**warning: contains implied abuse themes and domestic violence***
Disclaimer: I don't own anything associated with the Twilight Franchise!
The Pied Piper
The next morning a knock on the door rouses Billy from the coffee pot. Thank the Spirits they bought the new camper since his sentence to the chair. It has room for Billy to easily navigate without help. He pours himself a mug before he turns to answer the door. "Morning," Billy says lifting his mug and sipping its contents.
"Sir," the young man says with a tip of his head. He holds out an undecorated envelope. Billy accepts the missive. "Good day," the boy says and leaves.
Billy closes the door and rolls to the kitchen nook. He tucks the unopened note safely between the chair and his thigh. A loud snore rattles the flimsy walls as Billy mumbles, "Timberrrr."
The chorus of three jerky snores signals Jake's return to the living. His heart jumps as Jake's casual bump into the tiny door jamb pitches his chair forward a few rolls. One hand dives straight into his shorts as the other rubs the sleep from his eyes. Billy chuckles as his heart settles at the sight of his rather large son and his boyish mannerisms. He must've had a helluva time drinking on the Chief's dime. Jake didn't walk through the door until the cock started crowing.
Billy laughs as quick hands steal the cup he refilled. "Morning," he says.
A lengthy jumble of consonants follows gulping noises and the clank of an empty cup hitting the counter. Billy pours Jake another, then one for himself. "Helluva night," Billy smirks around the rim of his mug.
Billy's eyes pinch in the corners as he surveys the state of his son's condition. His eyes are bloodshot, something Billy thought impossible for a shifter. He reeks of stale alcohol and sour semen, curling Billy's nose hairs. "Yeah," Jake says as he walks to the door. "Gotta piss," he says as the door slams behind him.
Billy takes the note from under his thigh to rip it open. The wrinkles at his eyes crease deeper as he reads the blocked letters. He sets the note on fire in the sink, washing the evidence down the drain, and picks up his black gunner cowboy hat* to put it on as Jake walks through the door. "Come down to the horseshoe pit and play with your old man," he says as Jake ducks into the smallish bedroom.
"Sure, sure," Jake replies. "I'm going to go look for a stream and clean up."
Billy parks the golf cart as the young man from earlier walks up to him. "Need some help?" the boy asks.
He smiles and says, "Sure. Just get my chair and I'll do the rest."
The lad does as asked and Billy takes care of the rest. He stops by the old timer's beer booth and grabs for a cup. Billy sips the tangy ale before tucking it between his thighs as he rolls himself to the crowd around the dirt pit. "Fellas," Billy says in greeting and shakes hands with the gentlemen.
Jake shows up a half hour later in aviator sunglasses, a tank top, and his cut-offs. He stops by the booth before joining the gathering of old men. They fall into nonsense conversations as they toss the metal shoes at rusted metal poles. The father/son duo take the old fools for about a hundred dollars or better. "Hustlin' bastards," the group jokes.
They play for a bit longer until Jake makes his excuses and leaves. Billy soon follows behind making his own exit. He calls a cab to take him to the requested bar. His wrist watch reckons he'll be early to the real reason Billy and Jake were invited to the Shoshone-Bannock festival. The horn announces Billy's handbasket as the chariot drives him straight to hell.
His bones ache and his head hurts from the powwow. He says thank you to the patron who holds the door open as he wheels himself through. The crowd parts in the small saloon as Billy makes his way to an empty table. A weathered hand reaches out to push the chair aside before rolling up to the leaf. Billy needs a smoke and a brew.
A bubbly waitress bounces her way through the sea of male bodies, flirting and asking about refills as she passes. Billy flips the ashtray and brings it within reach. He takes the bag of tobacco and his pipe from his carrying case. The pipe bangs against his flattened palm, spilling the wet mush into his hand before dumping it in the tray. With a practice suck and blow, Billy makes sure the pipe's neck isn't clogged before he packs a fresh bowl.
He takes a bit and blows it out slowly, taking comfort in the hit. Through the thick smoke, Billy watches the giggling waitress sway her way to his table. His eyes narrow as he watches the suggestive swing of her youthful hips. A quick readjust under the table and he strikes his light for another toke. "What can I getcha' handsome." She strokes her index finger along the edge of the wooden surface.
