Rita Royale

By Terry Anderson

A three and a half year glimpse into the world of Rita Royale, an instinctive thirty-one year old unmarried, half Jewish, professional poker player. Free spirited mentally, physically and sexually. A woman entirely unconcerned with labels and purposely detached from any and all political worlds until a phone call from her sister changes everything.

Within six months of taking power, Canada's majority left wing coalition government has voted overwhelmingly for Sharia law as the new law of the land. A backlash leading to a civil war erupts in Western Canada almost immediately and the Albertan woman who had ignored the world for so long is drawn straight into the heart of the whirlwind.

From a private in the Western Militia to a major in Badger Troop, a special forces unit in the new Free Canadian Army, the beautiful Rita rises quickly in rank while guided by an eagle spirit and an unseen general with plans to retake and reshape his country.

A serious and sometimes humorous look into the life and times of Rita Royale as she juggles love in its many variations, fights for women's freedom in a war of no surrender, and strives to fathom the mind of the military and the crazies alike.

• Language: English
• Publisher: eBookIt.com
• Release date: Apr 26, 2016
• ISBN: 9781456607876

Terry Anderson

Terry Anderson is a professor and Canada Research Chair in Distance Education at Athabasca University. He has published extensively in the area of distance education and educational technology.

Book preview

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Chapter One

Barefoot, Rita Royale was just a shade over five feet six inches in height, her eyes green like South American grapes, her hair blonde cropped short crew cut fashion, a face and body definitely worthy of a centerfold spread, but at thirty-one that was unlikely to happen. In truth, Rita had never given modeling a thought in her entire life though she had been approached on more than one occasion asking if she would like to be photographed in the nude. One offer was for pretty good money too, but she turned them all down flat. Her world was poker. And she was good at it.

She dried her hair with a beige towel, looked at her naked body in the full length bathroom mirror, at the scar still visible below her left shoulder. A bullet scar. A bullet that entered the front and exited out the back cleanly. No bone fragments just a clean straight through shot. She laughed to herself a little, it could have been much worse had Doc Sam not been sitting in the game that night, a doctor of veterinary skills who drove her to his nearby office and patched her up. Gave her an injection of something nice too.

Those were the days, she thought, the early days in the back room of Quon Lee’s Diner out on the old highway, before the overpass got built and changed everything. The days of Bill the Bulgarian, Danny the Deuce, and his penchant for rarely folding a pair of twos. It was Danny who shot her. He didn’t mean to, but he was drunk and his deuces didn’t hold up against another guy with a better hand. He meant to shoot at the picture of some long dead Chinese Emperor hanging on the wall behind her head, but the gun discharged a little early. Danny never played after that and never stopped apologizing to Rita whenever their paths crossed. He even gave her the .22 pistol he shot her with.

She didn’t play in live games much these days except maybe the odd tournament or house game. These days her action was online hold-em. Definitely not the same feel like at Quon Lee’s, but computer poker has a feel all its own. Rita did pretty good playing this style of poker, aside from the inevitable bad beats along the way, though she missed the bantering and her old friends taking peeks at her breasts when she stood bent over raking in a pot. Rita liked wearing a low cut top when she played, she thought it gave her an edge with the men. The shapely 34 D’s rarely failed to divert attention.

Nowadays she played in sweats mostly. Tucked away in the spare bedroom of her rented trailer, her comfy chair, cup of coffee and her lucky two dollar Canadian coin with the gold colored center piece featuring the bust of the Queen and a polar bear, both of which were mysteriously missing. It was more a loop than a coin now. The man who gave it to her said it would bring her luck. It was one of the first two dollar coins they made, he said, and some of the centers popped out until the mint fixed the problem. Rita won the next three out of four pots. The coin had been with her ever since that night. Same as the pistol.

She heard the phone ringing, walked naked into the bedroom and picked up the cell phone from the night stand parked crookedly close beside the unmade bed. She looked at the number, pushed a button and put the phone to her ear. Hello Karen.

Rita. Am I ever glad I caught you home. Have you had any trouble yet?

Rita squinted. What trouble?

Don’t you watch the news?

I don’t have a television. Or a radio either.

The government just passed Sharia law in Canada. We’re all under Sharia law now. This is very bad.

Are you telling me that Muslims are running Canada now?

You do know Canada has had a minority government for almost a year now? Karen shook her head, sometimes her sister could be so dense. Anyway, the socialists and the so called Liberals, others too I think, voted down the Conservative government a few months ago, formed a coalition government and now they just passed Sharia as the law of Canada.

Can they do that?

People around here are confused as hell whether they can or not. They won’t obey this law. You have to leave right away and come here. Its safer here than where you are.

Karen, I have a poker tournament in less than twenty minutes. I could make some serious money. It’s the, 2016 Extravaganza. I won a satellite entry into the tournament.

