Short Story Part 4

This is the final section of the short story I've been gradually posting.  Hope you've enjoyed it.

            “I can stop you,” I declared, stepping out into the open.

            The gang leader looked me over quickly, than chuckled.  “I doubt it.  You don’t look like you’re any kind of fighting man.”

            “Neither do you,” I retorted.  “Now, leave these people alone, or else.”

            “Or what?” he sneered.  “What are you going to do?”

            “You don’t know who I am, do you?” I said.

            “No, I don’t.  Well, you’re a moron standing in front of a gang, but I presume that’s not what you mean.”

            “Does the name Smithsfield ring a bell?” I asked.

            “Smithsfield?” the gang leader looked confused now.  “Yes, of course the name of the company that supplies our revolution rings a bell, how stupid are you?  And what does that have to do with anything?”

            “Perhaps you’re aware that the Smithfields had a son,” I said.

            “Of course,” he glared at me.  “But he’s a recluse; no one’s seen him since the Smithfields died in the Philadelphia riots.  And that was a year ago.  Where are you going with this?”

            “Their son isn’t a recluse,” I let a triumphant smile spread across my face.  I was enjoying this.

            “What…how could you know that?  And why are you grinning at me?”

            I was enjoying this, I really was.  “Because my name is Eric Smithsfield, and I own Smithfield, Incorporated.”

            “What?” the other man exclaimed, his eyes wide with disbelief.  “No, that…that can’t be!”

            “My parents were fools!” I said.  “You hear that!  Fools!  They’re not heroes, they’re not martyrs, they were wrong about everything!  All they cared about was saving the planet, no matter what the cost was.  And you know what?  It has cost us.  The things that they made, the things you all use, the way of life you want us all to live…it just isn’t right.  There’s no soul, no passion, it’s all just cold-hearted technology.  That life you lead, the life you want people to lead, and the life I used to lead, it’s just so empty.  It’s no fun.”

            “But there are more important things than fun,” he protested.  “The planet!”

            “I know,” I sighed.  “And in the end, I’m sure you’ll end up winning argument.  We’ll all lead boring lives ruled by boring machines, because it’s good for the planet.  But I ask you; give us some time to enjoy our freedom while we can.  I know you hate cars, but just look at these things.  Every last one of them is a work of art, and they all mean something to us.  The open road; and a freedom that I don’t think is long for this world.  That’s why I’m out here, that’s why I left my company behind.  I want to enjoy this while I still can.  Now, all of you; get out of here.  Go back to your cities where you belong.  Go back, or I’ll make sure you never get any technical support for your stupid cell phones ever again.”  That last threat did the trick.  Utterly defeated by my completely airtight logic, the gang slowly went back to their cars.  With one last vindictive look, the gang leader followed suit, and the Priuses drove off together in what was surely the quietest convoy of all time.

            The patrons of the bar came up to me, thanking me profusely.  That night, I had a place of honor among the citizens of Cimarron.  It felt good, it had been a long time since I had belonged.  As the clock ticked by and the people left, I was left with a dilemma.  Even after just two days, I knew that I could make a life here.  I knew I would be welcome.  Most people would see what a good thing I had here.  Except me.

            The next morning, I had made my decision.  It wasn’t that hard.  I packed my bags and dragged them downstairs and out to the car.  I walked back inside to the bartender.

            “Suppose I should return this,” I said, handing over the key.

            “You don’t need it anymore?” he asked.

            “No, I don’t think I do,” I said.  “I hope you understand.” 

            “I understand,” he paused.  “Son, that was a noble thing you did, standing up for us like that.  We won’t soon forget it.  If you ever come back here again, we’ll make you feel at home.” 

            “Thank you,” I said.  “This is a great town you’ve got here, don’t let it anyone spoil it.” 

            “We won’t,” he said.  “Whatever it is you’re looking for, I hope you find it.  Goodbye, Eric.”

            “Goodbye,” I said.  I turned and walked straight to the Jag.  The engine roared into life and I tore out onto the highway, racing with the morning light.  The man at the bar thought I was looking for something, but I already knew what it was.  As I left the town of Cimarron behind, I felt truly at home.