Billy draws from the pipe, tobacco popping. His eyes slowly case the display before him, lingering on pert breasts before looking into pretty doe brown eyes. A little pink tongue snakes out to run along her plump bottom lip. "Pabst, sweetheart."
"Sure thing." Her hips dance from side to side popping her perfect globes with each step. He watches her disappear before bringing the pipe to his mouth. A cautious man before all else, he scans his surroundings noticing a good number of familiar faces. Others stick out in a predominantly Native American bar.
Sweet-thing comes back, the ever present extra sway captivating his attention. She places a napkin on the table and the cold bottle on top. "2.25," Sweetie says with a smile. He chuckles as he pulls out his wallet. Pabst Blue Ribbon used to be $2.50 a six-pack.
He hands her a tattered five dollar bill and tells her to keep the change. She smiles, politely thanking him before sauntering off to the next paying customer. Billy watches her graze through the field until she disappears like a fucking mirage. A clean sweep over the crowd once more before bringing the chilly glass to his lips. David White catches his eye.
Billy tips the neck of the bottle in David's direction giving him a silent salute before placing it on the napkin. He picks up his pipe and stuffs his pinky finger inside to give it a stir. From his peripheral, he watches David make his way through the sitting area heading his way. His face pinches as he sucks from the steam as he follows White's approach.
"Billy Black." The man extends his hand.
"David White," He says, grasping the offered greeting gesture with a firm shake. Billy lifts his hand to the vacant chair to his right. Once again, he lifts the bottle to his lips as he regards the man next to him. They hadn't spoken in over twenty years.
"How are things going?" Billy asks as David spins his Pabst in a lazy circle on the table.
He brings the cooling beer to his lips delaying the reply. Billy mimics the motion, taking a swig from his own. "Alex is married now and Aiyanna is going to be seventeen next month."
Billy nods. "Congratulations to your boy." Their bottle clink together as they toast. "How's the Mrs?"
"Ah, hell Billy, she passed a few years back," David says around the neck of his Pabst.
"Sorry ta hear that."
David shrugs, "How are the twins? Your boy filled out nicely," he says.
"The girls flew the coop as soon as they were old enough.," Billy says around a humorless chuckle. He hadn't seen either of his girls since. Sure, they called once a month to make sure he was still alive, but those conversations didn't last long. They had nothing to talk about anymore.
"Jacob has done well," Billy says not going into any detail until he understands the play. He narrows his eyes in suspicion as David silently nods, twisting his damn beer. His borrowed time was up. David had come to collect.
David lifts his eyes to Billy, pinning him as he drinks deeply from the warm brew. Billy finishes the slush as the bottom of the bottle and holds two digits up signaling Bunny for a refill. The young girl bounces to him with two bottles clanking against each other . "Here ya are, darlin'." She says, setting the fresh brews and napkins on the table and taking the empties. He hands her seven dollars and she skips hops away.
"Speaking of Jacob, where'd he run off to?" David asks.
Billy takes a gulp from the frosty beverage before answering the intrusive question. "Don't rightfully know," he says never breaking eye contact with the man.
A slow quirk of his lips and he nods once. "Ah, so the Quileute legends are true." Billy didn't doubt the man did his homework. Jake came up to them in only his cut-offs and tank top to play horseshoes with him. David was a calculating, observant man. He understood the symbols.
"Aren't all legends based off of truth, Chief?" Billy asks, taking another sip. David laughs humorlessly at the bad joke.
David shrugs, "I don't know friend. I wasn't there." He gives Billy a toothy smile before taking his first swallow from the fresh brew.
David sits back in his chair, finishing his beer, and bring his pipe from his pocket. Billy rids the bowl of the stale tobacco, packing in fresh. They lift their pipes simultaneously, drawing in a deep drag. Each squints around the billow of smoke. "I'm going to be frank, Billy. I need an heir."
