Category: A Trilogy.
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SPECTATOR SEAT, Chapter 1
WHO KNEW BUYING A NEW CAR COULD BE SO EXCITING? The sky over Fort Stockton looked like a brushed nickel coin, all scuffed and gray, with the scent of creosote rising up from the wet streets. It was the kind of Saturday where things got done—errands, haircuts, groceries, and car shopping, if you had the…
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EVOLUTION OF A BOY, PART 3: Backseat Thunder
By the fall of 1975, Scott Williams had outgrown the Cotton Picker, outgrown the Freewheelers, and—if you asked him—outgrown just about everything that didn’t come with an ignition key. His friends called him Scooter now, though some said it with respect and others with a smirk. The name stuck, whether he liked it or not.…
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EVOLUTION OF A BOY, Part 2: The ‘Cotton-Picker’
By 1970, Scotty Williams had dropped the “-y” from his name and insisted on being called Scott. It sounded cooler, older. Five-year-olds were Scottys. Ten-year-olds—especially those with banana seat bikes and scraped elbows—needed something with a little bite. He woke to the whir of the neighbor’s sprinkler and the rustle of the West Texas breeze…
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EVOLUTION OF A BOY, Part 1: Pony Dreams
Christmas morning in RoadRunner Estates didn’t sneak up quiet like snow in those Bing Crosby songs. It came in loud—paper tearing, cereal bowls clinking, the smell of cinnamon rolls and burnt toaster waffles drifting through the house. The aluminum tree spun slowly in the den, its color wheel flashing green and gold across the linoleum.…
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‘X’ MARKS THE SPOT, PART III: The Ride Home
Deputy Wade Elkins didn’t care about stolen cars. Not really. He cared about what came after. And when he saw the blue Cadillac Coupe DeVille parked crooked outside the Fiesta Mart in Sanderson, half full of gas and completely full of sin, he walked slow and steady past it. Then he saw the badge on…
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‘X’ MARKS THE SPOT, PART II: Tequila and Trouble
The first thing they did wrong was stop. It was past midnight when they pulled into a town with no name on the map, just a flickering sign that read VACANCY next to a peeling stucco box calling itself the Desert Star Motel. The Cadillac rumbled into the lot like it was embarrassed to be…
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‘X’ MARKS THE SPOT, PART I: “Don’t You Dare, Lacie-Mae”
It was 1978 in Fort Stockton, Texas, and the only thing hotter than the August sun was Buck Buchanan’s blood pressure. He stood at the edge of his porch, chewing a piece of straw like it owed him money, staring across the spread he’d built from cattle, sweat, and more luck than good sense. The…
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MAHOGANY FRAMED, Part III
Roy Temple didn’t remember falling asleep, but when he opened his eyes, the Polaroid was still on the nightstand, lipstick still laughing at him in cursive. “We see you too.” He smoked his cigarette down to the filter, then stood, shirt wrinkled, belt still halfway undone. His shoes were by the door—he didn’t remember taking…
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MAHOGANY FRAMED, Part II
Roy Temple didn’t care for mornings, especially the kind that smelled like regret in advance. But there it was—slid under the door of Room 4 at the Cattle Baron Hotel: a folded linen napkin with a note scribbled in lipstick red. “Grounds for Divorce. Noon. Come alone. — V.” He poured what was left of…
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MAHOGANY FRAMED, Part I
The 1949 Chrysler Town & Country Convertible rolled into Fort Stockton just past dawn, gliding low and lazy down Main like it belonged here—because it didn’t. The black paint was polished mirror-slick, gleaming even under a sky so dry it looked sunburned. Whitewalls wide as a Sunday hat hugged the road with gentlemanly grace, and…