BOAB
CHAPTER 9
Booth arrived at the airport and waited impatiently for his bags, checking his phone he saw that he had a text message. He read her quick answer and smiled slightly, she had either been tired or distracted. Usually she sent him a short paragraph unless it was case related and then it was just the facts. Grabbing his things off the carousel he called Agent One and was told that they were waiting in the short term parking for him. Booth strolled out to the parking lot and saw an old pickup parked in the back of the lot with a trailer attached. Raising his eyebrow he headed that way and Agent Two climbed out of the cab, while Agent One exited his standard issue SUV.
Once he got closer to the truck Booth wondered if it would even get him out of the parking lot, let alone the 35 miles to the rodeo grounds. It was a 1982 Chevy Scottsdale that at one time had been yellow and white. Now however, it was a charming mixture of rust and primer. The one horse trailer had apparently been painted to match. Very little of its yellow and white color shown through the primer and mud splatter, Booth sighed and waved his hand towards the truck as he greeted the agents. "This is the best the FBI could come up with? This thing looks like it's been battling cancer and…lost."
"Sorry Agent Booth, according to our information, you're a down on your luck rodeo clown trying to get a permanent placement with an outfit. It really wouldn't look believable if your truck was new and shiny now would it?" Agent Two smirked.
Booth set his bags down and looked in the trailer, a tall buckskin gelding was contently chewing some hay. "Hey big fella" he said reaching between the bars to stroke his nose, "It's been a while since I was on a horse," like 20 years, he thought, "I hope you're not going to make me look bad?"
Agent One answered for the silent horse, "Gunn here will treat you right Agent Booth, he's as docile as a lamb." He indicated Booth should follow him to his own truck, he handed him some paperwork and a file and the three of them started to discuss what was expected, where he was staying initially and where he was going to be boarding Gunn. Once Booth was sure of where he was going, and what his contact position was he was ready to go. He stored his gear in the passenger seat of the Chevy and told the agents he'd be in touch. Pulling out of the parking lot, he had to adjust to pulling a trailer, something he rarely did in DC. He looked at the handheld GPS and followed the instructions to a slightly run down and industrial part of town. Following the annoying high pitched computer voice instructions he turned into the 'Dew Drop Inn'.
"Oh Lord," he said out loud as he took in the appearance of the 'Inn'.
Pulling to the back of the lot where there were other trailers parked he left most of his stuff in the truck so that he could go check in. He walked across the parking lot and past a convertible VW bug. Sitting in the car was a blonde checking her makeup in the rear-view mirror. As he passed behind her car, she tilted the mirror to follow him. "Wow, mount up cowboy" she said under breath as he moved out of the view of the mirror. Turning it back to her face, she fluffed her hair and then exited the car and headed to one of the rooms.
Booth entered the lobby and was assaulted by the smell of stale smoke and dust. The carpet at one time must have been red, but with repeated washings and traffic was now a pale pinkish color in the most heavily traveled areas fading to a reddish brown around the edges. Every piece of furniture had been salvaged from other hotel/motels so nothing matched. There was a large mirror behind the check in counter that was pitted and cracked, stacks of tourist attraction brochures advertising things that hadn't been seen in the area in over 5 years. There was an ancient ice machine, a broken soda vending machine and one washer and dryer. Cringing Booth hoped that he would be staying at the rodeo grounds sooner rather than later. He went up to the counter and rang the bell.
Waiting as patiently as he could given the circumstances, he rang the bell again and then saw a cloud of cigarette smoke precede the tallest, bleached blondest beehive of hair he'd ever seen in his life exit the curtained partition behind the counter. "Hold yer horses' bucko" a smoke roughened voice said. Booth's eyes opened wide as the woman entered the room. She was somewhere between 35 and 90 years old as near as he could tell. About 5'5, with her hair she was nearly 6 foot tall. She was wearing a fuchsia pink satin shirt with silver sequin piping. Well, wearing the shirt was really being generous. The shirt was fighting a losing battle to restrain her bosom. She had skin tight pink jeans on and ruby red stiletto heels that she tottered on as at ease as a ballerina on stage. "What can I help ya with Cowboy?" she asked, stubbing her smoke out on the counter and wiping the ash into her hand.
