The cinders of the Firebird's flames were still crackling in the forest. Idina had cleared out most of the fire, but a few embers remained. The air reeked of smoke. It was still rather difficult to breathe. Hol Horse had been trudging through the smoky foliage for nearly an hour at that point. Beams of sunlight pierced through the trees as the sun rose in the distance. He was tired, hungry, and completely out of his element. The cowboy had absolutely no idea where he'd been dropped. Hell, he was in that hotel for months! His girlfriends had to be worried sick. He'd be lucky to end up with double digits by the end of this mess. As he continued onward, a figure could be seen in the smoke about twenty meters away. Hol Horse narrowed his eyes, quickly drawing his Emperor in preparation.
A strawberry blond stumbled out of the thick brush ahead. He wore a nice suit, but it was lined with strange holes. They seemed almost intentional. It must have been some kind of foreign fashion that Hol Horse didn't understand. Either way, this was likely a straggler from the Hotel California. He couldn't afford to take any chances.
"Hey there pardner!" He called out, lifting Emperor up at the ready. "Why don't you put your hands up where I can see 'em, okay? Your Stand, too! I wanna see what kind it is!"
The man locked eyes with Hol Horse. He seemed incredibly sharp. In fact, he was radiating some indescribable energy. Hol Horse couldn't place it, but the strange feeling caused a shiver to run up his spine. The cowboy cleared his throat and wrapped his fingers around Emperor a little tighter.
"Don't make me count to three, feller. This here's a Stand gun! Infinite ammo, curved bullets, and no way to knock it outta my hands! Far as I'm concerned, yer good as dead. So why don't you lift your hands up?"
"If you were confident in your Stand, you wouldn't be talking it up so much." The man spoke with apathy. Not only that, but he had a thick Italian accent.
Hol Horse rolled his head in laughter. "Heh! Yer right. The way I see it, you'd probably beat me in a fair fight. That's why I want yer hands up, right now!"
That dangerous flame never left the man's eyes. Despite that, he carefully lifted his hands up above his head. Then, his Stand emerged. It was unsightly, to say the least. An uneven purple checker pattern lined half its body. Some of its skin seemed to be cracking around the joints, and the entire Stand wavered a bit as if it weren't fully powered by the User. Not only that, but a repulsive foam was frothing at the Stand's mouth. Hol Horse had never seen such a beast.
"What in Sam Hill is wrong with your Stand, pal? Do you not feed it enough?" Hol Horse raised a brow.
"Its name is Purple Haze Distortion. I don't need to talk about its ability. Just understand that I'd win if we fought." Fugo mumbled.
"Whoa, whoa, whoa! No one ever said anything about fighting!"
Fugo narrowed his eyes. The skepticism was real. "Oh really? You're pointing a gun at me, pardner." He scowled.
Hol Horse quickly spun Emperor around in his hand before shoving it into an imaginary holster and allowing it to vanish. Then, he presented both of his bare hands to the foreigner with a smile.
"See? No fighting here. The way I see it, we're both stranded. If yer not fixin' to kill me, I think we could have a powerful alliance. What do ya say?"
The Italian merely shook his head. "Thanks, but I'd rather die."
"W-What!? C'mon! We're stranded in the wilderness! We could be anywhere! Siberia, the Himalayas, Madagascar! How do you know that you'll be fine without me?" Hol Horse demanded.
"We're in the United States. I found a highway up the trail. I only came back into the forest to look for some allies. Now get out of here, or I'll kill you." Fugo mumbled. It was such a real threat, but his heart clearly wasn't in it. He just wanted to find Polnareff, Trish and potentially the Joestars if fate allowed it.
"Fine, fine. No need to go killing strangers just 'cause yer in a pissy mood." Hol Horse shook his head in defeat.
As they turned their separate ways, the cowboy lifted a hand to his hat and adjusted it nervously. He stared into the great unknown with a building pressure in his gullet. Things really weren't looking good. His mouth felt incredibly dry.
"Oh geez. I sure hope I can find Shizuka. That kid might be the only Stand User on Earth who'll help me now."
Fugo was moments from walking away and leaving the gunslinger forever. However, he heard that comment at the very last minute. He didn't want to hear it. In fact, it was one of those incredibly inconvenient discoveries. If Fugo had it his way, he'd simply unhear what the cowboy said and continue on his way. Unfortunately, he couldn't do that. And if this doofus knew about Shizuka, he might know how to find the group.
"Shizuka? What's her last name?" He called across the field.
Hol Horse had already written Fugo off as a lost cause. He was pretty surprised to hear the man hollering from so far away. "What? Er, Joestar! Shizuka Joestar! Why, have you heard of her? Do you know her?"
The ganger just rubbed the bridge of his nose in frustration. "God dammit." He shook his head. "I'm looking for some people too. If you're with the Joestars, I guess you're one of the ones on that list. C'mon then. The sun will come up soon. We need to find the rest of the group."
Hol Horse knew he wasn't exactly "one of the Joestars," but he decided that it'd be best to play along for the time being. He didn't exactly have anything else to do. And besides, these parts were infested with the escapees of Hotel California. It was dangerous. Hol Horse was the most legendary number-two the world had ever seen. He'd latch himself onto Fugo at least until they got to greener pastures. Then, if necessary, he'd reevaluate from there.
"Let's get moving. This way." Fugo motioned toward the treeline.
"Aye aye, captain. Just lead the way."
After searching for hours to no avail, Hol Horse and Fugo were sitting in a motel room about ten miles down the road. They had to hitchhike, which was really difficult for a man of Hol Horse's size. They managed, though. Poor guys looked like hell. Some trucker showed them the first bit of compassion they'd experienced since entering the hotel. Fugo had showered. He insisted on keeping himself religiously clean. When Hol Horse asked about it, he said something about his body being a temple.
