Fresh off another sales call with old man Newman, I pulled into Panhandle looking forward to a few cold ones with my informal drinking buddies at Jackie’s Cold Day Inn. I save my expense money for the time I spend in Panhandle. I usually stay there an extra day or two to rest and hang out with Sheriff Tom and his friends.
Jackie owns the bar and Wendy tends it when she's not taking classes at the community
college. Jackie’s the type that’ll help anybody who needs it; a soft touch
unless you want to drink on credit. Wendy’s a stunner who’s disappointed every
male in the county by being married and gay. I laughed to myself, remembering a
story about a young cowboy working hard to get a date with her knowing she was gay.
He was convinced he could persuade her to switch sides. She cupped his chin
with her hand, looked lovingly into his eyes and said, “Gary, suppose it works
in reverse and I turn you gay?” He got out as fast as he could, everybody in
the bar hooting and whistling at him. Jackie says that’s Wendy’s MO whenever
the guys get too pushy.
I didn’t see Sheriff Tom’s cruiser when I arrived at the bar
but he was there at the corner table. Doc Harris was there too. I took my seat,
said hello, and Wendy hipwalked over with my drink.
Tom was leaning sideways in his chair, favoring his left side. He
had some cuts on his face, purple, stitched up, and a cast on his right wrist.
I knew better than to ask what happened but the possibility that Milo was
involved passed through my mind. Whatever it was I knew the Sheriff would tell
me if it was ok for me to know.
The last time I was here, Milo, a mild mannered newcomer to
Panhandle (moved here three years ago), broke Steve’s nose and cheekbone with a
single move so fast and decisive only someone trained in the martial arts could have done it. Milo’s sudden aggression made everybody wonder if he was somebody other
than the quiet, unassuming man he’d been until then. I was willing to bet even money that Sheriff Tom would dig 'til he got some answers.
The Sheriff rested his good hand on the cast and said “Milo and I
went fishing at the Sanford Reservoir. Did ok. On the way back a mule deer and
her fawn jumped out of the culvert right in front of us. I swerved, lost
control and we rolled over twice. I wasn’t hurt too bad; Milo was knocked out
but breathing. You can see I broke my wrist, got some cracked ribs. According
to Doc Harris here, Milo had a fair size concussion and a knot on his head from
hitting the glass, some bruising but otherwise ok.
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| Thank you for your concern. The department will take your suggestion into consideration. |
“Cept for the rollover it was a pretty good trip. Got to know Milo
a lot better. Interesting fella, more to ‘im than I expected. He’s still in the
hospital, gettin’ out tomorrow but be laid up for another day or two. I won’t
be telling any tales outa school by telling you what I found out about 'im. He said it wouldn’t do any harm.
“I didn’t plan to take him fishing, just worked out that way. The
day before we went I stopped by his crafts shop, looking for shoelaces for my
boots. Les didn’t have any at his store, said Milo might have some in his
leather goods.
“I could see all the way to the back of the store where Milo was
moving stuff around the storage room. He looked busy so I went to him, said
hello, told him what I needed. He said he had some extra long laces he could
cut but he’d have to find 'em. We talked some more then he raised his arms to
put a box of ribbons on the top shelf. High up on his bicep I see a tattoo, looks like a
military insignia. Couldn’t tell exactly what it was but it wasn’t a heart with
“Mother” written across it.
“Well, ever since Milo busted up Steve’s face I’ve been thinking
about who Milo really is. He looks and acts like a guy with street smarts but
not how you think. In his case it’s Sesame Street smarts, if you know what I mean.
The move he put on Steve made me doubt my powers of observation and that don’t
sit well with me.
“Right then I decided it was time me and Milo oughta get to know
each other better."
Doc Harris and I exchanged a smile that said, yeah, we figured as much.
Tom ignored us and went on, “I said, ‘Milo, a friend of mine at the VA told my you served three
tours in ‘Nam’.
“He didn’t say anything just stared at me. I stared at him. He
stared back.
“I’m good at staring, done it to a lot of perps in my time. Well,
I tell you what, good as I am, Milo’s better.
“I said, it’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it. I unnerstand. I
was there myself. He stared. I stared but he’d already beat me. I knew it. He
knew it.
“All he said was, ‘That was a long time ago.’
“He took an empty coffee can filled it with cat chow from a sack
on the floor, opened the door to the alley where there was a buncha cats
standing around some food bowls.