"Uh…" he stammered, "I'm Tony Scallion, I have a room?" please have lost the registration he was thinking to himself.
"Lemme take a look see young'un" she muttered, her false nails clicking on the keyboard in a disjointed rhythm. "Scallion?" She said, squinching up her heavily made up eyes to look at him, "That some kind of I-talian name or somethin'?"
"No ma'am, I'm from Canada" he told her, trying to avoid staring at the dime sized mole on her upper lip. "Hmm...Canadian huh? You're here for the rodeo then?"
"Uh...yes ma'am." Booth was incredibly uncomfortable.
"Oh, here you are Cowboy, I gotcha in a downstairs, double bed, non smoking corner room. Plus, it says you reserved space in the barn, gotcha horse vaccinations with ya?" She asked pushing a card across the counter to him.
Booth reached into his wallet and pulled out the form that the agents had given him. It had been recently updated by Dr. Reynolds. She took the form and photocopied it on an agent Xerox machine behind the counter and attached it to the card that he'd filled out.
She handed him two keys and a silver bucket. "There's the ice machine there, the pop machine has pop in it, it's just not cold, it don't work, so leave your money in this jar," she tapped a jar behind the counter with her blood red fingernail, "The lobby closes at 7 on weekdays and 7:30 on weekends, if you need anything after that, you might as well wait until the morning. You're paid up 2 weeks, if you leave early, you'll be refunded, the big key is the key to your room and the little one is the key to the barn. You can bunk yer horse in stall 4. You wanna buy some hay or oats?" she said remotely, it was clear this wasn't a new spiel.
"No ma'am, I've got plenty" he said, he had enough on the trailer for a couple of days, the local yokels would make sure that he was covered on that end.
"Well alright then, I'm sure you'll be fine, there's no cable, but we got rent a porn if you want, 'course a hot number like you prob'ly won't want for nothing for long." She winked and licked her bottom lip. "I'd store your tack in your room if I were you, can't say how safe it'll be in the barn and make sure you clean the stall everyday otherwise, you may just wake up to a horse apple pie, iffen you get my drift?"
"Okay, thank you ma'am" he said swallowing hard. He held up the keys and said, "I appreciate it."
"No problem Bucko-enjoy yer stay at the Dew Drop" she said as she turned to go back behind the curtain, lighting a cigarette with the practiced ease of a long time smoker. Booth's head rocked back onto his shoulders as he sighed deeply and spoke under his breath to the ceiling, "I'm being punished aren't I?"
He didn't receive an answer so turned and headed out of the lobby back to his truck and trailer. He grabbed his things and went in search of his room, intending to come back and let Gunn out for a quick walk before he headed to the rodeo grounds. Entering the room he stopped just over the threshold and said, "Yup, definitely being punished." The room was decorated in early 70's gold and olive green, with the quintessential dark brown paneling on three of the four walls. The bed had the requisite magic fingers massager hooked up, a dark gold comforter and an honest to goodness velvet Elvis hanging above the bed. The King was depicted in his full Charro regalia. A nightstand next to the bed held a bible, big ben alarm clock and an orange lamp with a brown lampshade. The carpet was avocado shag and ended at the entrance to the bathroom. Shuddering and truly afraid to look but knowing he had to; he pushed open the door to the bathroom. Blindingly white, at least it was clean and would be serviceable. There was a small Formica table bolted to the wall and had two lawn chairs in front of it.
