Buck Johnson: Drive's End Page 2

  “Well, I been here at Skrintax about a month. Karposh was already here—and, you know, it shore is amazin’ how many of these teetotalin’ Terullians’ll risk a long jail stay for a little dram of delight—and I been makin’ a nice tidy profit too—. Anyhow, ol’ Karposh must’ve found out you was comin’ and why. He’s been busy buyin’ up all the dragons he can find between here and the Keraz Mountains. Then, he has his boys bring ’em here and sell ’em—at a loss, too. There ain’t nobody within five hundred miles that needs to buy a dragon mount now.”

  “Son—of—a—bitch.” Buck dropped his butt into the shot glass in from of him, leaned back in his seat, arms crossed, and stared at nothing. Snort had his elbows on the table and his face in his hands. And Skeeter snored with his mouth open and hat perched precariously on the back of his head.

  “Now, don’t worry, boys. Ever since you showed up, I been workin’ on a little plan. Snort you go on back there and see to them korths. Buck, have another drink, and I’ll tell you all about it.”

  Late the next morning they saddled up and prepared to ride in to Skrintax. Skeeter was a little wobbly, wincing whenever the sun got in his eyes, and seemed to have trouble working up enough saliva to spit. Just before they left, Quincy gave them one final exhortation: “Remember what I told you. Do it exactly the way I said, and you’ll have Karposh eatin’ out of yer hand.” So they mounted, turned their korths, and trotted toward town. Buck had a hint of a smile playing at the corners of his mouth.

  Skeeter kept asking where they were going and what they were doing. The only thing he could get that even approached an answer was from Snort: “You’ll see soon enough, buckaroo.” When they passed the holding pens on the south side of Skrintax, Buck was pleased to see that Karlok and Xerlax, Ned and Johnny had stayed with the dragons and korths. It was about time they pulled their weight.

  They reined in front of the metal hut where Quincy had told them Karposh was staying, and Buck bellowed, “Karposh! Git out here! Let’s talk!” The metal door slid open with a whoosh and Karposh stepped out looking surprised and out of sorts. Visible behind him, inside the hut, were the pale forms of barely-clothed girls flitting about. “Come on. Git your scaly ass out here.”

  Karposh took a few tentative uneven steps forward. His left leg was still a little shorter and smaller around than the right. The hatred emanating from his eyes was almost palpable—his nictitating membranes flicked rapidly. His tongue was also flicking out of his reptilian mouth too far and too often. Finally, he spoke: “Ssso, my Buck, we meet again. Ssso sssweet.” The tongue flicked out and in, out and back in again. “You have dragansss for sssale, eh?” He licked his lips and took another halting step closer.”

  “You bet we got ‘dragonsss’ for sale, you connivin’ piece of lizard crap. You wanna buy ’em?”

  “Ssso kind Buck isss. I have no need. Town isss full of dragonsss.”

  “No? All right, then. What’ll you give me for ’em? You know the goin’ rate’s about two hundred credits a head, right?” Skeeter had completely forgotten his headache and was beginning to look worried.

  “Sssuch a hard bargain, my Buck, Too much, too much. But Karposssh isss kind and sssweet. I offer you fifty Terul creditsss a head. You make me ssso poor, a pauper, Buck.” Tongue out and in.

  “Well, looks like I don’t have much choice, do I? Okay . . . I guess I’ll take it.” Skeeter’s face fell while Snort pressed his lips tightly together. “Pay up, then.”

  “No, no, Buck. You come back later, Buck.” Karposh then smiled a fulsome reptilian smile. “I’m very busssy now, Buck—lotsss of girlsss. Later.” Then he turned and limped triumphantly back to the hut.

  “I’ll bet you are busy, you degenerate bastard. Let’s go, boys.” Buck turned his korth and spurred him hard. Snort and Skeeter fell in behind. Not a word was said all the way back to Quincy’s sky truck. But Buck was smiling the whole time.

  When they were almost there, Skeeter spurred and whipped his korth into a dead run. He slid to a dusty stop in front of the awning and leaped off. Quince! Quince! You know what Buck just did? He gave ’em away—literally gave all our dragons away—to that—that—that—.

  “Whoa, ease up there, Skeet. You’re gonna blow a gasket. I know what Buck did. I told him to.”

  “You what?”

  “Yeah, I told him to. He’s thinks he’s got the better of Buck now. And that’ll make tonight’s work all that much easier.”

  Buck and Snort had now arrived and dismounted. Skeeter was looking, aghast, from Quincy to them and back again, spluttering all the while. “Buck, how could you do somethin’ like that after all our work and trouble?” But Buck just smiled at him.

  Quincy, though, was bent over with laughter and slapping his knees. “Quince, it ain’t funny. Now, we’ll never git off this sorry planet.”

  “Skeet, come on in and have a drink and a smoke. It’ll calm your nerves and put a little spring back in your step.” Skeeter followed him shaking his head and muttering to himself.

  When they were all seated at the table and after Skeeter had made three shots disappear, Quincy commenced his explanation. “Skeet, Karposh didn’t get over on Buck. Nope, it’s the other way around. He just don’t know it yet.”

  “Well, I don’t either.”

  “Look, Skeet, it’s like this. When one of Karposh’s boy’s was in here the other night, after he’d had a few—and you know them lizard boys can’t handle their liquor ’cause they don’t git much practice—I got him to tell me the pass codes to the gates on all them pens. When I heard you boys was trailin’ a herd in, I had a suspicion that information might come in pretty handy. And now it’s goin’ to.”

