Cowgirl Thrillers by Barbara Neville
The rest of the crew comes over to shake hands also. Buzz bows his head in a courtly manner and says, “A veritable pleasure, Lord Jacob has spoken very highly of all of you. I believe that I may be of help in your current endeavor. If you would be so kind as to fill me in on the history here.”
Buzz and Lord Jacob both smile at us.
Spud turns to Lord Jacob and says, “Not the Buzz from yore old stories.”
“The very one,” says Lord Jacob.
“Ah.”
“Spud is one of the prisoner’s older brothers,” Lord Jacob tells Buzz.
Spud nods and turns to Buzz.
“Painter is just a kid, fifteen years old,” he says. “We would surely appreciate any help in gettin’ him out.”
“I must explain our plight here, Buzz,” Lord Jacob says. “We had a run in with this Soames bastard on the Rock. During a shootout in which Annie and Painter’s other brother, Wolf, were innocently involved, a man was killed. When Annie and Wolf found his body, he was in essence a John Doe. His head blown clean off, you see. So the temporary appellation ‘Headless’ came into favor among us. In any case, come to find out this headless soul was a gentleman named Jones, a Superintendent from Pi here. Soames and his accomplices worked under him. They killed Jones in a disagreement concerning their dubious activities. Soames himself delivered the bullet, but I believe they all conspired to end him. Apparently, Jones was honest and they were not.
“Hence, Jones’ subordinates needed a scapegoat to deflect the blame for the killing. Painter apparently showed up at just the right moment to fill the role of assassin.”
“Oh my,” says Buzz. “Quite a mess. I shall be glad to assist.”
“You ain’t concerned ‘bout yore own possible exposure to danger?” asks Spud.
“I have had my own collisions with injustice hereabouts, to be sure,” says Buzz. “Gentry from my part of the Cosmos can have a bit of a rough interlude on encountering the Centrists and their ilk.”
“Ah yes,” agrees Lord Jacob, as he fills Buzz’ wine glass. “Can be a bit of a sticky wicket.”
“Buzz,” I say. “It sounds to me from yore accent like you are from the same neck of the woods as Lord Jacob.”
“Sounds being the operative word in this case,” says Buzz. He looks at Lord Jacob, who nods. “I am actually Bãngh. I was educated on Brit.”
“What?” I ask.
“Bãngh,” Buzz says.
“Bong?”
“No, it is pronounced a bit like ‘bong’, but is in fact a planet. Try saying ‘Baangh’. It is spelled B-a with a tilde-n-g-h.”
“Pardon, Annie. He is from not only a different planet, Bãngh, he is a member of what many humans consider a different species,” says Lord Jacob. “Since Lord Brawley published his book “The Nature of Life”, Bãngh have been considered by most to be aliens.”
I think that through, incredulous.
“Yore jokin’,” I say.
Lord Jacob says, “I am not.”
Then, still befuddled, I ask, “A’ alien?”
“Not quite,” Buzz says.
“But, uh, you don’t look alien,” I say looking Buzz up and down.
“And you do not look alien to me,” says Buzz.
“Yeah, I’m not alien.”
“You are from my perspective,” says Buzz. His eyes are gleaming with humor.
I shake my head and say, “Now, I am really confused.”
Spud leans toward me and says softly, “Don’t insult the Bãngh, Annie.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought, I mean. Please accept my apologies Mr., uh, Buzz,” I say. “I am just a poor, uneducated country girl.”
“Ah,” says Buzz. “I was thinking, in fact, that you look like a Bãngh. As I said, you do not look alien to me. One must ask oneself again, is it you who appear Bãngh or I who appear human? We are each, depending on one’s perspective, alien. If one defines alien as different or foreign. I am, after all, from a different planet."
“Okay…”
Spud rises and says, “Annie, darlin’, I need yore he’p in the kitchen.”
“Oh, um, okay.”
As we walk off, Spud whispers, “Blink. Yore starin’ at him.”
After we get into the kitchen, Spud closes the door and we set to work making snacks.