Listen to me. Pack some things and leave now. Get in your car and come here. This is serious.

Karen, is this one of your jokes? Because if it is…

Karen cut her off. No joke little sister. I don’t know what’s going to happen but you need to come here. Being close to the city will not be good at all. We still have internet and phone service, but some places are down. I think the government’s shutting down communications. Please, Rita, just leave now.

Rita blew out her breath, opened the vertical blinds, looked at the other trailers in the park. I don’t see anything going on here, Karen.

Maybe not yet, but you will. That’s why now is the time to leave and come here.

I’ll come tomorrow. I’ll ride my motorcycle.

Another motorcycle? Where’s your car?

I traded it for the bike. Its a green and silver color. Nice bike.

Tomorrow could be too late. Leave now. I’m telling you…

Rita listened to the quiet phone line. Hello? Karen?

She put down the phone and walked into the computer room, tried the computer but she had no internet access. She walked quickly back in to the bedroom, opened the folding closet doors and retrieved a black and yellow travel bag, spread the mouth wide and popped the bag open with her fist.

The distance from Black Diamond, Alberta, to St. Victor, Saskatchewan, was about seven hundred kilometers. That was Rita’s guess anyway. She glanced at her watch, past noon already, quickly eyed her motorcycle now packed and waiting. She had already decided to head south on Highway 2 down to Fort Macleod, across to Medicine Hat, then cruise east on the Trans-Canada Highway into Saskatchewan before turning south again. Open gas stations might be a problem though. Only one thing to do that she knew, and that was to get moving and find out.

Rita rumbled into Fort Macleod after an uneventful trip, though she thought the traffic was heavier than usual. Nothing crazy was happening, even as she stood pumping gas beside a mini van crawling with spoiled obnoxious children who seemed to relish making their mother a nervous wreck. Nothing that a good slap across the ass wouldn’t cure, she thought.

Inside, while waiting to pay her fuel bill she listened to people all talking at once, talking like excited parrots when a snake is on the tree hiding somewhere on the branches, its skin the color of the leaves. Rita did learn one thing. The phones weren’t working and all sales at the counter were cash only, which only made the frazzled mini van driver even more frazzled. Rita took pity on the woman and paid her bill in cash. The woman almost cried, looked for a pen to get Rita’s address, but Rita gently told her to forget it.

Back on the highway the traffic ran heavy both directions. The afternoon was one of those typical prairie summer days. Dry and hot. Too hot for a leather jacket, but she wasn’t going to remove it and expose her pistol tucked away comfortably in its shoulder holster. She wished she knew more about what was happening. What did that guy say back there? Something about the Army and the police. Some deserting, some siding with the government. Now the phones and the internet were being disrupted. Surely someone must have internet, she thought. Someone on satellite? Or could they control that too? She was mad at herself for knowing so little about this stuff.

By the time she reached Medicine Hat, she needed fuel like so many others. She passed two busy stations and stopped at the third busy station, her thinking being that they were all probably busy now. She wished she had a place to carry spare gas, but her motorcycle was packed pretty full as it was. Going through one turn earlier had caused a slight front end shaking that told her she had a load on behind her. She sat on the cement walkway for a few minutes in a shady area around the side of the station after the motorcycle was again fully fueled, drinking from a tall plastic bottle of ice tea, still not taking off her leather jacket. Fighting the urge to strip off all her clothes it was so damn hot today.

Excuse me.

Rita hadn’t seen the young woman walk up from behind her and was startled slightly. She looked up at the woman’s face. What’s up?

You’re not by any chance going to Saskatchewan are you? One guy said he was driving there, but I think he’s one of them. I don’t want to ride with him.

Rita stood slowly to her feet, she was a few inches taller than the young brunette. One of them?

She nodded. Yeah, he’s one of them. I have to get away from here. I know what they do to women.

Rita narrowed her eyes. Where are you going?

My folks have a place at Thompson Lake, but I don’t know where safe is anymore. At least I’ll be there with them instead of here. This city is simmering right now. Passing the law to enforce Sharia is going to cause a war and I don’t want to be here when it starts.

Rita knew where Thompson Lake was, right on the way except for a short detour off Highway 13. She looked at the woman, her one hand held bag and the sleeved sleeping bag sitting at her feet. What’s your name?

Sarah Smith.

Well, Sarah Smith, I’m going pretty close to Thompson Lake. I’ll give you a ride. You can wear my helmet. We’ll just have to chance the police if they see I’m not wearing one. My name’s Rita Royale.

Sarah smiled, felt relief wash over her. Thanks Rita Royale.

You’ll have to hold my bag on your lap. I can strap your bag behind and the sleeping bag on the windshield. That should work. She hoped.

