The odor emanating from the meat packing plant wafted through town in a noxious wave that turned Py's already sour stomach against him. The morning's round of police questioning had been tough enough: the review of yesterday's disaster, the incriminations, the admonition to stay put here in stinking Longmont in case charges were to be filed against him. There was talk of manslaughter, murder by negligence, murder by inability to work a clutch. Hell, Py didn't even think that would stick, and he didn't think the police were serious either. It was that damned Walker. He didn't even like Walt, but now he was raising a stink, talking like it was Py's recklessness that led to Walt's death. He was trying to use that whiskey bottle as proof that Py had been negligent, trying to say he'd been drinking on the job. Py wouldn't have tried to fool anybody with his understanding of the law, but this whole thing seemed to him like Walker's way of deflecting his own responsibility for what happened -for firing Jake, who should have been driving that truck, and for putting Py's redoubtable self behind the wheel. The irony that it was Jake's bottle -that he was the one who was always drinking on the job -was lost in the search for truth. Py tried not to worry, to tell himself that it would all pass. No doubt Walker would soon enough grow tired of harassing him and would figure that his own slate was clean. He was just an honest rancher, hiring as best he could from the available rabble. Some of them just weren't too smart, that was the thing. Some of them had to be watched every minute or they'd back a truck right over a guy.
Py looked both ways up and down Main Street. There wasn't much downtown activity. A few cars sat out in front of the Ben Franklin Five and Dime. Pickups lined the parking spaces out front of Carney Watson's pharmacy, each with an old black lab or a retriever waiting patiently in the back, waiting for their masters who packed the booths inside, sucking down coffee and rolling dice to see who was going to pay. Typical. Another day in cow town, boring as hell and no change in sight. Nothing getting better and nothing getting worse. The stories from those guys who returned from the war weren't even enlivening things any longer. They were all talked out and now most of them, having returned to their mothers, fathers, wives and girlfriends, had moved on to find work. It was only rejects like Py who were still here: rejects and guys who came home to family owned spreads, like Frank Walker's, who employed such types.
What to do now: that was the problem. Py got axed without even so much as severance, and given Walker's threats about filing charges he hadn't felt like he was in too good a position to negotiate. Truth was, Walker and his boys scared him. He'd seen what they could do when they wanted to be really mean. They'd almost killed a gypsy harvester last year who got lippy with them over a pay disagreement. Four of them hijacked the guy out of Clancy Webster's Plainsmen Bar and pounded him to a bloody pulp out in a nearby alley. The guy never showed his face on Walker's property again, an acceptance by proxy of the final pay Walker mailed to an address in Oklahoma. The cowboys had a certain way of driving a point home, and the point was you don't argue with Walker Ranch. So Py didn't and now he was broke. And homeless.
Inside of a week Py had lost the only two friends he had in the world. First Jake and now Walt. It was enough to make him suspicious of the whole concept. What good was a feeling that couldn't survive distance? He looked up and down Main Street and it looked like the blues both ways.
Py started walking north, figuring at least he wouldn't appear to be loitering. Funny thing about the blues: whenever Py was afflicted he noticed that he'd start losing things, misplacing stuff. And always the first thing to go was his self-image. He had an underlying tendency to see himself as an undesirable, associating in his own mind with petty criminals and liars, not that he was either. He would also become certain that this was the impression he gave to people he'd meet. As his paranoia would grow, Py would start avoiding people and the blues would become depression.
Longmont was not too well peopled on a weekday. He glanced through the windows of the Ben Franklin store and saw a grandmother with a child. A skinny, bald- headed man was handing them change but, for some reason, looked up to see Py as he passed by. There was a similar exchange as he went on by the Sears Roebuk, where a group of women stopped talking to look his way when he walked by the storefront windows. Then at the end of the block, right outside of Watson Electric, a little kid came running around the comer and came to a dead stop, freezing to a stare when he saw Py. What is it? Py wondered. This never happened when he was secure and happy; no one paid any attention at all to him then. But the moment the blues set-in -bam! Instant notice. It was as if wearing his heart outside his shirt had made him a famous curiosity.
Py was at the north end of the business section, outside the IGA, and about to cross the street and wander back south when the door to the market burst open and out walked a woman who immediately took his attention away from himself. She was of average height, with dark hair down to her shoulders, parted stylishly on the side. And she had big eyes, dark and flashy, that set-off a face too city for the scene. Her clothes said the same. She wore a long, full skirt, a man's shirt and a denim jacket. On her head was a finely crafted flat-brimmed hat, and the entire ensemble made her look like gentry. The way she walked though -that's what really grabbed Py: quick, leading from the hip, and decisive, like she was on a schedule. Py'd rarely seen anything like it outside of the movies. She was what Jake had called "a big girl," meaning she wasn't the type to hang around with boys. She carried those groceries like she was advertising dinner.
For a moment Py just stopped in his tracks and stared, slack-jawed. Then he got a grip on himself and became more nonchalant. It was personality slips like that which separated her type from his. Py felt a pressure on his heart and smelled the dark cloud that lowered about his head. No wonder he had the blues. Anybody who couldn't handle the sight of a beautiful woman without feeling self-pity deserved to be blue.