“It's like science fiction. It's the future. Holy cow, how long aliens been around?” I ask. “How long have we known? Well okay, I just found out, but how long has humans known? When did you find out?
“Wait a minute.” I raise a finger, thinking. “Are them Bãngh the ones who eat humans with ketchup? I heard aliens were naked unwashed savage things. And fiction, we never found no real aliens, just them old Hollywood stories. Is this the future?”
Spud opens his mouth to reply.
“This one talks fancier than Lord Jacob. How can he? Oh, of course, you got me. It’s a practical joke, right?” I run out of breath.
“I doubt it’s a joke. This situation is serious,” says Spud.
“No kidding. A real alien? I thought they’d look weird. Have extra parts or two heads like,” I say.
“Not the Bãngh, cain’t tell them from humankind,” he says. “If anyone here on Pi found out, no tellin’ what would happen. Likely be a lotta prejudice against ‘em.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause they are different. Humans don’t like different. You never noticed that?”
“Oh. Yeah,” I say, feeling downcast. “‘Course I did. Me myself, in person. Dayum, now I feel bad.”
“It’s okay, you apologized, yore still alive. All’s well. But watch yore step. You got to treat him normal. If Lord Jacob says he is okay, he is.”
“Okay, I guess. Wait, what do you mean still alive?”
“Them Bãngh has powers.”
“What kind of powers?”
“Dunno, jest heard stories,” says Spud. “Maybe Lord Jacob knows. He is the one who first told me about these Bãngh actually existing. Most people hereabouts think they are fictional. This Buzz is the first I have met.”
“How could we look like him? We are humans, we look like humans.”
Spud is silent, looking at me. We pick up the trays and head back for the door.
“He’ll likely calm down after this snack. Even a Bãngh gotta digest, um, maybe?” I ask.
“No idea,” Spud says and smiles.
I clam up as Spud pushes the swinging door open.
Lord Jacob, Michael and Buzz have gathered around the table peering at what turns out to be a map.
“Grits on. Let’s chow down,” I say. “What y’all lookin’ at?”
“We have a plan.”
11 Ventilated
Buzz and Lord Jacob both smile at us.
Spud turns to Lord Jacob and says, “Not the Buzz from yore old stories.”
“The very one,” says Lord Jacob.
“Ah.”
“Spud is one of the prisoner’s older brothers,” Lord Jacob tells Buzz.
Spud nods and turns to Buzz.
“Painter is just a kid, fifteen years old,” he says. “We would surely appreciate any help in gettin’ him out.”
“I must explain our plight here, Buzz,” Lord Jacob says. “We had a run in with this Soames bastard on the Rock. During a shootout in which Annie and Painter’s other brother, Wolf, were innocently involved, a man was killed. When Annie and Wolf found his body, he was in essence a John Doe. His head blown clean off, you see. So the temporary appellation ‘Headless’ came into favor among us. In any case, come to find out this headless soul was a gentleman named Jones, a Superintendent from Pi here. Soames and his accomplices worked under him. They killed Jones in a disagreement concerning their dubious activities. Soames himself delivered the bullet, but I believe they all conspired to end him. Apparently, Jones was honest and they were not.
“Hence, Jones’ subordinates needed a scapegoat to deflect the blame for the killing. Painter apparently showed up at just the right moment to fill the role of assassin.”
“Oh my,” says Buzz. “Quite a mess. I shall be glad to assist.”
“You ain’t concerned ‘bout yore own possible exposure to danger?” asks Spud.
“I have had my own collisions with injustice hereabouts, to be sure,” says Buzz. “Gentry from my part of the Cosmos can have a bit of a rough interlude on encountering the Centrists and their ilk.”
“Ah yes,” agrees Lord Jacob, as he fills Buzz’ wine glass. “Can be a bit of a sticky wicket.”
“Buzz,” I say. “It sounds to me from yore accent like you are from the same neck of the woods as Lord Jacob.”