The cowboy was just finishing up a cigarette. He flicked the ashes into a can of Miller Lite that was left over from the previous occupants of the room. Hol horse then dropped the last of the cigarette into the can with a sigh. He gave his legs a few pats before turning to face Fugo.
"What'll it be, pardner? Are we staying in the honeymoon suite together, or are we hitting the road again? Every second we're sittin' here is another second the Joestars are gettin' away."
"Quiet. I'm thinking." Fugo mumbled dismissively.
The gangster was sitting cross-legged on the bed. He held both hands in his lap and attempted to meditate. In the years of trying to tame Purple Haze, Fugo had learned various methods of clearing out the mind. He studied countless philosophies, religions, and self-help books to find ways to improve his temperament. Still, there was a darkness inside him. He would become furious at the drop of a hat. In recent years he'd become better at managing it. Despite that, he could still be set off by anything. In a way, that made him even more unhinged. There wasn't even a consistency to his madness anymore.
Fugo twitched a bit as he tried to get into a meditative state. It was still difficult for him to focus. One shoulder would feel off, so he'd adjust it. Then, he wouldn't feel whole again until he flexed the opposite shoulder in the exact same way. If a toe got itchy, he'd have to wiggle both feet identically, otherwise they'd flare up and cause him anxiety for hours. Of course, the user of Purple Haze Distortion was not well. He wasn't well at all.
The phone in Fugo's pocket began to vibrate repeatedly. They'd been in a service deadzone since escaping the hotel. His phone must have finally found the signal from a nearby tower. When you lack service for a long enough period of time, a cell phone can take hours to finally realize it has a signal once again. Fugo grabbed the phone and repeatedly clicked the cancel key.
Hol Horse raised a brow. "What the hell's that?"
Fugo glanced up at the cowboy with a hint of confusion. Sure, he was annoyed. Aside from his typical level of annoyance though, he was a little interested about Hol Horse not recognizing a cell phone.
"It's a phone." He mumbled, accepting all of the messages. The damn thing was backed up so much that he couldn't get out of the notification screen.
"Doesn't look like any phone I've ever seen. You keep it in your pocket? Is this some kinda foreign tech?"
"I'm busy." Fugo muttered, rapidly clicking the cancel key once again. "But... hold that thought. We need to discuss that."
"That looks like some back to the future gadget, pardner. Seriously, can I get one of those?"
"Only at every Walmart, dollar store and gas station across the country." The Italian rolled his eyes. "I'll get you one if you shut up."
Finally, the vibrating and ringing ceased. Fugo was able to unlock his phone. He flipped to the missed calls tab and found over twenty red icons from various phone numbers. One thing was clear, the area code was Passione's. The gang was trying to get a hold of him. That made sense, he vanished without a trace. There was no sign of Sheila E. around the hotel or the woods. That meant she likely defeated the Stand User that captured him.
All he could do was call one of the numbers that had been checking his phone every hour on the hour. He clicked the icon and lifted it up to his ear. After a bit of ringing, he heard a desperate voice on the other end of the line.
"Hello!? Hello? What is the last place you'd expect to find a tiger?" The voice was heavy, panting.
The question would sound insane to most, but Fugo understood the code. It was one of the many passwords that Passione used when unsure of one another's identity. It took him a moment to remember the particular answer.
"In the bed of his camp counsellor." Fugo said quickly.
"...good. This is Fugo, then?"
"Yes. I need extraction. And a search party. Trace my phone number, I don't know exactly where I am. Somewhere in the United States." He rubbed the bridge of his nose, clearing his throat. "AIso, I need to talk to Gio. Please, get him on the phone."
"Fugo…" The voice trailed off for a moment.
"I don't care if he's busy. Tell him that I have something very impor-"
"Fugo." The man interrupted him. "You… Didn't hear? Did you?"
"Hear? Hear what? I just broke free from some kind of Stand prison. What's going on? Tell me. Now." He clenched the phone.
"You… You might want to sit down."
What happened next was a blur. Fugo couldn't really remember the proper sequence of events. His phone fell right to the ground. He didn't even remember letting go. It just… slipped right through his fingers. Then, tears. He didn't really cry, but they gently pooled in his eyes. More than anything, though, he became terrifyingly still. Hol Horse looked across the room curiously as his new partner acted strangely. The Italian fell right onto his face. There was no build up or fanfare. He'd gone silent, and then he'd passed out.
Hol Horse let out a cry of surprise. "Whoa! Pretty boy! What's goin' on?"
He rushed over to Fugo with cautious concern. With Emperor raised in one arm, he used his other to shake the boy a few times. Nothing. Fugo really seemed down for the count. Hol Horse couldn't help but shiver. Something was wrong in the air. Before he knew it, a purple fog began to fill the room. Were they under attack? Had it been whoever called Fugo on the phone? Hol Horse slung his arm around Fugo and stood upright. The strawberry blond hung lifelessly from the cowboy while Emperor waved haphazardly in the fog.
"Show yerself! Now!" Hol Horse demanded.
A feral growl could be heard close by. It was familiar. The stench in the air also jogged the cowboy's memory. Hol Horse was no scientist, but the gears in his head were definitely turning at that point. It was too little too late though. A Stand walked closer to the men through the fog. It was the very Stand Hol Horse had been so disturbed by earlier that morning.
Purple Haze Distortion.
