The woman hustled Matt and Juan to the street. She led the two young men to a blue buggy with a pink interior that coordinated with her dress and hat.
As they drew close Juan’s eyes went wide. The sight of the white stallion, seventeen hands high, and colorful buggy with four large, frosty white wheels in the middle of Cypher City stunned him.
He asked, “‘Ey man, where in hell did that Barbie-doll stage come from?”
The woman's eyes flashed. “Hell is not its origin,” she told them. “N obody but a half-wit would think this lovely blue coach came from hell. Why does humanity always squawk so freely about places they don’t ever want ta be eternally captivated in?”
Juan was set back at the strange rebuke. Whoa! he thought. What did I just step in? He tried to shake his head clear from her confusing jibber-jabber.
Stumped, he asked, “‘Ey, what places are you trying to tell us, man?”
“Yeah,” Matt added. “W h-wh-what places?”
“Why the place called hell, of course!” the woman answered.
“Hell!” Juan was starting to lose it. “What the hell kind of gibberish are you talking now?”
“I’ll give a description for ya, Mr. Juan. Hell is the region for the no-good. I’ll explain. First, do ya know why it's so blazin’ hot in El Paso, Texas?”
I knew I shouldn't have come back , Juan thought in exasperation. I should have taken the money and kept going.
He said, “I don’t know. Tell us why it’s so hot in El Paso.”
“It’s like this,” the smiling woman explained. “The charge to call from El Paso to hell is only two measly bits. Twenty-five cents, a fourth of a buck; you see, it’s a local call. That’s why it’s so blazin’ hot. This will cause much weeping, wailing, and gnashing of teeth. Now contemplate residin’ in El Paso until the end of time without an umbrella or any Gatorade. That’s what hell will be comparable to.”
“Oh yeah?” Juan taunted. “What about those who've had their teeth punched out? Can’t gnash without teeth.”
“No teeth, um.” Miss Guided paused for a period. “Teeth ... will be provided!”
Once again Juan’s head rattled in bewilderment. He was certain this woman was from some foreign place he'd never heard of. He asked, “‘Ey man, where are you from and what do you do?”
“Why thank ya for askin’,” she answered. “I’m a tongue-tickling tutor who loves to laugh and teach. Oh, and I’m here by means of Texas.”
“Yeah, is that right?” Juan said. “What part?”
“What part? Why ... all of me, of course!”
Matt giggled at the lady's hilarious answer. He repeated, “What part? Why ... all of me, of course.”
I’m not buying this , Juan thought, weary of the verbal eruptions. He pressed further, “‘Ey man, have you lived there all your life?”
Miss Guided's blue eyes sparkled with glee. “How could I have lived all my life in Texas? Look, I’m still alive.”
Juan shook his head in disbelief. He asked, “Lady, how old are you?”
Her eyes widened. “Why, Mr. Juan, I’m as old as my folks were when they were at my stage of life.”
“Huh? Do you have any kids? I’m sure you know women shouldn’t have children after thirty-five.”
“I’ll say — thirty-five kids are enough.”
That’s it , Juan thought, bent on setting her up for a little joke of his own. He raised his eyebrow and asked, “Your name again is?”
She said with a slight curtsy, “I’m Miss Guided, of course!”
Juan elbowed Matt. “‘Ey man, I think she's misguided all right!”
I think she’s funny! Matt thought. And very pretty too.
“Okay, come on. Hike it on over, boys.” She led Matt to the front of the buggy. “Mr. Matt, I'd like ya ta make the acquaintance of my triple-trotter horse, Seraphim. Seraphim, this man is Mr. Matthew McCain, the descendant of the great rancher, Lucas McCain.”
What? Great rancher? Matt questioned in his mind. Lady, where have you been? Lucas was the biggest loser of all times.
Juan, watching the horse’s eyes closely, noticed something peculiar. The animal’s eyes communicated complete understanding, as if the horse understood everything this strange dame said. Juan watched thunderstruck as Seraphim lifted his muzzle high into the air and brayed a loud welcoming whinny.
Juan wondered if he'd entered the Twilight Zone. The situation was getting more bizarre by the second. Am I dreaming? Or did Tom shoot me up with the drugs? This lady was like no one Juan had ever met. Except maybe in a stupid kid’s movie like Mary Poppins or something.
He cocked his head, raised an eyebrow, and said, “I’ve never seen a three-legged horse before. Why doesn’t this glue-factory tip over?”
Miss Guided straightened her pink ribbon around her neck and pulled a couple of sugar cubes from her tiny purse. She put them before her horse’s mouth and answered, “Seraphim is unorthodox.”
Matt staggered close as he tried to see what Juan was talking about. “Lady, w hy would you buy a horse with three legs?”
“Why, boys,” she answered, “I received a twenty-five-percent discount.”
Juan scoffed. “‘Ey man, ya got duped. You should’ve got four legs.”
“I didn’t get duped. I brought home all four ... I keep the fourth leg in the trunk as a spare.”