“Sounds being the operative word in this case,” says Buzz. He looks at Lord Jacob, who nods. “I am actually Bãngh. I was educated on Brit.”
“What?” I ask.
“Bãngh,” Buzz says.
“Bong?”
“No, it is pronounced a bit like ‘bong’, but is in fact a planet. Try saying ‘Baangh’. It is spelled B-a with a tilde-n-g-h.”
“Pardon, Annie. He is from not only a different planet, Bãngh, he is a member of what many humans consider a different species,” says Lord Jacob. “Since Lord Brawley published his book “The Nature of Life”, Bãngh have been considered by most to be aliens.”
I think that through, incredulous.
“Yore jokin’,” I say.
Lord Jacob says, “I am not.”
Then, still befuddled, I ask, “A’ alien?”
“Not quite,” Buzz says.
“But, uh, you don’t look alien,” I say looking Buzz up and down.
“And you do not look alien to me,” says Buzz.
“Yeah, I’m not alien.”
“You are from my perspective,” says Buzz. His eyes are gleaming with humor.
I shake my head and say, “Now, I am really confused.”
Spud leans toward me and says softly, “Don’t insult the Bãngh, Annie.”
“Oh, I’m sorry. I just thought, I mean. Please accept my apologies Mr., uh, Buzz,” I say. “I am just a poor, uneducated country girl.”
“Ah,” says Buzz. “I was thinking, in fact, that you look like a Bãngh. As I said, you do not look alien to me. One must ask oneself again, is it you who appear Bãngh or I who appear human? We are each, depending on one’s perspective, alien. If one defines alien as different or foreign. I am, after all, from a different planet."
“Okay…”
Spud rises and says, “Annie, darlin’, I need yore he’p in the kitchen.”
“Oh, um, okay.”
As we walk off, Spud whispers, “Blink. Yore starin’ at him.”
After we get into the kitchen, Spud closes the door and we set to work making snacks.
“It's like science fiction. It's the future. Holy cow, how long aliens been around?” I ask. “How long have we known? Well okay, I just found out, but how long has humans known? When did you find out?
“Wait a minute.” I raise a finger, thinking. “Are them Bãngh the ones who eat humans with ketchup? I heard aliens were naked unwashed savage things. And fiction, we never found no real aliens, just them old Hollywood stories. Is this the future?”
Spud opens his mouth to reply.
“This one talks fancier than Lord Jacob. How can he? Oh, of course, you got me. It’s a practical joke, right?” I run out of breath.
“I doubt it’s a joke. This situation is serious,” says Spud.
“No kidding. A real alien? I thought they’d look weird. Have extra parts or two heads like,” I say.
“Not the Bãngh, cain’t tell them from humankind,” he says. “If anyone here on Pi found out, no tellin’ what would happen. Likely be a lotta prejudice against ‘em.”
“Why?”
“‘Cause they are different. Humans don’t like different. You never noticed that?”
“Oh. Yeah,” I say, feeling downcast. “‘Course I did. Me myself, in person. Dayum, now I feel bad.”
“It’s okay, you apologized, yore still alive. All’s well. But watch yore step. You got to treat him normal. If Lord Jacob says he is okay, he is.”
“Okay, I guess. Wait, what do you mean still alive?”
“Them Bãngh has powers.”
“What kind of powers?”
“Dunno, jest heard stories,” says Spud. “Maybe Lord Jacob knows. He is the one who first told me about these Bãngh actually existing. Most people hereabouts think they are fictional. This Buzz is the first I have met.”
“How could we look like him? We are humans, we look like humans.”
Spud is silent, looking at me. We pick up the trays and head back for the door.
“He’ll likely calm down after this snack. Even a Bãngh gotta digest, um, maybe?” I ask.
“No idea,” Spud says and smiles.
I clam up as Spud pushes the swinging door open.
Lord Jacob, Michael and Buzz have gathered around the table peering at what turns out to be a map.
“Grits on. Let’s chow down,” I say. “What y’all lookin’ at?”
“We have a plan.”
11 Ventilated