Its jaw was hanging so low that Hol Horse had to wonder if it was going to flop right onto the floor at any moment. Foam flowed freely from those quivering chapped lips, and the Stand's eyes had a deranged energy to them. Despite his better judgement, Hol Horse actually aimed his Emperor at the creature. He even turned his shoulder to protect Fugo. That seemed a little counterintuitive seeing as Purple Haze belonged to the Italian. Still, it didn't seem to be loyal to him at the moment.
"Fugo, speak to me. What's goin' on here?" Hol Horse shook the man a few times. "Wake up! Yer Stand is kicking! That must mean you're awake! What did you hear on the phone? Are we under attack?"
"Get away." Fugo managed to groan.
"Away from where? Do we need to leave the room?"
"From me."
Purple Haze swung at Hol Horse a moment later. The cowboy dropped Fugo and stumbled back. He raised an arm up to protect his face. He'd thank his lucky stars that he did, because his arm began to turn purple with some strange infection shortly after. He backed up even further after that. It spread through his forearm rather quickly but didn't appear to go further than that. He grimaced as it began to blister. Soon, his arm was oozing with a smelly pus. Hol Horse raised his Emperor and pointed it right at Purple Haze. He faltered for a moment, unsure of whether he wanted to kill Fugo. He didn't know what was happening.
As he continued to back up, Hol Horse eventually felt something give behind him. He turned his head and saw that the bathroom door was directly against his shoulder blades. Purple Haze roared once again, and Hol Horse decided to take that as his chance to leave. He jumped back into the bathroom and slammed the door behind him. After searching desperately for an exit, he found a window located directly above the toilet. Soon, Hol Horse fell into the dirt behind the hotel. He cursed in pain as his arm continued to swell. The further he scooted away from the building the better his arm seemed to get. He got onto two feet and stepped about fifteen feet away. His wound was tied to his proximity to Fugo. That made sense, seeing as Fugo's Stand did this to him.
What in tarnation happened just then? Fugo picked up the phone, and then he went absolutely feral. That Stand. Purple Haze Distortion? It was terrifying. Lord Dio's Stand: The World was the most intimidating presence Hol Horse had ever encountered. It made every hair from his neck to his crotch stand tall like they were hoping to be picked for the kickball team. Still, Fugo's ability shook the cowboy to his core. It was a different kind of horrifying. Dio's The World struck fear into the hearts of many because of its relentless precision and all-encompassing power. Purple Haze Distortion seemed like the polar opposite. It wasn't precise. It didn't care about friends or enemies. It was sick. A plague couldn't be reasoned with. Even Lord Dio would spare the occasional victim if they begged hard enough. Or, well, if they were good enough in bed.
As Hol Horse tried to figure out the cause of the meltdown, things seemed to calm inside. That distinct purple fog was becoming lighter as he peered at the bathroom window. Soon, it was barely noticeable at all. That meant one of two things. Either Fugo calmed down, or he left. Good riddance if he did. Hol Horse didn't need some repulsive spores growing out of his arm. Sure the sickness had only caused minor blisters, but he wasn't taking any chances!
All the cowboy could do was walk around to the front side of the crappy motel. There was a small staircase leading up to the walkway that housed each of the room's doors. Hol Horse eyed the door to their room carefully. A small amount of fog wafted out from the bottom crack. Seemed like old Fugo was inside after all. That meant he calmed down, right? Hol Horse would give it a little more time. He didn't exactly have anywhere to be. The blond sat down on one of the steps and grabbed a cigarette from his pocket. After taking a long drag, Hol Horse stared out into the open California sky. It was beautiful out. He'd been confined with the Hotel for what felt like months. A lingering fear scratched at his mind that he might've spent even longer inside. Either way, it was a refreshing change of pace to be outdoors. He almost felt something close to peace…
Two hours passed by rather quickly. Hol Horse didn't mind spending it outside the room. He'd gone for a lovely walk through the woods. It was pleasant to be surrounded by the smell of trees and grass. Eventually he'd made his way back to the motel. He didn't want Fugo to think he'd gone and abandoned him. There, he sat. With another cigarette in hand Hol Horse waited patiently.
The door cracked open slowly. The cowboy turned his head to see if it was his. Sure enough, Fugo was peeking out from the thin slit between the door and the wall. Hol Horse simply tipped his hat before turning to face the trees once more. It took a minute or two before Fugo fully opened the door. Without a single word he plopped down beside Hol Horse on the steps. The man's head hung in despair, but a bit of regret lingered in the air. He was probably embarrassed from his outburst. The poor guy had been meditating for crying out loud!
"Bad news?" Hol Horse finally broke the silence with a puff of smoke.
Fugo didn't respond. He just faced directly forward with an eerily blank expression.
"Well, I can assume as much. Sorry for your luck, pardner." Hol Horse sighed. "Want a smoke?"
The strawberry blond shook his head. Hey, it was a response of sorts. Hol Horse would take it.
"Right. I forgot, yer body's a temple. Probably don't wanna load it with nicotine or whatever else is in these things."
After a bit of a prolonged silence, Fugo found his voice. "Let me ask you a question."
The cowboy was surprised to engage in an actual conversation. "Sure thing."
"In The Universe and the Teacup, K.C. Cole poses a very interesting question about smoking. She proposes a world where cigarettes are entirely harmless, but one single cigarette out of every eighteen-thousand-seven-hundred-fifty packs was laced with dynamite. In this world, lighting such a cigarette would instantly and violently detonate the head of anyone unfortunate enough to place it between their lips. Would you smoke in that world?" Fugo raised his sharp eyes to see Hol Horse's reaction.
