Soft Diamonds

Well, shit! Look at th’mess Daytona’s found ‘imself in this time! All the golden-goddamn jet skis in the golden-goddamn world couldn’t buy his way out’ve a match with Ol’ Wade! Hell, remember back at ReVival Thirty-Six when The Bad Dog beat the good-goddamn out’ve Daytona’s truck with that big ol’ chain? Wrapped ‘im up in it, too if memory serves! Yeah, that’s what ya git when y’mess ‘round with Lady Troy’s Little Boy, boy howdy! Still, Daytona’s wrapped ‘imself up in some…questionable company, and ya gotta wonder if he ‘xpected to square up with the ‘Bama Bruiser in the ol’ squared circle instead’ve the parkin’ lot anytime soon!. Sure, this’ll be a real big test fer the Rhinestone Cowboy…

…aw fer fuck’s sake.

Turn this shit off. 

It ain’t my style.

Sacramento. Back in ‘94.

“Alright, let’s wrap ‘er up!”

Horace waved a rough-hewn paw toward the jewelry store’s exit, clutching the end of a pillowcase with the other, filled only partially with a few fist-fulls of clinking rings and necklaces. The stocky, broad-chinned outlaw shot his brown eyes to the desk where Wade stood vigilant, sharp blues scanning the windows.

“NOW,” heaved Horace, shifting a toothpick from one side to the other.

Wade sniffed through his nostrils, double checking his grip on the .357 magnum pressing against his lower back. He’d heard Horace’s barking, but instead turned to the shop’s attendant; a young girl, with short hair dyed electric blue, hands pressed against the glass of a now-empty showcase

“Pretty good haul, right?” she asked with a sarcasm-drenched smirk.

“Good enough,” said Wade, adjusting the weapon in his waistband and ready to make moves toward the exit.

“Are you guys, like, out of some John Wayne movie?” she asked, chewing viciously on a wad of bubble gum behind her black lipstick-shaded lips. “Is the sheriff gonna show up and challenge you to a gunfight in the street?”

“Y’know I’ve got my hand on a goddamn revolver, right?” said Wade, tipping up his drifter’s hat and offering a confused, questioning glance.

“As if it’s loaded,” she shot back, unimpressed.

“I said let’s git OUT’VE HERE!” hollered Horace from the Sacramento sidewalk.

Wade offered a nod to the store’s attendant. She replied with an obnoxious chomp of her gum and a roll of the eyes you could hear in San Francisco. Size fourteen work boots made way for the exit undeterred….

…until the glare of a glimmer caught his eye from the floor.

“Wade!” growled Horace, glancing back toward the green Dodge Caravan waiting for them in the street. “Let’s GO goddamnit!!” 

The future Bad Dog paid Horace no mind. Instead, he crouched to pluck the glimmer from the floor, lifting it gently to his keen blue eye.

A gold band, with a single diamond. Simple. Elegant. And ideally far from the dirty grip of a man like Wade Elliott.

Still. He plucked it from the floor. And took lumbering steps out the door while he shoved the ring into the pocket of his worn jeans.

“You two done kissing yet?” asked Becky, fiery red hair flipping over her shoulder from underneath a red ball cap, grinning at Horace and Wade as they clambered back into the van.

“We could give you boys another minute,” grumbled Cliff, all seven feet and four hundred pounds of him looking cartoonish in the passenger’s seat.

“Ol’ Wade wasn’t interested,” Horace chuckled through broad teeth, falling heavily into the back seat, scraping the sweat from his brow with his wide-brimmed hat. “Yer gonna like the haul, though!”

“That so?” asked Becky, glancing into the van’s rear-view mirror as she pulled away from the curb, finding Wade’s sharp glare in the reflection. “Big haul, huh?”

Wade snorted through his nostrils, offering a knowing glance into the mirror. Meanwhile, he dug into the pocket of his jeans and retrieved the small, gold ring with the simple diamond fixed to the top.

“Big enough,” he muttered, with a sly grin behind his brown goatee, catching another sly glance from Becky in the rear view mirror.

The green Caravan pulled off into the Sacramento night, leaving approaching police sirens in the dust, while Wade studied the ring between his fingers in the dark.

“Is it big enough?”

Wade blinked hard with a quick shake of the head, snapping back to the present.

“What’s that now?” he asked, a touch confused.

“The…stone,” the jeweler reiterated, studying the fifty-two year-old sore thumb standing inside Venetzia Fine Jewelry. A young man, clean shaven with black hair slicked to the side, tilting his head to make sure his gray-bearded customer wasn’t having a stroke. “Is it big enough?”

Wade took stock of his surroundings. He’d ambled into a dozen Vegas jewelry stores over the last couple months. Most looked the same; everything shiny and over the top. Carved wood and pristine glass. Gold and silver polished with care. All of it overpriced and overvalued, and none of it a pleasant experience.

But he had to get it right.

He glanced to the piece offered, resting on white linen. Lifting it gently, he studied the piece carefully, noting the five smaller stones on the band, framing the gigantic rock in the middle.

