Egon sipped his beer and listened to Hank Williams wail about the evils of a cheatin' heart. He sighed heavily, and checked his watch for the fiftieth time that evening. It was late; very late. They should have been back at the hotel room hours ago.
The bust in San Antonio was daunting, but not that difficult. It seems that General Santa Ana didn't take too well to being remembered as a villain in the battle of the Alamo, even though he won the battle. So he decided to come back with all his men and set the American people straight, once and for all. This time he would be the hero, and Davy Crockett the loser.
After scaring the locals and the tourists away from the popular tourist attraction, the Ghostbusters were called in to take care of the 'problem', and get things up and running again. After sizing up the situation, they debated on how they were going to bust so many ghosts. Winston threw out the suggestion that they modify garbage trucks into large scale ghost traps, like Ray did in Scotland. Peter, however, came up with a quicker, less costly solution.
"He just wants to be called a hero, right?" he asked his teammates. "Well, let's make him a hero, then he should leave. Simple, right?"
The Ghostbusters talked to the Mayor, who agreed, but getting the cooperation of the people of San Antonio proved to be more difficult. Their hero was Davy Crockett, no two ways about it. The Mayor promised the people to sponsor a chili cookoff the next day if they would hold an impromptu fiesta for General Santa Ana today. Reluctantly, the people agreed, and a large crowd of people gathered around the Alamo.
The Mayor strode forward with a bullhorn. "Esteemed General Santa Ana," he said in Spanish, "I would like to declare this day, 'Santa Ana Day,' in honor of what you did for the American people, because without you, there would be no Alamo!"
The crowd started chanting, "Viva Santa Ana! Viva Santa Ana!" A ghostly cheer went up within the Alamo, too, and the spirit of the General himself appeared before the Mayor.
"It is good to know that I will be remembered as a hero," he told the Mayor, shaking his hand. "It is a great honor you do me." Letting go of the hand, Santa Ana drew his pistols out of his holsters and said, "Let the fiesta begin!" He then began shooting his guns into the air in celebration.
The ghosts whooped and hollered, the people whooped and hollered, even the Ghostbusters whooped and hollered; well, some of them, anyway. As the fiesta got underway, General Santa Ana turned to his men. "Vamanos, mi amigos!" he cried, "We ride!"
Santa Ana and his men mounted their horses that suddenly appeared, and started to ride away. Egon got out his trusty PKE meter, and watched the screen as the ghosts rode off into the sunset, disappearing in large groups at a time, until the meter blipped once, and was silent.
"We have total dispersion!" Egon announced.
A multitude of cheers went up through the crowd. The Mayor thanked the Ghostbusters for a job well done, handing Peter a check. In addition to covering the airline tickets and hotel stay on top of their normal fee, as was standard procedure, there was an extra bonus, besides. Peter gleefully pocketed the check, and suggested that they go out to celebrate before they went back to the hotel.
And this was where they ended up. A small Western bar on the outskirts of San Antonio; where the music was loud, the beer warm, and the air dense with cigarette smoke. Egon coughed and took another sip of his beer to clear this throat. He glanced over at the others who were on the other side of the room where the mechanical bull was situated.
Ray had spotted the machine earlier, and Peter had taken a liking to it; for what reason Egon could not fathom. They were still over there; Winston, Ray, and a score of others, gathered around the sawdust filled area, watching Peter attempt his latest ride. And, like the countless times before, was bucked off into the cushioning sawdust.
"Give it up, Pete," Winston said, taking another pull on his bottle of beer, "you're never gonna stay on that thing."
"I think Winston's right," Ray agreed, helping the psychologist brush the sawdust off of his jeans. "Besides, it's getting kinda late, and we have to be at the airport by 10:00 AM."
"I concur." Egon had finally gotten tired of sitting by himself and being hit on by hopeful women, and had made his way over to them.
"Not on your life," the green-eyed Ghostbuster grumbled. "I'm gonna win that prize money, even if it takes all night!"
"Prize money?" Egon turned a weary gaze towards Stantz. "Is that what this nonsense is all about?"
