As the Greyhound droned north on Highway 287, Jake looked out toward the plains of Eastern Colorado, little by little becoming cloaked in deep purple as the sun retreated behind the Using an idol finger to trace invisible circles on the bus window, he felt weary and depressed. He had stared too long into a mirror at the bus station in Denver. It was mounted on a machine dispensing candy, and when he bent down to pull one of the levers, trying to determine which one freed the Life Savers, he had looked up to see his own reflection.
His detail had started to show. He noticed that his skin looked old, that tiny cracks had emerged which cut lines across his face. Irritations had come and stayed, leaving areas of him permanently damaged. It was all subtle, incipient degeneration that he knew would grow less subtle with time. It made him think of his late grandfather, and how in the years just prior to his death he had looked like an old weathered elephant. Now, looking at the lines in his own face, Jake thought - "This is how it happened to you." For a moment in the bus station he had caught a flash image of himself at seventy. And it wasn't fair. The aching he felt in his heart told him he was seeing things accurately, as they really were. But how could he be looking at the end of life when his youth still seemed so nearly within reach? Under the right circumstances, with all the pieces of his life put back in their proper places, he imagined he could still almost touch it. But the thought gave him no solace. What would youth want with him now? The damned mirror in the bus station had brought him face-to-face with himself, and there were no Life Savers in the machine.
Jake had not freed himself of his contract
with Lorenz Pico. Their meeting had ended with everything proceeding as planned,
not because that's what Jake had agreed to, but because that's what Pico
demanded. The strike date was still October first, which had been chosen because
it was the night of the Cow Cutter's Ball. The annual autumn event was eagerly
anticipated by people in the Longmont area. Everyone would be there, except for
Jake, who was to be on site at the Walker Ranch that night, directing
clandestine operation. If Jake carried through with what he had agreed to at the
outset, Pico would call their deal done. But nothing less than the original
terms were acceptable. As for Jake's having gotten himself fired, Pico figured
that was Jake's own fault and his own problem. Jake was just going to have to
find a way to hold up his end of the deal.
Stepping down off the bus, Jake paused before going on into the bus station,
taking a moment to look around for Joanne. She had promised to be waiting for
him when he returned, but when Jake didn't see her on the street he went on
inside the terminal, which was really an old office building, converted for the
purpose. With its "standard" ten-foot ceilings and its store-front windows, it
was homey in contrast to the gothic auditorium that was Denver's downtown depot.
A few people milled around inside, including some with whom he had ridden on the return trip from Denver. A skinny, bald-headed man, who appeared to be in his seventies, stood behind the ticket counter, beneath a chalk board with handwritten notes on arrival and departure times. He wore glasses which, as he looked down and read a newspaper, had slipped precariously close to the tip of his nose. He seemed oblivious to the low-level commotion in the lobby. An old heavyset black man worked with no particular gusto, emptying the contents of ash trays into a small waste container he carried. Jake noticed an old woman with whom he had spoken briefly on the bus being met by a young man whom he assumed to be a grandson. A young man in a Navy uniform lay asleep on a long wooden bench, and near him an elderly woman sat with two small children grand-kids?-with her arms draped protectively around each, eyeing the scene with apparent uneasiness. Nowhere, however, did Jake see Joanne.
There was a large, institutional clock
hanging on a far wall -a "Gable" that read 11 p.m., telling Jake that Greyhound
was running right on time. He popped a Lucky Strike out of a cigarette pack he
produced from his shirt pocket and lit up. "Grandma-I've got to go to the
bathroom,"he heard one of the children seated with the nervous old lady say.
Then he watched as the old woman managed to gather up both kids and the bags she
carried, herding the whole bunch toward a sign reading "Lavatory." The smoke
from Jake's Lucky rose in a blue cloud that lingered around his head. He exhaled
long and deep, sending another full column of smoke into the air. No Joanne, he
thought. He pulled his jacket up tight around his neck and shoulders and
shivered a bit as the door to the lobby was opened, allowing in cold night air
as a young couple left arm-in-arm. He noticed how happy they looked to be back
in each other's company, figuring one of them must’ve ridden in with him from
Denver, though he hadn't noticed either. The janitor held the door open for
another old couple, as very quickly the commotion that had come with the new
arrivals subsided. Jake took another hit, glanced again at the sleeping swabby,
and saw the old woman re-emerging from the toilet, grand-kids in tow. He sighed
deeply, momentarily overcome with ennui.
"You look sad and lonely, cowboy. Need a friend?”
Jake turned to see Joanne, leaning against a door frame, out from a small anteroom. "Yeah, I could use a friend," he said.
"Come here, then," she said, motioning him toward her as she backed into the room.
"Where you going?" Jake asked, looking around, nervous that they were going someplace they weren't supposed to be. But as he drew close, Joanne took his hand and pulled him ahead into the room, then closed the door behind them.
In the dim light of the little room, Jake had just enough time to see that they were surrounded by baggage of various kinds -- suitcases, duffel bags and shipping boxes. But before he had time to wonder what was happening, Joanne was wrapping herself around him, kissing him fully on the mouth and tugging at his shirt. Jake answered hotly, taking her in his arms and pulling her tight up against him. "I missed you,"Joanne said, pulling away for only a moment, resealing her lips on Jake's before he could respond.
Joanne fell back flat on a sturdy wooden table in the middle of the room, partially laden with carrying bags, which Jake batted to the floor as he fell across her. She undid his belt buckle and wrenched open his jeans as Jake pushed her dress up over her hips, finding that she was wearing nothing underneath. The discovery sent a surge of desire through him that he transferred to her, grabbing her hair so that her necked craned backwards, exposing her throat, which he consumed with passionate kisses.
