Doggone Cowboy

For your listenin' pleasure...

I. Cowboys and Christians My name's Daytona Diamonds and I’m a cowboy.

I ain't never rode no horse. Ain't never been to Texas neither. I can't tell you the difference ‘tween a lasso and a lariat… but here I am. A cowboy. Just like Clint, John, and all them other handsome devils.

The year's 1996. I'm six years old and in a wrasslin’ ring for the very first time. Dad's barkin’ orders while mom sits in a lawn chair, Frankie sleepin’ in her lap. I'm learnin’ how to run the ropes. There'll be bruises on my sides for the next six weeks. School's gonna call ‘bout them bruises. They think I'm gettin’ beat. They ain't that far off, if we're bein’ honest.

I can hear y’all askin’ yourselves, what’s the point of a cowboy in this modern age of ours? The west’s already been won. From the Rio Grande to Reno, Nevada, it’s all been marked, mapped, and measured. Ain’t no mysteries left, no damsels tied to no train tracks worth savin’, no buffalo left to roam. That lone prairie of ours ain’t so lonely no more. Wish that it weren’t the case, but it is.

The year's 2004. I'm fifteen and just got booked in my first match, fightin’ some Mexican boy callin’ hisself Santa Sangre. Openin’ match. I ain’t even got a gimmick yet.  Dad and Frankie's in the front row. Mom was buried three months ago. Halfway through the match, I botch a cutter and just ‘bout break my ankle. Dad's pissed and shoutin’ at me afterwards. We spend the next two months practicin’ nothin’ but cutters.

So, what’s the point? Now, I ain’t sayin’ I got all the answers, but I guess the best place to start is definin’ what a cowboy really is. It ain’t got nothin’ to do with steers and stirrups, not nowadays.. A cowboy ain’t no hero neither, that’s for damn sure…

The year's 2006. I’m seventeen and hunched over a coffee table at my tag partner's shitty apartment, a straw up my nose for the very first time. His name's Grinnin’ Pete Wembley. He’s  a couple years older than me, real suave sonuvabitch, and I don't know it yet, but he's ‘bout to become my drug dealer. That first taste of coke’s all it takes. I'm hooked. I'm alive. I'm reborn, white light and hallelujahs.

A cowboy is, when you really get down to brass tacks, someone that’s willin’ to buck against the rest of the world’s expectations, even if it goes against his better interests. It’s someone willin’ to box with God and dumb enough to think he’s gonna win. It’s someone who kicks against the pricks ‘til their feet go bloody, all on account of some stubborn sense of pride in the fact that their life is their own and ain’t nobody able to tell ‘em how to live. Self destruction with a fancy hat on top. Willie and Waylon wrote a whole damn song ‘bout all that.

The year's 2012. I'm twenty-three. World was ‘sposed to end this year, but I reckon it'll keep on spinnin’. I'm still wrasslin’, but it's just a means to an end. Rec rooms, county fairs, backyards. What little money I'm gettin’ goes right up my nose. Same old story you've heard a hundred times, huh? My ex-girlfriend just pushed out my firstborn. She don't want me to meet him. Probably for the best.

You can outline a cowboy by how many troubles he’s got and what he does to fix ‘em. Lately, I ain’t been doin’ too good in that regard. I sure got the troubles, but I ain’t been doin’ too much to make ‘em better. More drugs, more liquor, more gambling’, other cures for what ails you. All the fixins of a man so wrapped up in his own vices. I’ve just ‘bout reached my wit’s end. You can only circle the drain for so long ‘fore you end up in the pipes.

The year's 2016. I'm twenty-seven and sittin’ in Larry Lawson's livin’ room, askin’ for a small loan to cover my gamblin’ expenses. I'm on a roll. I ain't never won like this in my whole damn life. Slots, roulette, blackjack, poker. It don't matter. One small loan and I'll be a millionaire this time next year. Larry's smilin’ like he just won the lottery. Where would we be without wishful thinkin’?

So, I reckon I’m gonna start doin’ somethin’ ‘bout it. Stop feelin’ so damn sorry for myself and get back on the right track. Get Frankie outta his bind, treat Larry to a bit of the ol’ comeuppance, maybe even do right by Bambi and that little bun she’s got in the oven. Hell, maybe I can turn this whole wrasslin’ thing ‘round and get off this losin’ streak I’m on.

The year's 2018. Dad's pretty much disowned me. Keeps on sayin’ he don't want no degenerate for a son. The coke, the gamblin’, the thievin’. I still got Frankie, though. I'll always have Frankie.