“I tried one more time and said my friend at the VA said you were
a Ranger, tough duty.
“He squatted to fill the food bowls and said, ‘These are feral
cats, nine of ‘em now. I’ve been feeding them twice a day for three years and
they still won’t let me touch them. I guess nature taught them not to trust
anything but their instincts. The gray and white cat was the first one then he
brought the others so maybe there’s some trust in them; they trust each other.’
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| Ferals share and share alike |
"He stood up, stowed the coffee can and said, ‘Sheriff, tell me
something. What does it take to get a little trust and stop being an outsider?
I’ve lived here three years, been a good citizen, paid my taxes, voted. What
does it take?’
“The way he was standing, feet apart, arms at his sides, I thought
for a second he was fixin' to give me the same business he give Steve. I pretended not
to notice; looped my thumbs on my belt all relaxed looking. He eased up too.
“I said, ‘I don’t rightly know how long it takes, Milo. Depends on
who you are. Jorge Washington De La Cruz’s been here a lot longer than you and
there’s still some folks treat him like a stranger they gotta be on the look out for.
There’s still one or two give him room on the sidewalk, afraid he’ll whip out
his Buck and cut their throats.’”
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| Buck knife costs 150 bucks |
“Jorge Washington De La Cruz?”
“We call ‘im Washington DC for short. Mexican fella, has a little spread outside a Shamrock. Big mustache, dark eyes, Buck knife on his belt, makes him
look dangerous but he ain’t. One time I saw him stop in the middle of the 826,
traffic flying by, 70, 80 mile an hour, while he picked a box turtle off the
road, moved it 50 yards off to the side. I stopped, turned on my flashers, slowed traffic down. A mean guy woulda run over that turtle, not
caring. Rough and tough as he looks, that put him in my book as a good guy. You
probly know his wife, Jenny, white woman, drives a red pickup.”
“Yeah, I do. I didn’t know Jorge was her husband. Slender woman,
delicate, came here once asking if I knew how to make piñatas. I told her I
didn’t but I saw a lot of them in LA so it wasn’t hard to figure out. She
brought me some homemade Mexican sweet bread and I told her she should open a
bakery. I even suggested a slogan, ‘Mexican sweet bread just like my
Mother-in-Law used to make.’ I think the shoelaces you want are up front.”
“As he searched under the counters I said, ‘Fittin’ in in a new
place is hard, ‘specially with folks who like things the way they are. You’re a
different breed of cat from the West Coast. You could be anybody. Then you pull
that stunt with Steve. There were a hundred people at Jackie’s that
night. Only five or six of us actually saw it happen but there’s a hundred
versions of what happened going around. That mighta set you back some.
“You oughta talk to Jackie about that. She says the first step
to fittin’ in is for you to start droppin’ your g’s. Next thing is add a second
or two between sentences. Dropping the g’s, makes you sound local. Second thing
gives folks a little time to decide what you really mean when you say
something, anything, even hi, how are you? You gotta take it slow, gradual
like; grow on people ‘til they feel like you lived here your whole life.
“He grinned like he thought I was funnin’ with him and I was, but
only part ways. He found the shoelaces, I paid for ‘em and I spied a cane
fishing pole like we had when we were kids.
“I said you like to fish? He said he did some beach fishing in LA
and Santa Monica, some fresh water fishing at Big Bear.
“What say we go to the Sanford Reservoir Sunday. They got bass,
walleye, and carp.
“Next day we unloaded our gear at the reservoir and set up to cast
our fishing rods. I saw he didn’t put bait on his line but I didn’t say
anything. I got some bites and missed hooking the fish. Of course, he didn’t
even get a twitch on his lines. I reeled in my line to put more bait on my
hook. Did that a coupla times. He just sat there looking at the water or
reading his book.
“Finally, I couldn’t stand it any more, I said, Milo, you ever
catch any fish in LA or anywhere else? He said no, had a deal with the fish. ‘I
don’t tease them with bait and they don’t interrupt my reading. We don’t waste
each other’s time.’ I couldn’t say anything to that and I said to myself, this
boy’s gonna be an outsider forever. I let it go and didn’t say anymore about
it. Later on, we’re eatin’ some nice walleye I caught and we talked guy stuff
and about the book he was reading, something about how our minds work. Well,
his talking made my brain work overtime, wondering if maybe he was studying me
instead of the other way around. I’m not used to that.