Neither Jake nor Joanne noticed that the janitor, having heard the bags falling to the wooden floor, had come to see what was going on and now stood watching them through the glass in the door, pebbled all but for a single section.
Jake opened the front of her dress, revealing her breast, which he ravaged with his mouth. Slipping one hand beneath her, he arched her upward from the small of her back and covered her belly with wet kisses. With a single quick movement he produced his erection from his pants, and with a single thrust he impaled her. Joanne inhaled deeply, seemingly sucking him deep within her as the two of them locked in a rhythmic pulse, moving their hips in erotic counterpoint, gasping for breath as they worked, uttering exhortations they couldn't finish.
It was nearly midnight when Jake and Joanne returned from the bus station, driving into the yard to find lights still on in the house and Py asleep on the living room sofa. "Py. Wake up, Py." Joanne gently nudged him, waking him so he could go on to sleep in his bed, rather than on the lumpy old couch.
Py could hardly bring himself to consciousness. He looked defenselessly up at Joanne, appearing to barely recognize her. "Py, why don't you get up and go on to bed?" she said, to which Py mumbled a barely coherent agreement. "Okay…”
Jake had been standing on the front porch, looking out into the night at what he could see of the disaster had made of the picket fence. He walked back in through the front door and said, "Man, it looks like a tornado hit this place."
“Tornado?” Py said, eyes widening.
"It's okay," Joanne said. "Jake was just looking at the yard."
Py braced himself up on one elbow and shook his head, trying to clear the fog. "Where is Dad?" Joanne asked. yawned deep and long and rubbed his eyes with his free hand. "Py, where is my Father?"
"He's across the road, keeping an eye on the bull,"Py said, yawning again as he spoke.
"Oh God you mean you couldn't catch asked Jo.
Py sat up straight on the couch, resting his feet flat on the floor while he stretched his arms and torso. been chasing him around that field all night," he said. "Finally just got too dark to see what we were Py was still not more than half awake. "I told Pete he ought to just come to bed -that animal'll still be out there tomorrow.”
"Where is Jake asked, standing over the two.
"Cooksin's out in the field he's way out there," said, trying unsuccessfully to suppress another yawn. "Pete's at the end of the road. Or at least that's where I left him. You can probably see him out there."
Jake wondered back over to the front porch and looked out into the night. you see him?" Joanne asked. The full moon was just a few days away. A light cloud cover softened the light which mingled with the moisture in the air to give all objects a pallid glow. “I don’t see him,” Jake said, “but I’ll go have a look.”
“He’s right at the end of the road,” reconfirmed Py, collecting himself enough that he could at least stumble to bed.
Jake left the house and walked through the darkness out to where Py had said Pete could be found. The night had turned all objects black or deep blue, save for the stars, which twinkled in patches overhead, partially obstructed by cloud cover. All was stillness, broken only occasionally by the nervous warbling of a thrush.
"Pete! You out here?" Jake said, loud as he dared, given the hour. Even with the nearest neighbor a mile away, he felt obliged to respect the imposing quiet.
"Over here, Jake."
Pete's voice was sparse and flat, too tired to whisper. Jake turned in the direction from which it came and could see nothing other than a dim silhouette on the horizon, an indistinct outline that looked rather like a large boulder. "Is that you, Pete?"Jake asked, still a little whispery. "Where are you?"
"Over here," Pete said, raising one arm and waving Jake toward him.
Jake walked cautiously toward the dark lump which he believed to be Pete, stumbling through a field of large clods that turned his ankles with each step. "What are you doin’ out here, Pete? Do you know it's after midnight? And it's getting cold!"
Sitting on the ground, with a blanket draped over his head and shoulders, Pete held out a hand as Jake approached, offering him a drink from a fifth of whiskey. "This helps," he said. It took Jake a moment to see what Pete was giving him, but then Jake took the bottle and tipped it up.
"I guess they told you what happened?" Pete said, the bright whites of his eyes reflecting the moon as he looked up at Jake.
"Yeah – and I saw the yard. What a mess," Jake said. "What are you doing out here?"
"Keeping an eye on my future," Pete said.
In the darkness, standing out like a ghostly white ship on a black sea, Jake could see the bull in the distance. "How long's he been out there?" he asked, to which Pete replied
"Since about four o'clock this afternoon." "Hell, he ain't goin’ anywhere tonight," Jake said. "Why don't you come on back to the house and get some sleep."
"I'm stayin’ right here," Pete said. "I plan on watching him all night. I’ll out-last him, if that's what it takes. Come morning he'll be too tired to run and I'll get a rope on him."
Jake laughed. "You think you're gonna rope that thing? He only weighs ten times what you do! Besides, Joanne says he knocked the corral fence down flat - so what are you gonna do with him if you do lasso him?"
"I 'spect I'll figure that out when the time comes," Pete said.
Jake could tell there was no sense arguing, so he sat down on the ground next to Pete and handed him back his bottle. Pete took a swig and for a while the two of them sat there looking out at the white animal, spectral, almost an apparition in the crisp September night.
"Everything...everything I've got in this life is out there," Pete said after a bit, his voice trailing. "Everything..
Jake stared out at the faint white form, glowing in eerie incandescence in the distance. Occasionally it would seem to disappear altogether, then reappear in a spot slightly removed from the previous.
END OF CHAPTER TWELVE
Copyright © Rick Alan Rice (RAR), 1992-2010 Cowboy Town is the sole property of its author, Rick Alan Rice (RAR). This work may not be reproduced or re-distributed in any way without the expressed written permission of the author.