HIZZONER DE MARE

  

“Mayor Mike Wilson, 69, died in his sleep last night. His wife, Mary Ann, told our reporter that he had gone to bed around 9:00 PM and when she went to check on him an hour later, she found him sitting up in his bed with an open bible on his lap. The distraught widow refused to answer any questions, begging callers to leave her to her grief.”

So read the top story in the “Rancher’s Weekly” in Shorthorn, TX (population 6000). Only four of those 6,000 knew that the Sheriff, responding to a frantic call from an unknown female, found the Mayor out behind the stockyards next to his car stone cold dead, with his pants down around his ankles. The caller was never found.

The death of a small town mayor is usually not news anywhere except among the locals who then gossip about it for years afterwards. But in the faraway state capital, Austin, the news was a shock to legislators and lobbyists who depended on Mayor Wilson in every statewide election for decades. It seems he had a gift for supplying whatever numbers of votes were needed to swing a victory for his party. How a small city in a small county could routinely provide more votes than there were eligible voters was a mystery no one in Austin could fathom but none of them cared to wonder about for too long.

Mayor Mike Wilson had become very rich during his 30 year tenure as mayor. His second wife, Mary Ann, 28, had once been 2^nd runner up in the Miss Dairy Queen pageant, 2^nd runner up in the Texas Teen contest, and 2^nd runner up in the Miss Texas competition. Now she was the 2^nd richest widow for 500 miles around.

By the time the real truth of the mayor’s death became known six months later, Wilson’s heir apparent had re-established the connections to Austin’s grifters, and the graft resumed as before. But at least the locals had the mayor’s inglorious death to sift through; and small town grist mills grind exceeding fine.

I was a traveling farm equipment salesman ranging from the Panhandle to Brownsville in South Texas. Shorthorn was on my route and I had made a habit of stopping for a short beer at the “Almost OK Corral Bar & Grill”. Jesse the bartender set a mug of beer at my usual place at the bar when he saw me drive up.

“Hey, it’s good to see you again. How ya been?”

“Doing ok. Sales are better than last year. The new Slice n’ Burn nutcutters are a hit with the ranchers all up and down the Panhandle. I think it’s the mother-of-pearl inlays on the handles and the built-in cauterizer that does it; all electric, two lithium batteries; go all day. Bull to steer in under a minute. Probably sell just as good here. Might even sell some to the Mexicans across the border.”

Early prototype of "Slice n' Burn"

The three cowboys sitting at the far corner of the room were guffawing loudly. One of them said something else and the laughter got louder.
 

“What’s that about?”

“Oh, you heard about how Mayor Wilson really died, right? Well, since the truth came out that’s all anybody is talking about. First, they said they were shocked. Then they said, oh yeah, I knew all about it. Then with each telling somebody added a new tidbit, true or not. Then when that game got old they started making jokes. Now they’re making jokes about Wilson’s young widow being the 2^nd easiest lay in the county; the cowhands going back for seconds, that sort of thing. Not saying she’s slow witted or anything but you ask her anything and she says, 'Just a second.' Tending bar I hear all this stuff over and over.”

The front door opened and a man stood there for a moment as though he had forgotten why he’d come.

“That’s Cal”, said Jesse as he set a longneck on the counter. “He must be at least 80 by now, lookin’ better n’ me and I’m only 60.”

He was 170 pounds of old cowboy, sunburned sinew and gristle spread over 6 ft. 2 inches. He took off his greasy hat, gave it a dusty slap against his thigh, grabbed the longneck and sat two stools away from me. He gave me a squinty sideways look that told me he’d decided I was harmless, took a long swallow of beer, and signaled Jesse for another.

The cowboys started laughing again and Cal snorted in disgust. “Sumbitches call themselves cowboys. Just sittin’ there gossiping like a bunch of old hens. Don’t know shit about cattle or horses. What’r they cackling about now, Jesse?”

“Same as yesterday, the Wilsons.”

“Shit.”

