The usual, I take it, A? Coming right up. Gossip? No, I think you’re looking for my daughter. I don’t gossip. Wait, oh, Lex asking around about Rick made you curious about that guy who stopped by while you were busy dealing with He-Who-Shall-Not-Be-Named-In-Alex’s-Presence prior to Rick’s arrival. I think his name was Mister Leighton. Sure, no sweat off my back, I can talk about that. Just between you, me, and everyone who gives a damn, that dude got on my nerves, even in spite of how little I was around him. And if it weren’t for setting a good, positive example for the good people of this town, I might choose somewhat harsher words to call him. But that would be ungentlemanly. Alright, this was, like, a week before your boy came to town. I was letting Linda take care of the day to day, you know, see how she liked the responsibilities. One day, a car drove into town. We could tell instantly that it didn’t fit in. I mean, you know our aesthetic. This, it was someone with class, taste, modern sensibilities, common sense. Nothing like our little town’s look? Too modern, to sleek. The fact that it wasn’t electric made it even more suspicious, to those of us paying attention.
It became entirely obvious as the fellow climbed out of the sleek sedan. He wore a black three piece, single breasted suit, with a white shirt and red tie. Yeah, the Mister Deacon look. Ever since that arrest happened, and all that stuff started coming out about him, those of us who live around here and care about our appearances avoid the black three piece with a red tie look. It gives off a bad vibe. So, instantly, we knew the guy wasn’t from around here. He walks into the Wilkes’ place. Confidently, like he had a plan to do something.
Now, I don’t know exactly what happened inside that place with him and the Wilkes, but when the guy came out, he was angry. Very angry. He stormed across the street and burst through my bar’s doors right over there. With a huff, he seated himself down at the end of the bar, over on that side. After sitting down, to the world at large by all accounts, he groaned out, “I hate people sometimes.”
Linda was tending the bar at the time, and I was just another patron of the bar, sitting over in your underage crew’s old booth, relaxing. Linda politely smiled, chuckled, and replied, “What can I get you?”
He shook his head. “Bourbon, neat,” he said, then, after a pause, he asked, “You’re from around here, right?”
Linda, ever the diplomat, answered, “Kinda, in a sense. It’s complicated. My dad and I moved here when I was a kid.”
The guy looked confused. “This backwater? Why?”
“You’d be surprised on the backwater part,” she replied, “But as for the reasons, you’ll have to ask my dad.”
He laughed. “How about I don’t and say I didn’t.”
Linda shrugged as she handed him his drink. He placed a credit card on the counter and she picked it up, bringing it back to next to the register. Probably the first tab she’d opened in years. You understand that, though, A. Around here, people either don’t need to pay, or pay in cash. But she opened the tab up like it was a normal thing for her. Important skill, with these suit types. You can’t let them feel uncomfortable, else they pull away and don’t pay for as many drinks.
It was about this time that he started complaining about the town too much for my taste. Since I had a meeting scheduled already and I didn't care enough to stay while he insulted my home, I left them to their business while I went off to handle my own. Here you go. Sorry it took so long, but you know I’m slow when I’m talking to people. So, that’s as far as I saw of the man, firsthand. The rest is hearsay, based on what Linda told me that evening, so take it with a grain of salt. Or more, depending on your feelings on the subject. We both know she tends to exaggerate events. That said, I’m confident she was telling the truth, at least for the most part. Given how the guy was acting when I left, and how this town generally operates around people like that.
I hadn’t been paying attention to his specific complaints, you have to understand, but according to Linda, they started out as complaints about the Wilkes. “That old couple, they seem to think they have everything figured out,” he told her, clearly irritated, “But I come in with a solid, no, a great, offer that would have them set for life, and no, they don’t just refuse, they push back. Say I don’t know what I’m talking about? What gives them the right, you know?”
“Why did you come here, anyways?” Linda politely asked, “It isn’t as though we’re a particularly well known, or, you know, relevant community to the world at large. Or even Wyoming.”
“I read some article about some petty criminal on Vice, and they mentioned the town,” he explained to my daughter, growing more drunk as he went. He wasn’t his bourbon, according to Linda, and every time that drink was empty, he gave her the ‘another one’ look. “When I looked you guys up, I saw there’s been no major developments here, and thought, hey, I could help them out. I came here to buy up three small properties in town to build an apartment complex, but, no.”
“Why? What happened?” Linda pressed. She was probably hoping for some more dirt on the Wilkes. Had he been from town, or a suspicious sort, that could have proven quite problematic.
Fortunately for her, it seemed that Mister Leighton had come to drink and rant anyways, and his ability to sense her motives had already become impaired by the third glass. “I show up to talk to them, only to find out that they don’t actually own the property they live on. They don’t pay rent or nothing, but someone else pays property taxes on it. I called some people, and did you know, that whole block is owned by someone who I can’t seem to find anywhere. And for a town with such good internet access, you people are halfway off the grid.”