Booth took a small spray canister of Lysol from his biggest bag and sprayed everything. Brennan had taught him that. Although not a 100% effective it was better than whatever had been on the surface of the room. He grabbed his baseball cap and gun and the contact information for the rodeo foreman and headed back to the truck. Before he let Gunn out, he texted Brennan, 'Hey Bones, I'm here, staying at the roach motel, on my way to the rodeo grounds, let me know when a good time to meet will be and where?-Booth'
Opening the back of the trailer he took Gunn's lead and urged the horse to walk backwards. Agent One had been telling the truth, all it took was a slight tug and Gunn backed right out of the trailer. Booth stood in front of him and patted his nose; the horse snorted softly and pushed his nose into his chest. Laughing slightly, Booth reached up and scratched behind his ears. Gunn kept pushing on his chest to get closer. Booth smiled and led the horse to the open area behind the barn. Opening up the gate with the key he'd been given, he thought he'd let him wander for a few minutes before taking him to the rendezvous spot. While Gunn explored the small corral, Booth inspected the tack he'd been provided. Although he was city through and through he'd ridden some in the Army for kicks and when he was younger, so although he was somewhat intimidated by taking care of the horse himself, he at least knew how to put the saddle and bridle on. Hoping he'd be able to fake his way through a dance with a 1200 pound pissed off saddle bronc or bull, he knew at least he wouldn't need any help getting Gunn ready to ride. Once he was comfortable, he went to the corral to gather Gunn back up.
A young boy was sitting on the corral fence looking out over Gunn and a smaller pony that was in there. "Hi" he said tipping his hat to the young boy. He looked down at Booth and smiled a gap toothed smile, "Hi, is he yours?" the boy asked nodding to Gunn. The young man had sandy blonde hair and was wearing faded jeans and sneakers, a John Deere tractor t-shirt and a straw cowboy hat.
"Yup, his name's Gunn" Booth said.
"That's mine in there with him, his name is Scoot." The boy said proudly, "My Gramma owns this hotel and I live here with her and Leo and Scoot."
"Is Leo your brother?" Booth asked looking up and shielding his eyes slightly from the mid day sun glare.
"No Leo's my dog," the boy giggled, then turned abruptly sober, "My brother and mama died in the fire, its okay though Gramma takes real good care of me." He said his smile lighting up his face. Booth was shocked when he said his mom and brother had died in a fire, "I'm sorry about your mama and brother, my name's Tony, what's yours?"
"I'm Clay, pleasedtomeetcha" he said holding out his hand. Booth could see that he was barely able to extend it and reached out a little further to shake the young man's hand. "Well Clay, I've got to get to the rodeo, maybe I'll see you later?"
"Are you a cowboy?" Clay asked his eyes wide with admiration.
"No, I'm a clown actually" Booth told him slightly embarrassed.
"Well, that's okay too, I like the clowns," he said, "Gramma takes me to the rodeo every time it comes, and sometimes the clowns wave at me, plus, this one time I got to go sit by the chutes, and I got to hold the fake pistol." He said with pride, his chest swelling.
"Well, I'll tell you what, if I see you at the grounds, I'll wave too, how's that?" Booth was reminded of his own son and felt his chest constrict a little.
"That'd be neat Tony, thank you! You want some help with Gunn?" he asked starting to climb down the fence rails.
"Well, I'm not sure; it's been a while since we stopped so he may take some time to come over here." Booth said, suddenly worried that he didn't even know how to get the horse back to him. Clay whistled and Scoot came trotting over followed closely by Gunn, relieved that it was that easy, Booth took Gunn's lead and thanked him. "Thanks Clay, hey, do you think you could give him a pat on the nose once in awhile if you see him in the barn? I may leave him here occasionally depending on what I'm doing at the arena. I could pay you?"
"Sure Tony, you don't have to pay me though, I like to help out. Gramma says it's not polite to take money from the guests anyways." He squinted up at the taller man and stuck his hand out again, the shiny burned flesh pulled tight on his arm and hand, "Good luck at the arena and I'll see you around." He said as he turned to leave. Booth watched him lead his little pony towards the barn, a pronounced limp as he walked. The little pony walked carefully next to him and Booth could see that he was not only leading the pony, but leaning against him for support. "I'll see you Clay." Booth said under his breath as he led Gunn to the trailer and got him loaded. He checked the directions to the arena and started the old truck up and began to drive to the arena. His eyes a little red and hot, he thought about Clay on his drive and wondered if maybe he couldn't pull a few undercover strings for the boy where the rodeo was concerned.
