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Thad Gunter thought he was being stealthy. But a well dressed dandy in a Midnight Orchid Eldoradanental coupe stuck out in Fort Stockton like a shiny diamond in a cow turd. 

Vern filled folks in on what he could glean from cleaning his room daily, but that info was pretty sketchy. “He seems to go through a lot of Johnny Jogger whiskey and Turquoise Velvet after-shave,” he reported. “And strangely, everything in his trash can looks like it’s been run through a shredder.”  Within a day or two Gunter’s lower intestinal tract seemed to be functioning properly, though the ‘Deluxe-Duece Road-Rider’ was clearly no longer functioning in the Eldoradanental.

Trixie was still a guest in Room #7, but with less frequency than in the beginning of Gunter’s stay in town. “That thing he does with his tongue was amazing at first, but once the novelty wears off he is kind of a one trick pony.  Or maybe I should say ‘mule’, if you know what I mean.”  Pastor Peterson’s wife, sitting in the chair next to Trixie’s at the Klip-N-Dye, was appalled but made a note to ask her husband if such a maneuver would be biblical. 

The meetings Gunter set up with land owners seemed to run hot and cold.  Some were keen on the idea of the deal the Consortium was offering and quickly agreed to sell. Others wouldn’t even allow him in the door to discuss the concept. His meetings with Becky from the Ben Franklin were infrequent so as not to blow her cover, and varied in location. Pulling up next to her Brooklane 600 behind the Quonset hut storage building out back of the Rusty Hammer Hardware Store, Gunter could read the concern on her face. He thought a show of compassion might be just what was needed to advance the effort to gain entry to her unmentionables. 

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“You look worried. I’ve got just the thing to take your mind off whatever’s bothering you.”  He glanced down at his lap for the full effect.  Becky was as repulsed as she was impatient. 

“We’ve fallen behind schedule.  I’m getting flack. They want to know how come we haven’t wrapped this up yet.”  There was an edge in her voice.

“I think we can trace it all back to Goodman.”  Gunter had wanted to delay the news, but saw Becky was in no mood for small talk.  “I got one of his bimbos from the Scuttlebutt to open up. She overheard him in one of the lap dance rooms bragging about outsmarting everyone and coming up with his own energy source.”

“What the hell is he talking about?”  Becky asked. 

“Wind.”  Gunter let that sink in. “He’s leasing land, an acre at a time rather than buying hundreds. Says he’s going to get Mexico to pay for the turbines, but that Fort Stockton will reap the benefit.”

“And people are buying that bullshit?” Becky was incredulous. 

“Lock, stock, and turbine, apparently.  He’s leasing single acres right in the middle of the area we’re trying to buy for solar farms. And the hell of it is that he’s not even having to come up with any cash. He’s giving them certificates that aren’t worth the paper they’re written on promising a cut when the turbines start spinning.”  Gunter had done his homework. 

“The Consortium is not going to like this.”  Becky looked concerned. “I need to get on the secure lline and let them know about this development.  This could change the trajectory of the whole mission.  Stay on him. We’ve got to get the full picture.”

“I feel like there’s a good chance I could pick up a venereal disease just being in some of the locations he frequents,” Gunter said.  “Have you ever actually been in the Scuttlebutt?  He actually eats the buffet there!”

“Makes the Salad Wagon over at the K-Bob’s look pretty good, doesn’t it?” Becky chuckled. 

“I’m headed over to his office at Air Goodman at the Fort Stockton Regional Airport port and Feedlot. Poke around and see what I can find out. I’ll get back to you.”

Gunter circled the facility twice making sure the mayor’s Felony 3400 wasn’t parked anywhere on site. He tucked the Eldoradanenetal behind the hanger housing Goodman’s personal plane and made his way into the terminal. There were no flights arriving or departing all day so the place was empty except for one woman. She appeared to be an artist of some sort. Never one to be intimidated by a female, Gunter walked over to her, pulled out a Chesterfield from the silver case, and offered her one. “Thad Gunter,” he said as he extended her the case.  “Got a minute?”

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“Kate Glidden, and I know who you are.”  She shook his hand, put the Chesterfield in her mouth and waited for Gunter to light it. “I’ve seen you slinking through Fort Stockton in that big fancy car of yours.”  She sucked in a big hit from the cigarette and then blew it out her slightly flared nostrils. “What brings you out to the airfield / feedlot?”

Gunter couldn’t help but notice her ample breasts spilling out from either side of the apron she wore. There seemed to be some type of dust covering her clothes, some of it even smudging the rouge artfully applied to her cheeks. She was a woman who’d been around the block, hunter could tell, but had made plenty of stops along the way. Built like a brick shit house, but with a well tended garden surrounding it. 