  “How?” Skeeter still looked utterly despondent, and his eyes were slightly unfocused. When Snort looked at him, he couldn’t keep from giggling.

  “Buck, this is makin’ me tired. You tell him.”

  So Buck took over. “Skeet, look, tonight we’ll just slip in there—and, remember, we got the pass codes to all those laser gates—real quiet and turn all those dragons out. And the next morning—Skeet, are you awake?” But Skeeter was asleep and snoring full bore.

  In the late afternoon, Buck sent Snort in to collect their pittance from Karposh. When he got back he handed Buck the Terul-credit notes. “Buck, that sinkin’ lizard’s mighty pleased with himself. I can’t wait to see his scaly face in the morning. And I told Karposh and Xerlax and them two loafers to wait for us at the pens like you said.” Then they all took a needed rest while awaiting deep night.

  “Skeet, wake up. We gotta go.” Snort was shaking his shoulder. “It’s time.”

  “Hunh? What the hell?”

  “Come on. Now you’ll find out what we’ve cooked up for our friend Karposh.” Then Snort helped Skeeter to his feet and walked him out to his saddled and waiting korth. And Skeeter managed to climb aboard and stay there.

  They started on the south side of Skrintax and worked their way around to the north. Buck went ahead turning off laser gates and fly guards, working from the list of pass codes Quincy had given him. Snort and Skeeter came in after him. They entered the pens, pushed the dragons out, and sent them on their way toward the pass leading out of Skrintax’s valley. That done, they returned to where their dragons and korths were penned to await morning.

  When Karposh stepped out of his hut to relieve himself, he got only as far as unzipping his fly. He spotted Buck and Snort and Skeeter sitting leisurely on their korths and grinning at him. He yanked his fly back up and flicked his tongue out and in.

  “Beautiful mornin’, ain’t Karposh.” Buck was doing his best to suppress laughter, but Snort couldn’t keep from sniggering. “Just thought we’d ride in and give you a hand.”

  Karposh stared hard at them, his vertical pupils narrowing. “Ah, ssso good of you, Buck. But why you sssuppose I need help?”

  “Well, my lizard friend, somehow—and we all know it can happen even when you got laser gates—all your dragons busted out during the night. And now, it seems, they’re scattered all over hell and Terul. We just thought we’d give you and your boys a little help gatherin’’em—for a price, that is. I hope you been paid for all those you sold. And if you have, you’re gonna have some mighty pissed off buyers when they come to collect their mounts.”

  Karposh’s nictitating membranes flew down and up several times again, and his tongue flicked rapidly. “You ssson of a—ah, well, ssso kind of you, my Buck. But you know I buy your dragonsss and have no money. Broke. You bring dragonsss back, and I’m grateful. Maybe . . . I give you job breaking my dragonsss again, eh?”

  “Not a chance. Here’s the deal. You give me two hundred Terul credits apiece—not fifty—for those dragons I brought in, and we won’t molest your boys when they try to use ‘em to gather the ones that got loose last night. We also got twenty korths you can have for the bargain price one hundred credits each—you’re gonna need ’em. And, furthermore, you cheatin’ lizard ass, we’ll help you gather these dragons—must be at least twelve hundred of ’em—for just fifty credits for every one we bring in. How’s that sound?”

  Karposh was as livid as a green-skinned creature can get. He was shifting from one leg to the other slightly immature one and back. His four-fingered hands were clenching and unclenching. Then he mastered himself and tried to call Buck’s play. “No, Buck, sssuch bad termsss for poor Karposssh. I have no money. You underssstand Buck?”

  “Oh, that’s okay, Karposh. We’ll just ride on out now . . . and we’ll tell all them folks who bought these dragons about this. I reckon they’ll have somethin’ to say to you.” Buck turned his korth and started to ride off.

  “No, Buck, wait. I pay. You get dragonsss. I pay when you dragonsss back. Sssound good, Buck?”

>   Buck kept going and threw this over his shoulder: “Nope. That don’t ‘sssound good.’ We’re gone.” Snort and Skeeter fell in behind him.

  Karposh was shrieking sibilantly now. “No, sssstop! No tell, sssstop! Come back! I pay Buck and boyssss now.”

  “Well, all right, then.” They turned and rode back. When Buck reached Karposh, he held out his hand. “And advance us for . . . oh, let’s say, the five hundred dragons we’ll gather for you. Right there. Put it right there in my hand.”

  Karposh was fuming, but he did it. He counted out the Terul-credit notes right into Buck’s hand. And Buck flinched only slightly when Karposh’s scaly fingers happened to touch his hand.

  Buck turned in his saddle, holding the fistful of notes high, and grinned at Snort and Skeeter. “Come on, boys, we got work to do—for our favorite lizard friend here.”

  Skeeter looked at Snort with only a hint of incredulity showing in his face. “Well, I’ll swan, Snort, how come you didn’t tell me it was gonna turn out like this?”

  “Well, Skeet, sometimes it’s better if you find out things for yourself, I reckon.” Then they spurred their korths and galloped toward Skrintax’s ringing hills.

  Don’t miss the very first story in Wyatt McLaren’s Buck Johnson series—“Buck Johnson, Dragon Wrangler.”

  If you have any comments, questions, or criticisms, you can contact Wyatt McLaren at wyattmclaren@gmail.com.

 

 

  Wyatt McLaren, Buck Johnson: Drive's End

 

 

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