Ramon Salazar

The ranch in Texorami is big. All Ramon’s houses are big, and this one is no different. He’s been renovating it a bit at a time so it’s more to his liking – he’s not living there, so the builders aren't an inconvenience to him.

In addition to the sprawling farmhouse, there are countless outhouses – stables, feed stores, barns and the like. And cottages too, for staff or family of previous owners. He doesn’t know and doesn’t care. He’s just been wondering how best to utilize them all because he doesn’t like wasted space.

One in particular had seemed to be no use at all. It’s set back off the main driveway on its own, half surrounded by trees. He was almost going to leave it alone or turn it into a hidden guardhouse – but when Random went away, an idea had occurred to him and never left. He’d held on to certain things when Random had gone – they’d helped reassure him that the man was coming back.

So about two weeks ago, he’d sent builders in. And now he’s walking around it alone, hoping it’ll be good enough.

Rooms have been knocked together to create one large space; the walls are painted white and windows left bare for furnishings to be added later. The whole place is bare in fact, apart from one wall that’s taken over by a huge walk-in closet. It’s practically another room in itself. Ramon opens the doors now and looks at things he’ll never understand. The whole thing is a mystery to him, but he hopes Random will like it.

His idea had been to give Random space. He does realise, sometimes, that he’s not exactly easy on their relationship. He gets jealous and moody and can’t let things lie – it’s not easy, living with him. So he’d hit on this - a place where Random can come and be on his own, take a break and get away from everything. Do the things he enjoys without interruption. This is why the closet is full to the brim of art supplies and materials. The best that money can buy, naturally – acrylics and watercolours and pastels and oils and brushes and markers and crayons and pencils - everything. All stacked up neatly under a pile of different papers and canvases that probably emptied half a forest to make. Ramon doesn’t do things by halves. There’s a large easel set up by one of the windows – the entire side of the house is windows now, looking out over fields and space and the cliffs in the distance that roll down to the sea. Everything he needs, he hopes.

He shuts the doors and wanders off to the side, where there’s a small kitchen, with fridge and sink where he can keep some food and drinks and wash up all his materials if he wants to. White again – Ramon had specifically asked that it be kept bare, so that Random can do what he wants with it. And there are stairs to the side, running up to a converted attic. In that room, there’s a drum kit. A drum kit that practically is the room, because it’s one of those 64-piece ones, with cymbals hanging from above and all around and floor drums that surround the person that's sitting in the middle and playing. There’s a rack that’s full of sticks – because drummers do tend to get through them, he’s learnt from the club – and brushes and the big thick padded things that he doesn’t know the name for, for making big booming crashes. It all looks to be in order.

A knock at the door comes and he goes back downstairs to answer it. Caterers, carrying baskets and cushions and he lets them in silently. They’re setting up dinner on the floor of what is now a studio. The place is empty, but they’d promised they’d make it intimate and warm enough for an evening, before Random chooses furniture to put in.

He wait for them do it, supervising by silence. It doesn’t take long and he glances at his watch. He doubts the man will be much longer, but if he is, he is. It’s his birthday, he can do what he wants. Martin’s in the farmhouse, out of the way. A woman’s cooking there and is teaching him some things – for a price, naturally, but the kid doesn’t care. He seems happy. So Ramon goes to wait in his office, trusting that Random will find him when he’s ready.

Just like anywhere else, Texorami has newspapers. They're more laid-back than a lot of places though, because life is pretty easygoing here and no one gets that up in arms about things. So, while the burning of two nightclubs and the deaths of five prominent 'businessmen' do make the front pages, it's muted and with more than a little air of big deal. It's especially evident when other club owners are quoted. It's not like people don't know why those particular men were targeted, even the journalist writing the story.

No, the buzz on the ground is more along the lines of who?

Ramon throws the paper down and lights a cigar, before looking up at the man standing in front of his desk.

'My name hasn't been mentioned?'

'No. Everyone thinks you're too new. Although there have been one or two questions about where you came from. It's rare when no one knows a contact in another city that's heard of you.'

'Don't worry about that, Carl.'

He knows Carl has been wondering too. His accent sticks out a little too much, his colouring a little out of place. No one really cares, it just causes a few eyebrows to raise when the mystery person is rich, starts up a business, and makes a move on the drug trade with no one having a clue where he came from. Ramon lazily thinks that he and Random should take a trip to other places on this planet and find somewhere where he can set up a history, just in case. It had been a nightmare finding someone willing to completely invent a tax history when he got here.

Ramon pours Carl a drink and slides the glass over to him.

'Don't leak it was me. The cops will know soon enough anyway, no sense giving them a heads up. Just send people out tonight and buy up all the street guys that belonged to them. Give them a small bonus and tell them they have a new employer.'

His tequila is thrown back and he grins.

'And get my shit on the streets.'

And just like that, he's back in business.

