“Found ’em!” hollers a voice from the garage. Wayne comes back out from the shadows carrying a light colored leather belt with two round holsters—in them, nestled carefully, are two shining silver cannisters. As Wayne gets to them he holds them up to the sun which glints off the majestic chrome as somewhere in the distance a hawk calls. Travis looks around at the sky.

“These’ll keep ma pants up real good,” says M.

“You know this place you got,” Travis says to Wayne, “I’m thinkin’, well ya know, I know some people and—you know the old gas pumps, the cars—Night club.” Travis spreads his hands out in front of them to show them the bright lights. “That’s the way I would rock it, Wayne.”

“Ya think?”

“Oh yeah. Hot commodity. Hot. I know people.”

“Well shit.” Wayne says and scratches his head. “Ya think it’d have karyoke?”

“Wayne—baby. I’m talking kayroke, lip synching, mouthing words to songs without knowing the lyrics, the works. Air guitar. Crazy shit.”

“Huh.”

“Well, we gotta get goin ta lunch.”

“Oh. Where was you goin?”

The bug man shrugs.

“Well, I jes’ heard from Johnny who heard from Gary that the Diablo is out.” As the name is spoken a rattlesnake rattles.

Travis looks around his bare feet quickly. “C’mon, that’s obnoxious.”

“No, it’s true. Don’t know how he done it but he got out. They said he’s lookin for you, the Mack.”

“Well, well, well,” M intones. “I guess I’ll keep an eye out.”

“All right. Ya’ll take care.”

“Nice ta meet ya Wayne. And seriously man, air guitar. Think about it.”

“All right then.” Wayne winks at Travis as they all turn to go.

Getting back into the truck, Travis looks at M and says, “the Mack, huh?”

“Well, you know how it is,” M says as he puts the key in the ignition and brings the mariachi band back to life. The truck pulls off the sidewalk, peels out, turns out into the left lane as another car dodges it, and straightens itself out. “Wait! We’re here!” the bug man yells, as the truck fishtails into the parking lot of a Dairy Queen. Unexpectedly swept by gravity, Travis slides down the bench seat into the bug man.

Looking Travis up and down, the jovial, fat man smiles. “That’s right nice. I like you, too.” He nods once and turns the truck engine off, silencing the sounds of the mariachi. They both get out, and begin to walk towards the Dairy Queen, its barn roof looming ominously before them as a single crumpled napkin tumbles by in the breeze. Ambling up to the front door, the bug man protectively places one arm in front of Travis. “Let me handle this, Chief,” he says, and proceeds to balance uncertainly on one leg, kicking the door hard with his other. The door bangs loudly but stands stoically unmoved. Leaning in, the bug man examines the door, adjusting his glasses, and then pulls it open, smiling at Travis.

“Thanks,” Travis says and enters.

Inside, the sound of the mariachi band plays through the tinny intercom speakers. Travis spots a group of gangsters from the barrio who sit in the corner watching the pair carefully, as the music tiptoes carefully into a dark place.

Read the whole thread: Showdown at the DQ Corral

Characters and Places: The Bug Man, Travis Fleeting