"Er… You kinda caught me off guard. Y'mean it would blow up my head? Of course I wouldn't smoke then!" The cowboy laughed nervously."
"Why not? It's only one cigarette out of every eighteen-thousand or so packs. You'd be fine, right?"
"No!" Hol Horse stammered. "Y'know how many people would still explode every day! There'd be riots in the streets!"
"The amount of cigarette-related deaths would be exactly the same as our world. The numbers add up perfectly." Fugo muttered with disappointment. He'd hoped Hol Horse would understand. "The only difference is that Cole's example is a lot bloodier on the outside. It's unsightly. People would have to see it. Nobody has to see random citizens dying of lung cancer every day. It's packed away into the part of our brains that we rarely visit. Compartmentalization. It's what keeps us going without putting a gun in our mouths and pulling the trigger."
There was another awkward silence after that. Once he had a moment to think about it, Hol Horse snapped his fingers. "Oh, I get it! You're the dynamite."
"What?" Fugo sat upright.
"Don't be shy! I get it now! Yer Stand is unsightly! People are afraid of it because it's gross and scary. That doesn't mean it's anymore dangerous than mine! My Emperor has probably killed just as many foes at yer Purple Haze! The only difference is that mine's polished and sexy. That's what you were gettin' at, right?" He smiled ear to ear.
"I get it. You're a moron. That's disappointing." Fugo rested his cheek in one hand with a little huff.
"Pardon me? I figured out yer little analogy pretty darn easily! What're you getting so pouty about?"
"It's not an analogy! I was trying to show you that smoking is a bad idea by proposing a scarier yet equal threat to you. Humans are more likely to fear the exotic than the probable. We picture meteorite strikes, alien attacks and zombie outbreaks before pondering whether or not one of fourteen countries will launch a nuclear strike tomorrow! We have terrible risk assessment, so I was trying to give you some perspective."
"...if I'm followin' you right, that means Purple Haze is a more exotic danger than most, but he's less likely to hurt me than a car accident or somethin'?" Hol Horse tilted his head.
"No! I mean… Yes? But that's not what I was saying. You're twisting my words around." Fugo groaned.
"So, which are you? The car crash or the dynamite cigarette? Either way, I'll try to keep open flames away from ya!" Hol Horse gave Fugo a firm slap on the back. "Sound good, pardner?"
Fugo wanted to die. Not because of this conversation, but just in general. The news he'd gotten over the phone had shattered his core and crumbled the foundations of who he even was as a man. All he could do was ignore reality and engage in pointless arguments with this American. It was better than thinking about Giorno.
"I'm not a car crash. We weren't even bringing car crashes into this." The Italian sighed.
"Oh! But I got one! What about a world where everyone could instantly teleport places! But every day a specific number of people mysteriously turned inside out and died of a heart attack! That number would correlate exactly with the real world's number of fatal automobile accidents. Is that the same thing? A more exotic way of phrasing the same amount of danger?"
"That's…" Fugo considered it for a second. "You know, that's not half bad. It's missing a bit of the point, but you got pretty close. People would definitely rather car crashes than having their skin inverted."
The men were both quiet for a little while. Hol Horse eventually took another drag of his cigarette with a sigh. "I'm gonna keep smoking, though. Can't see it biting me in the ass before a bigger dog gets me first."
"That's fair." Fugo shrugged, looking up at the clouds. "I guess it's different when you get into Stand Battles."
"Risk evaluation is different for everybody, ain't it? All of us are gonna bite it eventually. Whether its smoking, a runaway train, or the Stand you just can't beat. Take it from me, son. You can't stay in this business long. Eventually you'll run into a real shark and find out you've been a guppy this whole time." Hol Horse shook his head in amusement.
That brought Fugo back to places he'd rather not dwell on. The younger man stared at his shoes grimly for a short while. His journey to self-actualization taught him about the five stages of grief. The first was denial. Was that his current experience? It didn't feel real. He knew factually that Giorno had been killed. Not only that, but Passione hadn't heard from Polnareff or Trish. Despite that knowledge, it felt like there was a wall in Fugo's mind. A barrier that kept all of his emotions at bay. It was a numb, cold feeling. He didn't want it to go anywhere. The next stages were worse. He'd happily stay in denial for as long as the ride lasted.
"You know, I've been thinking about that phone of yours." Hol Horse sighed. He flicked the last of his cigarette into the grass before snuffing out the embers with his boot. "I've never seen anything like it. I've also never seen half of the cars that we passed on the drive here. You said phones like that are normal? I know I've been traveling the world, but there's no way I missed this much."
Fugo gazed into Hol Horse's eyes thoughtfully. It was starting to come together. He didn't exactly understand the cause, but the reality of the cowboy's situation was clear.
"Give it to me straight then. What year is it?" He frowned.
The Italian hated being the bearer of bad news. He'd done his fair share while working with Passione. It never got easier. There was this dirty feeling that always came along with breaking a heart or dashing a man's hopes. Still, Fugo always felt dirty.
"2009." He mumbled.
"Oh." Is all Hol Horse could manage. Smoke slowly rose up from the crushed cigarette in the grass. It blew past Hol Horse's distant eyes and ascended into the perfect blue sky. Birds could be heard singing in the nearby trees. A gentle breeze swept through the motel parking lot and blew Fugo's hair into his eyes for a moment.
"What year did you think?"
"Last time I checked the calendar it was 1989. Twenty years down the drain." The cowboy shrugged.
"That… must be difficult."
"I think I'm kinda struggling to process it. Like, it's real. I know it is. I've seen enough evidence to know the truth. But it's like my brain refuses to update the information." Hol Horse explained.
"Denial." Fugo mused.