Billy's stoic features don't reveal a thing. He blinks at the man beside him. The steady, casual way he lifts the pipe and lighter to his mouth doesn't show the jumping nerves beneath the skin. His patience and poker experience keep the sweat beads from running down the back of his neck. Everything came with a price. A flick of the lighter to tobacco and Billy inhales before signaling Bunny once again.
"Two shots of whiskey, straight, and run me a tab," Billy says, holding out his credit card, not even bothering to look at the cutesy girl anymore.
Neither speaks again until she comes back with his request. Billy throws the amber liquid down his throat, grimacing at the burn. "I don't see how I could help you with your problem David," he says, slamming the whiskey glass on the table a bit too hard. "You have a son."
"Alexander's wife can't carrying children," David says with a wave of his hand as if to dismiss the notion.
"I still don't see how I can help, friend." Billy bites around the word before slinging the liquid in his mouth, and holding up the empty glass for another.
David looks over his shoulder and flags the waitress, pointing to Billy's tumbler to indicate his order. "Aiyanna isn't married. Jacob isn't married." David doesn't continue. He throws his whiskey down his throat never looking away from Billy. The motion is mirrored as his companion does the same with his drink.
Billy says nothing as he stirs his pipe. He waits, letting David come clean with what he really wants. David's eyes pinch before he gets to his price. "You and I both know Jacob will be shooting boys with his bullets. After all, he is a Quileute Protector." His opponent's fingers tap at his right shoulder. "I want their first born son."
Billy doesn't notice the waitress being called once again, or why there is a whiskey sitting in front of him. Normal bar chatter hums in the background, but Billy only hears a distant buzzing noise. He doesn't feel his fingers gripping the glass tight, turning his knuckles white. The liquor tastes like water as he swallows. Sounds of glass cracking as it spiders beneath his fingers, don't pull him from his fixated stare.
Billy knew this day was coming since he put in the phone call over eight years ago. David White helped him stage the accident and cover his ass. Tribal laws and religious beliefs wouldn't allow for an autopsy of the remains. His connections stopped the investigation before it began. Choices have consequences and consequences have prices, and the Pied Piper was knocking on Billy Black's door.
He gathers himself together and the impenetrable mask slides over his face. Anger balances the weak emotion of being caught off guard as he narrows his pointed gaze at the devil in disguise. Lucifer, himself, had come to collect. Laying eyes on David again, after so many years, didn't concern him. It was the payment plan pissing him the fuck off.
Billy narrows his eyes at the snake. "How do I pull that off, David?" Fists clench as Billy zeroes in on the friendly grin slithering across the man's face. No way in nine circles of Hell was he going to be able to get Jake to agree to such a deal. "Jacob would never do it."
The debt collector's fiery eyes blaze at Billy through the bone chilling snarl. "I'm not asking Billy, I'm telling." David relaxes from his intimidating posture and sips from the beer Billy didn't notice arriving. In front of him was a full one with condensation sliding down its sides. He takes a long pull from the lukewarm bottle, sucking at his teeth in disgust as the hot hops roll down his throat.
David taps his light against the side of his bowl before bringing the pipe to his lips. He takes a couple of puffs allowing the smoke to flow from his mouth before taking a real drag. Billy drinks the hot sludge as he waits for David to continue with the punch line. "With parental consent, a marriage could be arranged within the week." The fine print floats through his exhale.
Billy growls at the stipulation. "A week isn't enough, I need more time. At least a month."
David drops his beer to the table and leans over, drawing closer to Billy. "I'm a generous man Black. 'Don't have a lot of patience though. I suggest not testing the theory." As casually as he strolled to Billy, he left the same way, the prickly bastard.
Billy flags the waitress, asking for another shot and to cash out. She skips off to her duty as Billy drains the last of the stale beer. He slings back the shot and signs the credit slip before asking Bunny to phone a taxi. Bunny hands him a folded napkin as her fingers linger on his a bit too long to simply take the receipt from him. His libido died the minute David White sat down at his table. Her crumpled number drops to the ground as he wheels out the front door of the bar.
The Guns - This classic style has a high crown with three deep indentations. The crown slopes toward the front, and legend has it that this is the exact spot that cowboys used to grab hold of when they took their hats off to ladies entering the room.