The Malfoy woman has been in the cells for four days and so, Ramon is once more watching Angela. If he's honest with himself, he's a little pissed off about letting her go. He can't help entertaining the thought that it might be nice to just shove a corpse back through the door to the bar. That's what usually happens in situations like this.

Not worth it. He's been constantly reminding himself of that for the last two days. It's worked well enough - and now he's just waiting. The spiked drink he'd given her a couple of hours ago contained rohypnol and he'd dropped a mild valium in there as well. He wants her nowhere near coherent or thinking straight when he goes in there to get her.

He's watching now to see that she's properly gone. As soon as he's sure, she'll be going home. Or well...to the bar anyway.

AN OCEAN WALK -
A Story by Steph.

(Random shows Ramon a little about operating out of Milliways.)


The ocean breeze was a pleasant thing to feel in ones hair, especially on a day like today. The weather was brisk, then sun bright behind a layer of fog that hadn't quite dissipated along the shore line. It'd be cool, Random decided, were it not for the overlarge fleece (a burnt orange, of course) and would be lonely, if it weren't for the company. So he grinned, sliding an arm around his companion's waist, and sighed.


He more felt than heard the noise, as Random was pressed against him. He'd slid an arm around his shoulders without pausing to think (which now amused more than scared him) and the sound had been lost under the roaring of the waves. Weather at home was a lot hotter, but Random was warm so it didn't seem to matter so much. Of course, that didn't stop him from muttering profanities in a rather mangled stream of Portuguese, English and Spanish when they were forced to swerve to avoid a particularly large wave. It had made it a little farther than the others on its quest to flood the beach, before seeping, defeated, back to the water.

The Amberite just smirked, and noted - in a rather long-suffering tone, that he might have to cancel plans to go swimming later if Ramon was afraid of getting his feet wet. Upon which Ramon threatened to toss him into the ocean, fleece and all, and see how he liked walking around in wet shoes all day. Random didn't reply, just narrowed his eyes and peered down the beach.

Ramon wasn't expecting shouts that suddenly broke the silence. He'd been about to ask Random why the sudden tensing of his shoulders, when the first of the calls reached his ears. Two travelers, another pair of men, walking, no, striding, towards them. They looked like they were lost- big men, typical of Texorami, the shorter maybe 6'2, the second...perhaps...half a hand taller? Appearances typical of the region, and clearly so, so drunk. A mild annoyance crept through him, because Dammit, this was their bit of beach (not really) and should bloody stay that way.

And then, when he finally heard what they were shouting, a wave of absolute fury crawled through him.

"City meat! Look at 'em…"

"Fuck off! This's our town."

Random was watching them, an absolutely neutral expression on his face. The one Ramon had come to associate with deep shit. His first thought was that Random was actually letting this get to him. Which, in hindsight, was pretty accurate. Merely mistaking 'startled' for 'livid.' Also, his reaction of sliding an arm back around his waist and holding him a little tighter may not have been the best response, given circumstances.

"It's alright, Random. Lets just…"

He was interrupted, of course, by another shout. But this one had something to it that he didn't like. Something that set him on edge and made him whip his head around in time to see the shorter man stoop for a rock, snatch one approximately the size of his fist, straighten, and throw.

In no sane world would the rock miss them. The man was, at this point, less than twenty feet away and clearly knew what he was doing. In the space of the three seconds it took, Ramon watched the motion, wondered why the fuck it had to be late enough in the day that the man wasn't sunblind, and tried to think of what to do fuck it's going to hit him...


And two gunshots rang out.

Ramon let go a breath he hadn't realized he'd been holding, and Random slid the weapon back into his belt. He didn't so much as blink at the muffled thud of a body hitting the sand, not at the patter of a dozen shards of stone raining down on the beach between them.

The taller man stared in shock as the blood began to flow from the single wound to his friends forehead, then stared up at the pair of them, an expression of horror crossing his face as it slowly began to register.

"Get the fuck out of here or join him."

And though Random's tone had been perfectly pleasant, the man was gone in less than thirty seconds, racing away, across the grass covered dunes and out of sight. Satisfied, Random walked forwards a few steps, took a longer stride over the fallen body, and a few more normal paces, before turning to look back over his shoulder at Ramon.

He was bent, examining the rock fragments littering the sand. He glanced up, their eyes met briefly, and he nodded a reassurance to the silent question written on Random's face. After a long moment he selected a large shard, picking it up and sliding it into his pocket as he stood, striding quickly after Random, who'd already started off down the beach.

They walked in silence until the sun was directly above them and a small town came into sight. Then it was time to clamber up the rocks that separated the sand from the earth, and onto solid ground. And finally, Random spoke:

"You know, I didn't actually have another bullet left."

But his companion merely slid an arm around his waist, and grinned.

"Would it have made a difference?"

You know me too well--

--I know you better than that.

"Come on, Random, let's grab something to eat. We'll go out- somewhere we haven't tried before. I'm feeling lucky."