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| Sportsman's MRE |
“We had a few more Coronas while we fished and he loosened up some
more. Told me he quit his teaching job ‘cause of an asshole department head
that thought you don’t count unless your degrees come from a big name university.
He was passed over for promotions too many times, quit and went looking for a
place where knowing how to change a flat tire or use a hammer was more
important than where you went to school. Panhandle looked like that kinda place
so he settled here.
“We were done fishing, on our way back to town and I say, ‘Milo,
about that beating you laid on Steve…’
“He let out a big sigh. ‘I know half the town’s thinking I’m with
the CIA or I’m a specially trained spy. The other half wonders why I’m here and
not where I belong… anywhere but here.”
“Turns out Milo did three tours in ‘Nam as a medic and didn’t
carry or fire a weapon the whole time. Spent a year on medevac helo crews and
two years attached to forward combat units. He was a conscientious objector but
volunteered anyway, trying to do the right thing. And you know stateside people
think conscientious objectors are as bad as draft dodgers or cowards. Worse
yet, unpatriotic. Am I wrong or right? He said he saw things he’ll never forget
and that’s all he’ll say about that.
“Well, that shut me up pretty good. I spent my one-year tour
scared half outa my mind and I had a weapon with me the whole time. And here’s
Milo, does three tours in a row, and he’s got nuthin’ in his hands but a first
aid kit.”
Jackie called out from behind the bar, asking if we wanted another
round. Tom said yes and while we waited Doc Harris said, “I didn’t wanna fight
either, but there’s no way I coulda been a medic. Milo did three tours. Even if
he did just one, the man deserves a lotta respect.”
Just then four rowdy cowboys came in and took a table at the far
end of the bar. We watched Wendy take their order while they each tried to get
her attention. She brushed them off with a smile as she always did, flirting
back without coming on to them. The boys ate it up. She’d be hell on wheels in
sales, I thought. I turned my attention back to my drink.
There was a shout from the cowboys’ table and we saw Wendy bending
a cowboy’s finger back, not hurting him yet, but it wouldn’t take much to make
it hurt a lot. I started to leave my chair, but Doc Harris put his hand on my
arm and said wait a second. Tom sat back with his hands resting on his stomach,
his head tilted like he’s asking a question, ‘Need help, Wendy?’
Still holding the cowboy’s finger, Wendy pointed at our table with
her other hand and said loud enough for us to hear, “Now, cowboy, you’re as
cute as can be, but you need to keep your hands to yourself. See that man over there, star on his chest, big ol' gun on his hip? That’s the Sheriff.
Look around, everybody’s drinking and talking but their eyes are on you. What
they’re doing is watching out for me. They know me. They don’t know you. All I
have to do is say the word and nobody’ll ever see you again. Understand? Now, can
I get you boys a drink?”
The cowboys were too embarrassed to leave, not sure what to do.
They quieted down and went back to drinking. We watched Wendy move from table
to table, tending to her customers.
Doc Harris turned to the Sheriff and said, “Hey, Tom, you know what I’m thinkin’?
Milo could teach Wendy some new moves, show her how to fight like a girl.
Either one gets hurt, he can patch it up.”
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| No fair. She fights like a girl |
Tom took a sip of his bourbon, took his time lighting one of his Cheroots and said, “Okay, here’s the rest of it. Milo and me, we’re driving along, headin’ home, nobody talking. Then he says, ‘Tom, I didn’t answer your question about what I did to Steve.’
“He told me a story about how he shared an apartment with a
martial arts expert for eight years in LA. She was a phys ed teacher at the
same college. She was so good she had trouble finding sparring partners and
roped him into the life. Sometimes they practiced at home and had to move twice
because the neighbors thought they were murdering each other and called the
cops.
“According to him, Maryanne was a fine woman, better as a sparring
partner than a wife. It worked for both of ‘em. She didn’t need a husband, he
didn’t need a wife and I expect there were other benefits. Milo was her live-in sparring
partner who paid half the rent, did some cooking and cleaning. It ended when she quit
her job and moved to Oregon.
“She taught him well and he got pretty good, no way near expert
level, you unnerstand, but good enough to take anybody by surprise if they didn't know 'im. The
exercise felt good, staying fit, sweatin' off the tension from work, ‘specially
the faculty politics.
"At the gym where they trained, Maryanne would push newcomers to start off light, sparrin' with Milo who
looked like a soft target. ‘Don’t worry about him. You’ll see. He fights like a
girl.'''
The End
