The man in a dress fled across the desert and the methhead followed. - A story of the farms in 7 parts.


True & Honest Fan
Part one.

Brian was the first to arrive. The Jeep lay on its roof at the bottom of the canyon, glass and soot from the fire had stained the stones a glossy black and smoke still rose from the wreckage. Kjel’s purse sat open on the rocks, singed but intact. Nina’s feedbag just a few feet away.

He could taste the stench of burnt plastic, flesh and rotten cheese mixing in the back of his throat, but he had to be sure. Covering his face with a rag, he scrambled down the embankment and kneeled by the wreck. Twisting his body to avoid the heated metal he peered through the smoke and locked eyes with a blackened corpse. Cursing and choking he staggered back in surprise. After catching his breath for a few moments; He steeled himself for what he might find and checked the passenger side. Another body, burned beyond recognition, lips pulled back revealing a toothless mouth. Revulsion gave way to realization. Brian scrambled to the back of the Jeep where he’d loaded the drugs just hours before. The metal case lay open and empty on the rocks, and he knew.

“You son of a bitch” he screamed to the horizon. In a moment he was back on his bike racing down the canyon; looking for soft sand to confirm what he knew. He found it at the foot of the wash. Fresh tracks, a man and a donkey walking side by side, headed south.

He saw it all now. Steal the product, burn the lab with the workers inside and pin everything on a wanted man. If Kjel got away it would all be on him, he couldn’t call the cops, he couldn’t run from this. His only hope was to catch Kjel; Force him to tell the truth, and hope to cut a deal, if he could.

The tracks pointed at a gap in the Fremont range, a gap he knew would lead to a road. Even with his head start Kjel could not outrun a motorcycle. Brian poured on the gas and took a parallel course, racing to catch him at the pass.


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The great red rocket and the woman who is really a man.

The Delta International Launch Alliance Terrestrial Observation Rocket lifted off the pad into a clear California sky. On the livestream the Vandenberg controllers cheered while the announcer excitedly read off telemetry.

40 Miles to the west aboard the superyacht Razee a second set of controllers sat taut at their consoles, waiting for the rocket to come into range. Overlooking the operation center a tall man in a tattered dress stood on the bridge, headset pressed against his cheek.

As the rocket rose above the horizon antennas swung to track it. The control room became a hive of activity, screens lit up with intercepted telemetry. The team leader turned to face the watching man and flashed a thumbs up “Senator, Geldstone has the bird!”

Using secret codes the hijackers activated hidden instructions in the rockets guidance computer and the rocket began a wide turn to the East.

In Vandenberg the controllers' screens went dark as the rocket stopped talking to them. They looked up expecting to see the rocket self terminate, but nothing happened. On the stream the announcer's voice faltered as the rockets onboard cameras cut out. The rocket continued on it’s new course vanishing over the horizon as the Vandenberg controllers struggled to establish contact with their rogue spacecraft.

The man closed the blinds and poured himself a drink. At his feet a naked woman crouched in a golden cage watching him, saying nothing.

Big Nasty

Reminds me of a story someone tried to write when I was in school.

It was going to be called: "Chased by a fag across the desert."
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True & Honest Fan
Part two.

Brian’s route was direct and brutal. Ignoring the trails he struck out across the open desert aiming for the closest ridge. He knew Kjel’s path would take him into a narrow canyon with a single exit. If he could get there ahead of Kjel he could fix this. But, everything depended on speed. Ignoring the heat and the biting sand he rode like a wildman over scarps and down canyons, eyes fixed on the ridgeline ahead.

The first hill was steeper than it looked, he had to gear down and push the throttle to the limiter just to make headway. Soft sand and loose rock erupted from his back tire choking him in a cloud of dust. Through force of will he stayed upright and clawed his way over the crest of the hill. A shallow ridgeline connected the first hill to the second, but this time when he revved up to attack the ridge his bike lost power. He was quick to the clutch, but it was too late, his engine seized. He had reached the crest, but his bike would go no farther.


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The rocket crossed over the rocky mountains as it continued it's slow gravity turn. Now, above the drag of the atmosphere the payload fairing was dead weight. Explosive bolts fired, the fairing spit in half and inverted revealing the rockets true cargo. A rack containing hundreds of ablative tanks sat ready to turn into cluster munitions on reentry. The rocket continued to climb as the fairing fell to the valley below.

A pickle of great price.

Evening had fallen over the great salt lake, but the top of the mile high neon still reflected the light of the setting sun. Around it’s base the streets thronged with people pushing against barricades struggling to see the contestants as they walked down the red carpet for the final day of the pageant.

Johnathan's stretch bonneville was the last to inch it’s way out of the garage at Main and North Russell. While his mother seethed over the slight, he was grateful to have time to think. After two days the competition still lacked a clear leader. Rhys had dominated the agility course, while Phil had aced the obedience test; For each great success there had been a major setback and while John had not won any events, he was by no means out of the competition. The stunt show was his last chance to win. Beating reporters with a cane had been a popular act in the match Shows, there was no way to predict how these judges might react.

