Page 92 of Red Mountain Burning
He imagined one of the journalists fromThe World of Fine WineorDecantercoming to taste the wines of Red Mountain to bear witness. They’d drive down Sunset Road, perhaps ready to taste Otis’s new vintage, knowing that some of the finest wines in the new world came from this place. Then they’d see Château Smooth, and all they’d do was laugh.
Laugh themselves silly. Still wiping their smiles, they’d drive as fast they could to Walla Walla, giving up on Red Mountain entirely, saying something like, “It was an appellation with extraordinary potential. Such a shame.”
Another would say, “Red Mountain is no longer red. It’s pink! Bahahahha!”
Otis slammed his fist onto the steering wheel, and just as he considered driving right through the sign, he saw Bellflour marching toward him with something in his right hand.
Ah, the smart valve.
Otis didn’t care. What he mostly saw as he watched Bellflour marching his way was a man who’d destroyed everything for which Otis had worked his entire life.
Pink Mountain.
Otis flung his door open and stepped onto the gravel. “You proud of yourself, Bellflour? You finally ruined it for all of us.”
Bellflour held up the smart valve. “This is your idea of funny, you son of a bitch?”
No use denying it, Otis thought. “I should have done a lot worse!” he yelled, heading Bellflour’s way.
They met on the side of the property, fifteen feet from the driveway wet with gold concrete.
Otis raised a fist. “I should have done this a long time ago, you son of a bitch.”
Bellflour belted out a laugh. “Come and get me, you geriatric. I’ll throw you in the hospital before you can blink.”
Otis threw the first punch and was surprised when Bellflour showed the reflexes to stop it. Bellflour’s big forearm came up and barely budged in the air as he blocked Otis’s arm.
Having boxed some when he was younger, Otis wasn’t afraid of using his left and struck Bellflour in his fat gut.
The man lost his breath and folded over, but not for long.
Bellflour swung back, a big right that Otis barely dodged. He figured he’d better take the big man to the ground. Otis raised his boot and hammered down on Bellflour’s leg. His knee buckled, but he grabbed Otis by the shirt and pulled him down with him. Otis jammed an elbow into Bellflour’s face, and the first blood of the match was drawn.
They wrestled for a while, and at one point, Otis felt the hard ground give way. It took him a moment to realize they’d rolled into the newly poured gold concrete. With the concrete splashing up all over them, the men rolled back and forth, scrambling to get their best punches in.
Otis’s lower back burned unbearably from lifting that damn wine barrel a couple of years ago, but nothing was going to slow him down. He kept swinging and throwing elbows like his life depended on it. He wasn’t only defending his honor but the mountain as well.
Finally, Bellflour started to wear down, and he covered his sweat- and concrete-soaked face with his arms as he gasped for air. Almost every part of him was gold.
With a fury of a man protecting his mountain, Otis didn’t stop. He couldn’t. Though he didn’t connect them all, he unleashed several powerful blows to make sure he’d ended the fight.
Bellflour folded in and sunk lower into the concrete, groaning in pain.
Otis finally pressed up and wiped his eyes. He could feel the concrete running down his body, burning his skin.
His enemy wiped the gold from his eyes. “I’ll sue you for everything you have.”
“Oh, fuck off!”
Otis turned and stomped to the new sign. With Bellflour screaming at him from the gold ground, Otis kicked the first of the lights, and it blacked out. Then another. And another. Fifty or so to go and he wasn’t stopping until it was done.
After several more lights shattered to black, he glanced back at his property. Something didn’t feel right. Standing at the dividing line between the two properties was Joan with her arms crossed.
His anger turned to shame in an instant, and he could barely look at her. He glanced at Bellflour, glittering in gold and nearly dead, and Otis realized he was no better than that bastard.
A far more painful realization followed.
He’d just lost Joan forever.
