Квентин Тарантино - Once Upon a Time in Hollywood - The First Novel By Quentin Tarantino

“Sure, Johnny,” Caleb said as he slowly descended the staircase. “How ’bout some mez-cow ? Like that time in Juarez.”

Johnny let out a soft chuckle as he shook his head at the memory and said, “A lot of people died that day.”

“Yes, they did,” Caleb said as he finished descending the stairs. “But we had a good time, didn’t we?”

“Yes, we did,” Johnny replied with a conspiratorial smile at the grim but lively memory. Then, gesturing toward the long brown bar across the room, Madrid said, “After you, DeCoteau.”

As the two men walked in step toward the bar, Caleb called out to the pathetic wreck that owned the establishment, “Pepe, get your be-hind behind that bar—I got a guest!”

As Johnny crossed the length of the floor, his eyes took in the Gilded Lily. It was actually an impressive saloon, befitting a town built by cattle money. He also contemplated his next plan of action. Or at least he would have if he had a plan. Once he learned he’d receive one-third of a fortune for killing an old friend, it just naturally seemed appropriate to reintroduce himself. But to what end, exactly? Well, exactly , he hadn’t quite figured out yet. Since he knew Caleb, if he was backing Murdock’s play, it seemed like a smart move to offer DeCoteau his services. Then he could work from the inside. Well, if that was still the plan, then it was a good one, provided Caleb wasn’t privy to the knowledge that Johnny was Murdock’s son. If he was, it would be Johnny’s funeral. So if the plan was to stop Caleb and get his father’s beef, so far so good. But ever since he was twelve and he broke ground on his mother’s grave, Johnny had another plan: Make Murdock Lancer pay for what he did to him and his momma. And, frankly, in that department Caleb was doing a better job than Johnny ever could. The old man was at the end of his rope. He was desperate. So the real question was, what did Johnny want more? Money or blood? His father’s ranch or his mother’s revenge? Security or satisfaction?

Pepe moved behind the bar and took the two men’s orders. “Dos mescal,” Johnny said. Then the cowboy asked in Spanish, “Any food?” Pepe answered, “Just beans and tortillas.”

Johnny turned to Caleb. “How’s the beans?”

“I’ve had worse,” was his reply.

Johnny turned to Pepe and said in Spanish, “Give me a plate of beans.”

“One dollar,” was Pepe’s hostile reply in English.

Johnny turned back toward Caleb and remarked, “A dollar for beans is kinda steep, or am I crazy?”

Smashing some peanut shells on the bar with his fist, Caleb justified, “Hey, Pepe’s got a right to make a livin’ too.” He then picked out the peanuts from the pile of smashed shells and popped them in his mouth.

Johnny snorted, “What, your boys aren’t big spenders?” Mr. Madrid slapped a big coin on the bar. Pepe noisily slid the coin off and into his hand, made a face at Johnny, and fetched the mescal bottle. He poured it into two clay cups.

“A toast!” Caleb declared, as he raised his cup in the air. Johnny did the same. “To my wife and all my sweethearts—may they never meet.” Johnny and Caleb clinked clay cups, then tossed the fiery-tasting booze down their gullets. Caleb gestured to a lone brown table located toward the back of the saloon. “Señor Madrid, would you care to join me at my table where I entertain my guests?” Johnny did a slight bow and assured him, “I would be delighted, Monsieur DeCoteau.” Caleb headed toward the table, barking over his shoulder, “Take the bottle witcha.” Johnny turned on his heels and snatched the mescal bottle off the bar.

The lead land pirate scraped a wooden chair noisily out from under the table and dropped his ass into it. “So, Johnny, what brings you to Royo del Oro?”

“Oh, you know me, Caleb,” he said as he poured both himself and his host another snort of mescal. “Money.”

Caleb knocked back his firewater and asked, “Who’s payin’ you ’round ’ere?”

Johnny took a sip of his drink and said, “I hope you.”

Giving his guest his full attention, Caleb asked the million-peso question: “And what have you heard about me?”

“I heard about the Lancer Ranch,” Johnny told him truthfully. “I heard about all the cattle you’ve appropriated. Lotta land, lotta cows, lotta money, no law to speak of. And nothin’ but an old man and some Mexican ranch hands to shoo ya off.”

Pepe arrived with a big plate of runny beans and a big wooden spoon and placed it in front of Johnny.

Caleb poured himself more hooch and asked, “And what pray tell business is that of yours?”

“Same business as Business Bob’s. I want me a job,” Johnny said, straight no chaser. Then added, “And seein’ as you’ve just had a opening, I’d like to fill it.”

“Doin’ what?” the outlaw asked.

Johnny took another sip of booze, then, after a small dramatic pause, said “Killin’ Murdock Lancer.”

That raised his ole’ buddy’s bushy eyebrows.

Johnny picked up the lime wedge that came with the mescal and squeezed it over his plate of beans. “You pushin’ that old man pretty hard. But that old man’s got money. And Lancer’s wealth is trouble with a capital T when it comes to you, Caleb old boy. ’Cause sure as God made little green apples, sooner or later, one of these days he’s gonna hire some guns and push back . And that ain’t gonna be his fellas versus your fellas, and best fellas win. The name of that game is gonna be Kill Caleb DeCoteau .”

That statement caused Caleb to make a face.

Johnny picked up a little jug filled with hot sauce and began to sprinkle it over the beans, as he continued, “With you dead? All these prairie dogs you got workin’ fer ya will find some new hole to live in. With you dead? Life goes back the way it was. And when you’re Murdock goddamn Lancer, life’s pretty fuckin’ sweet. Yeah,” Johnny said, as he scooped up some of the beans he’d just prepared in the big wooden spoon, “Murdock Lancer will pay a pretty penny for that.” Johnny put the spoon in his mouth and began to chew.

The outlaw narrowed his eyes at him and said, “Maybe he already has.”

“Maybe,” Johnny said with his mouth full, then he swallowed and said, “But maybe I don’t like Lancer, and maybe I don’t like his boots.”

“What’s not to like about Murdock Lancer’s boots?” Caleb asked.

“How he uses them,” Johnny replied.

“How’s he use ’em?” Caleb asked.

“To step on people,” Johnny answered.

Then, pointing his finger across the table at his host, Johnny added, “But you, Caleb, you I like. I’d much rather work for you stickin’ a weed up that old man’s ass than fight against you defending Murdock Lancer’s cows.” Taking a dramatic pause, Johnny finished, “Provided you can pay my price.” After Johnny said that out loud, he realized, That ain’t too far from the truth.

Caleb smiled and inquired, “What’s your price these days, Johnny?”

Johnny stuck the wooden spoon filled with frijoles into his mouth, chewed a bit as he thought, then said with his mouth full, “Well, I think today I’m worth more than you paid Business Bob,” swallowing and grinning at Caleb.

Caleb smiled back and ordered, “Git your horse. Put him in our stable.” He pointed at one of the doors at the top of the stairs. “You’ll sleep there tonight. We hit the Lancer Ranch tomorrow morning. I pay quality men in fourteen-karat-gold coin.”

“How much?” Johnny asked.

Caleb pantomimed a medium sack of gold with his hands. “Oh, ’bout this much.”

All the time Johnny had contemplated killing Murdock Lancer, he’d never contemplated turning a profit on it. But he sure as hell was contemplating it now, as he smiled and said, “I kill Murdock Lancer”—Johnny pantomimed a larger sack with his hands—“I want this much.”