A black Dodge, streaked with dried mud, rounded the comer and pulled up to the curb directly in the path of Py's dream girl. Before it even came to a stop the driver leaned over and pushed the passenger side door open, a little too early as it turned out. When the driver hit the brakes the door whipped open wide and then slammed back shut again. He popped it right back open and said something to the girl -inaudible to Py -that made her smile. The driver took her sack of groceries and tossed it with disregard onto the back seat, hugging the woman enthusiastically as she slid in beside him. The two locked together in a long, passionate kiss, which carried enough impact to be noticed by a gaggle of other shoppers who emerged from the IGA just in time to see it.
Py fell back into stupidity, standing beside the car, staring at the couple entwined inside. He was lost in the way her hair looked, her lover's strong, masculine hands squeezing it like messing her up was part of the fun. He was imagining what it must feel like, the way she worked his lips with hers, unabashed in her response to his advance. And to be with her -like that -in public! Py could hardly breathe. The blues compressed his heart and made him feel light. A "big girl." No wonder he'd never known one.
As the man finished his protracted kiss- which Py figured to be open-mouthed, the way it was done by those who knew how -he pulled back and smiled broadly at his girl. And Py couldn't believe what he saw. It was Jake! Jake Jobbs!
Without thinking, Py moved to the passenger-side window of the car. "Jake?" he said. "Jake -is that YOU?"
Jake struck a grin the moment he saw who it was. "Py, you son of a buck. Imagine goin' to town and runnin' into you. Shouldn't you be out bustin' broncs?" Py looked from Jake to the girl, then back at Jake. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again, Jake," he said. "I thought sure you was gone a hundred miles from this place already."
Jake glanced at the girl. "Well, Py . . . I was on my way out of town when I met Jo here, and that sort of changed things."
Py settled his hopeless stare on Jo, who thrust her hand forward for Py to shake. "Joanne," she said by way of introduction. "Joanne Parker, but everybody calls me Jo." "Py Mulvane," Py said, reaching dumbly for her hand.
"Me and Py worked together for old man Walker," Jake said. "Yeah sir, we've moved a little hay in our time, ey Py?" Py looked at Joanne's hand as if it were porcelain as the two of them shook, leaving all the choreography to her. "You musta got a little time off, huh?" Jake asked.
Py looked at Jake as if he were in a trance, put there by brief contact with the unattainable. Joanne recognized the boy's condition and held onto his hand after their greeting was complete. "I don't work for Walker no more, Jake," Py said. "I got fired."
Jake's smile disappeared. "Fired?" he said. "By Walker?"
"Frank Walker his self," Py said, to which Jake asked -"Why?" Py looked both ways down the street, as if afraid that someone might overhear. "Did you hear about Walt?" he asked. "Walt? No," Jake said. "What about him?" "He's dead."
Jake looked momentarily astonished. "No. Old Walt, dead?" He shook his head for a moment. "What happened?"
"It was an accident," Py said. "We was out in that north field, where those big green bales are." "Yeah, I remember." Py continued, "Walt was up on the truck and it was stacked pretty high. You remember how that field's got all those terraces? Well, we started up one and..."
"You were driving?" Jake asked.
"Yeah," Py said.
Jake already knew the rest. Py had been driving the one time Jake had been on the back of that hay truck, and he knew how Py handled those terraces. They scared him to death.
"That old truck got to kickin'. You know how it went," to which Jake nodded understandingly. He knew how it went with Py at the wheel. "And before I knew it we lost that load." "Oh God," Jake said. "Did old Walt get under that hay?" "Yeah he did, he got in there and got crushed. Died right on the spot."
Joanne continued holding onto the boy's hand as he talked with Jake. He read like a billboard outside a movie house, the whole drama etched in his expression and bold captioned in his eyes. Py was hurt, and she could see it. He made no attempt to free himself from her hold.
"Isn't that somethin'," Jake said, shaking his head. "Poor Walt. He was too damned old to go that way. He should have had better." Jake stopped talking and looked at Py for a moment, grinning slightly at the boy's obvious fixation on Jo. "So is that why they let you go?" he asked. "Because of old Walt?"
"Yep," Py said, "and Walker told me he might even press charges. I had to go give a statement to the Sheriff this morning."
"Press charges?" Jake said. "What the hell are they gonna press charges on?"
"Manslaughter," Py said. "They say I might be responsible. In fact, they told me not to go no place, that there might be a hearing and a trial."
Jake and Joanne exchanged looks. "You mean you got no job and you got no choice but to stay in this two-bit town?" Jake asked. "That's right," Py said. "Well, have you got anyplace to hole up? What're you doin' about that?" "No," Py said. "I don't have any money, either. Old Walker wouldn't even give me severance." Jake glanced again at Jo. "Well where are you goin' now?" he asked. "Nowhere. I was just walkin' up and down Main Street thinkin' about it. I got an aunt lives over in Fort Collins. I ain't seen her in a long time, but I was thinkin' I might get in touch with her. Other'n that, I don't know."