“Jonathan! Stop fidgeting, you’ll wrinkle your dress.” His mother dove into her enormous purse emerging with a bottle of antistatic spray. In moments the air in the cabin was been replaced by ‘linen fresh scent’

“Mom, you'll ruin my makeup”

She fixed him with a stare, “It needs to be redone anyway, especially the eyes, they made my boy look like a cheap whore. That’s not our market.”

Digging a makeup sponge and roller from her purse she went to work around his eyes.

“You rehearsed what you have to say? All the sponsors, everything?”

“Yes mother, but do you think we have a chance? All I have left is the red carpet and the stunts show; I’m just not making an impact on these judges. Are they prejudiced against me?

His mother stopped what she was doing and leaned close into his face.

“Johnathan you need to focus on what’s important.” Placing her finger on his chin she turned his head to face the window where the convention center was creeping past.

“Tomorrow is the auction Johnny, and the people placing bids won’t be the judges, they will be the people watching you from the audience. You want to get a good price you show them how much you are worth”

“Yes mother.”

The car turned the corner onto West Russel. Two monuments dominated this block. To the right stood the granite monolith marking the site where the Fugitive Wife Act had been signed. The left statue marked the entrance to Greer Hall depicting Russ as he had appeared on his first album “I got you Taylor Swift.” Jonathan noticed that the iconic taser from the album cover had been replaced with a Grammy.

His mother noticed as well “That’s new. When did they change the statue?”

“He said in an interview he didn’t need to use the taser anymore.”

“Aw, what a romantic.”

“He also said he might be back in the market soon.”
His mother pursed her lips “I wonder if he’s serious, a man with options can be hard to please.”

Jonathan saw an opportunity and spoke quickly. “Could we accept a private sale? I mean if someone really good came along we could still drop out of the auction right?”

His mother blanched, then flushed bright red. “Anyone ‘really good’ will be at the auction Johnny. You need to stop this and focus on what’s important.”

“I just thought...”

“You thought? Nobody pays for a wife who thinks! You want to end up like Ronan? Sold at a salvage auction to some homeless shelter and thrown to the :Lesbians. Is that what you want?”

“No mom, I just...”

“No buts. We’re almost there.”

The bonneville turned the corner and John got his first close up look at the club.

The facade of the Mile High Neon had been decorated in a Greek theme. Statues of the Sabine women guarded the street level, above them a Tuscan colonnade framed a pair of giant women's legs, spread wide with a heel on each corner, meeting in the middle at the club entrance where a wide stair led up to cathedral doors. The scale of the columns gave the impression of a cage to the effigy.

Across the street the crowd pressed against barriers waving and shouting to the passing contestants. Men in sharp suits worked the back of the crowd handing out cards advertising discount facial paralysis surgery or selling paper cranes for the charity bonfire later that night.

The car stopped, the door opened and John stepped out into the glare of the lights. The noise was intense, the announcer’s voice was ragged as he shouted his welcoming spiel. “On behalf of the Mile High Neon welcome to our charity pageant supporting Ken the Lawyer's memorial burn center. Johnathan, can you tell us a little about what brings you here today?”

The red carpet event was carefully timed and harshly scored. The script his mother had written was long and complex. As soon as the microphone reached him he was reciting like an auctioneer.

“Thanks Morgan and thank you for everyone who bought cranes for the swanfire tonight I’m here in support of the women's small business owners of Canada and the contributions they make to the economy my makeup is by dominion gunite my dress is” *Inhale* “by CTS cargo I’d like to thank my friends at beaver drilling ltd and their new line of deburring tools and pipe shears”*Inhale*

Suddenly the crowd surged forward, every member screaming and yelling at once. The sound tore through him like a fighter jet through a nunnery and it was a moment before he realized what they were shouting. “Russ Russ” Came the cry. John turned to look where the crowd was pointing and froze.

A man, mighty and strong ,had emerged from a small door beneath the main entrance. His suit was stylishly rumpled, his skin shone like an amber mirror and his jaw hung at a jaunty angle. He carried a greeting card in one hand, a bouquet in the other. John's heart stopped, it was Russel.

Ignoring the crowd. Russ looked neither left nor right, eyes fixed on John as he strode down the red carpet towards him. Security pushed the press back as Russel approached.

“Thppds fuer ouu” He announced, thrusting the flowers and card into John’s hands. “Ood luch toehtht!

The mizzle of his voice washed over John like a soft kiss, for a moment it was as if he and Russ were the only two men on earth, then Russ was gone, striding back into the club without glancing back. John looked at the card and saw the distinctive olive garden logo. No matter what happened at the pageant tonight John knew he had won the only prize that mattered. Russ had announced their love before the world and no other victory could compare.


True & Honest Fan
Part Three.

Brian crouched by his wounded bike and considered his situation. For the last hour he had thought of nothing but revenge and wounded pride, but with his pursuit halted more practical concerns manifest. He was now many miles from a road, and farther still from a well. His canteen was almost dry and his bike was done. To go back on foot was certain death. His only option was to continue down the hill in hopes of intercepting Kjel as he emerged from the canyon. Kjel would have water and would be headed for a vehicle of some kind.

Now thinking clearly he tucked his pistol into his belt and wrapped his cablelock around his waist. If he could get the drop on Kjel the cable lock would hold him, at least until they found a road. After that, who knows. Taking a last look at his bike he shouldered his canteen and set off across the ridge.

The chase resumed.