, listening.  He told himself it was in hopes of overhearing an incriminating remark.

“S-sorta,” the one called Gary stammered in reply.  “I-it’s a long story.  Do you think he’ll be back soon?  I just . . . just want these things off!”  He leaned over until his head almost touched his knees then straightened back up, looking around anxiously.  Rocking back and forth nervously, he seemed to be having trouble breathing.  “I can’t feel my hands,” he murmured in a tight voice.  “I can’t feel my hands!”

“Easy, cuz!” the one on Gary’s right counseled.  “Slow and easy.  Deep breath in.  That’s it.  Now, let it out.  Again.  Slow and easy.  Good man!  Listen, we ain’t done nothin’ wrong, and they’ll know that soon enough.  Just hang in there and we’ll be out of here just as soon as we get this here mess sorted out.”

“R-right,” Gary sighed, obviously trying to stay in control.  “We haven’t . . . haven’t done anything.  Th-they can’t hold us . . . f-for something we didn’t . . . didn’t do.  I’m okay.”

The one on the left looked behind Gary and hissed something under his breath.  Looking up at the nervously sweating man, he snapped, “Damn it, Gary!  Stop that!  Yo're rubbin’ all the hide off yo're wrists!”

Lou decided it was time to rattle his prisoner some more.  ‘Have to teach these tourists to walk the line,’ he thought maliciously.  “Well, well, well, what have we here?” he drawled, strolling up to the three seated men.  “Triplets?  That oughta make a line-up fun.”  He grabbed his prisoner by the arm and hauled him roughly to his feet.  “C’mon, son.  Let’s get this over with.”

“Easy on the arms!” Gary snapped, angered enough by the rough treatment to forget his anxiety for a moment.  “I’d like to leave with everything I came in with,” he added.  He was dragged into the squad room and thrust into a straight-backed chair.

Over the next hour, Gary was forced to go over his statement several times before the burly cop finally agreed to call the liquor merchant and confirm the time that he had been there.  By which time he had grown increasingly pale, with fine droplets of sweat beading his forehead.  At last, Lou had to admit he had the wrong man.  Still, he took his time removing the cuffs from the young stranger.  He barely had the restraints off before his prisoner snatched his arms around in front of himself.  Lou hooked the cuffs onto his belt without looking at them.

“Th-thank you,” Gary murmured as he rubbed the circulation back into his hands with a painful grimace.  His face had turned a strange, pasty shade.  “Do . . . do you have a-a men’s room close?” he asked.  When Lou escorted him to the proper door, the younger man thanked him politely, saying he could take it from there.  Lou waited to escort him back to the property desk when he was through.  He waited . . . and waited.  After several minutes it occurred to him to become worried that the young man had been in there for so long.  

“Have you seen our cousin, officer?”

Lou turned around to see the two with the black hats eyeing him neutrally.  He shrugged and nodded at the men’s room door.  They thanked him and went in, seeming to be in some kind of hurry.  A moment later, one of them stuck his head back out, a look of anger mixed with alarm on his normally pleasant features.

“Get a doctor in here!” he snapped.  “Now!  He’s passed out and we cain’t wake him up!”

‘Oh sh---!’ Lou thought as he hurried to call the paramedics.  ‘I’ve gone and done it now!”

******************

Gary was first aware of the voices.  They were muffled and hollow, as if coming from the bottom of a steel barrel that was miles away.  A moment later, he realized that he was lying on a cold tile floor.  The men’s room.  He had been in the men’s room.  At least he remembered that much.  

“C’mon, cuz!” a worried voice was saying.  “You gotta wake up!” That had to be Buddy.  He was the only one that called him ‘cuz.’

“These are some deep cuts on his wrists,” a strange voice observed clinically.  “He wasn’t . . .”

“Hell no!” a third voice snapped.  “He tried to tell this yahoo the damned cuffs were too tight,” he continued.  “But ‘John Law’ here wouldn‘t listen!”  That had to be Clay, but Gary couldn’t ever remember hearing his cousin sounding this angry.

Something stung his left wrist, eliciting a soft hiss, then a low groan from a throat that felt as raw as hamburger.  It was some kind of liquid that burned and cooled at the same time.  At almost the same instant as the pain hit, he noticed the foul taste in his mouth.  A stale, cloying, bitter taste.  He badly needed a gallon of mouthwash!

“I think he’s coming around,” someone else was saying.  “Mr. Hobson?  Mr. Hobson!  Can you hear me?”

“Um,” Gary replied with a slow nod.  His voice sounded as dry as his throat felt.  “Wha’ h’p’n?”

“You seem to’ve passed out,” the voice told him.  “Do you remember anything at all?”

“Queasy,” he murmured.  “Had to . . . had to, um.”  He tried to wave a hand towards where he thought the toilet stall was, only to find that both were held fast.  “C-couldn’t quit . . . I was . . . was startin’ t-to shake an’ the room sorta . . . tilted.”