“Fer fuck’s sake, it better be,” he grumbled, setting it back to the cloth. The jeweler was quick to place the ring back inside its glass case, eyebrows furling at the redneck’s language.

Wade had caught the next flight to Vegas after Culture Shock. Someone had to watch the house, and Koji, and keep Kaz and Amy from throwing parties or buying more ponies. That, and a tour around Europe wasn’t exactly an appetizing thought. A little too much time in the air than he was comfortable with.

That, and he had work to do. Because he had to get it right.

He set his big hands on his hips, and released a heavy breath through his nose. He took another look around the shop, shaking his head at the gaudiness of it all. The snake oil disguised as pretty rocks. His eyes flashed to the jeweler’s silver name tag. It read “Peter.”

“You ever think it’s all a bunch’ve horseshit, Peter?” he asked, sharp blue eyes flashing toward Peter’s startled browns.

“I, ah, excuse me?” the young man asked.

“All this shit,” Wade exclaimed, extending his long arms to the store’s endless supply of glass and gems. “What’s so god-damn special about a bunch’ve pretty rocks?”

“I…I studied gemology for four years, sir…”

Wade slapped his big hands on the glass counter in front of Peter, who flinched hard at the sight, eyelids fluttering and jaw vibrating.

“Why’s it gotta cost,” Wade paused, then pointed to the ring Peter had just offered. “...what’s the price on that one?”

“Eight…eight-thousand six-hundred and ninety-nine…”

“Yeah, why’s it gotta cost….Jesus fuckin’ Christ! Eight thousand six-hundred????”

Wade slapped the glass one more time, turning away from the sticker shock, hands to his hips. Peter did his best to keep his breath in check, inspecting the glass for damage.

“Why?” asked Wade, spinning back to his friend in the black suit. “Why’s it gotta cost an arm an’ a leg just t’tell someone you fuckin’ love ‘em, Peter??”

“Sir…please…”

Finally, Wade caught note of Peter’s body language. The young man was stiff, breathing quickly. Eventually, he lifted a finger, pointing outward toward the floor.

“...you’re frightening our customers.”

Wade cocked an eyebrow, turning to look over his shoulder. A collection of ten or twelve customers were staring at him, deathly silent. The men took a moment, considering his concerns. The women tucked their purses away.

The Bad Dog turned back to Peter sheepishly, and offered a knowing nod.

“I’ll…I’ll be leavin’...”

And yet, in that moment, his eyes widened with certainty.

“But I know what I gotta do,” he said, sharing a soft grin.

He reached across the glass, clapping a big paw on Peter’s shoulder, sending another shudder through the jewelers’ spine.

“I ‘ppreciate yal, Peter!”

This one surprise ya, Daytona? 

Yeah, I hear ya. I wasn’t ‘expectin’ it neither.

Still, it makes a bit’ve sense. They don’t take me off the shelf that often, but when they do, it’s fer a good reason.

I had to step back in fer Ol’ Craig. Guess he needed another ass-kickin’ ‘fore walkin’ off into the sunset.

They let me loose on Sage. Kid needed a lesson in what pain really means.

An’ now? Daytona god-damn Diamonds. The big fuckin’ mouth’ve the Poor Whoresmen. 

Seems like beatin’ the piss out’ve you in that parkin’ lot wasn’t enough. Now I gotta rattle yer teeth in front of a few thousand. That’s alright with me. 

I’m sure you’ve been itchin’ fer the chance to rattle mine.

“What the fuck do you mean you’re leaving!!??”

Wade stormed out of the motel in Iowa, a few miles outside Des Moines, with nothing but the shirt on his back, the wallet in his back pocket, and the gun in his belt. Becky chased after him into the night, barefoot and near bare-assed in her bra and underwear. 130 pounds of not-giving-a-shit.

“Run on back inside,” Wade barked, maintaining his stride. “Stay there, or puts some fuckin’ clothes on an’ come with me. Take yer pick.”

“FUCK YOU!” she shrieked, bare feet quick against the pavement until should catch up.

“FUCK! YOU!” 

She slapped him across the back of his head, sending his drifter’s cap to the ground. Enough to force him to pause. He turned his broad body reluctantly, facing the half naked, five-and-a-half-foot force of fire and brimstone under the dim lights of the motel parking lot.

“I can’t keep followin’ him, Becky.”

“Why?” she snapped. “Why not? What’s so bad about what Horace is doing?”

“Because it ain’t goin’ nowhere!!” Wade shot back. “The man’s losin’ his shit! He don’t know no better than fuckin’ Cliff!” 

“But you still have us!!!” she shouted. “We don’t answer to anybody, Wade! We still have our freedom!” 

“No we fuckin’ don’t!”

Enough to force a silence. The hum of the fluorescent lights above did enough to break the quiet. Wade stared out into the dark, shaking his head, before he turned back to Becky’s blazing glare.

“This ain’t freedom, Becky,” he declared. “Followin’ that old asshole wherever he says, no matter what we say? That ain’t it! Eatin’ gas station burritos and holin’ up in motels ain’t freedom!”