Joanne looked at Jake and there was some kind of silent communication, then Jake looked back at Py. "Well get in here," he said. "Open up that door there, Joanny -let's see if we can't figure something out for old Py here." Joanne opened the door and slid over, making room for Py in front. "Come on,'' she said, smiling warmly. "Get in."
"So, you say you have relatives over in Fort Collins? Are you from around here then?'' Joanne mixed her welcoming smile artfully around her words. She had looked at Py and liked him immediately, taking to him as she did to vulnerable beings of all kinds. He seemed clueless and lovable.
"No, Eastern Colorado. I grew up out around Yuma," he said. "I ain't been out there in a long time, though. I got no people there anymore."
Jake steered the Dodge through the Longmont business district, listening with interest to Joanne's conversation with Py. He was hearing something in her voice that he'd not heard in a woman before. "What about your folks?" she asked. "Do you have parents who could help you?" "They're both gone," Py said, doing so in a way that made it understood that the condition was permanent. "Oh, I'm sorry," Jo said. "I understand how that is."
Py didn't know what to do with that. "How long have you been around here?" she asked. "A little less than a year now," Py said. "I came up here on the railroad and got a job in harvest. Then I went with Mr. Walker and I been with him ever since, until yesterday."
"You'll get something else, Py," Jake said reassuringly. Then he went right back to being a spectator, attentive to his driving.
"I'm sure Jake's right," Jo told Py. "But first things first. Jake and me are on our way out to my place, about seven miles out north. I live there with my Dad. Jake's been staying with us and we've got plenty of room for you." Joanne paused for a moment in consideration for Fy's dignity. "That is, if you would like to stay with us," she said cautiously.
Py looked at Jake, who glanced at him in a way that said the idea set well with him and that Py should accept the offer. "Yes, ma'am! I sure would!" Py said, brightened by the prospect. "I can't tell ya how much I'd appreciate it." "Well, good then," Joanne said. "It's a done deal." Jake punched the gas and picked up speed as they reached the edge of town, where the blacktop stopped and the dirt roads began.
"So tell me, Py?" Joanne asked. "How old are you? If you don't mind me asking, that is."
"Nineteen, ma'am," Py said.
Joanne grinned deliciously. "Why you're just a puppy!" she said in a way that sounded like lip-licking, which made Py blush red.
Jake came to his rescue. "Py may be young, but don't under-estimate him -he's a stallion!" This only added to Py's fire.
"Well, tell me about yourself," Joanne said. "Your name, for instance. I don't think I've ever known anybody called Py."
Py grinned his goofy grin. "I never known nobody else with it either. I think my Mother just made it up." "I heard of it," Jake said. "I can't think where, but I heard the name before." Py seemed to appreciate hearing that. "My Mother did baking for a cafe they had there in town and she used to tell me that she named me Py because pies was the best thing she did." "I like that," Joanne said. "She used to tell me that when I was a kid. He added, reverentially, "She spelled it 'P-Y' though to make it sound more European. She died when I was nine."
"What about your Dad?" Joanne asked.
"Oh, he always hired out for farm work. He got the pneumonia and died a couple years back." Py paused for a moment. "No, let me see. I'm nineteen now ...and I was fourteen... That's five years now, I guess. That's when I fust got on the railroad. Worked off and on all over Colorado, even up around Glenwood Springs." Py leaned forward so he could speak directly to Jake. "They got some big spreads up there, Jake. They hire all kinds of men." "I've been there," Jake said, maintaining his focus on the road. "So, eventually I guess you ended up in Longmont," Jo summarized. "That's right, ma'am," Py said.
There was a moment of silence as the three of them buffeted in the front seat and as the car plowed down the road at a point where it descended into a deep canyon, carved through by a now-trickling stream that turned torrential with the spring thaw. The old weather-grayed boards of the tiny bridge at the bottom of the ravine banged loudly as Jake barreled the Dodge across and started the ascent. Jake seemed to know only one way to drive. It gave one the impression that he thought destinations floated and that a person had to move fast if flight plans were going to be of any value at all.
As the three of them rode the wild Dodge, Jo reaching and lightly touching the dashboard, readying for the worst, Py got up enough courage to ask a leading question. "So have you always lived here?" he asked Joanne. "Pretty much," she said. "I graduated from Longmont High. My Mom had a sister out in Sacramento, California, so after high school I went out there for awhile. I went to business school and worked in the Bay Area for a few years as a secretary, but that wasn't for me. Then I just sort of drifted. Los Angeles, Seattle ... Py looked at her, impressed. "Then I came back here when my Mom died. That was ..." Joanne thought for a moment. "It sounds like it was about the same time you lost your Dad. About five years ago. I came back to be with mine. I went back out to San Francisco after her funeral, but I couldn't stop thinking about my Father. So about six months ago I came back for good."
"That's nice -having people, I mean," Py said.
Joanne smiled. "Yeah, it is," she said.
END OF CHAPTER THREE