“What happened to your wrists?” the first stranger asked.  He was busy wrapping something around the right one.  “Did you do this?”

Gary finally opened his eyes, then immediately wished he hadn’t as the room started to gyrate.  Squeezing his eyes shut and swallowing convulsively, he forced his rising gorge to behave itself.  He didn’t dare to be sick again.  Not if he wanted out of this place.  Trying again, he looked to where a man in a paramedic’s uniform was still cleaning the cuts made by the steel cuffs.

“S-sorta,” he replied, letting his head sink back to the floor.  “Tried to . . . to get ’em to loosen up.  Too tight.  C-couldn’t feel my . . . my hands.”  Gary looked over to where his twin cousins were glaring daggers at the officer who had treated him so roughly.  “Can we go now?  Back to the hotel?  Please?  I just need a little sleep, is all.”

“You can sleep at the hospital,” the first paramedic told him.  “As soon as the doctor gets through checking you . . . Hold still!  You wanna pass out again!”

Gary was struggling to sit up against the two paramedics’ restraining hands.  “No!” he said as firmly as he could manage.  “N-no hospital!  Just . . . just let me go back to the hotel and sleep it off.  I-I’ll be okay.”

“Mister,” the man on his right argued, “you just passed out after what looks to’ve been a severe bout of vomiting.  Now it doesn’t look like you hit your head, but we’d certainly advise you to let the ER Docs check you over.  Your wrists may need stitches and we need to know what triggered the vomiting.”

“Flashbacks,” Gary hurried to explain.  He wanted to avoid another hospital stay if at all possible!  “I, um, I was . . . a-attacked in my . . . my home a year ago last Halloween.  Th-the guy used . . . used h-handcuffs to . . . to shackle me to . . . um, he put ‘em on pretty tight and . . .” Gary hugged his left wrist up against his chest, rubbing the bandages that covered the new cuts . . . and the old scar.  “He also . . . They, um, they said I was in surgery a-a long . . .a long time.  Ever since I, um, I can’t . . . Can I go now?”

Buddy and Clay looked at their quiet cousin with a dawning sense of horror.  If what he was saying sounded this bad, what about what he wasn’t saying!  Then to have such memories dragged back up by the unnecessary cruelty of one sadistic cop . . . The looks they turned on the hapless officer could have constituted a major source of ‘global warming.’  

*****************

Gary was finally able to convince everyone that he just needed to get one decent night’s sleep and then he would be okay.  Having retrieved their things from the property room, the three of them loaded themselves into a waiting cab, courtesy of the Las Vegas PD, and returned to where the twins had left their rented SUV.  Half an hour later, they were preparing to turn in.  

To the twins’ consternation, Gary insisted on remaking his pallet on the floor when they found that the hotel didn’t have any cots to spare.  Not that Gary could bring himself to trust any such device this place provided.  With his luck, it would turn out to be one of those ‘man-eating’ deathtraps that collapsed if you sneezed twice.

Worn past the point of exhaustion by the stress of the arrest and his subsequent collapse, Gary was asleep before his head hit the pillow.  

*****************

Once again, Gary found himself running on cold, dark, snow-shrouded streets.  Faceless, genderless creatures that could only vaguely be called human pointed clawed hands at his fleeing figure.  ‘Killer,’ they whispered.  ‘Murderer!  Who are you to judge who should live or die?  What gives you the right?’

“I don’t!” Gary cried as he spun around to face his accusers.  “I don’t choose!  I try to save as many as I can!  But I’m only one man!  I’m not God!”

“You’re not much of a man, either,” one voice said derisively, making itself heard above the others.  “You are so pathetic, Hobson!”

Gary was once again in that damned wheelchair, his left arm stretched painfully behind him.  This time his right was similarly shackled.  Savalas stood before him, a contemptuous sneer on his aquiline features.  Blood spurted from a thumb-sized hole in his chest in time with the beating of his heart.  A thin stream of crimson drooled from the left corner of his mouth, spraying droplets in Gary’s face as he spoke.

“Look at you!” he snorted derisively.  “Passing out just because some beat cop slapped some steel on your wrists!”

“Go away, Savalas!” Gary snapped at the apparition.  “You’re dead!  You died by your own hand!  You can’t hurt anyone anymore!”

“Wrong!” the specter laughed explosively.  “I can hurt you!  I can seek revenge on the man who killed me!”

“I didn’t kill you!” Gary yelled, his voice cracking.  “I didn’t!  You know I didn’t!  It was your gun!  Your hand was on the trigger.  You were there to kill me!”

Gary cried out again as he suddenly found himself on the floor.  His right arm was numb, useless.  His left was still chained to the back of the frame of the wheelchair.  His legs had no feeling at all.  Dazed he looked up to see his tormentor bringing the butt of his gun down on the steel bracelet . . .