"Yeah, exactly. Denial! There's like this bubble in my brain that's blocking out all the bad. I can't even start thinking about how much I've missed out on. It's too big."
"It looks like we both just lost our worlds." The younger man spoke into his folded hands.
"Well, what're you gonna do about it?" Hol Horse raised his brow. "Denial's not a good look on you, strawberry."
"Guess the next step is anger then." Fugo mumbled.
"And who's that anger directed toward? Not for nothing, but I feel like you directed it at the wrong man earlier."
It all clicked. That could work. If the next stage of grieving was anger, Fugo knew exactly who deserved to reap all of the fury he had to sow. His hands actually started to tremble. Not with anger, though. He was shaking from pure excitement. Purple Haze was winning. He wanted to unleash his full power onto Blondie and everyone she held dear. Not only that, but he really couldn't find it in himself to care about collateral at the moment.
"I'm going east."
"East? Makes sense! We're about as west as you can go with your freedom intact! Where to then? I've got nowhere to be."
"Washington D.C.- I've got a woman I need to see." He spoke with dark eyes.
Hol Horse hitched his breath for a moment. That expression of Fugo's was rather unsettling. Especially in reference to a woman! He didn't know all the details, though. And he really wasn't lying about having nowhere to be. Where was he meant to go when everything had jumped ahead twenty whole years? He'd be better off staying with Fugo for a while. At least until he got the hang of the new millennium.
"D.C.? Well, you've gotta go through Texas to get there! I know all the best routes! Stick with me and you'll get there in no time at all!" He laughed proudly.
Fugo nodded to himself. "Okay. We can cut through Texas if you need to. Don't forget my mission though. There's someone I really need to see."
"Sure thing! We'll leave first thing in the morning! Gotta pack beef jerky, a few cold ones, and probably sandwich fixings for the road! I wonder if there's a grocery store nearby." Hol Horse rubbed his chin.
"No." Fugo stood up. "We're leaving now."
"N-N-Now! Right now? Like, this very second?"
"Like, get up now. That 'right now.'" Fugo spoke rather sternly. "We'll get a car and hit the road. There are still hours of daylight left."
With that, Fugo walked back into the motel room to grab what little he had. That left Hol Horse sitting on the staircase with disappointment in his eyes. He lifted a hand and opened his mouth, but decided it was best not to argue with the strawberry boy. Not when he was so fired up.
"O-Okay… Yeah, now works. I didn't wanna sleep or nothin'. Been spending my days trapped in a hotel and all… Didn't need a good night's rest in a warm bed. That'd be ridiculous." Hol Horse grumbled under his breath. He steadied his hat with a huff and stood up. He'd be able to find a car. His Emperor was rather persuasive.
They just needed the right set of wheels…
After an entire day of driving, Fugo and Hol Horse were ready to settle in. They managed to make it to New Mexico before succumbing to utter exhaustion. Fugo didn't want to stop, but nearly veering off the highway for the third time slapped some sense into him. He couldn't kill Blondie if he was dead, could he? Hol Horse had insisted that they stop at some burger joint before finding a hotel. Apparently, there was no need to eat within the Hotel California because it was more of a spiritual realm than a physical building. Because of that, Hol Horse hadn't bitten down into something delicious for months. To be more precise, he hadn't eaten in twenty years! That's how he phrased it to Fugo, anyway.
That's how Fugo ended up standing in a trashy parking lot waiting for the cowboy to return. He had his arm crossed with a broody pout as he leaned against the side of their stolen car. The fresh air was nice, especially since the windows of their new transportation seemed to be stuck shut. One can't be too choosy when committing grand theft auto, but Fugo admittedly wished they'd gotten a slightly better ride.
The Italian checked his watch for what must have been the third time. Where on Earth was Hol Horse? He'd been inside for almost twenty minutes. Fugo sent him in to get two takeout orders. Even with a line, this wait time was becoming a little ridiculous. He began to tap his shoe compulsively. Three taps of his right shoe, then he'd shift his weight and tap three times with the left. If he didn't, he'd lose control. If he lost control, he might lose his grip on Purple Haze. If that happened, people would die.
A woman's voice could be heard from the restaurant. Fugo raised his head quickly to see if Hol Horse might be on his way out too. Sure enough, he was accompanying that very woman. He had an arm slung around her shoulder and two big bags of food hanging from his spare hand.
"Do you really have to go so soon?" She asked, turning to Hol Horse. She had a longing look in her eye as she placed an open palm on his firm chest.
Hol Horse raised his hand to the brim of his hat with dark eyes. Hanging his head, he gave the hat a gentle tug downwards to mask his expression.
"Sweetheart, I know it must be tough. But we're from two completely different worlds. I mean, look at you. You're a district manager for Bucky's Barn! I'm just a tumbleweed drifting from one desert to the next. A shadow that's never cast against the same surface twice. Keeping me in one place is like trying to capture lightning in a bottle. No matter how much I wish to stay here with you, to watch your little hermit crabs grow and prosper, I simply can't. It's almost too much for me to bear. But I have my duties. Lives are at stake."
Tears flowed from the district manager's eyes. She wiped them, sniffling as she searched for the right words. "Please, Hol Horse. Don't go! I…" She clenched her fists. "I love you!"
There was silence in the parking lot. A gentle breeze caused the bags of food to sway to and fro in the cowboy's hand. He hung his head in consideration. After a moment, he simply chuckled. "Love? My darling…" He swiftly reached up to cup the woman's cheek with his free hand. The man dipped her head back, looking into her eyes. "This isn't love. It's infatuation. Arousal. A dream of what might be if only our paths were meant to run together. Believe me when I say that I'd stay inside this Bucky's Barn for the rest of my life if I could. Your tender lips and all the red meat I could possibly eat would be more than enough to keep me satisfied for a hundred years."
