BONANZAVILLE

By Archie Ryan

Abandoned as a child, young Frederick "Red" Bonaduce grows up to eke out a mere existence in a rural part of West Virginia. An offer to visit his estranged father could change his life forever. Unbeknownst to the world, Bonanzaville is a town in the Catskill Mountains that thrives on fear and carnage. Ben Cartwright rules over the town of Bonanzaville by emulating his favorite television shows. He wants to bring Red into the family business, but only if Red can prove his self worth. Television is woven into and throughout our lives today, but have you ever asked yourself, "How in the hell is that show still on?"

• Language: English
• Publisher: Gatekeeper Press
• Release date: Dec 26, 2022
• ISBN: 9781662901027

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Headlights from oncoming vehicles were no more and had passed nearly a half hour ago as the loaded trailer stirred up dust along the side of the road. The horizon behind the diesel-powered truck was hinting that the darkness would soon be coming to an end. Several smaller groups of lights followed the clouds of dust. Each passing a well-weathered sign that indicated Juarez was within eight miles with the stenciled word, OCHO.

The semi-truck hauling the trailer suddenly slowed and then turned off of the highway to a single lane road that led farther out into the desert. A few miles passed and then the semi slowed again and came to a stop. The road in front was blocked. Sand from nearby land had covered a large section of the passage. A moment passed as the vehicle sat and idled. The four sets of lights trailing behind the truck had now stopped moving as well. A good hundred feet behind. Exhaust bellowed from the stacks above the cab as the truck lurched forward and began the laborious task of turning around on the paved surface, being careful not to allow the wheels to spend too much time in the sand.

Once the vehicle had completed its turn and the air brakes had sounded, the four automobiles that had followed began to inch closer while the truck idled again in the darkness. A thirty-foot gap still existed between the truck and the four sedans by the time they had come to a stop and the dust began to settle. Car doors opened and the headlight reflections showed that the passengers were all armed. Long barrels and short barrels were held in the hands of these men in dark clothing. Yells in Spanish could now be heard. The shouts sounded more like demands and seemed to be aimed at the running truck.

The armed men now stood in silence awaiting a response. The driver’s side door to the semi opened slowly and empty hands were shown by the male driver. An indication that he was unarmed. Slowly the man exited the truck and stood alongside his vehicle. A trucker’s cap on his head and his arms now held high.

The men with the weapons quickly surrounded the unarmed truck driver and began examining his vehicle. The back door to the trailer was thrown open and the cab of the truck was already in the process of being inspected. More shouts in Spanish followed as the sound of pry bars splintering wood and the cracking open of crates in the trailer could be heard.

The lead vehicle in the band of four, a black sedan, now approached slowly toward the driver of the truck. Lincoln was the emblem on the car’s front grill and a medium sized well-used duffle bag sat in the front seat next to the driver. The vehicle came to a stop ten feet from the truck driver. No words were exchanged as the driver of the car exited the vehicle, left the driver’s door open, and proceeded to walk back to the remaining three vehicles.

The driver of the truck started to make his way toward the now abandoned running car as more shouts were directed towards him. The truck driver did not seem the least bit concerned by the increasing number of shouts and just nodded his head slowly toward the vehicles behind the bright headlights. He climbed into the running black sedan with the canvas duffle bag. The sound of a heavy-duty zipper opening and closing filled the inside of the car just before the vehicle’s transmission was placed into drive.

The sun was on the rise. A deserted area like this might become visible and the pace of the men conducting this business here quickened. The trailer door was closed and the sedan with the duffle bag circled around and headed back toward the main road. Dust clouds followed the vehicle as it traveled farther away in the disappearing night sky.

Back on the main highway the sedan drove East toward the orange glow on the horizon that was slowly lighting the area. The vehicle roared at a high speed for quite a stretch, as if the driver feared the coming daylight or at the very least, was quickly distancing himself from where he had conducted business.