*************

Gary sat straight up with a strangled cry!  Heart pounding like a jackhammer, he looked around the darkened room.  For once he was relieved to find himself on the floor of a seedy hotel room.  Hugging his left wrist against his chest he tried to slow the racing of his heart.  ‘Just a dream,’ he told himself.  ‘It was only a dream.’

Buddy rolled onto his back, giving vent to a loud, stentorian rumble.  A few seconds later, Clay joined him in a harmonious cacophony that could have spared the Biblical Joshua a lot of trouble.  Their snoring alone could’ve brought down the walls of Jericho!  After two attempts to quiet the pair, Gary gave it up as a lost cause.  Gathering up his bedclothes, he slipped on a pair of loafers and silently eased out the door.

***************

Buddy was the first to awaken the next morning.  Stretching lazily, he slouched his way to the bathroom grabbing a set of clothes as he passed the rack.  An hour later, having showered, shaved and dressed; he surrendered the facilities to Clay.  Going around to the far side of the bed, he was trying to figure a gentle way to awaken his cousin.  After the events of the previous day, Gary didn’t need any more shocks.  This trip was supposed to help him relax!

The young songwriter took one look at the empty floor and yelled for Clay.  His twin dashed from the bathroom, still clad in t-shirt and boxers, to see what was wrong.  When he saw the spot that should have been occupied by the sleeping form of their cousin, he let out a string of invective that would have made a Marine drill instructor blush with shame to be so outdone.

“What was he thinkin’?” Clay grumbled, scrambling into his clothes.  “Sneakin’ out like that in the middle of the night!  He’s supposed to be restin’!  Damn!  I hope he didn’t go an get hisself snake bit again!”

“Gary ain’t stupid, Clay,” Buddy muttered half under his breath.  “He knows what’s out there as well as we do.  He was probably just havin’ trouble sleepin’ an’ took a walk or somethin’.  He’ll be okay.  You’ll see.”

“He’d better be or cousin Lois’ll kill us deader’n ary doorknob you can name,” Clay replied with a shudder.  “We was supposed to be lookin’ after him, not letting’ ‘im get hisself lost, or poisoned, or . . . or hurt.”

Twenty minutes later, the twins had searched every inch of the hotel complex and grounds with no success.  Gary was nowhere to be found.  They finally decided to load into the SUV and start combing the surrounding desert.  

Clay jumped behind the wheel and thrust the key into the ignition as Buddy clambered into the passenger seat.  Both men froze instantly.  From somewhere in the back they could hear a low, soft, rhythmic rumbling noise.  After exchanging a startled look, both men scrambled from their seats and ran around to the back of the vehicle.  Clay quickly unlocked the hatch and swung it up and out of the way.

Both men looked down in astonishment, and relief, to see cousin Gary curled up in the luggage space, both arms wrapped around his pillow and snoring softly.

******************

“You scared the livin’ Hell outta both of us, Gary,” Buddy gently scolded his cousin.  “What were you doin’ sleepin’ in the car?”

“It was quiet?” Gary replied, leaning back against the fender with a sleepy yawn.  “Sorry, but you guys snore louder than I do, and that’s no small accomplishment.  What with that and the nightmares . . . I just needed to get off by myself.  I’m sorry if I caused you any trouble, but I really needed the rest.”

The twins had let Gary sleep where he was until Clay had showered, shaved and dressed.  Then they had awakened the peacefully sleeping man as gently as possible.  Although Buddy had seriously considered a blast from the car horn to be a desirable method Clay had reminded him that they were supposed to be helping Gary relax, not give him a heart attack.  Then Clay had gone off to answer the phone, leaving the other two to sort things out.

Buddy had to admit that Gary did look a little more rested than he had the previous morning.  Especially considering the state he had been in when they had left the police station.  His cousin had still been pale and shaking when they’d retrieved the car from the public lot.  By the time they had returned to the motel, it was all Gary could do to keep his eyes open.  Still, he had insisted on fixing a place on the floor rather than share the crowded bed.  He had been asleep long before the twins had settled down.

“I’m sorry,” Gary repeated, sounding genuinely contrite.  “I really didn’t mean to scare you guys, but I couldn’t see waking you up to tell you what I was doing.”

“That’s okay, cuz,” Buddy sighed, clapping a hand to Gary’s shoulder and giving it a rough shake.  “It got our blood pumpin’ for sure.  I don’t think I’ve ever been so wide-awake this early before.  Even when I was a ‘roadie’ for Dusty.  C’mon.  Let’s get you cleaned up and dressed, then we can go check out the rodeo setup.  They start the bull riding today.  We can get you behind the scenes so you can see it close up.”

“Just not too close,” Gary pleaded, sliding out of the back of the SUV.  “I’m still not crazy enough to wanna ride one of those monsters.”