Her lips quivered as she stared into the man's gorgeous eyes. "Please…"
Hol Horse simply wiped her tears away with his thumb. "Lily, go back inside. Live the rest of your life. Don't think about me… Even if I'll be thinking about you tonight as I stare at the moon."
With a gentle kiss on the forehead, Hol Horse let go of the beautiful woman. He began to slowly walk away with a stoic look in his eyes. She sobbed to herself as the man grew further away from her reach. Soon he made it to the car. He grabbed the keys from his pocket and tossed them to Fugo.
"Got the burgers. Let's ride."
Fugo was dumbfounded. He just stared at the display with his jaw at ground level for a moment. Eventually he found his words. "Who the hell is she?" He finally asked in bewilderment.
"Huh? Who?" Hol Horse glanced over his shoulder and saw the district manager sobbing by the restaurant's entrance. "Oh, Lily? Some beauty I struck up a chat with while my fries were taking too long. Nice gal. Pretty easy on the eyes too."
With that, the cowboy got into the passenger seat and slammed the door shut. Fugo followed close behind. Once they were both in the car, he demanded more information.
"I'm sorry, but it seems like you two have some kind of history. Do you regularly drive through these parts? That woman would have been in middle school when you were last in America twenty years ago."
Hol Horse rubbed his chin. "What? No. Never met her before in my life. She's just a good gal. Easy on the eyes, huh?" He laughed while nudging Fugo with his elbow.
"You already said that! Why was she sobbing and begging you to stay if you just met her?" The Italian demanded.
"Pardon? I figured you'd know, pretty boy. What with bein' from the land of love and all. Isn't Italy one of the most romantic countries in the world? You don't take little ladies out on boat rides through the town when the moon is reflecting off the canals just right?"
Fugo swiped one of the bags from Hol Horse's lap and rolled his eyes. "Like I have the time or patience for that."
Hol Horse felt his eyes widen at that. "Wait, yer kidding me? Pretty Strawberry, you don't flirt with the gals back home? What's stoppin' ya?"
"Gosh, I don't know. You'd think girls would love me. I just give off this calming aura." Fugo quite literally tore the bag open and watched as fries spilled into his lap.
"Yikes. I can definitely see the problem. Bad with yer fingers." Hol Horse sighed. "But that's not the end! As long as you bring passion, the ladies love ya!"
"I'm quite familiar with passione, Hol Horse. I just don't have time for women. They're annoying. They want things, and they demand my time. Getting dinner every now and then is fine, but why do they always want to know where I live? Some of my best friends don't have access to that intel." The gangster sighed with a bite of his burger.
"Fugo! This is unacceptable! Time for women? I'm not speaking this language! How can you have time for anything but them? You're sounding a little sexist, if you don't mind the term! Hol Horse always has time for women. Hell, I can satisfy ten women at once! I always pick up the phone, and I always make every girl feel like my most important girlfriend!"
"Oh, I get it." Fugo muttered. "So, you're a horrible lover. You cheat."
"Hey, hey, hey! Let's not go throwing around words like that for no good reason! It's not cheating if the girls are never going to meet! Hol Horse's love knows no borders! Why can't I love a gal in India and Bolivia at the same time? There's enough me to go around!"
Fugo didn't even have a response. He simply rolled his eyes and dug into his bag of food. He was more than familiar with "roughing it" on the road, but it'd been a while since he had to settle for anything less than Italy's finest restaurants. He removed a burger from the brown paper bag and began unwrapping it from the warm tinfoil covering. The moment he did so, grease began leaking down his wrist. It dripped down onto his pants and caused a rather irritated groan to escape his lips.
"Are you JOKING?" He nearly snapped at the end of that sentence. His true anger managed to seep through the cracks and create a rather terrifying tone for a minute.
Hol Horse didn't hesitate. He reached over with a napkin and ran it up the man's wrist. Then, he took another and dabbed at Fugo's pants for a few seconds. "Nothin' a little bit of bleach can't fix, right? That's why you wear white pants!" He chuckled.
The Italian tried his best to gain control once again. He nodded his head, slowly biting into the burger. Grease ran down his chin, but it luckily fell directly into the bag on his lap.
"Why is it so runny? I feel like I have to wring this burger out over a bucket." Fugo mumbled as he chewed.
That merely got a hearty laugh from the cowboy. "That's the whole point! Burgers are s'posed to be thick and juicy! These are half pound, one-hundred-percent angus beef patties slathered with ketchup, pickles, lettuce, tomatoes, and a pinch of all American love. See how the cheese melts perfectly over the edges but doesn't get in the way of your fingers? Notice the perfect coloration of the inside? They make burgers right in there. None of that McDonald's horse meat! I bet they killed the cow right out back before cooking this for us."
Fugo could've written that tangent off as more of Hol Horse's stereotypical "All American" personality, but it intrigued him a bit to hear the cowboy so passionate about the culinary arts. Maybe they could actually find common ground?
"You seem to appreciate the process, don't you? I bet you make pretty good burgers." Fugo took another bite.
"Oh PSSSSH, 'course I do! Listen bud, a restaurant's a restaurant, no matter how nice it is! If we had a nice backyard, two twelve packs of cold beer and a few hours to kill I'd make you the best god-damn burger you've ever had in yer life!" Hol Horse chuckled.
"What's your secret?"
