The farther we drove, the darker it got. I don't think it was because the night was already catching up, but a thunderstorm rolled in out of nowhere and formed a shield from the sunlight. Dallas didn't seem to notice.
I observed the leathery, greyish purple formations resembling an old, twisted tree trunk since there was nothing else to look at. We were in the middle of nowhere, with just a road ahead of us and dirt on either side for miles. It looked pretty cool, though, as the lightening struck and the booming thunder wrought terror upon the town miles away. It almost looked like a lightening bug caught in a net from here, and the thunder was the curses from the lightening bug left unheard.
"It's gonna rain, you know." It was only a matter of time until it started pouring over here like it was a couple miles west, and the cool, fresh air right before a storm rushed over me and glistened my arms and the back of my neck. I should have brought Dally's coat, but it was a pretty nice day back in Tulsa.
"Easier win for me." I almost thought he wouldn't reply.
"What if they cancel it?" He looked amused at my question.
"You honestly think they're gonna cancel a rodeo over some fucking sprinkles?" He looked at me when he spoke, then looked back to the road. "Shit, it's better when it rains anyway. Dumbfucks who don't know how to ride slip off in seconds, and the lightening makes the horses go buckwild. It's the best time to ride, when it's rainin'." He really is fucking crazy.
"When you break your neck, don't come cryin' to me."
"When I win all the bets, don't come askin' me for liquor money." I blinked. Liquor money? Shit, I forgot. I bet everyone up there is filling themselves up with booze.
We got there soon after, and he hardly parked the car before he hopped out, leaving the top off. We were in the back of the dirt plot, AKA the parking lot, since there were plenty of pick-up trucks and other assorted beat up pieces of shit ahead of us. Dallas was welcomed by some familiar faces, but I stood by the car.
By the way that Dallas was acting, fun, but still dangerous, he seemed a little nicer than he normally was. Kind of happy, actually. For a guy who grew up in New York, he sure did like those cowfuckers. But, then again, no matter how mean you are, you can't keep your job if you're an asshole to everyone. That's probably how it was around here, and from what I knew of, this was Dally's only way of getting money.
"Didn't think I'd see you again after two months ago, Dal!"
"Where the fuck you been?"
"This is gonna be the cowboy that wins it all!"
I heard all of the cheering and whooping from the small group, while other small groups were separated and they were probably doing the same to their rodeo heroes. Dallas leaned up against the hood of the nice car he had stolen, just a few feet away from me. I glanced nonchalantly at the group familiar with him.
"Who's Ace?" Ace? What the fuck?
"That's Tobe. She's with me." Oh, yeah, I was wearing my ace of spades shirt. It was off-white, and skin-tight, printed with a replica of an ace of spades design on the front, and the same on the back.
"She your lucky card?" One of the older ones cackled, and a few others laughed along with him.
"Yeah, she better be." I felt an arm sling around my bruised shoulder, rough and hard. I stiffened up and my posture straightened, as I looked up at Dallas, who was grinning down at me. I looked down a minute and blushed harder than I think I ever have before. Was this just an act for the old fucks, or did Dallas Winston really want to put his arm around my shoulder? We started walking, and I almost stumbled but I caught myself beforehand. I hoped and prayed to Buddha, Zeus, Lillith and Elvis that he didn't notice how nervous and anxious I was.
It was a relief to see that everyone there wasn't old, or all rednecks. In fact, a lot of them were younger, a little older than me and Dallas but younger than a third of the people that cramped up the small shack-like area. If you go to the left, there's a huge ring with some run-down stadium seats and stables far past that. If you go to the right, there's the bar and about half the world's population all crammed in one room. It was hot in there, compared to outside, but I could hardly breathe.
Dally's arm hadn't been around my shoulder for a whole minute now, and he was in the group next to me, taking a swig of beer and telling stories about jumping some Socs. There were some greasers there, too, so the story was appreciated and cheered to for another mug of beer. A guy in about his twenties came up, and he was real muscley, almost like Darry, and put his hand on Dallas' shoulder.
"You won't be riding tonight." And as if on cue, lightening cracked and I heard a few horses slam into their stable walls, trying to escape.
"What?" Everyone in the group fell silent, and Dallas had an unpleased look on his face.
"You should'a signed up sooner, someone filled the last slot of the night. Better luck next time." The man, taller and more bulky than Dallas let go of his shoulder and began to turn. Dallas then put his hand on the man's shoulder.
"No, there's another slot. I'm sure of it. Got my name on it, in permanent marker." His tone was harsh, and he spoke behind a raking jaw.
"Nope. No Dallas Winston on there. Sorry, kid, but you ain't riding tonight." His jaw turned white, and even though I couldn't hear, I knew he was cursing underneath his breath. There were a few curses from the group in quiet protest, as well.
"Let me see that list, Jerry." I almost laughed, his name even rhymed with Darry's. He actually looked like Darry, just uglier. Jerry, apparently the runner of this place or one of them, crossed his arms.