I guess that brings us to you, Donny. It goes without sayin’, but you ain’t a high priority on my to-do list. You’re an addendum, a footnote, the white space between the words. Some wannabe holy roller that strolled into my life at my lowest low thinkin’ he could suck my blood like the tick he is. Ain’t turned out like either of us planned, huh? We’re still gonna do this thing, though. Me and you, Colossus, in front of all them screamin’ fans. Two losses in a row and no momentum; bet you think you got this one in the bag, huh? Well, Donny, if you don’t mind, I’d like to show your congregation what a resurrection really looks like.

So, what’s a cowboy? Well, when you really boil it down, I figure a cowboy’s what’s gonna kick your ass to kingdom come at Colossus, Donny baby. How’s that for a definition? See ya there, buckaroo.

The year's 2023. I'm thirty-four and I’m standing’ outside Larry Lawson’s ranch with a gun in my hand.

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  II. Deserts and Death The further you get out in the desert, the more it looks like the surface of the moon. Pockmarked nothin’, just sand and unmarked graves and miles of ruin. I was born in the middle of all that, so is it really any wonder I turned out the way I did?

Bambi parked her shitty little sedan a few miles up the road. I smoked five cigarettes in the passenger seat ‘fore I ever gathered up the gumption to get out. She started cryin’, cussin’, sayin’ ‘You ain’t got to do this’,  but the way I figured it, weren’t much else to be done: I was gonna kill Larry Lawson, cold blood and no second thoughts.

“This is so fucked up, Daytona,” she said. “I know he’s a son of a bitch, but you’re not a murderer. You know how long you could go to jail for this? And you’re making me an accessory!”

“Prison, not jail,” I said. “And don’t worry. You’ll be alright. If it comes to all that, play dumb and get the fuck outta Vegas.”

“Why don’t we just do that…?” she asked. “Leave Vegas. Go east until we’re away from all of… all of this. We can both get a fresh start, right? Somewhere new.”

“Aw honey, you don’t know how much I’d love to do that, but I can’t,” I said. “Not yet. Not without Frankie.”

I think she understood, but she didn’t say another word. She just nodded that pretty little head and looked away, all forlorn and worried, her nerves chewin’ her to bits. When it was time to go, I leaned over and gave her a kiss on the cheek. Lookin’ back, I’d say that’s the moment I actually fell in love with her, but I didn’t tell her; not then and not there. Some things are better left unsaid.

I opened up the glovebox and pulled out the gun; a cheap little stub nose .38 I picked up from a pawn shop ‘fore we left Vegas. I leaned over and gave Bambi a kiss on the cheek, but she didn’t look at me. I reckon she couldn’t. She kept wringin’ her hands and pattin’ her belly. I still hadn’t wrapped my head ‘round that baby growin’ inside her. Should’ve changed my perspective on things, but it didn’t.

“I’ll call you soon as I’m home free,” I told her. “Don’t worry. S’all gonna be alright.”

I stood on the side of the road and watched her tail lights disappear into the darkness. Soon as she was gone, I started walkin’. Strange thoughts on a night like that. Walkin’ through the desert ‘neath a blanket of stars, your mind starts wanderin’ just to fill the empty space. I thought about everything that’d brought me there, in that particular space at that particular time, the way my own choices had conspired ‘gainst me in just the right sequence to end up with a gun tucked in my jeans and murder on my mind. I thought about what I was ‘bout to do and how I was gonna do it, what I’d say as my finger squeezed on that ever lovin’ trigger. I even thought about ol’ Don Winters and wondered who he’d end up wrasslin’ if I wound  up in the backseat of a cop car.

By the time I got to Larry’s ranch, it must’ve been just ‘bout midnight. A coyote was howlin’ somewhere in the distance, moon in the sky like a crooked knife. All the lights were still on, so I crouched down and moved in the shadows. At the back of the house, I spotted that bottom feedin’ scumsucker Hugo Alvarez smokin’ a cigarillo, feet propped up on the patio table, watchin’ hardcore porno on his phone, not a care in the fuckin’ world. I pulled the gun from my waistband and moved towards him, real slow and easy.

When I pressed the gun ‘gainst the back of his head and pulled back the hammer, you shoulda seen how he froze up. Porn still playin’, cigarette stopped halfway ‘tween the ashtray and his lips. He didn't say a god dang word, so I took it on myself to break the silence.

“Havin’ a good night, Hugo?” I asked. “Sorry to interrupt, buddy. Say, you ain't seen Larry ‘round here, have ya?”

“What the fuck are you doing here, Diamonds?” He spoke through clenched teeth, words just drippin’ with venom.

“Oh, I was just moseyin’ ‘round these parts and figured I'd stop by to say howdy,” I told him. “Listen. I'm gonna need you to stand up real slow like and take me inside. No sudden moves, no dumb shit. You're gonna take me to see Larry and I won't blow your fuckin’ brains out. How's that sound?”