They met Clay coming out of the room with a big smile on his face.  “That was the Excalibur,” he told them.  “They’ve got a penthouse suite with our name on it.  It’s got two bedrooms, a dinin’ area and a balcony.  Seems they heard about yo're winnin’ streak, Gary.  They usually only roll out a welcome like that for ‘high rollers’ ‘n’ such.  Go on, pal.  Buddy and I can pack up while you get ready.”

“Thanks, guys,” Gary nodded, still trying to wipe the sleep from his eyes.  “I won’t be long.  Can we stop for coffee on the way?  And breakfast?  For some reason, I’m starved.”

“No wonder,” Clay whispered to his twin as Gary disappeared into the bathroom.  “Sick as he was last night, I doubt he kept down enough to matter.  Think he’ll be alright?”

“Gary’s tougher than he acts sometimes,” Buddy murmured as he threw one of Gary’s bags on the bed.  “He doesn’t talk about what he does when he’s not at the bar, but I don’t think he’s goofin’ off.  Saved yo're bacon, from what you said.  I’d still like to know how come he was there in the first place.”

“Me too,” Clay nodded.  He was taking their clothes off the hangers and folding them carefully.  “There’s some other things I’ve been wantin’ to ask ‘im.  Like how come he wanted that cop, Tate, to hide in the bathroom that first night he was in the hospital.  And why was that Tony fella messin’ with his head instead of one of us?  We look just like three peas from the same pod.  Why pick on him?”

Buddy gave a visible shudder as he lay the folded clothing into the first case.  “I’d just as soon not have an answer to that one, brother,” he remarked.  “Gary can keep his ghosts, thank you very much.”

“Why, Buddy!” Clay responded in mock astonishment.  “You afraid of a li’l ol’ spook?  I’m surprised at you, brother!  What would yo're mama say?”

“That I was finally showin’ some sense,” the young songwriter shot back with an easy grin.  “What about you?  Would you want some restless spirit crawlin’ around in yo're body an’ makin’ you do things?”

“No way in Hell,” Clay hurried to say as he felt a chill run up and down his spine.  “I’d druther take on the meanest bull on the circuit.”

Half an hour later, Gary was sitting quietly on the bed while Clay bandaged his wrists.  The cowboy had seen some ugly wounds in his time, and these weren’t pretty.  The skin of Gary’s wrists had been peeled off almost to the muscle fascia in a strip about half an inch wide that completely encircled them.  Clay hated to think of his cousin’s state of mind to have done this to himself without even being aware of it!

“You really didn’t feel this?” Clay asked incredulously as he taped down the end of the gauze.

“Not ‘til the water hit it,” Gary admitted ruefully.  “Good thing Mom’s back in Chicago.  I don’t think she’d ‘ve approved of my language.”  He let Clay help him finish getting dressed.  The cowboy was very gentle as he buttoned down the cuffs of the blue plaid shirt.  His watch went on last, fastened over the bandages.  His wrists still throbbed, but at least he wasn‘t in the screaming agony he had been in just moments before.  When the hot water from the shower had soaked through the old bandages the resulting pain had knocked him to his knees!  Unable to even cry out or reach up to shut off the water, Gary had been on the verge of passing out when the twins had come in to check on him. It had embarrassed him to no end to have to let them dry him off and dress him, but he had been unable to raise his arms at all.  It wasn’t until Clay had liberally applied the painkilling ointment the paramedics had given him that he was even able to get his lungs to work properly.  

Clay straightened Gary‘s collar, then helped him into his sheepskin jacket.  “Next time,” he murmured, “let’s cover those bandages with some plastic wrap or somethin’.  This makes three times in less than twelve hours that you’ve scared the crap out of us.”

“Sorry,” Gary murmured, sounding genuinely contrite.  “I honestly didn’t know how bad it was.  I thought it was just a few cuts and scrapes.”

“Bags are loaded,” Buddy said as he poked his head through the door.  He looked Gary over carefully.  “Still lookin’ a little pale, cuz.  Y’okay?”

“I’m fine, guys,” Gary assured them.  “Honestly.  Now, can we get out of here?  I really don’t like this place.”

**************

The Excalibur had people take their bags up to their suite, practically rolling out the ‘red carpet’ for the trio.  Room Service quickly delivered a huge breakfast, which the three men devoured as if they had not eaten in weeks.  Clay and Buddy insisted that they eat on the balcony.  Gary took one look at the magnificent view and took his meal to the table just inside the glass doors.  

“What’s the matter, cuz?” Buddy asked, grinning at his cousin’s discomfort.  “Don’t you like this great view?  You kin see most of the strip from here!”

“You go ahead and enjoy the view,” Gary told him.   “I like it just fine where I’m at.  These blueberry pancakes are great.  So, what time do we need to be at the rodeo?”

“We got a coupla hours,” Clay told him.  “I thought we could go early, though, an’ look around some.  You ever been to a rodeo, Gary?”

