Mr. Gone

Ritter took a quiet, deep breath and said, "You pay me for the Buick and I'll be glad to walk out of here. Otherwise, I drive out of here." There was a very tense moment then, filled only with the reedy voice of Garcia, or Weir, or Lesh - Ritter was never sure which one of those guys was singing lead - and the eerily stately guitar-drums-horn-strings of Grateful Dead's "Terrapin Station," playing from the outdoor speakers. Then Arch said, "I got your pay right here -" Ritter had hoped for a better beginning than this. Jerome had promised a smooth opening, had said the skids were greased. But Jerome was nowhere to be seen, nor was Hoyt Gilstrap. Ritter had been inside the gates of Skull Ranch less than five minutes and he'd already made a couple of enemies, one in front of him and one behind. The whole plan seemed already blown. And here came the frontal enemy, aiming a steel-toed boot at his groin ... Ritter didn't have time to think of the ramifications - he bent at the waist and caught Arch's foot in both hands, at the heel and toe, and twisted hard. Arch yowled like a wounded dog as he turned in mid-air and was dropped face-down on the ground, hard. Ritter then whirled and smashed the heel of his hand against Otis' nose before the big man could take more than a half-step toward him. As Otis fell back, blood gushing from his nostrils, he dropped his shotgun and Ritter caught it neatly, spinning back to cover members of the party crowd closest to him. Two toughs in leather jackets who had started to advance on him now froze in their tracks as Ritter cocked the hammers. "I'll thank all of you to stand back and make no unfriendly moves," he said. And the people around him obeyed, moving back several steps, giving him space, some staring curiously, others fearfully, at Ritter and the two men on the ground at his feet. Beyond the nearest people, there were still others dancing and milling about in the semi-darkness, unaware or uncaring of the disturbance. The party was forging on, unstoppable as industrial rock 'n' roll machinery. Ritter looked up at the woman framed in the screened porch doorway, and said, "Thank you for your voice of reason." She waved a hand, as if it were nothing. "I apologize for my brother-in-law's behavior. We've always had trouble keeping Arch in line." Arch was groaning and cursing on the ground, groping at his twisted leg. Otis was out cold, his big gut heaving up and down through his parted raincoat. Mae said to Ritter, "Thanks for coming, honey. It was a floor show I would've paid to see, and it was free in my own back yard." "You're welcome," Ritter said. "Now, about this Buick I just brought you ..."