When I pulled into the Marriott hotel in Nashville, I upgraded my room, then headed up the elevator. The place was nice, too. I got a little bedroom to go with an actual living space. As I tossed my things down beside the bed, I decided this would make a nearly two-week stay feel a bit more homey.
On impulse, I whipped off a text to Jake, letting him know I'd made it to Nashville. He'd said he was heading this way as well, but he hadn't said what day. After that, I grabbed a shower, put on some normal clothes, left my hat in the room, and decided to see if the fancy restaurant the guy at the front desk had mentioned was any good.
Unlike most places, this Marriott had the restaurant at the top. I asked for a table to myself, then got ready to wait. Apparently, this place was nice enough to be a date location. The couples spread around the dining room gave that impression, at least. But over at the side was a man who looked oddly familiar. He was older, likely in his forties, but not immediately ringing any bells in my mind.
I kept glancing that way, trying to place him. Eventually, the hostess came to take me to my table, leading me right past him. He looked up, and a smile took over.
"Ty!"
"Uh..." And then I realized why I couldn't place him. He wasn't wearing his clown makeup. "Cletus!"
"I'll share," he told the waitress, gesturing to the seat across from him. "Unless you're meeting someone?"
"Nope, just wanted a meal," I said, taking the chair.
The girl took my drink order, promised a waiter would come soon, and hurried off. Cletus stabbed another piece of steak off his plate, then began to talk around it.
"You heard anything from the PBR about the bullfighters yet?"
My eyes narrowed, wondering if he knew something. "No. Sunday, Mr. Merrill tried to make it sound like we were doing some memorial."
"Oh, yeah he did," Cletus agreed. "I was told that if I don't want to be suspended, I'll toe the line too. And I'm sorry, but I'm currently up shit creek, so I don't have any other option."
"No, I get it," I assured him. "But maybe you can convince those new guys to at least try to help us out?"
"Shit," he grumbled. "Peter's been trying, but Charlie and Stephen think they know it all. Those fuckers won a few awards in their competitions, and now they think they're all hot shit. They're convinced the lot of you are too dumb to worry about."
I grunted, unimpressed. "Yeah, that's the impression we're getting too, but a man actually died, Cletus."
He looked up and smiled. "It's actually Frank, so you know. Cletus is fine, though."
"Trying to not get noticed?" I asked, only half joking.
He shrugged. "Saying I work for the PBR is a lot more appealing to women my age than saying I'm a clown. So yes, a bit." Then he tipped his head at me. "Just like you, huh? No hat? Shirt's covering that belt buckle you're so proud of?"
"Busted," I said, pausing when the waiter stopped by so I could order my meal. The moment he was gone, I decided to just lay it out there. "We're not going to stop, you know."
"And you shouldn't," Cletus told me. "I can do you one better. If you get me anything to work with - that won't get me fired - I'll even help."
"If you have any ideas, I'm completely open to suggestions," I admitted. "I mean, we need to keep the media push going, but Casey died back in North Carolina, and I'm not sure anyone in Nashville will give a shit."
"Unsafe sport? Potential for gore?" He rocked his head, weighing that. "I'm sure you can get someone to listen. But have you considered going at this another way?"
"Which way?"
"The bulls," Cletus said. "With all of you refusing to ride, those animals are being scored on just bucking. They work harder with a rider. They do better when driven into it, and theyknow when y'all are off. That means the animals last weekend dropped down a few ranks."
"Ok?" I could see his point. "But how do I use that? I don't know any stock contractors. Pretty sure there's some rule about me talking to them."
"To prevent bribes," Cletus agreed. "Yeah, but it's more of a 'shouldn't,' not a 'don't.' The random draws every day prevent anyone from cheating, and favoritism won't do much to help you. However..." He took another bite, dragging out the pause.
"You want me to beg?" I asked. "Because I will. After last weekend, I'm not too proud to grovel to keep myself in one piece - and alive."
"One of your least favorite people," Cletus finally said, "can help you."
"Austin?"
"Ok, not that bad," Cletus assured me. "I mean Peter McClain. He got into bullfighting because he grew up working with bucking bulls, Ty. His father owns Black Hat Ranch."