Juan snickered and said to Matt. “She’s funny!” Still, he wasn’t interested in traveling around in this old relic from a canceled cowboy Western. “Miss ... Guided, you don’t really expect us to ride around in public in this old buggy from the Big Valley, do ya?”
“Oh, that’s an affirmative, Mr. Juan. I expect it. This buggy is a blazer and smooth as melted butter, too.”
“Yeah, man?” Juan replied. “Like Damen’s Lamborghini, huh?”
He circled the powder blue coach and wondered how the extra large white wheels stayed so clean. He moved around and stopped at the back where there was some kind of a lever.
He asked, “‘Ey man, what’s this handle for?”
“Oh, that’s the trunk. I store Seraphim’s fourth leg in there.” The woman pointed toward the top. “And there’s gear racks up yonder.” She stepped to the side, opened the carriage door, and said, “Now the pair of ya, please pile in. Time is tickin’.”
Suddenly, from around the corner came the roar of a loud powerful sports car. Oh no. Now what? Juan feared the worst.
Before they could leave, Damen’s Lamborghini screeched up to the cross street and parked. Damen and Carlos squeezed from the vehicle and cut an angle across the grass. Damen Cypher, was the great grandson of the clever cheating gambler, John L. Cypher, whose crooked triumph in the big poker showdown with Lucas McCain back in 1882 had spread the power and influence of the Cyphers’ nefarious operation around the globe.
Matt heard them coming and thought, “My dictionary says cypher means a nobody, a nonentity. But Lew Cypher is the total opposite of that — he's the richest, most powerful man in this part of the world, if not the whole world. For sure, he's the most evil.
The richly-attired Damen, who had just turned twenty-two, smelled of expensive cologne. He smoothed down his brown hair and pierced Matt with his ice-blue eyes. “Hey Magoo, buddy!”
Matt cringed at the hated nickname Damen had given him years ago because, as Damen told everyone who would listen, "The McCain runt crashes into things like the cartoon character Mr. Magoo."
Carlos moved along side his boss. As Damen Cypher’s top henchman, he had a reputation for tormenting his victims, especially Matt. Carlos, who had no last name, was twenty- something but no one knew his year of birth. He wore a pointed Van Dyke beard and long black hair tied back in a ponytail. He grinned as he spoke in his strong Spanish accent. “Wha’s up, man?”
Juan cried out, “We're busted!”
“Halt, boys.” Miss Guided thrust her flat hand forward like a blue-coated cop. “Can’t frolic at the moment.”
As Damen and Carlos closed the gap, they found the ground was mushy and getting mushier with every step. Then without warning or explanation, their feet stuck fast. They were stopped cold and couldn't move.
Carlos swore crudely. “What the ...? My feet are stuck!”
Damen tried to continue forward, but his feet were likewise circled in strange gummy muck. “What the hell is this?”
Miss Guided walked across the same mucky ground as if were dry. Carlos’s eyes bounced between his boss Damen and the woman scooting his way.
“Hey man, something’s not right!” He shook his right arm, causing a hidden knife up his sleeve to secretly slide into his hand.
Miss Guided studied Damen. “Howdy, Damen L. Cypher. I heard ya curse when ya planted yer feet in the bog. Might I suggest ya pay more mind to yer decayed poetry.”
“What the hell are you talking about?” Damen snarled. “How do you know my name? Have we met before, freak? What circus train did you bounce from?”
“Well, let me ponder for a moment. Where could our acquaintances have crossed? I don’t go abroad by train, only by buggy. I know; have ya ever resided on the moon?”
“What kind of idiot question is that?” He taunted the woman in lascivious, obscene terms. “No, I haven’t been to the moon, have you? You freaky strumpet!”
“Why, that’s a negative.” She shrugged. “I haven’t sojourned there neither. I reckon it must have been another pair of folk who met there. Well, Damen L. Cypher, I figure that answers that.”
That didn't answer anything , Damen thought. I hate stupid women. In fact, I hate all broads!
He snapped back, “If you don’t get out of our way, right now, freak,” he held up a clenched fist and his eyes bulged “I’m gonna personally send you to the moon!”
Miss Guided started to back up toward her blue buggy as she said, “We can’t meet with ya for a lunar cheeseburger ... maybe some other time. If you're no longer in need of our fellowship, we got ta pound a hoof and spin a wheel.”
Matt stood balancing himself next to her coach with his fingers wrapped around the door handle. I haven't laughed in years, he thought. I've never heard anyone talk like her. Even when we’re in danger, I think she’s funny!
Carlos was superstitious and knew it was bad luck to be around anyone who smiled a lot. For some reason it always made him nervous and gave him the urge to pee. Nevertheless, his trusty blade was ready. He'd like to decorate the face of this witch before she cast some kind of spell over him.
Whoa, I saw that piece fall to your hand, Juan thought with a slight nod of his head. You can’t fool me with those cheap street-gang tricks. I came from the same training orphanage as you.