Linda furrowed her brow. “Who owns that block?” she asked curiously. She still needs to learn that crucial element to our success: lacking curiosity about anything. You know that, though.
Leighten answered her honestly. “Some guy named Dick Ryer. As far as I can tell, he was born, has a social security number, and that’s about it. And since he doesn’t have a phone, I can’t actually contact him to help you people modernize, you understand?”
Linda frowned at him. “But, why would we want to modernize?” then, to be diplomatic, “That’s at least the feeling I get from a lot of my regulars.”
“Because everyone has to modernize sometime. The whole world is changing, lady, and you either join in early or get destroyed when it forces you to change.”
She smiles, a tight, thin smile. “You underestimate this town, I think.”
It was around then that Anton showed up. Paranoid, as always, that the new guy was trying something. He asked Linda, “Hey, who’s the suit?”
Linda just told him, “Ask the guy yourself.” I think this was during the beginning of their off period, though I’m not positive. I can never really keep track of those two.
So, Anton headed over to Mr. Leighton. The moment Linda told me that bit, I had a feeling the story would end the way I suspect it ended. Anton stretched out his hand and said, “Hey, sir. I’m Anton Jefferson. I'm the Sheriff around here.”
The drunk man looks up. “Leighton. I was planning on helping renovate this place.”
“Why?” Anton asked.
Mr. Leighton got up, and was visibly upset. He spat at Anton, “Why the hell does everyone keep asking me that? Because progress is important. You weirdos need to get with the times.”
Anton shrugged. “I think you’ve had enough. And as far as getting with the times, we have widespread high speed wireless internet, ninety percent of our cars are electric, and we power the town with a massive solar generator atop our mountains. So I think we’re pretty good on that front.”
The man drunkenly leaned over the seated sheriff. “You must be a local. This hick town is going to become a destination. All I’ve got to do is contact this Mister Ryer fellow and offer him more money than any of you have ever seen, and we will force the world on you.”
“First of all, rude,” Anton, who was very much unafraid of the drunk, stated, then he explained himself as he started to guide the man out, “And second of all, I doubt it. I’m a multimillionaire myself, technically, even though my family and I don’t really get along. And, even though they don’t live around here anymore so I’m not positive about their net worth, any Ryer would have to be a billionaire, or at least close to one.”
The guy was looking dumbfounded at Anton as he walked through the bar’s doors. Now, Linda didn’t hear anything else, and Anton doesn’t really talk to me about this kind of stuff, but evidently, the two of them had a rather long discussion outside of Mister Leighton’s car, nearly fifteen minutes. Then, abruptly, the suited gentleman climbed into the back seat of his sedan and the car drove off. Whatever conversation had happened was clearly over. Anton walked back inside, and Linda, of course, immediately asked, “So, what was that about?”
Anton shrugged, and vaguely said, “He was wondering how we were so rich, and I explained the whole, massive gold vein back in the day thing.” He was lying, according to Linda, and in this instance, I’m choosing to believe her, mostly because Anton would never reveal his secrets, even to my daughter. Also, because, according to Linda, the next thing Anton did was text someone. About twenty minutes later, Tiberius Paul and Rita Neroni showed up, and the three of them met in a booth. After a brief discussion that no one seems to have overheard, for good reason of course, they called someone on the phone, and ten minutes or so later, Kev walked in too. Kev scolded his son for not inviting him in the first message, and then, once again, they talked for a while with no one listening. No one listens when the old families meet like that, but, you know that, A. I mean, soon enough, you’ll be a part of those meetings, probably. Maybe.
In any case, fifty minutes later, they left. As you can tell, no one came swooping in to try to buy up any property around here. Also, honestly, I was kind of expecting more people to come and marvel at the oddities of this place. I mean, an outsider who was rich and seemed kind of important, came by and witnessed our weirdness first hand. Even if he wasn’t able to find the Ryer heir, I’d expect him to talk to people about us. But, as you have clearly seen, no huge influx of tourist types has happened in the last couple years. Just you know who’s friend. And now Lex again, but she doesn’t really count. I have to assume it has something to do with what Anton told him, but it isn’t like Anton will tell anyone anything, ever. And everyone else in town knows better than to know what was spoken during that fifteen minute conversation between the pair.
So, that’s about all I know. You want to learn more, maybe you could weasel it out of your family. Or talk with the Wilkes. I don’t know why you would want to know more, though. Curiosity is a bad instinct to have. Even as a founder, especially as one, you should know that by now. Don’t tug too hard on this thread, okay? Promise me. Of course you can’t. Why did I even ask?
Comments