“Nope,” Gary replied with a shake of his head.  “I’ve seen ‘em on TV, but never up close.  Are you really gonna ride one of those beasts?”

“Shore am,” the cowboy nodded.  “Not much point in me bein’ there if I don’t.  I’ll be doin’ some bronc ridin’, too, afore the day’s out.  You two do much ridin’?”

“Not like you do,” Buddy replied, “but you can’t hardly grow up in Texas without learnin’ t’ride.”

“I’ve ridden a little,” Gary shrugged.  “Nothing fancy.”  His mind flashed back to a wild ride he had to make to save the love-struck librarian, Abby, from being skewered by a knife juggler.  He had bent down and scooped her out of danger just in the nick of time.  

“What you grinning’ about, cuz?” Buddy asked around a mouthful of toast.

“Nothing,” Gary hastened to say.  “Nothing at all.”

After they had finished breakfast, Clay insisted on checking Gary’s bandages one more time before they headed for the arena, then helped him slip into a worn denim jacket.  He also suggested that his cousin swap his Reeboks for a pair of Western boots.

“We ain’t zactly gonna be strollin’ down ‘Primrose Lane,’” Clay warned the other two.  “So don’t wear anything you cain’t toss in the washer, scrub off, or throw away.”  An hour later, he stood back and looked the other two up and down.  Buddy looked the part of a working cowboy in one of Clay’s faded flannel shirts, jeans, and an old pair of boots left over from his ‘roadie’ days.  Gary, however, still didn’t quite look the part.  He had the jeans, the faded shirt covered by the denim jacket, the boots . . . What was missing?  “A hat!” Clay exclaimed, glancing from Gary’s bare head to Buddy’s black Stetson and back.  “You need decent head gear!”  He took his own Stetson off and plopped it onto his cousin’s head.  Pulling the hat half over Gary’s face, he gave the feather a little flick and stepped back to admire his handiwork.  “Now you look like a cowboy,” he laughed.  

Gary tilted his head back, cocking it from side to side so that he could peer out from under the wide brim.  With a grin, he pushed the hat back until it sat properly on his head.  “Cute,” he chuckled.  “Like we don’t look enough alike as it is.  Just don’t expect me to hop on some wild animal in your place.”

Clay grinned back at his cousin as he settled the brown Stetson he had purchased the night before onto his own head.  “Let’s hope nobody mistakes you for me then,” he replied with a matching grin.  “The first time you get on a bull could be yo're last.”

**************

The first thing Gary noticed was the smell.  No matter how much a person might love the rodeo, the thrills, or the animals, there was no escaping the unique aroma that arose from so many animals having to share a relatively small, enclosed space.   Soon, however, he became caught up in the almost carnival-like atmosphere of a Vegas rodeo.  

Clay quickly led them past the food vendors and game stalls, taking them into the area where the horses and bulls were kept.  This was the ‘heart’ of the rodeo.   He showed them the bull he had drawn to ride that afternoon.  It was a huge Brahma, tan with dark brown markings.  He looked to be a placid beast until one of the handlers got too close.  The bull kicked out at the hapless man, just missing him and splintering a thick wooden board!  The handler wasted no time scrambling out of the pen.  

“You’re gonna ride that monster?” Gary asked his cousin in disbelief.  “Are you nuts?”

“Yes, and probably,” Clay answered with a grin.  “I just have to stay on for eight seconds.  Same goes for the bronc I’ll be ridin’.  We’ll have the calf ropin’ first, though.  There’s also the steer wrestling, team roping and bareback riding.  Then we‘ll be holdin‘ the amateur events”  He glanced at his watch.  “I’ve gotta go talk with some people,” he told them.  “Why don’t ya’ll wander around a bit while I get this took care of?  We can meet back by the horse pens in an hour?”  

Buddy and Gary nodded their agreement and the three men went their separate ways.  Gary spent a little time at the game booths where he found that his injured wrists did not improve his pitching skills.  A little frustrated, he took a meandering path back to the horse pens.

It was during this time that he learned a few things about his cousin the rodeo star.  Several times he was greeted, hugged, and even kissed by beautiful young women who thought he was Clay.  Animal handlers and other rodeo participants waved and shouted ‘Howdy’ to him.  At first, Gary tried to correct their mistake, only to have his protests passed off as Clay ‘horsin’ around.’  After about half an hour or so Gary gave it up as a lost cause.  Whenever someone would call out his cousin’s name, he would just smile, nod, and tap his watch as if to say he had to be somewhere in a hurry.  For the most part it seemed to work.

“Clay!  Wait up!”