"Secret? There's no secret! Just decades of grilling! Even the best burger joints eventually lose sight of what's really important. You can't hire high school kids to make yer patties! It takes a chef, a man's man to prepare a proper burger! Now don't go mistaking me for some kind of sexist or nothin'. Hol Horse loves women. My Mom could make a burger so good that you'd probably kill yourself when you realized life would never get better from that moment on. I'm just sayin' that a burger joint, a REAL burger joint, takes a manly touch. Even if that touch is comin' from a manly woman." He laughed, slapping Fugo's shoulder.
"You've got a lot of feelings about burger joints, don't you? Have you ever considered opening one yourself? Put your money where your mouth is, or whatever?" He spoke with a rather heavy accent for that last sentence to lay the attitude on thick.
Hol Horse was quiet for a moment. That was very rare. He took a bite of his burger and considered what he was going to say next.
"...you won't laugh at me if I talk about my feelings for a moment, will ya?"
"Pssh." Fugo made the same sound that Hol Horse used earlier. "I'm Italian, Hol Horse. I'm very in touch with my feelings. Go ahead."
"Well…" Hol Horse sat up in his chair as he prepared himself. "I've always dreamed of opening up a burger joint. The ULTIMATE burger joint, where no burger would be half assed. Every single patty would receive the chef's undivided attention. One burger at a time, one per customer. They'd be the best burgers in the country, and people would come from all across the world to taste them! But on Sundays after a long day of prayin', the restaurant would be closed to everybody but locals! That way you'd always be guaranteed a seat, even if outsiders crowded the place most nights."
Fugo really didn't expect such passion from that response. He was floored by Hol Horse's detailed fantasy. It had really just been a shot in the dark. He didn't expect to unveil a true dream of the cowboy's. He couldn't help but smile as he took another bite of the juicy hamburger.
"Well… I suppose we all need our dreams, don't we? Is there any reason in particular that you couldn't pull it off?"
Hol Horse laughed in embarrassment. He held a hand up to his face, shaking his head. "I mean, gosh! I wasn't expecting to have this conversation tonight. I dunno! I'm old, right? Too old to start being a restaurant owner! You've gotta start that kinda thing early."
Fugo simply shrugged. "You're not even forty. Besides, your life's pretty much over. You've been missing for twenty years. Everyone thinks you're dead. What else do you have to lose?"
There was a long silence after that as the men both ate their dinner. After a little bit, Fugo spoke up once more.
"...I'd do it. Y'know, if I were you. Luckily, I'm not." He finished his burger and tossed the wrapping into the bag.
"You don't think it's stupid?" Hol Horse muttered.
Fugo crumpled up the brown bag and threw it into the backseat. He sighed, shaking his head. "Listen. Life's really, really short. You could die tomorrow, so why worry about the future? I say that you should do whatever makes you happy. Whatever makes you complete. That's what I'm gonna do."
Hol Horse nodded for a moment. He rolled his fingertips along the steering wheel in thought. "Y'know, I've been real considerate about your whole 'suicide mission' thing, but I gotta ask. This woman you're hoping to kill in New York… Can you actually beat her?"
Fugo's eyes went dark. He looked out the window without another word. The car seemed colder after that. Any sense of comradery was long gone. Hol Horse could feel the man slamming down a big wall between them emotionally. He'd just overstepped. It didn't really matter at the end of the day. Win or lose, Hol Horse was the world's best number two. Fugo was clearly strong, and he needed to have faith that this fight could be won.
Although… He felt a little less ridiculous about his dream of opening a burger joint.
After another entire day on the road the men decided to sleep in the car. They were very close to their first destination at that point and only needed a few hours of shuteye before driving at dawn. This led them to arrive around mid-morning. Hol Horse's hometown was nearly at the eastern border. This caused them to drive through the entirety of Texas. He appreciated all of the sights and took care to point out everywhere he'd met a gorgeous woman on the road.
Finally, they arrived. He was home after over twenty long years. They pulled off of the state route and rolled down a dirt road for three miles. Then they arrived in Uncertain Texas, a lovely town located on Caddo Lake. It was a beautiful town if you knew where to look. Granted, it looked like everywhere else they'd been over the past few days of driving. But Hol Horse knew that if he could get Fugo onto a boat he'd be able to sell his town's beauty.
The car stopped, and Hol Horse stepped out of it with two hands on his belt. He chuckled to himself, spitting out his cigarette and stomping into it with his boot.
"Uncertain, Texas." He spoke loudly for Fugo to hear. "Pop-u-lation is one-fifty. That's not one-fifty-thousand, or even one-fifty-hundred. That's an honest to God one-hundred and fifty citizens of this fine mother-loving city. Really makes you think, doesn't it Strawberry?"
Fugo got out shortly after. He was exhausted from days of driving. Not only that, but he was a little miffed about stopping so early in the day. He'd agreed to a stop in Texas, but he figured it was to see the world's largest ball of yarn or something. He let his bangs fall over his face with a scowl. His eyes rolled, and he had to raise a hand over his eyes to block out the powerful southern sun. The Italian felt extremely out of his element.
"Whatever, Hol Horse. Can you tell me what we're doing here?"
This got another laugh from the man. "Ain't it obvious? I'm from here! This is where the famous Hol Horse was born and raised! Went to school here, drove my first truck here and had my first real heartbreak right over there by that gas station. Time sure does fly, especially inside of a magical hotel. It all looks so different." He mused to himself.
Fugo walked to the other side of the car with hands in his pockets. He looked around with a bit of intrigue. Hol Horse was from here? It certainly added up. He couldn't really picture the bastard being from anywhere other than a tiny backwater town in Texas. The sun was blasting right into his eyes, so he couldn't help but wear an irritated scowl.