Hugo was mutterin’ cuss words the whole way to his feet, clenchin’ his fists and grindin’ his teeth. When we got to the glass door, I moved the gun to the side of his head and put my arm ‘round his neck, usin’ him as a human shield. As we walked into the livin’ room, I saw Jimmy Knuckles sittin’ on the couch. He looked up, eyes gone wide, and started to stand up, but I pressed that gun harder ‘gainst Hugo's temple.

“Don't you move a fuckin’ muscle, Jimmy,” I said. “Just sat your big ass back down. This ain't got nothin’ to do with you.”

A scowl of anger crossed Jimmy's face, his upper lip snarlin’ as he sat back down, holdin’ up both his hands to show they was empty. I walked backwards towards the staircase, Hugo matchin’ my footsteps. We started climbin’ the stairs up to the second floor.

“This is the dumbest fucking shit you've ever done, Daytona,” Hugo said. “You think Larry's going to let you leave here after this? You're in for a world of shit, boy.”

“Yeah, well, I reckon Larry ain't gonna have much say in the matter,” I told him. “And if I was you, I'd get while the gettin’ is good, soon as I let you go.”

“What? You planning on killing Larry?” Hugo scoffed. “Jesus Christ, Daytona. You've lost it. You've fucking lost it.”

“I ain't lost shit,” I said. “What’d I'd say about talkin’? Keep your god dang mouth shut, Hugo.”

At the top of the stairs, we started down a long hallway cast in golden light. At the end of the hall, there was a set of double doors, heavy oak with the letters ‘LL’ engraved in ‘em. Fuckin’ dicknose. ‘Fore we even got to the door, it swang open and Larry came barellin’ out, all wrapped up in one of them fancy-schmancy velvet robes.

“What the hell is going on out he–”

He stopped mid-sentence, eyes ‘bout as big as saucers, his Adam's apple bobbin’ in his neck with one hard gulp. Larry turned on a heel and rushed back into his room, but I weren't gonna let him go that easy. I pushed Hugo down to the ground and took off in a full sprint, shoulderin’ my way through the closin’ doors. I slammed ‘em shut behind me as Larry cowered towards his bed, holdin’ up his hands like that'd do a damn thing to save him. I turned the lock ‘fore Hugo could follow me in and then I held up the gun, pointin’ it at Larry and grinnin’ ‘bout as wide as the Grand Canyon.

“Howdy Larry,” I said. “Hope I didn't wake ya.”

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  III. Karma and Kismet Five minutes later, Larry Lawson was on his knees with the gun pressed up ‘gainst his forehead. He was whimperin’ and quiverin’, lookin’ up at me with wide eyes full of fear. Hugo was poundin’ at the door, throwin’ his whole weight ‘gainst it, screamin’ and cussin’ up a storm. I was grinnin’, savorin’ the moment. From up there, Larry Lawson didn't look so scary. He looked like what he was: an old man. Nothin’ more.

“Alright, Larry,” I said. “Let's go ahead and start with the million dollar question: where's Frankie?”

“Daytona, listen, I'm no–”

“Shh, shh, shh. Nope. None of that,” I said. “Don't worry, I'm gonna give you a chance to beg for your life, but right now, I'm just gonna need you to answer the damn question.”

Larry winced. His lower lip trembled. His eyes closed before he said another word, fully expectin’ his answer was gonna get him a bullet through the skull. “I… I don't know, Daytona.”

That ran all over me. My free hand reached and grabbed a handful of Larry’s hair, pullin’ it taut. “What the fuck do you mean you don't know?!”

“I don't know! Oh God, it wasn't me, Daytona! It wasn't real!” Larry cried. “Frankie! Frankie and your dad! It was their idea!”

“...what the fuck are you talkin’ ‘bout?!”

“Frankie and your dad! They… they were worried about you! They didn't know what else to do!” Larry said. “They came to me, Daytona. They asked me to help them… fake everything with Frankie.”

“You fuckin’ liar,” I sneered. “That ain't true and you know it good and goddamn well!”

“It's the truth, Daytona! I swear to God!” Larry said. “They thought it would scare some sense into you! They'd run out of ideas! And I thought I could finally get back the money I loaned you!”

“Stop fuckin’ lyin’, Larry!” I was screamin’. “What about the pictures, huh?! I saw what you did to Frankie! You beat the hell outta him! You cut off his fuckin’ finger!”

“It was fake, Daytona! Prosthetics and makeup!” Larry screamed back. “He's fine! Frankie's fine! We've never laid a finger on him!”

