THE OUTRIDER; Blood Highway: Chapter 16

 

Bonner and Bobby did their reconnaissance and then beat it back to the camp where the Lashmen lay concealed. By the time they got back to their hiding place the beginnings of the new day were peeking over the horizon. The air was still and the lush grass was wet with dew. In the half light of dawn Bonner looked back at the slave ranch. Already, the spread was beginning to echo with the shouts of the slave overseers and a cookhouse chimney was shooting some gray smoke into the clear sky.

Some of the slaves would be assembled and marched off to the fields. Others would be gathered for manual labor around the grounds of the camp. Bonner figured there was even a contingent that took care of Parkas in the big house, household servants. Bonner hoped that if he and the Lashmen failed one day the slaves that Parkas had let in the front door would slice the big man's throat. Someone had to do it eventually.

Bonner heard a sharp crack slice through the mom-ing air. Even from where he stood, quite a ways from the house, he could tell what the sound was—the savage tongue of a lash making contact with skin. Obviously, some slave had not moved fast enough for his master's liking. Bonner had seen what those whips could do. A single lick could lay a man's back open to the bone. Bonner wondered how many of the slaves down there were hoping as they awoke that this would be their last day on earth. A chance remark, a sneer, a joke might push one of their keepers to a fury that would reward the slave with a single clean bullet. He would die with a smile on his face.

Just before he disappeared over the rise, Bonner looked at the house. It was still and silent. The emperor did not rise with his empire. Parkas would get up late, bathe, eat, and generally be attended to by his servants, each day an endless train of pleasures. Those, Bonner swore, were about to come to an end.

Floyd and the rest of the Lashmen were awake. It would be another day without fire, therefore another uncomfortable day without hot food. The attack would have to come soon. Apart from the discomfort, the band of warriors couldn't expect to lie hidden for much longer with the enemy just over the hill. Eventually, they would be discovered.

But right then Floyd didn't give a damn about the attack. When Bonner and Bobby returned he jumped up and one look at his face told Bonner the little guy was mad. -

"Where the fuck have you been? And where the fuck do you get off taking my slicer?" , "There was a little trouble," said Bonner quietly, as if afraid his voice would carry.

"Kid, did you take my sword?"

"Yes," said Bobby, "I did."

"You little brat. Dint'ja ever leam not to take shit that didn't belong to you?"

"Yes sir," said Bobby.

"Leave him alone, Floyd," said Bonner. "It was a good thing he came along with that big chopper of yours when he did."

"How do you mean?"

"Bobby cut himself a Psycholep with that thing."

"That little runt?" Bobby stood fully a head taller than the midget leader.

"Yep."

Floyd turned to Bobby. "That true?"

"Yes sir, it is."

"Hell," said Floyd, "I ain't never got me a Psycholep. Not close to, anyhow."

"It was a close thing," said Bonner, "if he hadn't come along I'd be a casualty now."

"Looks like you caught some trouble," said Floyd eyeing Bonner's bandana.

"Would have been worse without Bobby."

Floyd reached out to take the machete away from Bobby. Then he pulled his hand back. "Nawwww. You keep it. If you can use it well enough for taking down a Psycholep you better hang onto it. ... Just don't take stuff that ain't yours in future, got it."

"Yes, sir."

"And cut out that 'sir' crap. Call me Floyd."

"Okay . . . Floyd."

"Little shit ..." Floyd's face split in a broken-toothed grin. "Save Bonner's ass, huh? I guess you gonna be as tough a bring down as Bonner some day kid. Hey Bonner, how does it feel to have your skin saved by a kid?"

"Just fine," said Bonner.

"So cut the crap," said Rufus wandering up, "whad'ja find out?"

"Well," said Bonner, it looks like Mr. Farkas is going to throw himself a little party. . . ."

"Party party party. All these Devils ever seem to do is party," said Floyd recalling the sudden firefight at the drive-in.

"I guess it's to entertain their guests."

"Who's with them 'leps?" demanded Rufus.

"Hard to say," said Bonner, "but I'd guess it was someone big."

"Don't spose it's the Leatherman?"

"No, it's not him." There was the faintest whisper of disappointment in the Outrider's voice. "Maybe Jojo."

"That fat fuck. Maybe we can get him and ransom him back to Leather. You know he's Leather's brains . . ."

"Yeah," said Bonner, "maybe . . ." He knew that if he got within a hundred yards of the chancellor of the Slavestates Jojo would very suddenly become a corpse.

"So when do we go in?"

"Tonight," said Bonner.

"About fucking time," observed Rufus.