"What for?"
"I just wanna make sure you ain't bullshittin' me." I didn't know what Dallas was going to pull, but I know he didn't sign up today because I've been with him the entire time. Either he got someone to sign it up for him and they failed, or he had something up his sleeve. Jerry took the clipboard from underneath his other slab of pure muscle and passed it to Dallas. He read over the names intently, icy blues having a staring contest with the paper and it was a struggle to tell who would win. Dallas licked his lips, and then grinned smoothly up at Jerry, handing the list back to him.
"Looks like you're right. I ain't ridin' tonight." He forced an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders, and everyone in the group loudly protested and started shoving Jerry gently. He murmured something about rules being rules, and went back towards the stables.
When I looked back, Dallas was shoving his way through the crowd, looking for something. Climbing on top of the bar top, he looked around, and he then cupped his hands around his mouth as he yelled.
"Do we got a MAC DAWSON? MAC?" He got no reply. "BIG MAC FUCKIN' DADDY? Come up here!" His gaze lazily swept over all of the patrons, before one man surfaced, having about the same build as Dallas, and the same height. He was maybe a little taller, and he had a cowboy hat on. Typical. He had at least ten, fifteen years on Dallas, though.
"That's me." Dallas raised his eyebrows, and stepped down from the bar top.
"Yeah, Mac, sorry to tell you, but uh.." He got close enough until their noses nearly touched, except Dallas was shorter than him, so he was looking up with a crooked grin. "You ain't gonna be ridin' tonight."
I gulped. Mac didn't look like he was going to budge. A scowl slowly formed on Mac's face. Mac.. what a dumb name.
"And what if I do?" His voice was old, deep, and booming like the thunder that cracked in the background.
"Well, uh.. I'll just make sure you won't be able to walk to that fuckin' stable." That dangerous grin that I've been seeing quite too often formed on the blonde's face. Another fight? God damn, I've never met anyone who fought so fucking often.
Mac then nodded, almost understandingly, and began to turn as if he were going to walk away. Then quickly, he pulled in a cheap shot -- a quick hood right in the jaw. Dallas knew it was coming, but he took it to prove a point. He halfway twisted around from the impact of the punch, but did not fall nor stumble -- he slowly stood back up with a straight posture, and that grin returned, with a grin redder than before.
Before I knew it, I was being pushed and shoved farther and farther away from Dallas. I shoved back, but it didn't effect the muscle and beer guts that surrounded me. I couldn't see what was going on, but I heard some bottles breaking and some tables or chairs being broken. Some grunts and harsh laughs, and most importantly, flesh pounding against flesh. I kept hopping up to try to get a glimpse of the fight, but I couldn't tell. After no longer than a minute, the sound of a body dropping echoed throughout the bar. I heard raspy panting, and a few cheers here and there. Shit! Who the fuck won!? I almost whined out loud.
"Hey, you okay man?"
"Shit, you're bleeding everywhere!"
"Let me get you a rag!"
"Is that his tooth on the floor?!"
Don't these assholes know how to say his name?! Come on, just say that Dallas won and I can breathe easily. Even though there was no fucking oxygen in this cram-packed place.
People started separating in front of me, and I stood and waited silently in anticipation. And like the gateway to heaven, two men in front of me separated, revealing a bloody, panting Dallas. He was still grinning, but there was blood doing down his lips and his eyebrow was split open. Not severely, but it was still bleeding right next to his eyelid.
"Shit, Dallas, are you okay?!" He looked up, and his grin nearly curled over. His eyes sparked something mischievous, as he brushed past me but shouldered his way through everyone else.
I followed in quick pursuit, wanting to make sure he wasn't bleeding anywhere else. He didn't have a limp, so that was good. He wasn't breathing funny, either than panting kind of hard from just fighting, so his ribs should be alright. He had made his way to the stables, getting out of the rain, where Jerry was brushing one of the horses.
"Jerry, I'm riding." Jerry didn't look back, but he knew it was Dallas.
"We already talked about this, Dallas." He turned to look at him. "And I don't wanna have to explain..." He looked at the teen's bloody lip, and busted eyebrow. ".. What the fuck happened to you?"
"I fell. Poor ol' Mac Dawson slipped and fell in the mud, too. He won't be riding, said I could take his place." Jerry glared at Dallas in disbelief. "Me and Mac are real good buddies. We go way back."
"Yeah, well, I'll have to hear from Mac himself that he won't be riding.." Jerry put the brush on a stack of hay and began to walk past Dallas. He stammered, but then put his hand on Jerry's shoulder.
"Uh, no, he's on his way home. Poor ol' fuck broke his hip or somethin'. You won't be hearing anything from him." Jerry looked pissed. He knew exactly what was going on, but they did now have a slot open and Dallas obviously wanted it.
"Fine, Dallas. You win."
Dallas Winston always got what he wanted.