CHAPTER SEVEN
GOOD OLD BOYS

Home cookin’ gave way to a couple of cases of beer and a bonfire. Dorian listened to the stories of the clean-up efforts, talk of sports he was sure he must have heard of, and then, invariably, women. Someone mentioned that his girlfriend had been a cheerleader and was in one of the photographs in the hallway.

Finally, Dorian thought, something he actually knew about, having looked at the very pictures he spoke of that afternoon. He mentioned this, going on to remark about the team photos.

“That’s really funny, Earl!” Joe Bob laughed.

“Is it?” the bewildered Dorian replied. He looked at the men’s faces illuminated in the bonfire and struggled to see what they found so amusing. “I’m sorry, chaps. I’m at a bit of a loss. What did I say that’s so funny?”

Joe Bob elbowed a man named George and snickered. “He don’t quit!”

“You mean you like the skimpy outfits on the cheerleaders,” George chuckled as he opened another beer. “You said the wrestlers!”

There was a chorus of chuckles and guffaws in response.

“I told you Prince Charming told good stories,” Susie chimed in.

Dorian looked from one to another. “No, I’m sure I said it the right way round.” He shook his head. “Perhaps there really is a language barrier.”

“Yeah, that’s it,” Joe Bob said with a grin. “Else wise, we’d think you was queer, or somethin’.”

“Queer? As in homosexual?” Dorian continued to scowl. “That’s a problem, I take it?” He realized he had said the wrong thing when the group became very quiet around him.

“Hey, Earl,” Joe Bob said dangerously. “You ain’t tellin’ us you’re a fag, are ya?”

“Yeah,” George replied as he got to his feet. “Or one a them Gay Rights whatchamacallits.”

“Activitists,” someone said helpfully.

“Yeah, one a them,” George said. “Cus, we don’t take kindly to queers round these parts.”

Dorian felt his heart in his mouth and put down the bottle in his hand before taking a small step back. How did things turn so ugly so fast? “Look, chaps—er, guys? I’m finding this conversation extremely unnerving.”

“He sure do talk pretty, though, don’t he?” another said as he moved in to join the others. “Almost too pretty for a man.”

“Maybe he’s a Queen and not an Earl!” someone called out, causing everyone to laugh.

Everyone, that is, except Dorian, who continued to back away. His heart was racing and he was sure he should run, but was afraid to take his eyes away from the group who suddenly seemed to be threatening him. It was only when someone picked up a board that he realized the true nature of the threat.

“Maybe we should show you what we do to faggots.”

“I wouldn’t advise it.”

“You comin’ to the queer’s defense, Major?” Joe Bob snapped derisively. “You a activist? Or a queer, too?”

The Major’ face darkened considerably, his eyes growing cold. He made a show of sizing up the man. “I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” he said dangerously. “There are at least six of you and only one of him. Not really a fair fight, is it?”

Dorian’s eyes grew wide. Was he going to have him fight these men one on one? He turned his gaze back to the group and started to wonder if he had any friends in the world.

“You reckon he can take us one at a time?” George challenged.

The Major flicked his cigarette into the fire. “I reckon you morons should be more concerned with getting your town put back together than beating up one bloody Englishman.”

“Oh, yeah! Sez you, ya lousy Kraut,” someone called out.

The Major rolled his eyes. “You call that an insult? Fucking amateur.”

By this time, Dorian had backed up enough to be only a few feet away from the Major. He threw a nervous glance in his direction and found himself wondering if he were any better off. The man had been hostile towards him from the moment he arrived, had openly admitted that they were not friends, and seemed in no hurry to get into a physical altercation with the men who were still menacing him.

“Look, Major, this is between us and the queer,” Joe Bob said. “So…unless you want us to rough you up too, you’d best stay outta ‘f it.”

The Major gave the man a piercing look, a small smile curling the edges of his mouth.

Dorian shivered when he saw this. Even though he did not know why, but he suddenly knew he was looking at the most dangerous person present. The Major wasn’t afraid, despite the fact that he was outnumbered. He was completely relaxed. So why did this make Dorian think of a coil of wire? Then he remembered the Major’s remark earlier. Iron Klaus. Was this what he meant?

“Teach the Kraut some manners, Joe Bob,” George called out.

“Yeah, maybe I will.” Joe Bob raised the stick in his hand and took a step forward. The next think he knew he had the muzzle of a very large gun to his forehead.

“I said I wouldn’t advise it,” the Major repeated quietly. “I don’t take kindly to being threatened.”

Joe Bob let out a small squeak of alarm and let the stick drop from his hands. Everyone else followed suit.

“I don’t give a shit if you idiots get stupidly drunk and beat each other’s brains out—assuming any of you fucking morons has any brains,” Klaus snarled. “But you’re not gonna do it only a few metres away from a building full of kids. Now, get lost before I forget that I’m not supposed to kill civilians.”

Dorian watched in amazement as the group dashed to their trucks and sped off. He turned a nervous glance in the Major’s direction, seeing him holster his weapon before calmly lighting another cigarette. It took several seconds for him to stammer out, “Thank you, Major.”

The Major turned a disapproving scowl in his direction. “Bloody, fucking pervert,” he grumbled. “If you have to forget something, forget I just did that.”

Dorian blinked, a hand going to his spinning head. “I don’t understand you, Major,” he said quietly. “You act like you hate me, but you come to my rescue. Then you insult me when I try to say thank you.”

“Until I get you back to England, you’re my responsibility,” the Major snapped. “That includes keeping you from being beaten to a pulp by a bunch of idiot redneck Yanks.”

“And…this is bad?”

The Major sighed heavily. “Lord Gloria, do you remember anything before waking up here?”

“You know I don’t.”

“Then leave it at that.” So saying, the Major started back toward the main building.

The Earl shook his head. “Did I ever understand you, Major?”

“I hope not.”

This actually made Dorian laugh and he followed the officer, hoping to leave the confrontation behind.

* * *

The Major was delighted to learn that someone had delivered the luggage from his flattened rental car in his absence. He hoped this was a sign of good things to come.

A reluctant Dorian came into the office and looked at the unfamiliar cases. “Dare I assume some of this is mine?”

The Major gave a snort, waving a hand at a set of bright red leather cases. “Those are yours. You don’t think I’d use something that…vulgar, do you?”

“I guess not.” Dorian gave the Major a helpless look. “Um, after what just happened out there, I hate to ask this,” he began hesitantly, “but…where do I sleep tonight?”

Klaus looked up sharply, his eyes narrowing. “You’re not even thinking about…” he began dangerously.

“No!”

This adamant reply actually startled the Major. He gave the Earl a steady look and sighed heavily. “Let’s see if Martha can set you up with something,” he said at last. “The Sheriff said she was the heart and soul of this place. Let’s see if he’s right.”

Dorian nodded and meekly followed.

Within a few minutes, Martha had Dorian set up for the night in an area not too far from the Coach’s office. “We’ll be turning the lights down soon, so you’d best get go bed,” she said happily. “This is a first for me. I don’t usually get to tuck in a Prince for the night.”

Dorian gave her a small smile and settled down in his borrowed bedding for the night. He threw a quick glance over at the Coach’s office and saw the Major standing in the doorway. A moment later, he vanished into the office, closing the door.

The lights came down and Dorian closed his eyes. “Tomorrow…” he said quietly. “Maybe I’ll remember tomorrow.”

* * *