Under the Western Sky is a retro-romance, set in the spring of 1978. Libby Marshal and Bobby Menendez have been friends since childhood. Only recently have they decided to give dating a try. Little do they know that their near perfect world is about to crash around them.
Bobby’s friend, Danny, is white. He and his father are being forced to join a white supremacist’s group that neither of them wants to join. By threatening their family, the leaders coerce Danny into doing their dirty work – attacking, possibly killing, Bobby.
Is their friendship enough to save Bobby and keep Danny from doing something horribly wrong? Can Libby and Bobby overcome racial prejudice? Read Under the Western Sky to find out.
Reluctantly, Bobby left, waiting until Libby had locked her door behind him. Strolling across the street, he was thinking about Libby and how much he loved her, when someone got out of a car just down from his mother’s house.
Acting like he didn’t notice, he walked slightly faster to his front porch. If he made enough noise, Jim would hear him and come out. He wasn’t scared, not yet. The other person came forward until he stood under the streetlight. It was Danny. His face was bland, expressionless, which was more frightening than seeing anger. If he’d been mad, it would mean he still cared.
Bobby faced his former best friend, checking the car and shadows to see if the bigger boy was alone. Bobby didn’t see anyone else, but that didn’t mean they weren’t there.
“Roberto, you and I need to talk.”
Bobby held his arms out from his body, shrugging. “I’m here, amigo. Talk.” He said loudly, hoping someone would hear.
Danny didn’t move, his hands in the pockets of his jacket. He spoke quietly, calmly.
“You know I didn’t beat Ramon, right?”
“I know you were there. I can’t believe you’d hit him with a fucking bat. That’s not your style.”
Danny’s mouth quirked and he dropped his head. “What is my style?”
“Take a swing, kick his ass, but a bat’s bad form. You weren’t ever a cheat, Dan.”
“Really?” The reply was dry, sarcastic, not Danny’s usual style either.
Something was wrong. It was a warm night. Why was Danny wearing a jacket? Why were his hands in his pockets? Bobby knew he was in trouble. It was late, his friends and family were going to bed, and, despite Toby’s warnings, he was alone.
“You know, Danny,” he said rather too loudly. “That was a cheap shot you did to his balls. Were you trying to emasculate him or just mess him up so he couldn’t take your woman?”
“I didn’t do that, Bobby. You have to believe me. That wasn’t my idea.”
“I hope not because I’d hate to be the man who did that to Ramon. Whoever did better hope he recovers full use, or he’s gonna wish he’d killed my cousin. Because Ramon will come after whoever it was. And that man will die badly. Make no mistake.”
“Nobody needs to die here, Bobby.” Danny was getting nervous.
“What’s in your pocket, Daniel?” Bobby took a step toward his friend.
“Don’t come near me,” Danny cautioned, holding out his left hand like a stop sign. His right hand stayed in his pocket.
“Lemme see,” Bobby took another step. “We never used to have secrets. We’re brothers, remember? When we were ten, we cut our hands and did blood brothers.”
“Bobby, I mean it. Don’t come any closer.” His voice shook, his left hand trembling.
“Gonna shoot me, Danny? Is that the plan? You gonna come and kill your best friend? Is that what it takes to be part of the clan? Sever your ties, kill the Mexican vermin. Jesus, Danny, did our friendship mean so little?”
“Don’t, Bobby. Stop. I mean it!” He yelled, yanking the gun out of his pocket.
The streetlight glittered on the barrel of a snub nosed .38 revolver. Danny’s hand shook, but he kept the gun trained on Bobby.
“Drop the gun, Danny. Fight me like a man. You never needed a weapon against me. Don’t you think you can take me? I’m half your size.”
He was willing his friend to come closer, begging him in his mind to drop the weapon and let down his guard, but it wasn’t happening—yet. He kept talking, taking little steps closer. The gun didn’t drop. Danny’s hand shook uncontrollably. The closer Bobby got, the more danger he was in that the gun would go off by mistake.
He reminded Danny of every time they had been there for one another, all the pranks they had played, how their mothers called them the Dastardly Duo. Each statement started as an “I remember when,” cataloging the last ten years of their lives. Tears formed in Danny’s eyes but he blinked them away. When he was close enough, Bobby stopped moving.
Danny’s arm was within reach, the gun leveled at Bobby’s forehead. Steadier now, it didn’t waver. He shifted his grip on the gun and Bobby moved. Lunging at his friend, he grabbed the barrel of the gun, pulling Danny toward him, catching him off balance.
With an easy shift of his hands, he put pressure on Danny’s wrist, forcing him to drop the gun. Bobby kicked it away, slamming his elbow into Danny’s chin. The other boy should have dropped, but Bobby hadn’t hit him hard enough. A vestige of their friendship remained, tattered and shredded as it was.
Danny tried to head butt Bobby, but the young Mexican man dodged, pulling Danny further off balance by a shift of his weight. Knocking his friend down, Bobby flipped Danny on his face, holding his arm up behind him as his foot pressed into the white boy’s shoulder. Hand at an awkward and painful angle, Danny screamed as he felt his shoulder pop out of the socket.