He cried out, “‘Ey Miss Guided, the wetback's got a blade!”
The woman asked, “Mr. Carlos, may I see yer pretty little nail file, please?” She held up her hand and glanced at her long, pink fingernails. “Look here. I think I just chipped a nail.”
Carlos swung his piece up into her face. It was a stiletto with the blade still retracted inside its case. “This is not a file, you dumb dame. It's a stiletto!” He pressed the button on the grip so the razor sharp blade would shoot out, but to his shock, nothing happened. “Stupid piece of crap! The blade is jammed!”
“Wow! Mr. Carlos, stiletto, immense word. I wasn’t surmising ya were bilateral and could speak in English and French.”
Damen tried to break free, but his feet remained rooted to the ground. He blared out, “You dumb dame, a stiletto is a spring-loaded deadly knife. Not a stupid, girly nail file! Now get the hell out of our way, duchess, pronto!”
“There’s no hell in your way. But if ya like, I might arrange for ya a little visit.”
Carlos frantically pressed the button, but still nothing happened. A sudden urge to urinate gripped his loins. Panicking he thought, Something spooky is going on around here. First my feet stick. Now my skinner is stuck.
“If I may, let me assist ya, Mr. Carlos.” The woman held out her hand. “I can make it work for ya.”
For some inexplicable reason, Carlos couldn’t counteract the enchantress as she took the knife from his hand. She mashed the knife’s marker and a lady’s long nail file shot out. She slid the file across her nails and said, “Mr. Carlos, some folk are under the misconception that I file my nails. But now that we have multitasking computers, there is no more filin’. I just fling them into the trash.”
She punched the mark and retracted the file. She held the hilt close to Carlos's tight throat. “Thank ya, Mr. Carlos. The craggy edge is gone.”
Carlos watched with wide eyes as the weird babe-from-the-past moved close to his neck with the knife. He knew she was gonna push the button shooting the blade right into his windpipe. His mind raced in frantic hysteria. This spooky dame is gonna gore me! His whole body froze with fear. His bladder released, and he peed his pants.
“Why, Mr. Carlos, look at yer trousers.” Miss Guided glanced away. “Why, my-my-my, I do declare, European. And I had an inkling you were from Mexico.”
That last joke completely shattered Matt and Juan’s protective shells. They both let loose with roaring laughter. Juan choked, holding his stomach with one hand while pointing at Carlos with the other.
Laughing, he said, “He’s pissed all right!”
“He sure is!” Matt agreed as he gasped for air.
“Shut yer ugly face, kid!” Carlos yelped. “Or I’ll bust your little neck! That goes for you too, Loser Magoo!”
Miss Guided kept her eyes pinned on Damen and Carlos like a cat keeps its anxious eyes pinned on its prey.
Her voice was soft and steady. “Mr. Juan, I’m gratified ya liked my tease. Now l et's get goin’ with no dalliance. Please, move like a squirrel and assist Mr. Matt into my buggy. You hop in, too.”
Matt was waiting for her command. Even though he was very weak, he quickly turned and opened the coach’s door and stepped in. Juan stepped up behind Matt and shoved him onto the seat with his back to the horse. Then Juan jumped in across from McCain. He wasn't sure which was worse — driving in this sissy buggy or facing Damen’s wrath.
He called out, “We’re in, Miss Guided!”
His face reflecting bewilderment, Damen snapped, “Miss Wacko, are you from Mars?”
As she backed across the green grass toward the boys in the buggy, she gave a dismissive wave. “Oh, don’t be ludicrous, Mr. Damen. Mars is borin’. Give me Saturn. I love those rings. They're really pretty.”
Damen swung his cold eyes toward Juan and screamed, “Hey, little punk! You leave with this circus act, and you're dog chow!”
Miss Guided stepped into the buggy next to Matt and slammed the door.
Juan looked topside and realized there was no one up there to drive. “‘Ey Miss Guided, I know this is probably a stupid question. But who is gonna sit up top and operate this thing?”
“Oh, Mr. Juan, where’s yer faith? Seraphim knows the trail.” She slung the stiletto out the window toward Damen and called out, “See ya’ll next go! Giddy up, Seraphim, away. Dump this borough!”
Sparks flew as the buggy rushed away. Juan thrust his head out the window and made a spitting motion toward Damen. He said with a laugh, “‘Ey man, ya need ta change yer ugly thug’s diaper.”
Carlos’s eyes sparked fury at Juan as the coach spun away. He was gonna kill that little worm. But he was stuck. He lifted his leg, and this time his foot came loose.
He cried, “Hey Damen, I can move now. First she squirts me in the crotch so it looks like I wet. Then she breaks my knife. The witch put a hex on us. She’s a sorceress.”
“No!” Damen glared as the buggy raced away. “She’s an alien. Stop her. Fast!”
They ran to Damen’s car and jumped in. But by that time, there was nothing to see. The buggy had disappeared.
“Gone? Already?” Damen asked. “Where did that sissy milk cart go?”