Looking around, still expecting to see one of his cousins close by, Gary was surprised when a slender, gorgeous blonde threw her arms around him!  Before he could correct her mistake, he found himself involved in a deep, probing kiss!  Startled, Gary’s eyes darted around to see if one of the others was hanging back and enjoying the joke.  When he didn’t see anyone else, he realized she must have mistaken him for the wrangler.  He tried to push her away only to find that his throbbing wrists wouldn’t allow enough force to separate them.  Then he tried to speak up through their ‘lip lock,’ but could only manage muffled grumbling noises.  This girl could kiss!  

Finally, when Gary could feel his knees start to buckle from lack of air, she stepped back.  Dazed from the ferocity of her kiss, he was unprepared for the backhand she then landed across his mouth!  

“Ow!” he exclaimed, his left hand automatically coming up to rub the stinging imprint of her hand.  “What was that for?”

“That’s for standin’ me up in Laramie last month!” she snapped.  She then turned on her heel and stormed off, leaving Gary even more confused than he had been when she had kissed him.

“You son of a -----!”

Gary barely had time to duck as a meaty fist almost knocked the hat from his head!  ‘What the heck is going on here?’ he wondered.  “Do . . . do I know you?” he asked the enraged cowboy as he quickly dodged another blow.

“You sure seemed to know my girl!” the other man snapped.  “Now stand still and fight like a man, you weasel!”

“Look, I think you’ve got the wrong guy!” Gary tried to reason with his assailant.  He hopped back to avoid another swing by those huge fists, slamming up against a wall as he did so.  “I never saw her before in my life!”

“After that kiss, you expect me to believe that?”  The big man reared back his fist in readiness for a blow that would have knocked Gary into the neighboring county . . . if it had landed.  

Gary dropped to the ground at the last second and rolled out of the giant’s path.  That meaty fist hit the thick boards with a thud!  With a cry that was equal parts pain and rage, the brawny wrangler clutched his hand to his chest and slumped against the wall.  Gary knelt beside him, intending to see if he had broken anything.  

Before he could open his mouth to ask how bad the other man was hurt, the blonde woman was back and screaming profanities at Gary.  She was also lashing out at him with a riding crop!  He ducked and dodged more blows . . . until one caught him across the left wrist.  Agony shot up Gary’s arm as his knees buckled   A wave of dizziness hit him as a cold sweat broke out over every inch of his body. A band of pressure wrapped his lower ribs, making it hard to breathe!  All the while, the woman was raining more stinging blows across his back and shoulders!

“You . . . you’ve got the wrong guy!” he was finally able to gasp.  “N-not . . . not C-Clay.”

“Yeah, right!” she snapped, bringing the short whip down across his shoulders once more.  “Is that why you attacked my Wendell?  I thought you were friends!”

Angered and frustrated, Gary shot his right hand up, catching the quirt across his palm.  Pain shot up his arm from the impact, but he hung on grimly, wrenching the weapon from her grasp.  He then straightened up and sent the bludgeon flying as far as he could throw it.  

“Now will you please back off!” Gary grated out between clenched teeth.  He hugged his throbbing wrists to his chest and slid down the wall until he was sitting next to the man who had attacked him.  Gary looked beside him at the other guy, who was still rubbing his hand and grimacing.

“Wendell?” he asked, the corner of his mouth turning up in amusement.

“Yeah.  What of it?” the big man grumbled.  He shot Gary a venomous look.  “You think it’s funny?”

“N-no,” Gary replied with a shake of his head, followed by a painful grimace.  “Not much funny about this at all.”

For the first time, the blonde noticed the bandages on Gary’s wrists; and the fresh blood soaking through the gauze wrapping on the left one.  “Oh, my God!” she whispered.  “Clay, I’m so sorry!  When everyone told me about you pretendin’ to be somebody else, I thought that Wendell and I could . . . then I thought you’d . . . now you’re both hurt and it’s all my fault . . . I’m so sorry!”

“I’m okay, Luann,” Wendell murmured, massaging his hand.  “I pulled my punch enough I just bruised my knuckles.  Just stings a little, now.  How ‘bout you, Clay?”

“I’ll be . . . okay,” Gary replied with a painful grunt.  “Seriously, though, I’m not Clay.  I’m . . . I’m his cousin . . . from Chicago.  Gary Hobson.  If you look in my wallet, you’ll see . . . my driver’s license.”  He tried to reach inside his hip pocket to pull out his ID, only to find that both hands were now too sore to grasp the leather folder.  He gave the girl a painful, pleading look.

Luann gingerly reached into the pocket and pulled out his wallet.  Opening it up, her face blanched, then colored as she realized that Gary had been telling the truth.

“Wh-where do you know Clay from?” Gary asked before she could think of another apology.

“We met him down in Amarillo a couple of years ago,” Wendell replied.  “I was a deputy sheriff and he was bustin’ heads in a bar fight.  You have to hand it to ‘im,” he chuckled.  “That boy can give as good as he gets.  Anyway, he was about to land one on me when he spotted the badge.  Threw his hands up and came along as quiet as you please.  We got to talkin’ while I was bookin’ ‘im, and as soon as he was released, I invited him home to dinner.  We’ve been friends ever since.”