“Then what is!?” she interrupted, before lifting her chin to the dark. “Is it out there? Some job waiting for you? What the fuck are YOU gonna do?”

“I DON’T KNOW!” he hollered, carelessly. “I don’t know, but you can fuckin’ come with me! And leave ‘em behind!”

The words may as well have been poison. Becky pursed her lips together, shaking her head, fiery red hair swaying over her bare shoulders.

“No,” she declared. “No. I won’t give up on Horace and Cliff. They’ve taken care of me. They’ve taken care of you. They pulled you from sleeping in your truck off the side of the road, Wade!”

Elliott breathed heavy through his nostrils, staring down at her deep, but cold.

“I wish they hadn’t,” he said. Like stone.

He could see her heart break, despite her effort to stand tall. Her right fist had been balled-up for the entire exchange.

And she threw its contents into his chest.

A small ring landed sharp against his chest before clattering against the asphalt. It was hard to see in the dark, even under the motel’s dim lamps, but Wade knew exactly what it looked like.

A gold band. A single diamond. Simple. And elegant.

And he would leave it there.

“They’re gonna to come after you,” she said. “We’re gonna come after you.”

“I know it,” Wade replied, turning toward the road ahead, striding off into the dark. “I’ll see ya then.”

Becky watched him take every step, until the dark wouldn’t let her.

And she wouldn’t shed a single tear, until her motel door closed behind her.

I don’t get this obsession with diamonds. From you. Brandon. Nathan.

I mean fer fuck’s sake, they’re just shiney fuckin’ rocks. 

Never understood it. Never figured out why everyone thinks they’re worth so god-damn much. 

‘Cause word is they’re cheap. Worth a buck or two just ‘cause some prick said so way back when. Sure, they’re hard. Sure, they take a minute to make.

But they’re cheap.

Brandon proved it when he thought it was smart to grab Lindsay’s wrist. Cheap as shit.

An’ you’ve proven it time an’ time again. With that loud, cheap mouth’ve yers.

An’ I intend to shut it.

Wade clicked the belt of his first-class seat, and immediately pinched his eyes shut.

He hated planes. God he hated planes.

He knew he stuck out like a sore thumb in his gray t-shirt and old jeans. He was well aware of the sweat on his brow, and his mess of gray hair. And how heavily he was breathing.

But he didn’t care. He knew what he had to do.

“Sir?”

Wade opened his eyes and glanced upward to the young blonde in her flight attendant’s uniform.

“Is everything okay?” she asked, sincerely.

He replied with a quick nod. “How long is this flight again?”

“If everything stays on schedule, at least thirteen and a half hours,” she replied.

He contemplated with a nod.

“What sorta bourbon y’all got on here?”

“We have a strong list! Frey Ranch, Eagle Rare, Knob Creek…”

“Gimme whatever’s expensive,” he said, settling into his seat. The flight attendant smiled, standing upright to retrieve his request.

“And keep ‘em comin’.”

That’s my belt yer wearin’. Anyone tell ya that. I only held onto it once, but you can’t talk ‘bout the Intense Title without talkin’ ‘bout Ol’ Wade Elliott in the same sentence. I knocked men’s teeth loose with sledgehammers to hold onto that fuckin’ thing.

And yer fuckin’ god-damn lucky that it ain’t on the line at Barcelona.

Listen, son. I know yer comin’ at me hard. I know yer gonna want a piece of the Bad Dog after I left ya hangin’ after ReVival 36.

Just do me a favor.

And bring that chain if ya still got it. 

An’ I’ll show ya Diamonds ain’t all that tough.

‘Cause compared to Wade god-damn Elliott?

Diamonds are real fuckin’ SOFT.

Lindsay Troy was on the verge of sleep inside her suite at the Leonardo Royal Hotel in Barcelona. A massage earlier that day had done her well. And the complimentary robe was feeling quite nice against her long limbs.

Phone in hand, she replied to questions and requests, at least the ones she wanted to. A couple more texts and a night cap was waiting for her at the mini bar.

A loud rapping of knuckles against her door, however, stole her attention.

She pushed her curls over her ears with a squint, and swung her long legs off the edge of the king sized bed. She tied the robe’s belt around her waist tight, just in case.

Peering into the hotel door’s peephole changed her tune, and she swiftly unlocked it, swinging the door open violently.

In the hallway stood Wade, exhausted; sweat pushing through his gray t-shirt, eyelids barely hanging on. Both hands gripping the door frame to keep himself upright?

“Wade?” she exclaimed in disbelief, reaching to place her hands on his shoulders. “What are you doing…”

“I ain’t gonna get on a knee,” he interrupted through labored breath.

Her hands let go, her hazel eyes shining with curiosity, with confusion.

With another heavy breath, he stepped through the threshold.

“I ain’t gonna beg for nothin’. But I am gonna ask ya.”

Lady Troy pushed a hand into her thick curls, processing the last sixty seconds, hugging her waist with the other arm.

“Lindsay. Will you….”