Ray looked sheepishly at the ground before meeting Egon's eyes again. "The bar is offering a prize of five hundred dollars to whomever can stay on the bull for three minutes."
"How much are they charging per ride?" Egon asked, flatly.
"Five dollars," Ray answered.
"And how many times has Peter ridden?"
"At least forty," Winston chimed in, taking another swig, "maybe forty-two at most."
The lanky blonde glared over at Peter. "At this rate, we'll owe the bar more money than what would be recouped with the prize fund."
Peter glared back. "Just you watch, Egon, this time I'm gonna make it for sure!"
The physicist folded his arms across his chest and waited, a look of skepticism on his face. Peter gritted his teeth, and mounted the mechanical bull once more. Curling his right hand around the rope grip, he thrust his left arm out for balance and nodded to the operator that he was ready. The cowboy manning the switch pressed a button, and the massive machine hummed to life.
Peter was jerked savagely backwards and forwards a few times before the bull spun in place; to buck up and down a few more times. Peter's head whipped back and forth, and not for the first time that night wondered if he was going to come away from this with a severe case of whiplash.
Spin and buck; jerk and spin. Once, Peter was nearly unseated when the bull unexpectedly bucked up as it was spinning in place. He could hear Winston and Ray cheering for him, and some of the other bar patrons, too, although he didn't dare spare them a glance for fear of getting distracted. The mechanical beast gyrated madly, and Peter fought to stay on, but inevitably, Peter was again dumped into the soft wood shavings.
"Too bad, Pete," Winston helped him up and handed him a beer, "you almost made it that time; two minutes and forty-seven seconds."
Venkman took a healthy swallow from his bottle, and handed it back to Winston. "One more time..." he growled, heading for the bull again.
Egon's voice interrupted his movement. "Let Ray have a chance, first. Then, I want a turn."
Ray turned wide eyes on the physicist. "But, I can't ride this thing, Egon," he protested, "I wouldn't last one minute!"
Egon strode forward to place his hands on the shorter man's shoulders. "You won't need to," he reassured his friend. "I just need to see something. Please, Ray? For me?"
"Well, okay," Ray reluctantly agreed, and hopped up onto the mechanical bull. When he was ready, he nodded to the operator. Again, the machine bucked and spun madly, and Ray held on for dear life. Unlike Peter, however, Ray's ride only lasted 33 seconds, and with a yelp, was pitched onto the floor.
"You okay, Tex?" Peter asked, helping Ray to his feet.
Ray spat some sawdust out of his mouth and smiled. "I'm okay, Peter, just a little winded." He glanced sadly over at his tall friend. "I'm sorry, Egon, I tried to hang on."
Spengler clapped Ray on the shoulder. "Nonsense, Raymond, you did just fine." He looked up at Peter's amused face. "I believe it is my turn now, unless Winston wants to try, first?" Blond eyebrows arched at the fourth Ghostbuster quizzically.
Winston shook his head. "I want to be able to sit on the plane ride home, thanks all the same."
"If I may?" he asked, facing Peter again.
Venkman made a grand sweep of his arm towards the machine. "Your funeral, Spengs."
Egon walked across to the mechanical bull and threw one long leg over its back. He straddled it, and curled his fingers around the rope grip.
"Your glasses, Wild Bill," Peter said, reaching up to pluck the frames from his friend's face. Egon blinked, closed his eyes to think for a moment, shifted his weight one last time, and nodded to the operator.
Even though Egon was prepared for the initial jerking movement of the machine, he was nearly unseated by the sheer momentum alone. His knees instinctively gripped the bull tighter as his mind began counting down his intended countermovements.
Buck three times, then spin to the right; buck twice, another spin...
His lanky body gracefully moved with the rhythm of the metal beast, much to the surprise of the bar patrons. The blond greenhorn looked as if he had ridden this very machine every day of his life; despite the distasteful grimace on his long face.
Counterspin, then lean forward...