Gary made a face as he rolled his shoulders, trying to evaluate the damage.  “This is how you treat friends?” he asked.  “Remind me to stay on your good side.”  He tried to gather his feet under himself and stand up, with little success.  When Luann, in an effort to help, grasped his right hand, he let out a muffled curse.  Finally, with each of them taking him by an elbow, the couple was able to get him to his feet.  

“I think you need to go to the aid station,” Wendell suggested.

“So do I,” Gary agreed with a grimace.

*********************

Wendell and Luann stayed with Gary until the medics had cleaned his wrists and wrapped them in fresh bandages.  They had also sprayed them liberally with a topical painkiller.  He had been amazed to notice that most of the swelling had subsided by the time they were done.  Finally, Gary persuaded the couple that he would be fine and that there were no hard feelings.

“Just be careful next time,” he suggested.  “Jokes like that can backfire.”

“So we noticed,” Luann replied with an apologetic grin.  “At least we know Clay has a twin out there, now,” she added, “and that he’s a real good sport.”

“And you’re one hell of a kisser,” Gary teased.  Turning to Wendell, he added, “You’re a lucky man.”

Putting an arm around his blushing wife, Wendell just smiled and said, “Don’t I know it!”  A few minutes later, they were lost in the pre-rodeo crowd.

Glancing at his watch, Gary saw that he still had a few minutes before he was supposed to meet the twins.  Feeling like he had been stomped by one of Clay’s bulls, he headed for the arena.

“Clay!”

Gary looked around, thinking that the approaching men had seen his cousin coming up behind him.  There was no one else around.  Then he realized they had mistaken him for the cowboy!  ‘Oh no!’ was his frantic thought. ‘Not again!’

“Sorry,” he apologized.  “You’ve got the wrong . . .”

“No time to be foolin’ around, Treyton,” one of the men hastened to say.  “We know all about yo're little joke.  The promoters have some high-roller they’re tryin’ to impress.  They want you on that bull now!”

“B-bull?” Gary stammered.  “Heh-heh, there’s no way I’m getting on that monster.”  He started backing away, his hands raised in a ‘warding off’ gesture.

Both men grabbed him by the arms and started dragging him forward, repeating that they had no time for any of his jokes.  Gary dug in his heels, trying to slow his progress until his cousins could show up.  The two men were used to handling opponents a lot more ornery than him and were having little trouble.

“I tell you I’m not Clay!” Gary shouted in a near panic.  “I’ve never been on a bull in my life!  Don’t . . . Don’t you put me up there!  Clay!  Clay!  C’mon Clay, Buddy!  Tell these guys I’m not . . . Help!”  The huge Brahma had been herded into a narrow, confining chute and a rope cinched just behind those powerful shoulders.  The two men, with some help from the handlers, lifted Gary over the wall of the chute and deposited him on that broad back.  Gary grabbed onto the railing on each side, hanging on for dear life.  “Don’t open that gate,” he told them.  “Don’t you dare open that gate!  Clay?  B-Buddy!  Help!”  

The bull, sensing his fear and agitated by all the yelling, began to kick out at the thick wooden boards.  Which was all the encouragement Gary needed.  He braced his feet on the rails and launched himself over the fence, hitting the ground at a dead run.  The two strangers were quick to give pursuit.  Gary was able to outrun them until he found himself trapped in a little cul-de-sac between two horse pens.  He turned to retrace his steps, only to find his way blocked by the same two men.

“I don’t know what yo're problem is, Clay,” the leader began.

“That is my problem!” Gary tried again to reason with them.  “I’m not Clay!  N-now just back off!  I’m not riding any bull!”  He tried to run past them, but they quickly had him by the arms once more and were hauling him back to the bullpen.

“I swear, Clay,” the older of the two men grumbled, “if you weren’t so dang good at this, I’d let you sit back there and rot.  But these guys want to see a show and, by God, we’re gonna give ‘em one!”

“Not with me, you won’t!” Gary insisted.  “I’m not getting on that beast!  Let . . . me . . . go!”  In spite of his best efforts, Gary found himself once more on one side of a wooden fence, face to face with three thousand pounds of pure meanness.  “I-I’m not getting on that thing!” he vowed.  “No way am I getting . . .”  He was again lifted bodily and practically thrown on top of the restless animal.  One of the handlers had one hand on the gate, looking to Gary for a signal.  Gary was again hanging onto the rails as if his life depended on it.  “Do not open that gate!” he grated out between clenched teeth.  “CLAY!  BUDDY!  HEEELLP!”

“Gary!  What the hell?”  The twins came running up, causing Gary’s two assailants to do a double take.  “Get him off of there, Lundy!” Clay shouted.  “What in the livin’ hell’s got into you, puttin’ an amateur up on a bull like Armageddon!”