Nine miles passed before the word VACANCY in bright red suddenly appeared along the righthand side of the road. The sedan began to ease back on the gas pedal and then slowed before it veered off the highway and into the desolate motel’s parking lot. A seedy looking place that looked prone to illegal activity. The kind of place you would stay in if you had to, but only if you were also up to the challenge of sleeping with one eye open. The small rundown motor inn had three vehicles parked in front of the string of eight identical rooms for rent. A dust covered van that looked like it had not run-in years, a small compact car in front of the main office, and an idling Dodge pick-up. A forest green quad cab with tinted windows. This vehicle contained two male occupants.

Headlights were flashed by the sedan and the Dodge pick-up followed with a high beam flash of its own. The truck pulled out from its parking spot and began to follow the sedan back out onto the highway. The trip was short though, not even a half mile, as the sedan turned left onto a dirt road and headed back out into the desert. The green Dodge followed.

About five hundred yards later both vehicles came to a stop. The land here was flat but no one from the highway could see what was transpiring in these early morning hours this far from the main road. The man who had driven the semi-truck exited from the sedan with the duffle bag. The two men in the Dodge watched as the truck driver placed the duffle on top of his vehicle’s trunk and unzipped the bag. Rubber-banded stacks of hundred-dollar bills were removed from the bag and placed in two piles on the trunk. Had to be twenty-five grand in each pile.

The two men in the Dodge slowly exited their vehicle. They were both large figures and each stood above six foot tall. Tattoos and piercings covered the necks and faces of both men. One had long black hair and a dark complexion. A Mexican perhaps. The other had greasy blond hair and was white. They were not attractive men, in fact, hideous and repulsive may be the words that described them best.

The truck driver smiled as they approached and then he pointed to the two stacks of cash on the trunk of his vehicle. Head nods could be seen from both men as they stared at the loot. The truck driver then scooped up all the cash and placed the money back into the duffle. He turned and held up the bag toward the two men, who now stood before him, and started to laugh. The Mexican and his blond-haired comrade looked slightly puzzled at first but then both men realized exactly what was happening. The truck driver was not only making an offer; he was creating a challenge. One of the two men could have all that was in the duffle.

The Mexican eyed his blond partner then quickly drew a six-inch serrated knife from a sheath around his waist. He had expressed his interest in this newly created game. The blond-haired man took a small step back and reached for a similar knife from his boot. An eight-inch blade with a handle carved straight from bone that shimmered in the early morning light. The man with blond hair smiled and showed his capped and missing teeth. This challenge was on.

The duffle bag was held up high as the two men, now armed with knives, circled each other. A worthy bounty for only the most hardcore. A few hesitant jabs with the blades brought the competitors closer together, each man looking for his opening. Studying the opposition for a weakness.

Suddenly the long hair of the Mexican was grabbed with an open hand. A swift jerk pulled him down onto his opponents handheld piece of steel. The blade travelled deep, and this gut shot brought the man to his knees. The Mexican man was not going to go down easily though, and he screamed, Vienes Conmigo! Then he swung upward with his sharp razor like weapon and slit the throat of the blond man. The blood was instant, and the brightness of the fluid showed that the carotid artery had been severed.

You are coming with me! This was the meaning behind the last words spoken by the Mexican. A no truer statement as both men went to the ground and began to bleed out from their fatal wounds. The blond man bled out first. The Mexican shortly after. The truck driver looked down at these two men laying in their own blood. The sacrifices they had made for the money he held in his hands. He reached into the duffle bag and removed a stack of hundreds and then tossed the money onto the bodies of the two valiant warriors. A gust of sand filled wind quickly scattered the bills throughout the gruesome scene. The truck driver man laughed seeing this and then pulled down on the brim of his cap to hide the glare from the now risen sun. He smiled again as he tossed the duffle bag into the green Dodge and climbed in. The Dodge then created dust clouds as it sped off back towards the main road. A full night’s work had been completed.