"Whelp, you've seen the place. Guess we can hit the road again." He shrugged.
"Now hold yer horses! We're not going anywhere! I promised to get your back all the way to New York, and you promised I could have one stop in Texas. We're spending the day here, okay? Then we'll do your thing."
Fugo scoffed. His thing? The cowboy made it sound like Fugo had some wonderful vacation planned at the end of their journey. This wasn't meant to be a feel-good trip across the continent. He was on a mission. He had to avenge the boss. Nothing else mattered. Despite that, he knew better than to run off so soon. Hol Horse was powerful. His Stand was very similar to Mista's. It would be dangerous to travel alone, especially when his Purple Haze was still acting so irregularly. Even with dedicated meditation his control of the savage Stand was hit or miss. No, Fugo would entertain Hol Horse's nostalgia for one day. Just one.
"Is this a hotel, then? Looks pretty small." Fugo glanced over at the building they were parked by.
"Sure is! Uncertain has a lot of tourism because of Caddo lake and the state park. We've got more hotels than gas stations!"
The Italian walked over to the hotel's entrance. He rubbed his chin curiously for a moment. There was definitely something out of the ordinary. Fugo knelt down to get a better look. At this distance it was clear. There was a line of white grains going perfectly across the width of the door. He reached over and took some of it between his thumb and index finger. Lifting it up to his nose didn't do any good, so he resorted to poking the substance with his tongue.
That was it.
"Salt?" He muttered incredulously.
At that moment, the door swung open. Fugo stumbled awkwardly to his feet. A large man stood inside the hotel doorway. He glared down at Fugo with skeptical eyes.
"You make a habit of licking things on the floor, boy?" He spoke with a deep, throaty Texan voice.
All Fugo could do was stutter. He was absolutely out of his element. What he was caught doing could certainly be classified as bizarre. He didn't really have an explanation.
"Marve!?" Hol Horse exclaimed from the parking lot.
The man's eyes left Fugo and shot over his shoulder. His jaw dropped, allowing his cigarette to fall into the salt line below. Marve removed his hat and squinted his eyes. Was the sunlight playing with him? There was just no way.
"Hal?" He stepped past Fugo and marched down the driveway.
"Hal?" Fugo raised a brow.
Hol Horse let out a boisterous laugh. He ran over to Marve and brought the man into a firm hug with three loud slaps to his back.
"Marve! You're still runnin' this old shack? Look at your hair! It's all grey! Is Mary givin' you any vacation?"
After the hug, the older man pulled back for a better look. He still seemed to be in total disbelief. It was as if he'd seen a ghost.
"Hal, it's been years! Where've you been? Everyone figured yer dead!"
It was difficult to look away from such a tender reunion, but Fugo couldn't help it. He glanced back at the salt line across the doorway. It wasn't a spill. It couldn't be. The line was too deliberate. It was untouched, save for his own finger's swipe across to gather a sample. The line had to be fresh. Wind would blow such a thing away, wouldn't it? Why hadn't the town's cowboy muck boots stomped and kicked it all along the porch?
"And that's my good pal Fugo! He's a foreigner from Italy! Good guy, definitely rough around the edges. Tied a little tight too, if ya know what I mean."
It would appear that Fugo had tuned out of the conversation for too long. Now he was meant to be a part of it once again.
"Oh, yeah. Thanks. Listen, we need a place to stay for the night. How much for a room?" Fugo had to actively force himself to keep his eyes away from the salt line. Something about it was digging into his mind. He tried to use his coping mechanisms to ignore it. This yielded little results.
"For Hal? Free of charge! You two can stick around as long as you want! C'mon in! I'll get ya yer room keys!" Marve had shifted completely from the stoic, intimidating man who opened the door moments ago. He was jovial and easygoing.
"Awh, Marve! I guess home's always got a place for me, huh?" Hol Horse followed him inside with a big smile.
Fugo eventually followed after paying one more glance at the salt. Once they were all inside, Marve entered the back room for their room keys. He returned shortly after with one for each of them.
"Now, the Creaky Creak's got a couple of housekeeping rules. Just formalities, honestly. Nothin' a God-fearing man wouldn't already do on his own. Blow your smoke out the window, wipe your boots on your doormat and throw your beer bottles away." Marve explained, placing a key in both men's hands.
"Sure thing, Marve. I don't plan on settling in so early though! I need to see the whole town." Hol Horse said.
"As you should! Just remember I lock the doors at 11:59 p.m. Once they're shut there's no gettin' in. Try to break a window and I'll grab the twelve gauge."
"11:59? Why so specific?" Fugo raised a brow.
This resulted in quite an awkward silence as Marve glared over at Hol Horse. The cowboy looked like he'd just witnessed a baby pissing on the floor. Had Fugo said something wrong? The tension was palpable. He shifted awkwardly in place, waiting for somebody to say something.
"Hal… You better keep an eye on yer friend. Y'know, make sure nothin' horrible happens." Marve lit another cigarette and walked out of the lobby. He lingered in the doorway of the "employees only" room with a hand on the wooden frame. Smoke slowly wafted from his lips as he turned his head back toward the men. "Uncertain's a lovely town, Mr. Fugo… So long as yer in by midnight. Don't say I never did nothin' for ya."
The door slammed shut after that, leaving Fugo rather perplexed. Was that a threat? It seemed like a genuine warning. What the hell was going on here? Who the hell was Hal? He had a really bad feeling about this town. Could Hol Horse even be trusted? Something dark was crawling up his spine. He could feel it. Uncertain was a shady place indeed.
To be Continued...