“Clay?” both men said at once.

“We thought he . . . You two look . . . Oh, my Lord,” the older man breathed.  He turned and quickly helped Gary off the irritated bull.  “I’m sorry, son,” he told the trembling barkeep.  “We honestly thought you wuz Clay Treyton.  The three of you . . . My God!”

“Even if it was me,” Clay snapped, “do you think I’d be stupid enough to ride with both wrists bunged up like this?”  He angrily held up Gary’s right arm, turning back the sleeve to reveal the bandages.

The two wranglers paled as they realized the depths of their mistake.  “Oh, Lord,” the man next to Lundy breathed.  “We coulda . . . I’m so sorry, mister.  We honestly thought . . .”

“Th-that’s . . . that’s okay,” Gary assured him as he stumbled over to a low bench.  Shakily, he sank down on the wooden seat and put his head in his hands.  That had been too close!

“You gonna be okay, Gary?”  

Gary looked up to see concern written all over his cousins’ faces.  Slowly, he nodded his head and let it sink down to rest on the heels of his hands.  “I-I’m fine . . . now,” he stammered.  He waved a hand towards the arena.  “G-go on.  Ride your bull.  I’ll be right here wh-when you get back.  You too, Buddy.  I know you want to watch.  Just . . . just let me sit here a moment.  Please?”

“You sure, cuz?” Buddy asked.  He, too, was reluctant to leave their cousin unattended.  Trouble seemed to be able to find him at every turn!

“I’m sure,” Gary told them.  “Now, go.  I’ll be fine.”

Buddy finally turned to follow Clay and the attendants, leaving Gary to the privacy he needed to get his shattered nerves under control.  ‘Why do these things keep happening to me?’ he wondered.  ‘So many people wearing my face, and trouble has to dog my footsteps?’

“Well, what have we here?” a deep voice growled.  “Clay Treyton sittin’ off to his lonesome, and no bodyguards to hold his hands.”

“I keep telling you,” Gary sighed as he raised his head.  “I’m not . . .”  His words caught in his throat as he looked up to see the two men who had been shadowing him from casino to casino over the last couple of days.  “I-I’m not . . . Do I know you?”

The taller of the two men reached a beefy hand down and grasped the front of Gary’s jacket, hauling the hapless barkeep to his feet as if he were weightless.  “Figures you wouldn’t remember me,” he chuckled.  “I don’t think you ever got a real good look at my face.”

“I-I see it just fine, now,” Gary stammered, his nose almost touching the other man’s.  “That still doesn’t t-tell me, um, wh-who you are and what . . . what you want with . . . “

The big man slammed Gary against the nearest fence as if he were a rag doll, knocking the breath from him with a loud ‘ooff!’  The harried young man slid to the ground, his jacket riding upwards as it caught on the rough boards.  Dazed, his vision blurred, he felt rough hands grab him, pulling him to stand unsteadily before his attackers,  

“Wh-what do you want!” he gasped, trying to breathe past the pain in his back and chest.

“What we want should be obvious, Treyton,” the smaller man sneered from somewhere to his left.  “You and Weston busted up a real sweet deal we had goin’.  And you put our boss on death row.  That didn’t set well with him for some reason.  So, he arranged for us to breakout and find the ones who put ‘im there.”

“I’m sorry ta say Weston got his in the arena,” the larger man snarled.  “Big Angus broke about ever’thing he had.  That left you, Treyton.  And Jaggs Neff said to make sure you die before he does.”

“Y-you’re crazy!” Gary managed to say, before a beefy fist drove all the air from his lungs.  After that he was not given time to say much of anything.  They were through talking.

The two thugs each took an arm, twisting them behind Gary’s back until he was forced to stand on tiptoes to ease the strain.  They then ‘frog marched’ him into one of the stables, quickly barring the door behind them and forcing him into a large stall where a bay cowpony was prancing nervously.

The smaller man grasped Gary’s wrists, keeping both arms twisted painfully between his shoulder blades.  The pain was incredible!  It was all Gary could do to get a breath in past the fire that rippled from his fingertips to his chest.  There was not enough air getting to his lungs to allow him to cry out; either in pain or for help.

The larger man tilted Gary’s chin up, then landed a smashing blow with his fist.  He then began using his victim as a punching bag, pummeling his face and abdomen with a number of short, vicious jabs.  Several more blows landed on his ribs.  Gary was dimly certain that he had felt bones crack.  

The beating continued for several minutes, with Gary unable to even kick out at either of the two men.  Between the punishment he had received at Luann’s hand, and this more ‘professional’ treatment, he was unable to summon the strength to defend himself at all.  He was only distantly aware of finally being allowed to fall to the straw strewn flooring, and the sound of a meaty slap as his assailants left him for dead.  

********************

Conntinue to Installment 2

Email the author: Polgana54@cs.com
 

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