CHAPTER ONE

That long night in the desert had passed a few years ago and now clouded nighttime skies hung over freshly fallen snow. The white powder covered the concrete sidewalks of a well-used truck stop along Highway 79 in this mountain state. Large flakes continued to fall but the pace had slowed considerably and even the wind had become silent. The now slick highway caused nervous drivers to creep along in their vehicles. Cab and trailer lights from numerous semi-trucks parked near the on- and off-ramps provided some illumination away from the restaurant and restroom area. The smell of burning diesel fuel filled the air and the humming sound of all those big rigs running could be heard by anyone within earshot. The forecast was for more snow, so the drivers did their best to stay warm in their cabs.

The winters can be brutal in this part of the country and sometimes seem to last forever. Not a pleasant place to live, especially if you were poor or not well off. Generations of people had lived here for hundreds of years. They were used to it, even though they always looked forward to an early Spring.

One of the eighteen wheelers, a silver cab that was decorated with all its external lighting and a big B&B symbol on its doors, had been idling for several hours. No sign of the driver. He must be relaxing, maybe eating? Probably asleep. I mean, that is what they do in the cabs of those trucks, right?

The windows of the big rig were all clear, and you could see through them and notice that the defrost switch on the front console was on high. A few wisps of smoke could be seen inside the truck, so someone must be enjoying a cigarette and an obvious indication that the cab was occupied. The driver’s side door suddenly opened, and a woman’s silk panty hosed leg wearing a dark colored snowmobile boot started to climb down from the idling vehicle.

The woman used the sidestep below the door, then hopped down to the white covered surface. The woman’s name was Marla. Marla was thirty years old and maybe five foot five. Marla adjusted her heavy winter coat by fastening the many buttons and hooks on the front and then donned a knit hat that covered her dark-red hair. She then closed the door to the semi-truck and began walking through the freshly fallen snow. The soft substance made a slight crunch sound when compressed and stepped on. She traveled North, past the semi-truck’s trailer, and made her way to the building with the restaurant and restroom facilities. Once there, she turned and looked back at the truck she had just left that continued to idle at the end of the semis row. She paused for a moment, then pulled hard on the handle as she opened the door to the restaurant and entered.

The year was now 1990 and close to nine months had passed since that winter snowfall at the truck-stop. The sweltering heat from a hot summer’s day was quite apparent as the tar began to liquify in the asphalt along the backcountry roads of rural West Virginia. Overgrown vegetation crowded the pathways as a mid-eighties light-gold Ford pickup blazed a speedy path through the countryside. The standard cab vehicle with basic trim was made for two, but occasionally three could sit inside along the bench seat.

The vehicle contained two occupants. A mid-forties man named Ben, dressed in jeans and a blue collared shirt, sat behind the wheel. Marla, about to deliver, was in the passenger seat. Ben was a good-looking man, black hair, rugged looks, and he also wore a dark colored trucker cap low on his head. Screams of pain came from Marla as the birth drew near. She was sweating now, and the perspiration was quite evident on her forehead as she looked over at Ben while he drove. Ben did not look at her though, he looked determined and kept his focus on the road.

Trees gave way to open fields and soon the small, old brick hospital along the right side of the country road became visible to the pickup’s passengers. Several of the multi-colored scrub-wearing hospital staff had now gathered in the parking lot to greet the incoming vehicle.

The light-gold colored Ford came to a stop in front of the hospital workers and Marla was removed from her side of the pickup, loaded into a wheelchair, and quickly taken to the emergency room. The contractions were now coming more rapidly, and Marla’s labored breathing could be heard. As soon as the passenger door to the truck closed, the light-gold truck pulled forward into the adjoining parking lot, circled behind the last row of autos, and disappeared.

The delivery room was lit above Marla by overhead lights, but the brightness of the lights created dark shadows towards the back of the room. A female doctor and a handful of assistants had now gathered around Marla and began preparing for the delivery of the child.

Marla squeezed the gloved hand of a female nurse standing near her as the nurse tried to reassure Marla and tell her to breathe. This was Marla’s first child. She felt prepared but the nurse by her side helped ease her worries during these tense moments.

I see the head! the doctor shouted as the newborn began to crown, and the excitement in the room rose. The door to the delivery room opened unnoticed as Ben quietly entered and made his way to the back of the room and stood in the shadows alone. Ben watched in silence as Marla gave birth.