There's somethin’ to be said ‘bout betrayal. There's even more to be said ‘bout betrayal by family. A part of me didn't wanna believe what Larry was sayin’, but there was somethin’ in his eyes that told me he was tellin’ the truth. I froze, finger pressed ‘gainst the trigger of the gun, a whole new flurry of bad ideas coursin’ through my brain. I wanted to shoot him. I wanted to blow his fuckin’ brains out and rid the world of Larry Lawson. I wanted to track down Frankie and beat him to death. I wanted to burn down my dad's house while he was sleepin’ in his bed. I wanted revenge…

But I was tired. Lord, I was tired.

I lowered the gun from Larry's head and sighed, shakin’ my head. “God dangit,” I said. “C'mon, Larry. Get up. Quit your whinin’.”

Cautiously, as timorous as a baby deer, Larry rose up to his feet. He balanced himself ‘gainst his bed, never takin’ his eyes off me or that gun. He looked like a mess. Red rimmed eyes, tear stains on his cheeks, body still tremblin’ as he tried to rectify just how close he came to death. Weary and still worried, he spoke in a hushed tone, all sad and somber. “I'm sorry, Daytona,” he said. “Things got out of hand. We didn't mean t–”

All of a sudden, Larry stopped talkin’. His eyes went even wider, his jaw drippin' open, a weird gruntin’ noise pourin’ outta his throat. Both hands reached up to clutch at his chest.

“Larry…?” I asked. “You okay…?”

He didn't answer. He just kept on gruntin’ and slobberin’ all over himself, breath all stilted, bloodshot eyes and gritted teeth. And just like that, Larry Lawsom collapsed to the floor with a heavy thud, starin’  up at the ceiling. I looked down at him, blinkin’ and tryna understand what just happened, more shocked than anything else. As he lay there, his chest stopped heavin’ and his arms fell limp, tongue stickin’ out of his mouth and his eyes rolled to the back of his head.

“Holy shit,” I muttered. “Larry, I, uh… I think I'm go ahead and get outta he–”

The door burst open, splinterin’ wood and shoutin’ voices. I looked up to see Hugo and Jimmy standin’ in the doorway, Hugo all wild-eyed and foamin’ from the mouth and Jimmy lookin’ like he knew what he'd see as soon as the door was open.

“Daytona!” Hugo screamed, voice crackin’. “What the fuck did you do?!”

“I didn't do nothin’!” I screamed back. “He just… keeled over!”

“Oh shit, oh shit,” Hugo was in a panic, bypassin’ me and runnin’ right to Larry's side. He knelt down. “Larry…? Larry, can you hear me?”

Hugo checked Larry's pulse, but it was useless. Hugo started cryin’ almost immediately, his pencil thin mustache quiverin’ as he stared down at his boss’s corpse. Slowly, his eyes turned on me, full of daggers and hatred behind all those tears.

“I'm gonna kill you for this, Daytona,” I said. “So help me God, I'm gonna kill you.”

I didn't even know what to say. As Hugo mourned his fallen comrade, Jimmy walked up beside me with his arms crossed and a stern look on his face. “I guess you got out of your debt after all,” he said. “You should go, Daytona. Now.”

He didn't have to tell me twice. I walked outta that room and left ‘em to their mournin’, my own just beginnin’. Larry was gone, a particularly painful thorn pulled outta my side, but why'd I feel so damn guilty? I didn't even know what to think about Frankie or dad no more. That was a bag of bullshit I weren't ready to unpack. I walked down the stairs and through the livin’ room, sighin’ and feelin’ all sorts of ways.

As I walked towards the front door, my eyes caught a glimpse of a little piece of paper sittin’ next to Larry's car keys. It was printed on thermal paper, big bold letters at the top that read ‘Caesar’s Sportsbook’. Underneath, it said:

DEC 15 2023 - COLOSSUS NIGHT ONE

UNDERCARD: D. WINTERS VERSUS D. DIAMONDS

STRAIGHT BET: 1 BET(S) @ $100,000.00

(+425) D. DIAMONDS TO WIN

TICKET COST: $100,000.00

TO WIN: $425,000.00

TO COLLECT: $525,000.00

I stared at the ticket for a long time, all them everlovin’ numbers dancin’ in my head like sugarplums the night ‘fore Christmas. It was a bet slip, probably belongin’ to Larry, with one-hundred-thousand-dollars on the line, sayin’ I’d beat Don Winters at Colossus. The odds weren’t in my favor, but the money that stood to be won? Well, hell, a half-a-million dollars ain’t nothin’ to sneeze at.

I looked over my shoulder to make sure ol’ Hugo and Jimmy weren’t comin’ down the stairs. I bit at my lower lip. This felt a lot like graverobbin’, but… I snatched the ticket up and stuffed it in my pocket, walkin’ out the front door as quickly as I could.

Soon as I was far 'nough way from the ranch, I pulled out my cell phone and gave Bambi a call, just as promised.

When she answered, I told her, "Baby, I think our luck mighta just turned 'round."