Farkas lay curled up like a huge worm on his big white draped bed. His mouth was open and he was drooling on the pillow. The small women next to him hiked herself up on an elbow and looked at him. As she did so, a luxuriant curtain of red hair unfurled itself from the bun at the back of her neck and cascaded down about her shoulders. She looked at the man next to her with disgust. She was not a pretty woman, but she wasn't ugly either. Sneery annoyance was the usual cast of her features and- it did nothing for her looks.

Farkas honked, then farted. Then scratched his ass with a sound like sandpaper rubbing on rough board.

The woman looked at the ceiling then down at the sleeping brute next to her. She was annoyed and she tried to control it for a second, but decided against it.

"Farkas!" she barked.

Farkas grunted and his bloodshot eyes opened. "Wha'?"

"Wake up, you sonofabitch."

Farkas groaned. It was another day. Another day with the cow, the bitch, the cross he had to bear . . . "I said wake up!" "I'm awake, dear." "Good. Look at me." Farkas rolled his considerable bulk over to look at the woman.

"You look like shit," she spat.

Parkas nodded. He felt like shit. He had drunk too much the night before and he felt it. He exhaled heavily.

"And your breath!"

"Sorry, dear," said Farkas, averting his mouth.

The little woman's face twisted into a look a barely controlled fury. "You know, you are one fat dumb sonofabitch."

Dimly, memories of what went on the night before came back to him.

"Are you listening to me?"  "Yes, dear." One day, thought Farkas, one day . . . One day he was going to give an order to a couple of his men and this little bitch was going to be carted off and slaughtered. But it wasn't going to be quick. She was going to go out in slow agony. First the tits, then the face . . . Farkas dreamily conjured up the image.

"Do you have any idea how much money you lost last night?"

"Ohhhh, God," said Farkas rolling over. He had been gambling with that little asshole from the Cap. Dice. "Just one more roll," Farkas had said drunk-enly over and over. Farkas couldn't quite remember, but it seemed to him that Jojo hadn't gotten drunk at all. There was going to be trouble about that. Farkas liked to see that his rare guests got good and drunk. He also couldn't quite remember just how much money he had lost. He had no doubt that the bitch next to him was about to let him know to the last penny. One day ...

"Six thousand slates!" she screeched. "Six thousand! Just one more roll, you kept on saying like a moron. And you were disgustingly drunk!" She pronounced it in four carefully enunciated syllables: dis-gust-ing-ly.

"I'm sorry, honeybun."

"Don't honeybun me," she snapped. "Luckily, you didn't pay him. You said you'd do it this morning."

"Thank goodness," said Farkas. He'd kill the little fucker before he'd pay him six thousand gold ones. He would have to really gouge him on the prices for the slaves also. He snuggled down in the bed and the little woman, figuring that he had had enough, massaged his big shoulders with her strong fingers.

"Ahhhhhhh," said Farkas, feeling the throbbing headache in his forehead begin to disintegrate. "What would you do without me?" said the woman. "Dunno," said Farkas. She was working on his neck now and relief was flooding through him.

"You big lug . . ." she said affectionately. She figured that one of two things was about to happen. Either he would fall asleep again or her fingers were working him up in a different direction. If that happened, he would flop over on top of her and, with very little finesse, have quick and sweaty sex with her. She sighed. It was the price you paid for living with a rich man.

As she feared, Farkas' monstrous libido was awakened and he lay on her and for a few minutes he ground her into the fluffy mattress. He came with a number of shouts and sighs and bellows and flopped off her. Thank God, she thought, that's over.

Farkas lay with a happy smile on his face. He knew he would never have her taken away. Strange to say, but big, nasty, brutal, bloodthirsty, savage Farkas loved this little woman.

"I gotta get up," she said.

"Sweety-kins," said Parkas, "stay in beddy with your little Farkas-warkus." 

"Make me puke," thought the woman. "Are you crazy," she said aloud, "I've got a million things to do. We are having a party tonight for our honored guest."

"That little prick."

"That little prick is going to buy a hundred thousand slates worth of slaves. We haven't had an order like that in a long time. . . ."

"A hundred and six thousand," said Farkas sourly, thinking of his humiliation the night before.

"What are you going to do with him today?" demanded the woman.

"Show him around. Take him into the sheds. Let him take a look at the stock, you know ..."

"You stay away from those slave women," she spat. "I find you plowing one of them, and I'll cut your balls off." She was dressing, piling her hair up on top of her head. Her red tresses were a mass of curls and coils. To keep them in place she reached for a glittering selection of small throwing knives that lay arrayed on the night table in front of her. She thrust the little steel hornets into her hair savagely. Farkas watched her. She was no slouch with those knives, Farkas thought, she was a little killer.

He swept back the bed clothes displaying his hairy naked body. "Come on, pussy-willow," said Farkas, "come back to bed with your lovin' man . . ."

Oh, cut me a break, thought the woman, who went by the name of Mrs. Farkas.

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