He caught me looking at him. Turning to me he said, “You’re not from around here, I can tell. California, I bet.”

Before I could answer he said, “Mister, Mayor Wilson was the slickest Texas politician you never heard of. I didn’t like him much but then there’s damn few people I do like. Wilson had the good ole boys in Austin eating out of his hand for years. Imagine that! A dirt poor cattle rancher become a millionaire from miscounting votes. Paid off for Shorthorn, too -- a rodeo arena and Community Center that holds more people than live in the whole county for god’s sake. You tell me how a pissant town like this gets the State and the Feds to build us brand spankin’ new courthouses. First Class all the way, too. A lot of money got spent out here in the middle of nowhere.”

He didn't say any more, turned back to his beer. I couldn't help myself. I just had to ask. “So how did a dirt poor cattleman become mayor?”

Cal winked at Jesse who shook his head, grinning, and started polishing his beer mugs. Cal turned full on to me and said, “Well, now we’re talking about the mayor’s race in ’81. That’s how he got in the first time. He won again two years later. After that nobody bothered to run against him. But that first race --- that was something to behold. There weren’t no TV commercials and stuff. It was just old fashion rallies with lotsa speechifying. Hell, nobody running had any money; and besides, this county’s so poor there wasn’t any spare money to donate. The campaign signs looked like cheap copies of “Wanted” posters like you see in the movies.

 

“Jesse, do you remember the first time Wilson got elected?”

Jesse put the mug down and leaned against the bar. “Yeah, I thought the town had gone nuts. Five candidates for a job that pays nothing. It was Big Bill, Randy, Cody, the blind Meskin guy Raúl, and Wilson.”

Cal said, “What a hoot! Big Bill ran his campaign from the county jail. Randy was in the psych ward in Amarillo. Everybody knew Cody was nuts. And Raúl was blind and deaf!”

I looked back and forth at Jesse and Cal. The hook was set. I swallowed it and followed with the line and sinker. I put a twenty on the bar and asked for another round of beer.

Cal paused and waited until Jesse came back with fresh beers, including one for himself, pocketed my twenty and laid a stack of ones next to my mug. Fresh beer in hand, Cal said, “Big Bill had a fine opinion of himself and he liked his guns. He strutted around town campaigning suited up like a TV gunslinger; six shooter strapped low, snug up against his leg. His big idea was to bring law and order to Shorthorn, except the only crimes we had were petty vandalism. Hell, the last big crime was the Calahan boys rustling a half dozen steers back in ’78. Them dumbasses got lost out past Wild Rose Canyon. Me and the boys rescued them a week later nearly dead from thirst. Had to keep their daddy from beatin’ ‘em to death.

“Jesse, you were at Big Bill’s last rally, before he went to jail, right?”

What Big Bill saw in the mirror

“Yeah, I was. Ole Bill was holding a rally at the town square going on and on about how he didn’t want Shorthorn to become like the big cities full of crime and drugs. Some guy standing in the back asked if he knew who was shooting campaign signs full of holes. Big Bill ignored him at first but the guy kept on about it. I was standing next to a guy who was holding up a sign with a picture of Cody’s face on it. Big Bill saw it and pulled out his shooter and put two bullets in it. One in each eye, quick like. Everybody scattered or hit the dirt except for the Sheriff who stood his ground and arrested him. Judge Porter put Bill in the clink for a 30 day stretch at county."

Cal said, “UFO’s, the Marfa Lights. You travel around a lot. Ever see any? Randy did, all the time. Don’t rightly know what UFO’s had to do with being mayor but he ran for it anyways. For years Randy told the folks about triangle shaped aircraft flying over his land but nobody else ever saw ‘em. Everywhere he went, everybody he talked to got an earful about his visions. Nobody believed him, of course. Some of us laughed in his face. About a month before the vote he started hallucinating about being abducted by aliens and being probed like a hamstrung hog. That last thing made the folks at his rallies kinda uncomfortable, but I think it was the tinfoil covering the windows in his house that made his wife commit him to the psych ward in Amarillo for six months.