Aren’t you hot in that jacket?

Rita looked at her, paused, glanced around. She removed her jacket, the feeling wonderful, quickly unstrapped her holster, looked to make sure no one was watching and placed it just inside the opening of her travel bag. She unthinkingly cupped both breasts from underneath and lifted them gently, adjusting their position under her sweat soaked black t-shirt. She smiled at the look on her new friend’s face. I need to eat something soon.

I know a place just outside the city. Almost outside. They serve good food and I think it should be a safe place to eat.

Are things really that bad now?

Sarah just looked at her. Don’t you follow what’s going on in this country?

Rita grinned. I guess I don’t. I play poker all day long. Nights too, mostly.

At the college I go to, at least half the students made a public declaration and joined Islam in a big outside demonstration. I heard that’s happening in most schools and universities across Canada. I’ll never submit to that cult. They call it a religion, but its a political movement to take over the world. They’re doing a good job of it too. They’re evil. Even a couple of my girlfriends joined. They’re going to be sorry they did that.

Rita thought about this, looked at her. Maybe we should get moving now.

The pair were soon back on the busy highway, still in the city of Medicine Hat. It was stop and go traffic, the heat wafting up from the pavement and the v-twin engine pumping fire with every stroke. Rita’s gun and jacket were on Sarah’s lap, the riding cooler even with this slow moving parade of vehicles and exhaust fumes. Something was going on three cars ahead, something blocking the intersection. Rita shut off the engine of her air cooled motorcycle afraid it would overheat idling. People were beginning to leave their vehicles to see what the hold up was. Rita and Sarah dismounted and walked a few feet from the bike.

Its them.

Rita glanced at Sarah then back at the noisy parade, some marchers carried the flag of the crescent moon, others with not very nice messages for people like her. She looked at Sarah, looked at the bike and her bag with the gun inside, fully loaded.

The two women watched for a couple of minutes, looked at the faces, the signs they carried. Rita said. I see a way around this. Let’s go, Sarah.

After some difficulty, mainly caused by cement curbs and vehicles, Rita had the motorcycle back on a street that skirted the black clad parade. One sign in particular had sent an icy chill rushing through her body. Rita had never been one for faith and God and all that sort of business but her father had been a Jew, even though he seldom practiced his faith. Still, in a strange sort of spiritual way Rita had always imagined herself as somehow being half Jewish. Her birth right perhaps. Her mother had been a Christian. They were both gone now, only Karen and herself remained. Seeing the sign one man carried calling for the death of Jews bothered her more than she understood. It shook her in a very deep and disturbing way. Like ghosts rising from the chimney of a crematorium long since lost to history.

The pair were soon back on the Trans-Canada Highway heading east out of Medicine Hat the traffic still heavy. A few miles out of the city Rita noticed that the oncoming traffic had stopped altogether, only vehicles moving east bound now. A sign marking Highway 41 grew closer and Rita made the decision to turn south, even though she dreaded this choice of routes. She was sure though that something was blocking the road ahead. Maybe at the Saskatchewan and Alberta border which was only minutes from here.

The road opened up as she headed south toward Montana, Rita knew she would have to turn east before reaching the American border. That was the road she dreaded having to ride on. A lonely road. She was glad she had Sarah along for company.

The Cyprus Hills grew out of the prairie soil like an alien eruption. A space pod growing tall and majestic in the otherwise flat prairie landscape. An oasis of altitude and green. Even the air was different up here. Rita always wanted to spend time in the hills but never quite made it for a stay. This time of year was tourist season and they rode past many tourists without stopping, both women enjoying the ride and scenery.

After leaving the Cyprus Hills the land grew flatter, no traffic coming toward them from the States. At length she found her turn off and left the pavement. The motorcycle was on a country road in pasture land, with cattle guards and cattle and wind that moved the grass like ocean waves and a feeling of being the only human left in the world. A place so lonesome it could bring you to tears. At least that’s how Rita thought of this stretch of road that would lead them on to Saskatchewan. She decided to stop for a few minutes.

The two women stretched briefly. Rita said. I guess we never did stop for food.

I have some energy bars and water.

I rode this trail once before. We may have to stop at a farm for gas. I doubt we’ll find a station. Rita looked at the barren landscape, no humans anywhere near them, just a hot wind that blew, an eagle that screamed above. A person could almost imagine buffalo running through here.

Sarah handed a bar to Rita, smiled, looked around. Better buffalo than the evil ones.

Like the ones marching on the street, you mean?

Yeah, like them. These people are serious. They won’t quit. Now they have the government on their side. I’ve seen these people close up. They’re fanatics. They hate us.

Why?

Because we’re women and infidels. We’re nothing to them. And it will get worse under Sharia law. Sarah gave her a look. They call themselves the religion of peace, but if you disagree with them they kill you.

