The Cowboy Church, Part 2

By J.L. Mackey

5.

The factory had seen better days. Kudzu was in the process of enveloping an entire side. Most of the windows were broken or missing, and a few had visqueen poorly stretched across them in lieu. The road leading in had been recently repaved, but the parking lot was faded, crumbling, and cracked across its length. Within the maze of large storage tanks, piping, and endless ducts, a square foot of unrusted steel couldn’t be found. Three white vans sat parked in front of two closed bay doors. 

Miranda shook her head. “This feels like the kind of place where industrial meth is made. Like hundreds of gallons at a time.”

Ezra nodded. “You watch too much television.”
“I’m not about it.”
“Then sit in the car. It’s fine. No one will beat up a handicapped person.”

“Except for the people that will.” Miranda let the truck idle and creep across the parking lot.
Ezra peered out of the windows. “I mean. Fair enough. Let’s find out if they are.”
“If it’s not feeling right, please get the fuck out of there.”
“As fast as these bent toothpicks will let me, babe.”
“I’m serious, you crazy fuck. Don’t be an idiot.” 

“I’ll try, but no promises. Just park somewhere over there.”

Miranda put the truck in park and sighed heavily. She crossed her arms and leaned her head back against the headrest. Ezra tripped on the floormat while trying to get out. He snatched a cane from behind the seat and used it to close the truck door. He grinned at Miranda, who shook her head and put a new cigarette to her mouth. 

“I’ll just be here, stressing out.” 

There was an unmarked, elevated door adjacent to the bay doors. Ezra made his way up a few stairs and opened it. On the other side appeared a giant man with a face that looked like someone had taken an electric sander to it. 

“Alright, you disgruntled lumberjack. Somethin’ tells me you know who I am.” The man’s blank stare turned sour. “Are you deaf or just stupid? Should I draw it for you? Like a picture book?” Ezra made a writing motion with his free hand.

The man uncrossed his massive arms and nodded for Ezra to follow him.

They turned a corner and the building widened out into a large open floor where hundreds of large boxes and crates sat on pallets. Forklifts and pedestrians whirred around. None paid Ezra or the man any attention as he led Ezra around and between piles of bags and barrels labeled with long chemical names he’d never heard of, surrounded by DANGER and CAUTION in large, bold lettering. Having spent most of the time focused on the floor to avoid tripping, Ezra finally looked up to find himself at the base of a flight of stairs. 

“I guess y’all never heard of the Americans With Disabilities Act. You might as well go take a nap. Because I’m gonna be a while.” The man took two steps at a time to the top, turned around, and glared down at Ezra in disgust. Ezra took half-steps, bringing each foot to rest next to the other before continuing, relying considerably on his cane. By the time he reached the top, sweat was forming on his brow and he struggled to find breath.
He fished a cigarette from his shirt pocket and clumsily lit it. “Fuck me running.” Ezra smoked half of it before flicking it behind him. The man stepped to the side and opened the door. Ezra took a new grip on his cane and limped on through. 

A wiry man in a suit sat in an office chair behind a plain wooden desk. In front of him was a cell phone, a notepad, and a small pistol facing the doorway. “Mr. Ballinger. I’ve heard a lot about you.” Ezra walked up to the edge of the desk and sharply rasped his cane against it. “Cut the shit. This isn’t a movie and you’re not some James Bond villain, despite the getup. Who the fuck are you? 

The man chuckled and nodded. “I’m Edward. I’m just a businessman. But tell me: what brought you here?”

“I’m a cripple, not an idiot.”

Edward stood up, buttoned his coat, and walked to a window overlooking the warehouse floor below. “I am curious to know.”

Ezra turned to face him and leaned against the desk. “That’s your problem. But it don’t much matter. I’m here now.”

“True enough. And, that being said, I imagine you know what I want.”

“My family’s land? The ranch?”

Edward nodded. “That is correct.”

“What the fuck for?”

“That doesn’t concern you.”

Ezra laughed. “Unless you’re an idiot, you know I don’t have any part or stake in the ranch. I’m not in a position to sell it. And even if I was, I wouldn’t sell it to some piece of shit like you.”

“But you’re in a position to convince those who are.”

“Like hell I am. My father is only slightly less of an asshole than you.”

“This is my offer to you, to your family. Sell the land to me, well above market value, or bring the…environmental mishap…up to the authorities and sue me, or whatever other legal recourse you prefer to take. I may pay fines, and your family, after spending all that money on lawyers, will be forced to sell–at a steep discount–to the only person willing to buy ruined farmland. Me.”

“Well, aren’t you a conniving sonofabitch. I hate to break it to you, but the ranch won’t be sold to you or any other cocksucker. At any price.”

“And here I thought you had no love for Daddy.”

“That you would say so proves you’re a moron. Why don’t you fuck off and go back to wherever you came from?”

“I’m not going anywhere. The land will be mine, one way or another. We have considerable plans for this little town, and I’ll not have you impeding on them.”
Ezra scratched his groin. “Just big talk from another fucking city slicker who’s out of his depth.”

“Money talks. That is the way of the world. It is the wheel and the grease. And it’s either the mountain your family will be standing on or the one it’ll be buried under when this is done.” 

“Fuck you.” He pointed his cane at Edward. “Fuck him.” Ezra gestured at lumberjack. “And the fuck the horses y’all rode in on. If you think you can do all this, hiding behind a wall of money and your retarded bodyguard, you are sorely mistaken. And you will pay dearly.”

Edward laughed. “Time will tell.”

Without turning his body, Ezra leaned around and gripped the pistol on Edward's desk. He brought it to rest at his waist, aimed at Edward. As the bodyguard reached for his own and aimed it at Ezra’s forehead, Edward turned around and smiled as a father watching his child clumsily take his first steps.

“Alright, Mr. Ballinger. What’s next? Is the safety on? Are you going to cock that hammer yourself? And, what’s more: is there a round in the chamber? Go ahead. Rack the slide and check. He won’t even shoot you for it.” Edward and the bodyguard looked at each other, and the bodyguard’s eyes returned to Ezra. 

Ezra held Edwards’ gaze. His finger was already on the trigger. He added pressure to it, but the hammer didn’t move. He felt his face go flush as his heart began to stammer. Edward was unmoving. Ezra exhaled loudly and tossed the pistol back on the desk. The bodyguard returned his gun to its holster but his hand hovered over it.

“That’s what I thought. My offer still stands. You have a day.” Edward strolled back to the desk, picked up the pistol, and jerked the slide back. A round was thrown out, bounced off the desk, and rolled across the concrete floor. “Perhaps you will come to your senses once you have your afternoon pill and calm down.”
“I don’t need a day. I’m telling you right now to fuck off.” Ezra turned toward the door, jerked it open, and stumbled down the steps as fast as his feet would let him.

Edward sat down in the chair behind the desk. “Miles, I want him followed.” The bodyguard nodded and pulled out his phone. 

“He is a hard one to read. I cannot tell if he’s a chickenshit with a lot of talk, or if he’s wild enough to do something crazy.”

“You know what I think.”