Got Milk?

“The hell of it is that in 2005, the flyboys at Lackland AFB in San Antone, fessed up about experimental, triangle shape aircraft they had secretly tested about the same time that Randy said he saw them. Now he won’t stop talking about how the Air Force was just covering up the truth about alien visitors.”

“Then there was Cody”, Jessie said. “Lotta folks here and about thought maybe he spent too much time alone in the desert. He had a fossil museum over on Third and Main. Visitors would go in and look at the fossils he’d dug up over the years, which was fine until Cody went into his talks about how the earth was 6,000 years old; how his bone collection proved beyond a doubt that men and dinosaurs walked the earth at the same time. Some tourists stood and listened (he could go on for hours). Most of them backed out as fast as they could.

“But, I gotta tell you. At one of his rallies he did say one thing that almost made sense.”

 Cal’s eyebrows shot up and he glared at Jesse.

Cody's Flintstonemobile

“Now, don’t look at me like that, Cal. It’s crazy, I know, but it made me stop and think for a minute. He was telling the crowd that Shorthorn would do itself real proud if it elected him, a God fearing Christian. There were some ‘Amens’ in the crowd. Then a kid in the front row asked how did Noah get the dinosaurs into the Ark? The crowd got real quiet, like they never thought of that before. Thinking, how did dinosaurs get on the Ark?

“’That’s easy,’” Cody said “Dinosaur eggs”.

Cal said, “Nobody ever thought Big Bill, Randy, or Cody stood a yella dog’s chance of winning but there ain’t much to do on market day after the shopping’s done so going to the voter rallies was a way to pass the time. Make a day of it, you know?”

Jessie added, “Well, with the three of them out of the way, that left Raúl and Wilson as the only candidates with any chance of winning. Which I thought was kinda funny because I didn’t figure Raúl had any chance at all, being a Meskin and all of us being whites but people were talking him up. The tide was moving his way just 10 days to go to Election Day. Didn’t I say things were crazy? Maybe something in the water.

“I couldn’t figure it until he came into the bar one afternoon and started talking to me about my ex-wife. He knew stuff nobody else could know except my divorce lawyer and my ex.

“That’s when I knew that blind and deaf Raúl was blackmailing half the town. He mighta been half blind but his hearing was real good.

“How did he do it? Raúl made his living by being a gopher and courier for a lot of the lawyers working out of the old courthouse. They paid him a buck or two for each delivery. They gave him contracts, settlements, and decrees to deliver from one lawyer to another. He wore bad suits, looked sloppy, didn’t ask any questions, and was always available. Everybody knew him and paid him no mind. He just hung around the offices, listening to lawyers talking among themselves or on the phone. He read the documents they gave him to deliver. So, if the Sheriff got you on a domestic beef, Raúl knew all about it. Divorced --- details. Bad debts – details. Raúl was the fly on the wall in the town’s livin', breathin' soap opera.”

I know everything. Everything

Jesse took the empty bottles off the counter and went to fetch another round.

Cal cleared his throat and said, “Only thing Wilson was good at was lyin’. Smart people thought he was dumb. Yes, sir. He was so dumb he got rich. He didn’t know much about ranching but he knew people. You might say he was coyote smart. No matter what you did to protect your chicken pen or your pocket, he’d find a way in.

“He always had big plans that never worked out, like the idea to make his place into a Dude Ranch. Or the time he thought NASCAR would come to Shorthorn if it was promoted right; always looking for an easy way to make a fast buck. Couldn’t rightly tell why he wanted to be mayor. The job wasn’t much at all.

“Ya know, the Meskin, Raúl, almost won, too. If it wasn’t for the County Clerk giving Wilson the votes we woulda had a blind, deaf, Meskin mayor. If anybody thought there was something fishy they didn’t say nothin’. Wilson wasn’t anybody’s idea of a mayor either, but at least he was white.

