Billy the Kid Says "No Mas": The Short Story Continues
I’m grateful that you are back for another chapter in my Billy the Kid series. I suspect we are coming to a close with this long short story. In fact, this will be part one of a two part finale. I suspect Billy will reappear as an extended ebook series in the near future. Anyway, that’s the plan.
So kick back and enter the realm of fiction with me as our anti-hero tries to wiggle out of the trouble he and Genna are in.
Blending with the Scenery
Winter doesn’t want to loosen its grip in the Rocky Mountains. She grabs on tight in October and shows no mercy through November, December, January and on until April if you’re lucky and the gods are smiling on you. And the gods hadn’t shown any inclination to smile on my Mick ass in quite awhile.
True, nobody had found us in the tourist town of West Yellowstone as April ushered in May, and true, Genna and I had grown closer and greatly enjoyed each other’s company, but the old saying “no rest for the wicked” was true. It’s very hard to completely enjoy life when you eye each stranger as a possible hit man with you as the target.
I brushed the powder snow off my gloves, stomped my boots and opened the front door of our three-room cabin a mile out of town. The temps were rising and that snow would be mud in a matter of days, making getting around a pain in the ass….but still, nobody was shooting at us. Genna was pulling biscuits out of the oven as I walked in. She smiled that smile, white teeth radiating from a dark, full mouth, her black hair braided and long, her full body like a chocolate bar straining against the wrapper.
“Wash up for dinner, Billy, then come open the wine for me.”
“Give me ten, Genna, so I can shower off this stink.” I’d been working for a local rancher, feeding his herd of mustangs, all under-the-table, cash only, for the last four months. It was honest work, work not likely to get me shot, but man alive, at the end of the day, all I smelled was horse shit.
I kept my promise about the shower and ten minutes later I joined Genna. I grabbed the corkscrew and performed the task requested.
“What’s the occasion? We rarely have wine with dinner?”
She looked at me and smiled again. “It’s the last wine I can have for six months.”
I’m called a crazy Mick bastard by those who know me, but no one calls me stupid.
A Whole New Ballgame
She nodded at me.
“Three months according to the doctor at the clinic.”
She put the casserole on the table then entered my beckoning arms. God she was beautiful. Her chocolate skin looked more maple than chocolate in the candlelight, as smooth as ever, as enticing as ever. Her muscles, taut at first touch, relaxed and melted as I held her. Pregnant? That changed everything. I was going to be a father. Wanted by the Russian mob, the Mexican drug cartel and probably the entire police force of Miami and southeast Iowa, my life expectancy could be measured in weeks rather than years, and I was going to be a father. Who says God doesn’t have a sense of humor?
“What are we going to do, Billy?”
I so wished she would quit asking that question.
My old man never ran in his life. When he died he had the scars to prove it, but he lived, and died, on his terms, and I always respected him for that. He was the original crazy Mick bastard, but he was basically a good man who just happened to believe a man should never give up ground gained, and if that meant you bled then that’s just the way it is.
I looked at Genna. She was my responsibility. I accidently dragged her into this mess and I needed to get her out of it, and by God no son, or daughter, of mine would grow up on the run.
“What we aren’t going to do, darlin’, is keep running. Enough is enough. We either take it to them here or we go to their homes and do it, but our child is not going to come into this world afraid of shadows.”
“Billy, what do you mean? We can’t fight the cops, the Russians and the Mexicans. There are too many of them and one of you. How can you expect to do that and be alive to father this child of ours?”
Damn good question!
Kicking It Around over Dinner
Fight or flight. That’s what it always came down to. Genna was correct, of course. There were too many of the bad guys. No way could I take the fight to them all.
“Our main concern is the Russian mob. The Mexicans may have our names on some list, but they won’t actively pursue us. They recovered their drugs and most of the money. Same with the cops. We’ll remain persons of interest to them, but there isn’t some massive manhunt for us. No, the Russians are our problem. In fact, I suspect your husband was tied to the Russians and that’s why they showed up at the same time. Makes no difference, really. Two things: we need to become new people, with complete new histories and identification that will hold up under scrutiny, and we need to get the Russians off our asses for good.”
“How do we do that, Billy?
“The new identities we pay for. I’ve got contacts back in Washington Heights who can do the job for us. As for the Russians, we make them an offer they can’t refuse.”
“Are we going to survive this plan of yours, Billy?”
“We have to, Genna. We’ve got a kid who’s depending on us. Let me make a phone call and get some information I need. You might as well start packing. We need to head back to New York where this really all began for me.”
From West Yellowstone to Washington Heights
Once we left the Rockies, heading east, the flat landscape warmed and snow was replaced by wild flowers and hectic farm activity.
My phone call to Lorenzo in Washington Heights had netted me the information I needed. With Ivan dead (thanks to me), his first lieutenant had taken over the Russian enterprise. His name was Sergei Andropov and he lived on Pinehurst, near one-eighty-third, with a wife and two teenagers. My buddy informed me there was still a price on my head and I would be wise to never return to the Heights. I thanked him and promptly ignored his warning.
We were on no schedule as we drove east, so we took our time and enjoyed the trip, as a dying man most likely savors his last meal.
And That’s Where We Leave off As 2015 Comes to an End
I suspect the grand finale will take two more chapters. I’ll wrap up the story then for the time being, but, as I mentioned earlier, Billy the Kid will most likely resurface in a series of novellas later in 2016. Anyway, that’s the plan.
Thanks for following along. I wish you all a very Happy New Year, and thank you so much for your loyal following and friendship.
2015 William D. Holland (aka billybuc)