“Looking for any information I can find on the mayor. What he might be up to with some of the projects he’s got going on.”  Gunter watched her face to see her reaction. He knew a lot of times people said a lot more with their eyes than they did with their mouths. 

“Only project I know about is the one I’m being paid for.”  She glanced down at the floor. “I’m an artist. I deal in mosaic tile art pieces. I’ve been commissioned to tell the story of Fort Stockton through a series of mosaics, all the way from when the town was just an army fort on the edge of the frontier all the way to now.”  Gunter looked around and noted the small brightly colored stacks of ceramic tiles and bags of cement mortar.  “Goodman got the whole project financed by pushing through a sales tax increase.  Of course, Air Goodman is the only airline flying in and out, so guess who’s going to benefit?”  Her eyes darted side to side, then she leaned in and lowered her voice.  “I should be grateful for the commission. But he’s still a sumbitch.”

She took one more long drag off the cigarette and then flicked it with her thumb and forefinger into a bucket of water 15 feet away. Gunter noted her aim and accuracy. Both were alluring. He glanced down and saw the nearly completed scene she was working on depicting the urinal factory being built outside town during the war. The attention to detail was incredible. Just looking at it made Gunter have the urge to empty his bladder. 

“You might find one of the designs interesting.”  Kate walked over to a large black leather bound valise leaning up against the wall. Opening it up, she grabbed several large sheets of drawings, each holding a different design. There was a scene depicting the Theodore Crane murder back in the 50s that would take up most of the food court. Gunter immediately recognized a drawing of a winged Lucinda, nude and in an exotic pose while skipping across Lake Leon, preparing for the sun to rise over Fort Stockton. “That one will be displayed in front of the Ladies Restroom,” Kate explained. Gunter thought the likeness was uncanny.

There was a scene of Mayor Goodman being sworn in the first time that would be displayed in the entrance to the airport. “I had to order more tile than the design originally called for,” she said. “To make the crowd size look bigger than it actually was.”  They both snickered. 

“This is the one you might find interesting.”  Kate pulled out a large piece of paper.  It was a mosaic featuring Mayor Goodman in front of the airport terminal, smiling his big goofy smile. It looked like an ad for cheap dental veneers and the Hair Club for Men gone awry.  Gunter looked at it. “Is there anything he won’t plaster his mug all over?”

“It’s not his mug you should be focusing on,” Kate noted. “Look in the background.”

Gunter squinted.  In the background, behind the terminal and the airplane hangers, the scenery was covered with wind turbines. As far as the eye could see.  “There’s more wind being generated in the background than in the mayor’s pie-hole, if you can imagine.”

“Just barely.”  Kate said. 

“When did you get these designs?” Gunter asked.

“I had to bid for the job over a year and a half ago,” Kate told him. 

The mayor had been planning on undermining the Consortium project before it even got off the ground. 

“You’ve been helpful. Thank you.”  Gunter started to walk away. 

“Not so fast, Cowboy.” Kate said. Gunter stopped in his tracks. “I get my hair done at the Klip-N-Dye. Trixie touted your talents.”  She looked him up and down like a piece of cheap meat hanging in a butcher’s shop window. 

Ten minutes later the two of them were in the back of her Jet Black and Tiger’s Eye Maple Frida Kahlo Edition Wolfpack station sedan. Reclining fully in the rear compartment of the wagon, he came to appreciate Kate’s eye for fine wood. For her part, Kate was as grateful for Trixie’s recommendation as she was that she happened to have several Pendleton blankets to spread out, saving her back from the chrome slats lining the floor of the Wolfpack wagon. 

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Gunter accommodated every request Kate had, save for the one at the very end of the episode. She asked him to pose nude, splayed out on the hood of the Wolfpack wagon so she could sketch him, his member serving as the hood ornament. He feared the hot metal of the Ebony hood would roast his chestnuts, the wagon having been in the sun all afternoon. He also worried that her sketches would end up immortalized in mosaic tiles lining the walls of the Men’s Room in the main terminal.  The last thing he wanted to do is remind male travelers in the airport of their own inadequacies. Pulling up his trousers, he said, “You’ve had all I can give.  Any more would leave you indebted to me. That’s not a position you want to be in.”

Back in the comfort of the Eldoradanental, the ‘Solar Carbon Fibre Light Sensitive Astro-Vista Roof’ darkened to the maximum setting, Gunter opened the glove box and reached for the sterling flask and a Swisher Sweet cigar. The smooth amber liquid coated his throat as it went down. The pungent aroma of the cigar filled the cabin with a cloud not unlike the ones gathering on the western horizon. He contemplated how easy it was for gifts to become burdens. 

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