Rita stared at her, blew out her breath. We need to find a radio or television or something. I hate not knowing what’s going on.

If those things still work. This has been coming for a while now. They’ll probably only allow news that favors them and not the truth.

Rita unwrapped the chocolate bar already beginning to melt. I played cards with a Muslim once. He gave me the creeps and he kept looking at my tits.

Were you wearing a bra?

Rita shook her head, stuffed a glob of melted energy bar into her mouth.

He certainly got an eye full.

Rita swallowed. I hate bras. I don’t care if I get all saggy one day.

I can’t find one small enough. Sarah smiled, glanced at Rita’s ample bosom. You probably can’t find one big enough.

Never looked, kid. We should think about moving on soon.

Are you married, Rita?

No. Almost was once. You?

Sarah shook her head. No.

How old are you?

Twenty-two.

You have lots of time to get married.

I don’t know.

Rita looked at her. We should get going now.

The pair kept moving slowly along the washboard road, still no other vehicle had passed them. After a time Rita knew she had arrived in Saskatchewan as the road turned into a type of pavement, though asphalt was missing in spots and she had to swerve around the black colored clumps and avoid the potholes now growing larger as the vehicles ran over them. They passed through a couple small towns, if you could call them that. Nothing was open. No people anywhere in sight.

The motorcycle eventually ran out of gas just shy of sundown. They had passed a few vehicles over the course of the last hour or so and now Rita hoped another would pass by soon. She knew she was somewhere west of the town of Eastend, Saskatchewan, though how far the town was she wasn’t exactly sure. She had managed to ride the bike off the road and onto a pasture access lane before the bike quit and died altogether. She turned her head and motioned for Sarah to dismount.

We 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. I have more gas and my wife likes company. You’d be welcome to spend the night.

I should be alright for fuel now. She knew the tank was almost full, was pretty certain she could make it to Thompson lake. But thanks for the offer.

He stood looking at her for a few seconds. You take care now, young lady. Watch for potholes. They’re everywhere.

Rita smiled. I will, Jim. She reached into her pocket and pulled out a bill.

He shook his head. I don’t want any money. You best keep that pistol close. He glanced at the handle of the gun now visible, poking out from under her t-shirt.

She smiled. I will.

So long. He walked to the rear of his truck and tossed the empty gas container inside the box.

Thanks again, Jim. You’re a gentleman.

He laughed. My wife might disagree with you on that, but thank you. He climbed onto his seat, shut the door and drove slowly away.

Sarah walked out into the open and over to Rita. I guess there are still nice people around.

Rather than leave now maybe we should stay here until morning. It would be late when we got to your parents’ place. And the potholes.

Sarah nodded, looked at her cigar. It had gone out. Well how often do I get to smoke Havana cigars and drink scotch with a beautiful biker chick?

Rita laughed softly. You’re getting drunk.

Maybe a little. I don’t care. I want to be drunk.

Rita sat down on her sleeping bag, picked up her bottle of scotch, took a small drink, held the bottle out to Sarah. Plenty left to get drunk on, kid.

Neither woman got drunk, instead they sat up talking and listening to the coyotes sing until each of them crawled into their sleeping bags and fell fast asleep on the rough grass. If a vehicle drove by neither of them heard it pass, both dreaming beneath the Milky Way, the scent of sage surrounding them.

Chapter Two

Rita awoke at first light, her stomach feeling empty, her mouth in need of cleaning, the scotch and cigar tasting foul as she licked her teeth and gums and looked around at the clear morning. It was going to be another scorcher today, she thought.

The pair arrived at Thompson Lake shortly after nine, the entrance to the park manned with several local residents, one man carried a rifle. Two of the men recognized Sarah and let them pass through the gate and into the park.

Sarah’s folks were very grateful to Rita for bringing their daughter home safely and Sarah’s mother fixed the biggest breakfast Rita had ever seen. She sampled some of everything and when she pushed away from the table she was stuffed full like a wood tick. Ready to burst.

Sarah’s father filled her gas tank with fuel and her mother slipped a wrapped bacon and egg sandwich to Rita as she was ready to leave.

So long, kid. Keep your folks safe.

I will. Too bad you have to leave. I think we would be great friends.

Rita smiled. Me too. You know where I’ll be.

Yes, I know. My dad says all the men in the park are arming up and taking turns watching the gate now. He said they mean business. Any Sharia supporters around these parts will get their ass shot off, I think.

Rita glanced at Sarah’s father, a serious look on his face. She started the motorcycle and was soon out of the park and back on Highway 13 headed east toward Assiniboia less than fifty kilometers away, her pistol in her bag, her jacket bungeed on top. The day heating up.

The road was better now and she thought about Muslims, guns, her country being changed, as she cruised in top