may have to stay the night here if someone doesn’t come by soon.”
“I have two more melted energy bars and an apple too I think.”
Rita smiled. “And I have a bottle of single malt.”
“You think the coyotes will bother us here?”
“I have a gun. Maybe a farmer with gas will be by soon though.”
“I hope so.”
The new friends sat on the rough grass near the motorcycle taking turns sipping from the bottle of scotch. Rita had retrieved a small box from her bag that contained two genuine Havana cigars. A gift from Danny the Deuce. She smiled as she thought about him now. She didn’t smoke but the urge to try a Havana cigar got the better of her and both women lit them up and sat on their sleeping bags smoking and drinking whisky, the stars now twinkling, the air still warm.
Sarah looked at Rita, her face visible in the dim light. “Is your last name really Royale?”
“No. Its Goldstein. I was called Royale when I used to play poker with the old boys down at Quon Lee’s Diner. One night I caught a royal flush. Then the following night I caught another royal flush. I made good money on both hands too. One of the guys, Bill the Bulgarian, I think, started calling me Rita Royale, the femme fatale. It stuck. I use the name now.”
“It sounds exotic.”
Rita laughed. “It may sound exotic but I’m just a down home country girl.”
“Were you born in Saskatchewan?”
She shook her head. “No, I was born in Calgary. My sister moved here after she met a man on the internet. He died last year. That’s where I’m going. A place called St. Victor.”
“I know that place. That’s where all the bikers go every year, isn’t it?”
“In June. I couldn’t make the boogie this year though. I went once. Last year. I was staying with my sister, but her husband John was sick at the time. He died soon after.”
“That must have been awful.”
“Yeah, it was awful.” Rita sipped from the bottle. “She’s okay now. Well, better anyway. This is July twentieth today isn’t it?”
Sarah nodded. “Yes.”
“John died a year ago today. I bet my sister is sitting there worried about me and thinking about him. I told her to move to Alberta and stay with me, but she loves her house in the hills. Maybe she was right to stay there.”
“Safer there than in the cities.”
“So half the kids in your school joined this Muslim thing?”
She nodded again. “Yes. Its more than a thing. Its some kind of mind cult or something. One of my friends is a lesbian and she joined them. They kill lesbians and she still joined.”
“Are these Muslims really that bad?”
Sarah narrowed her eyes somewhat. “You really don’t follow what’s going on in this country and around the world, do you?”
Rita shook her head. “I did once. Not anymore. I hate politics.”
“Well these savages give their women clitorectomies. Even little girls. Did you know their so called prophet Mohammed married a little girl and had sex with her when she was nine years old? They have a name for guys like that.”
“That’s sick. When did this happen?”
“Its still happening, but this so called prophet lived in the seventh century. He was the one who started this cult. Followed some moon god named Allah.”
Rita shook her head again. “Moon god?”
“Yeah, a moon god. A cult lead by a dead camel jockey who called the moon god. They’re still stuck in the seventh century.”
“One of them held a sign saying kill the Jews. I’m half Jewish.”
“Then they really hate you, Rita. A Jewish woman? I’d say you would have zero chance of living if these bastards take over.”
Rita thought for a moment. “Then they can’t win.”
“I don’t know. So many people are following them now. My family is Christian. Did you know that Muslims call Christians pigs and Jews apes? Or maybe the other way around, I can’t remember, but they hate us. They’re killing Christians and Jews all around the world. They won’t let us live if they take over this country.”
“Well, there’s probably not many Muslims around these parts.”
Sarah squinted to see her better. “Don’t bet on it. My mother told me that one guy I dated as a teenager has joined them. He drives around with his buddies with signs just like the ones back there in Medicine Hat.”
“I guess he’s not too popular.”
“I don’t know. My dad has guns. His neighbors too. I hope he has a plan.”
The sound of a vehicle’s tires singing on the pavement caught their attention. Rita removed her pistol from the holster, stood to her feet and watched the lights getting closer. She looked at Sarah. “Go other there. Crouch down behind that sage bush.”
“What about you?”
“I have a gun. He’s getting closer. Go hide now.”
Sarah walked away quickly while Rita watched the lights nearing. She slipped the pistol inside the waist of her black denim jeans, pulled her t-shirt lower to hide it. Stood waiting.
An old Chev pickup slowed to a stop on the highway. The driver left his truck running and got out his door, walked around in front, looked at Rita. “Troubles, Miss?”
“Yes. I ran out of gas.”
He looked at the bike, partly visible from the truck headlights. “I have a can in the box. Regular gas okay?”
She smiled, relieved. “Yes, regular is perfect. Thanks.”
“I won’t be a minute.” He walked to the rear of the truck and lifted the red plastic container. Was soon back beside Rita and the motorcycle.
Rita opened the gas cap, took the container from the older man. He looked like a farmer. Salt of the Earth kind of guy. Too few left anymore. She poured the gas, smelled it mixing with the sage brush growing all around the area. Soon the container was empty.
“I hope that’s enough to get you to a station.”
“Thanks. My name’s Rita.”
“Jim Bowman. Were you planning on sleeping here tonight?”
“I guess I was.”
“Eastend is about twelve miles from here, you might find a room there. I’m not sure anymore. My farm is just over there a ways.” He pointed.
