Millions of Screaming Yahoos, #15: Wyatt Earp

[The Good Reverend Roger]

Blarg!

[B_M_W]

Wow, just wow. I think this is the first time I have ever heard you talk of your life in such a personal manner. I want more.  And I mean that in the best, most respectful way possible.

So much for not posting rants here anymore, I guess.

10/10 (Not that it means anything coming from me, of course. I think all of your rants are 10s)

BMW

[The Good Reverend Roger]

So much for not posting rants here anymore, I guess.

When the writing demon grabs me, I have no choice.

But thanks.

[Cain]

Man....that was really brilliant.  Like BMW said, I think this is the first time I have ever heard you talk of your life in such a personal manner. Keep it up, that was great writing, truly.

[Eldora, Oracle of Alchemy]

If it's enough to make you even bring up the name, Crazy Steve, it mus be bizarro land indeed  

[LMNO]

Damn.



That's all, just:

Damn.

[Irreverend Hugh, KSC]

So much for not posting rants here anymore, I guess.

When the writing demon grabs me, I have no choice.

But thanks.

I have that same problem. That's why I hate all the pap they teach all the "creative writer" students in schools all across the country. Writing isn't so much of something that can be developed in the proper seminar or school, writers write because they have no choice.

[DJRubberducky]

I have that same problem. That's why I hate all the pap they teach all the "creative writer" students in schools all across the country. Writing isn't so much of something that can be developed in the proper seminar or school, writers write because they have no choice.

I can appreciate that sort of sentiment, but on the other hand I feel like I still need to add more proverbial tools to my belt.  I've had the writing demon sink its claws into my brain, and then get pissy and leave for a new host body because I'm physically incapable of expressing whatever it wanted to say.

[East Coast Hustle]

[re-jack]

The common wisdom is that Wyatt Earp and his brothers were the good guys, and the Cowboys were the local criminals.  The story we all heard as children was that the Earps and Doc Holliday - an infamous killer - came into tombstone, and cleaned it up...killing or driving off the organized crime gang, the Cowboys (led by the Clanton family).  As with most legends, the truth is somewhat different.  

The reality is this:  Wyatt Earp was a gambler and a pimp, and the fight was actually a turf war between two competing gangs, over the riches to be gained by fleecing the miners and the cattlehands.  Oh, and the truth about Doc Holliday?  It seems that his legend was self-created.  In his lifetime, he killed a grand total of three men, and all of them within a two week period.

The Earps were a family chasing the American Dream...that nightmare of "money for nothing", and constant one-upmanship, even unto death.  They all died young, except for Wyatt, who wiped out the entire Clanton family before the feud was over, and died wealthy in bed in the 1920s.

It's easy to sympathize with Wyatt, when you are in a situation like mine...and not much has changed since the horrible times of 1881-82.  Many of us still openly wear guns (AZ is the most gun-friendly state in the union), and dead bodies still regularly appear on the streets in the morning...stabbed, shot, or OD'd on Meth.

Tucson is all the worst parts of America, in microcosm...sub-human dogmen prowl the streets, watching each other for signs of weakness, always with their eye on the main chance.  Anyone slowed down by weakness or injury is fair game, at least in the parts of town that I work in.  The homeless travel in packs, for protection, and God help you if your car breaks down at the corner of La Cholla and Wetmore at 1 AM...

But not Seth and I.  We are the representatives of The Judge, and in the barrios, The Judge is king.  We are of the violence, and yet above it...safe from anyone not a stranger, so to speak.  We do The Judge's bidding, and we alone walk safely through the ghettos and trailerparks that make up South Tucson.  Diablos, they call us...and that is not a bad nickname to have, in this wretched shithole of a city.

If anything, the situation is worse than I alluded to in the last tale of ugliness...I exist in a save world of dumbness and brutality...a brutality that I sometimes deliver, in order that the pecking order remain - if not stable - managable.  Some have called me Padre Dolor...usually those I have been forced to "buffalo"(to strike a man with the barrel of your pistol), in the performance of my duties.

In all honesty, it's enough to make me miss Crazy Steve, and even Bud.

On the plus side, there is never any shortage of excitement, and Seth and I get invited to all the best parties...parties that involve gangbangers, pimps, thieves, and similar lowlifes...great fun, even if Seth can get a little out of hand, sometimes...

...We were at a party in a bar near the trailer park on Romero Street, and Seth was getting his groove on with two young meth-whores whose names I never caught.  I was running a poker game, which put The Judge's sanction on the rather large event...no police would bother us tonight, even if we wanted them to.

