2 Chapter 2

Tom was a good boss, fair and firm, and always honest. He made sure they stayed pretty clean. He took care of his crew. Stormy had become a big sister to them all. Jest wouldn’t have come on to her, even if she wasn’t beautiful, sexy and joined at the hip to Tom. That didn’t mean he didn’t love her to pieces, just more as a big sister or aunt. He could appreciate without wanting. He finally had the family he’d lost so far back down a long and broken road.

* * * *

The birth certificate of the man now known as Greene Wilder might read Green Man Shasta Wildwood. That was the last name he wanted to be known by. Bad enough, Greene S. Wilder was the best he could think of fast when he petitioned for a name change upon attaining his majority, three years ago. By then, he was working in Silicon Valley and putting as much distance between himself and his birth commune somewhere near Mount Shasta as he possibly could.

Since he graduated from high school at sixteen with a full scholarship to UC Davis and been declared an emancipated minor, he’d spent every minute striving toward two goals: to become a strait-laced, tax-paying—the more the better, for that meant success—upscale citizen and to get one hundred eighty degrees and as many miles as possible away from any hint of that stupid hippie, back-to-nature, New Age shit from his youth. Two alienated generations behind him or not, that life wasn’t for him. He wanted no part of it.

Things had been going well, too. That is until this Friday at the office’s annual anniversary party. He’d finally gotten enough alcohol into his system to gather his courage and tell Mickey Wong just how badly he wanted them to hook up. Mickey was a full partner in MegaGames Ltd. He was also a beautiful, athletic genius who captained the company’s soccer team, led the crew keeping new versions of Deth Dealers and Uber-Strike Force coming out regularly and Mega well ahead of the entire video game pack. Blatantly bi-sexual, he changed partners like Greene changed socks. Mickey had just laughed.

“You, Greene? You? Yeah, you’re a coding genius, have a gift for anticipating what teenage boys want, and you’ve been a critical part of the team. Despite that, you haven’t got it. Dude, you’re stuck in the twentieth century in your personal life. Suits and ties? Shit, a person would think you worked for the prehistoric Xerox or IBM. Frankly, I wouldn’t take you to a dog fight and I’d rather kiss my kid brother, nerd-jerk that he is.”

Too many Mega folk had seen and heard the whole debacle. Greene was not sure he could face them again—ever. Thank the powers, he had two weeks of vacation coming and already scheduled. He fled the party, threw a few things into his Volvo and headed out to the Interstate, not sure where he was going or if he’d ever come back. Somehow, he ended up in Las Vegas, with only the vaguest memory of how he’d gotten there.

Greene cruised slowly down one of the streets well back from the strip with no particular goal in mind. He was getting hungry and very tired of driving, but not quite ready to look for a room, much less decide what he was going to do in the near term, to say nothing of farther into the future.

A flashing sign caught his eye. Without giving himself time to think, he pulled into the half-full parking lot and eased the Volvo between a couple of huge pickups. Not a single “save the whosis” bumper sticker in sight. Good.Surely a place that called itself a bar and grill would offer something to eat as well as libations. Probably liquor was the last thing he needed, considering how overindulging was behind his current fix. Still, a beer with a burger or a plate of barbeque might not be so bad. His stomach growled at the thought.

He still wore the suit he’d had on when he went to the party straight from work. Was it only yesterday evening? The summer-weight fabric was now crumpled and drooped, looking as if he’d slept in it. In truth, he had—a few hours at a rest stop when he caught himself nodding off as he drove down I-5 in the deepest darkness of the previous night. That was probably dangerous and doubtlessly stupid. He really didn’t care. If he got mugged, car-jacked or shot in cold blood, it didn’t make a rat’s ass to him. Who’d even want to car jack a four-year-old beige Volvo badly in need of a good wash?

After he got out, he took off the coat and threw it back on the seat. As an afterthought, he removed his tie as well. The wrinkled shirt and trousers would have to do for now. He wasn’t about to drag a bag into the place and try to change in the men’s room. The chance he’d see anyone he’d ever cross paths with again was slight indeed. If the patrons chose to laugh at his appearance, let them. He was tired of a bunch of mother humping fools judging him and telling him he came up short. From the looks of the vehicles parked in the lot and the décor visible at the front of the place, it was a cowboy and trucker bar. So he didn’t own one item of clothing that would fit in, anyway.