Read Dustland Requiem (A Bard's Folktale) Page 3


  Chapter 3. Sketchy Stories

  “Far as I know there’s no such thing as a noble bastard. Doesn’t mean I can’t try to be the first.”

  – The Notebook of Kody Lehane

  Outskirts of Los Tios, Mexico

  Kody sat on the dirty mattress across from Siggy, trying to ignore the thunderous snoring of Adelais’s little brother. Kody had kept most of his belongings in the battered van he had taken from Glenn. However, shortly after reaching the small town he had been sent to by Alexandria Matier, Glenn’s former partner, the van had been broken into and most of Kody’s things stolen. This left him with little more than a few sets of clothes, a leather duster, and Alma’s bag. Among other things, her bag contained a vandalized notebook with “Kody N Alm 4 Ever!” littered throughout the pages.

  He remained on the bed, doodling in the margins of his notebook. He sketched a poor rendition of a nervous duck bursting into flames, fleeing from a cantankerous feline. He couldn’t explain why a flaming duck would be running from a cat—through a reef of cattails, no less—or why a cat would be chasing a flaming duck, but it didn’t seem to matter. His illustrated friends were just ways to pass the time.

  He drew his scavenged pencil across the page, twirling lines into letters but never forming words. Thoughts and ideas didn’t make sense on paper anymore—they just shifted into shapes until little more than crude pictures remained. Strung together, the images played unceasingly in the theater of his mind in high definition: dead friends dying again, dodging death from evil men. He set his notebook back on the floor, threw on the leather duster, and headed upstairs.

  The stairs led up into the shabby bar with a few run-down tables. Beyond the stairway on the right was Lorena’s bedroom and the kitchen, both separated by hanging sheets serving as doors. Lorena, sitting at one of the tables, lifted her head from her prayer book as Kody walked by.

  “Headin’ out on another secret mission?” Lorena smirked.

  “Something like that.”

  “So mysterious. Be careful. Ain’t safe walkin’ around by yerself.”

  “I’ll keep that in mind.”

  Kody made his way outside, blinded by the bright desert sun. As his eyes adjusted, he surveyed the small town that fit onto one street, whose name he couldn’t pronounce. Despite the sweltering, dry air, the place was quaint and cozy enough, though it didn’t have much. In particular, it lacked phones. Still, gazing over the town, the closeness of its community reminded him of home.

  He headed around to the back of the bar and hopped into the truck. He sat for a minute, letting his hands adjust to the heat of the steering wheel. Once comfortable, Kody reached under the seat to make sure the shotgun was still in place. He had made the drive a few times before with Siggy, but like Lorena said—going alone wasn’t safe.

  He headed out onto the dirt road and put in an ear bud, pushing play on Cris’s mp3 player. The Kooks distracted him with a relaxed, soft rock rendition “Mr. Maker” long enough for him to get clear of the town and reach a main road. He drove quickly, doing his best to avoid any skirmishes with the local bandito populous or any wily coyotes. By the time Weezer’s nostalgic guitar tune “Unspoken” had ended, he reached the outskirts of a slightly larger town unscathed.

  He parked the truck outside of a small inn, inconspicuously heading inside. Kody’s Spanish was improvisational at best, but Siggy had taught him enough of the basics to get by. Kody did his best to speak with one of the clerks. Unfortunately, he lacked enough points in diplomacy to get it done. With a generous donation to the clerk’s private acquisitions fund and a +1 to bribery, however, Kody managed to score his way into the “business center.” He wasted no time in picking up the international phone and contacting the one person he could always rely on.

  “Ge—roge Evans, at your service!”

  “Hey, G.”

  “Oh, hey, buddy! Gimme a sec.” Geroge excused himself in the background. “¿Qué pasó, brochacho?"

  “Not much, man. How’s she been?”

  “Cris? Bit depressed as usual. Might perk her up to hear from her one and only. ‘Specially since she hasn’t heard from you in say…oh, months, and probably figures you’re dead and all.”

  Kody hesitated, staring at the floor. This wasn’t the first he’d had this conversation with G, and it wasn’t going any better than usual.

  “G…I can’t.”

  “Yeah, yeah. Soak up the guilt all you want, man. You’re not convincing anyone it’s better to leave the lady hangin’ like this. At least let me tell her you’re all right.”

  “If she hears anything about me, she won’t stop looking until she finds me. This place is way too dangerous for her.”

  “Then it’s too dangerous for you, chief! She’s a helluva lot stronger than you, buddy—no offense. You’d see that if you weren’t off cowboyin’ around, instead of being here and spending time with her proper like you should.”

  Kody slammed his back against the wall next to the phone, clenching the receiver in an attempt to keep his voice down.

  “I’m screwed up! Got it! But I’ve come too far not to finish this now. Just keep looking after her for me until I get back, all right?”

  “Lucky I love you like a brother, man, ‘cause you’re a real pain in the ass.”

  “I know.” Kody kept his eyes on the ground.

  “Whatever, man. Hurry up, stay safe, and get back home before I decide I wanna keep this fine chica for myself.”

  “Thanks. Top of the rock, G.”

  “Uh huh. Top of the rock, brother.”

  Kody heard the click of the line disconnecting and set the phone down. He took a breath, leaning his head back against the wall. Small droplets of sweat running down his forehead served as fine reminders the heat was never far off, even in the fall. The leather duster, necessary as it might’ve been, wasn’t making the air any cooler. As a drop of sweat dripped onto the floor, he balled up his fist and slammed it back against the wall. A self-depreciating laugh escaped as he pulled his hand close, nursing sore muscles and bone. Adelais made hitting things look so easy.

  Kody looked up, noticing the small crowd of people slowly gathering around him. Their presence quickly reminded him his leather duster—same as the banditos’—only kept him safe so long as he didn’t draw attention. Fear of the banditos kept people tolerant of their presence and provided Kody with an effective guise, but a lone bandito causing a ruckus could easily test the limits of that patience. Kody glared back at the crowd, making his way through them until he was outside. He began heading toward the truck, keeping an eye cast over his shoulder as the crowd slowly started to trickle out in his general direction. He picked up his pace, ducking around the corner of a building and creeping his way along its backside.

  Maintaining a low profile, he snuck in between buildings and weaved his way through until he made it back to the truck, with only a few people keeping notice of him—none of them interested enough to pursue. He hopped in the seat of the truck and locked the doors. Exhaling a slow, deep breath, he slumped down in the chair, feeling for the shotgun.

  “Damn that was close… not safe from banditos or townsfolk. Why’re mobs always coming after me?” He sighed as he rubbed his forehead. “At least I should have enough constructive credit to apply to ninja school now.”

  He remained slumped in his seat, equal parts hiding and thinking aloud. “I could take off with this truck right now. Head out and try to make it back to the States. Wouldn’t have to worry about any of this bullshit anymore. Could go home and take the world’s longest nap right between Cris’s boobs, where I belong. No more hunting people all the time, no more people trying to kill me. Just nice, quiet rest and relaxation.” He sighed and shook his way out of the jacket to alleviate the heat. “‘Course, I’d just be running again. Rest of my life. Leaving Siggy and them high and dry. And I still haven’t found Alma.”

  Kody sat up slowly, peering over the windshield and then out of the windows to make sur
e no banditos or disgruntled townsfolk had trailed him. With no one in sight, he started the engine and began blasting Fastball’s summer anthem, “The Way,” from the mp3 player. Not wanting to end up on whatever the local version of the evening news might be, he peeled out of the town before lady luck reconsidered whether he’d escaped one time too many.