Egon swallowed hard as the room spun fuzzily in circles. He hadn't counted on Peter taking his glasses before his ride, but it was better than having them fly off and break against the wall. Twenty-twenty hindsight told him that he should have never partaken of alcoholic beverages before riding, either; as he could taste the sourness of his beer each time he was jostled in the saddle.
Winston saw the slightly greenish tinge to Egon's face and felt it was time for some encouragement. "Comon' Egon! You're almost there, just ten seconds to go! You can make it!"
Hunch down low, then shift forward...almost done...
Ray added his two cents worth of helpful comments, and even Peter was amazed enough to spur his friend on.
"Go, Egon, go!"
"Attaboy, Spengs! Yeehaw!"
Distracted by his rebelling stomach, Egon zigged when he should have zagged, and a sudden turn had him sliding off the saddle. In desperation he leaned forward over the mechanoid, digging in his heels while locking both hands into the grip rope. Thankfully, the timer sounded at that second, and the mechanical bull subsided back into its nonlife.
With a whoop and a cheer, Peter and Ray converged on the physicist, who was still hunched down against the machine. They pounded him on the back and tousled his now, wildly disarrayed hair, but Egon barely registered their presence. His muscles now felt like jello, the room was still spinning, and he tasted the sharp flavor of stale, beer-tainted saliva filling his mouth.
Two brown hands thrust a thankfully empty spittoon under Egon's face as the scientist lost the battle with his stomach and threw up.
"Feeling better, Egon?" Ray asked, next to him in the back seat of the rental car.
"Yes, Raymond; the worst of the nausea has passed, so all I require right now is some sleep," Egon mumbled, curled against the door in a vain attempt to get some rest.
"That was some ride, wasn't it, Peter?" Ray continued, "You'd think he rode a mechanical bull a hundred times before today."
"I'll admit it, I'm impressed," Venkman admitted, turning around from the passenger seat in front to glance at the two scientists in the back. "So, how'd you do that, Spengs? You're not as athletically inclined as I am, and you certainly don't practice on one at home. And don't tell me it was simple!" he added, seeing Egon's face attempt to morph itself into lecture mode.
"All right, I'll say it," Winston interjected, "it was simple, really."
With a thankful smile, Egon laid his head back against the cool glass of the window, ready and willing to let Winston take over for him so he could get back to trying to get to sleep.
Peter decided to let sleeping dogs lie. "Well," he asked the veteran, "what's the trick?"
"No trick, really," Winston grinned, "just a matter of timing."
At Peter's puzzled stare, he continued. "You see, the actions of the mechanical bull are not random, but follow a distinct pattern over and over again. Egon, with his near perfect memory, figured it out on your last ride, and confirmed it when Ray rode."
Glancing back at the physicist, Peter noted the serene smile Egon wore, knowing he was proud of Winston's explanation. "And you figured this out when?" he asked, facing front again.
"Oh, about your fifth ride," Winston said, still grinning at the psychologist.
"What?? And you let me keep on riding anyway?" Peter exclaimed, not too loudly, though, for Egon's sake. "You could have saved me a heap of aches and pains, not to mention quite a few bucks," he grumped.
"Greedy is as greedy does, homeboy," Winston said, earning a quiet chuckle or two from the back seat. "Besides, like I said earlier, I wanted to be able to sit on the flight home. I just didn't know that Egon was going to volunteer before I did. Poor guy, he has no meat on his bones to cushion him, so he's in for a boatload of bruises."
"Thank you, Winston," Egon sneered weakly.
"Aww, it's okay, Egon," Ray assured his friend, patting the blond's shoulder in a comforting fashion, "you can sit on a pillow for the trip back. Besides," he said, picking up a brass spittoon from the floor of the car, "we have this great souvenir to take home with us. Do you think it would look good on Janine's desk? Maybe filled with flowers?"
The back window of the rental car lowered, and a long, lanky arm hurled the brass accessory from the car with enough force to dent it against the side of a brick building. Satisfied with a job well done, Egon rolled up the window again and settled against the glass, woozy from his quick, adrenaline rush as Winston drove onward to the hotel room, and a good night's sleep.
The End
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