Seth and I had been the only two anglos in the place, until about 2 AM, when an anglo couple, obviously drunk off of their asses, walked in...a cute young lady that looked familiar, and a tattoed young tough...they looked to be about 22 years old or so.

As they were strangers, I eased my serape off to the side, so I could reach my Ruger...safe from anyone not a stranger...But at that moment, Seth came up off his sofa with a roar, dumping the two squawking meth whores to the floor.

Seth tore into the tattooed man with a savage abandon, repeatedly punching him in the face.  Three locals, who obviously knew the man, began to stir - whether to help Seth or the young man, I don't know - so, I pulled the Ruger, and fired a shot through the ceiling.  The men sat back down.

Seth, by this point, had beaten the young man into a stupor, and stood over at him, screaming imprecations at the young lady...and I realized why she looked familiar.  She looked very much like Seth, as a matter of fact.  The same eyes, you know the deal.

Turns out that Seth didn't approve of his little sister being in a place like this, or with a man covered in tattooes.  He looked at me, and told me to drag the tattooed guy out back, and he'd meet me there, once he had Emilio (the bouncer) drive his sister home.

I motioned at the young man, and two of the men who had moved got up and dragged him out back by the feet.  Still not knowing whom they were going to support, I followed with my pistol drawn.  Once out back, I told the two men to bugger off, and they returned to the bar.

A few minutes later, Seth came out back, and asked me to help him load the semi-conscious man into the back of his Jeep.  

"Cool it, Seth, we aren't going to kill this guy."

"Fuck killing him", Seth replied, "I just want to teach him a lesson."

I got in the passenger seat, and covered the man - now coming to - with my pistol.  He looked at me wide-eyed, and the car suddenly smelled of urine.

"Goddammit!", Seth growled, "The fucker pissed his pants on my car seat."

"No worries", I replied, leering at the terrified man in back, "It's not real leather, after all.  We'll just hose everything out".

We drove for about 25 minutes, and stopped the Jeep.  Seth looked at me, and I motioned with the pistol to the tattooed freak in back.  He got out of the Jeep, and started whimpering questions like "What did I do?" and "Who ARE you guys?".

"Shut the fuck up", Seth growled, "and listen.  You NEVER speak to that girl again.  If you do, I'll shoot you in the balls."

"Okay, okay", the man said, "I didn't even kiss her, dude."

"That's good, shithead, that's REAL good.  In fact, it puts me in a real good mood, so here...", Seth said, as he threw the guy a water bottle, "It's 10 miles to town, and 3 hours to sunup.  You'd better get moving, Vato."

Then he put the car in gear, and we left the man in the desert, in a cloud of dust.  

On the way back, Seth was quiet, and I decided to let him be.  Instead of talking, I pondered how my life had turned out since I returned to Arizona.  Just a few weeks ago, I was an underpaid mechanic, but my life was quiet.  Now I am a mook, a paid thug, and I am forced into scenes of ugliness on a daily basis.  

Jenny knows what I do now, too, so there's basically no chance of ever getting her back again...and if I want to see my kids, I have to go back to Illinois.  There's no way in hell I'd bring them down here to visit, even if their mother would allow it.  I can't see a way out of this, and I am no longer sure I want to.  Some people are born to hang, and I guess I'm one of them...on the upside, they say that if you are born to hang, nothing else can touch you.

So that's where things stand, these days...I have become a latter day Wyatt Earp...not the hero of legend, but the gambler and thug that was the reality.  Welcome to the new West, same as the old West.

But now it's getting late, and I have to go to work.

Or kill me.

ahh, the good old days.



[/re-jack]

[LHX]

i hate good writing



i think it is something that people do to try and get you to trust them

[East Coast Hustle]

PETA called for you.

they want you to step away from the deceased equine.

[The Good Reverend Roger]

i hate good writing



i think it is something that people do to try and get you to trust them

Then you'd better watch your ass.

[LHX]

i hate good writing



i think it is something that people do to try and get you to trust them

Then you'd better watch your ass.

this is turning out to be more fun than i really wanted

[The Good Reverend Roger]

i hate good writing



i think it is something that people do to try and get you to trust them

Then you'd better watch your ass.

this is turning out to be more fun than i really wanted

As the scorpion said to the blond, "You knew I was poison when you picked me up."

[Irreverend Hugh, KSC]

i hate good writing



i think it is something that people do to try and get you to trust them

Then you'd better watch your ass.

this is turning out to be more fun than i really wanted

As the scorpion said to the blond, "You knew I was poison when you picked me up."

That was what they use to say in Miami to all the dumb touristas.