It’s a boy! the doctor exclaimed as the baby was born and quickly began emitting the sounds of life, air inflating the young child’s lungs. Marla smiled and began to relax, her part in the birth complete as the hospital workers now handled the infant.

The newborn was quickly cleaned up and wrapped in a soft, white blanket while a cold, wet cloth was dabbed across Marla’s forehead by a nurse. The infant, still wrapped in the blanket, was then carried to the back of the room, where the father of the child continued to wait in the shadows.

Would you like to hold your son? said the nurse as she presented the child to Ben. Ben slowly extended his arms and gently took the fresh infant into his hands. The shadows in the room continued to hide Ben as he looked down at his boy and examined him. The young lad had a few wisps of blond hair that were matted down on top of his head and the child’s eyes were barely open, but Ben could see the boy had his mother’s eyes. They were steel-blue. The skin on the boy was pink and the young lad looked like a nap was in his near future, but he was alive, and he was here now.

Frederick John Bonaduce, were the only words spoken by the boy’s father in a strong and deep voice. An almost booming voice as it was heard by all in the delivery room. Ben’s voice was distinct and clear. Like a voice made for radio, or television perhaps?

A year quickly passed since the birth of Frederick John Bonaduce, or Fred for short, and he was now sitting in his highchair in his mother’s kitchen. Spaghetti sauce covered his fingers and parts of his lips and cheeks. It was dinner time, and SpaghettiOs was the meal for the boy nearing fourteen months. The young lad enjoyed his meals and anyone watching would easily agree. Fred swallowed some of his stove warmed dinner but then suddenly burped and looked at the reddish sauce he had just sprayed across his dinner tray. His mother Marla, who was near the stove and wearing her restaurant waitress outfit, turned and started to laugh looking at Fred. Fred’s look of shock soon turned to a smile and then laughter as he saw his mother continuing to laugh with him. These were fun times for the little blond-haired child.

The light-gold Ford exited from a paved surface and entered the gravel road in a small trailer park nestled between the trees of a forest. The vehicle’s tires pressed down on the loose stones as it slowly traveled through the lot until it stopped in front of a small, single trailer. The trailer was old. It was white with several spots of corrosion in the form of orange and reddish rust. The leaves on the trees surrounding the old trailer were in full bloom, showing the same colors as the rust. A gutted eight-point buck hanging from a tree close to the trailer could be seen as well. The rope around the animal’s neck did not hide the single dried bullet hole from the marksman who pulled the trigger. A nice, clean shot.

Ben Bonaduce exited the truck. Ben had on his usual dark trucker hat and had it pulled down by the brim, hiding part of his face. His shirt collar, clearly visible above his jacket, was also up and held together with a hand. Jeans and a nice pair of cream-colored snakeskin boots completed the ensemble. Ben walked up to the trailer’s front door, he disregarded a friendly knock, and immediately began to turn the knob to the trailer’s entrance.

Inside the trailer, Fred’s steel-blue eyes were wide open with excitement. He had heard the vehicle outside his home and now saw the handle to its entrance begin to rotate. The door opened, and Fred raised his sauce covered hands and arms gleefully and shouted, Daddy!

Fred could see his father standing in the doorway. He could only see some of his father’s teeth from a smile, a small part of his nose, and one of his dark eyes. The man’s hands and strange wearing of his attire shielded Fred from seeing all his face. Fred continued to smile as he looked at this man in awe until he heard his father say, My Boy Fred!

Several seasons and years passed since Fred saw his father on that spaghetti-dinner night. Fred was unsure of what kept his father away from him. His mother told him that his father was away at his job, that he was working to support them. Fred felt somewhat confused by what Marla repeatedly told him. There were no niceties around his trailer or within his home. The same rusty spots on the trailer had gotten bigger. They still had the same furniture they always had but the nice television they had for a brief period, was removed by some guys in blue coveralls, and a small portable was now in its place.

Sure, Fred had his toys, and occasionally, a playdate would keep him company, but they were a long way from living in luxury. His