Cal saw the look on my face when he said that. He put his hands up to his chest palms up and said, “Things ain’t like that anymore. Town’s changed; people changed.” Glancing over at the laughing cowboys in the corner, he said, “Well, most of us anyway. Maybe you can leave one of your nutcutters with me on account. Might have a need for it after all.”

Jessie cleared the empty the longnecks on the counter, rubbed his chin and said, “Best move Wilson made was to marry Betty Jo, the County Clerk, a few months after the election. Folks scratched their heads over that. Betty Jo was plain as can be; thirty years old, a spinster for sure. But when Wilson looked at her he saw a beautiful thing. He saw POWER and an easy way to get it. With Betty Jo counting votes he could sell Shorthorn County votes to Austin --- as many as they wanted. All he had to do was propose to Betty Jo and win the first time.”

It only matters who counts the votes

                         

Author’s Note:
This story is fiction. However, some of the characters in it are based on an real election that took place in a real town in Texas in my lifetime. For the purposes of this story, the candidates’ attributes were modified to make the story believable. They were more bizarre in real life.

Home Fires

“Dead Man’s Hand, a pair of black Aces and a pair of black Eights,” Doc Harris said as he stared down at his whiskey, stirring it with his finger. “That’s what Wild Bill Hickock’s hand was before he was blown to kingdom come, bullet in the head courtesy of Jim McCall. Ole Jim got the short end of a long rope for it.”

How you win and lose at the same time

Doc Harris sat slumped in his chair looking grumpier than usual. We were sitting at our customary table at Jackie’s Cold Day Inn waiting for Sheriff Tom. He’d taken Judy Butler to the courthouse in Snyder where she faced charges for inciting a riot in Preacher Jason’s church. Tom figured he’d stick around for the hearing expecting Judge Edwards to dismiss the charges being that Jason was his brother-in-law and they hated each other's guts.

Jackie brought a tray of drinks and set it down. She looked out the window. “Hmmph, those two.”

Across the street in front of the Post Office Milo and Laurie, single adults, were acting like teenage kids who'd just discovered the opposite sex.

We could see them through the window but couldn’t hear what they were saying. He hopped on one foot then the other, pulled at his hat or shoved his hands into his pockets then out again, dancing the whole time as though Laurie was shooting the dust at his feet with a six-shooter. Laurie focused on his face, arranging loose strands of hair behind her ear, licking her lips, eyes wide open as though she were looking in a mirror to make sure she looked alright before going out the door. If I didn’t know they were adults I would guess their age at 14, maybe 16, tops.

Jackie pursed her lips and squinted. “It’s hard to tell with those two. I was pretty sure they'd be a couple by now. This takes much longer I know I’m losing my touch. I had me three husbands and can’t remember how many boyfriends so I know a thing or two about courtin’ and romance.

"I can’t read much into Milo, him being from California, but Laurie, I’ve known her and her family for years; never figured her to have so much patience. If it was me, I woulda grabbed him by the ears and planted a big ole kiss on ‘im months ago. Pretty clear she’s interested. See her hands? Keeps brushing her hair back or clenching ‘em together. And she looks ‘im straight on like, ‘Come on, Milo, I want it, too.’ Jackie sighed and went back to wiping down the bar."

Doc Harris grumped, "They'll get around to that soon enough, Jackie. Those two been alone too long. You hear people say love makes the world go round. No, that ain’t it. It’s just a polite way of sayin’ love makes the world go up and down." Jackie gave him a dirty look. Wendy giggled.

Sheriff Tom came in, did his customary look see around the bar and waited while I vacated his chair. He waved his index finger at Wendy who nodded and poured out a tumbler of his favorite whiskey. She fixed another for me and Doc.

Tom said, "Judy Butler's off the hook. The judge dismissed the case and told the preacher to pound sand."

Information Central

I could see Millie in the Post Office busy sorting mail, talking with her customers, glancing at Milo and Laurie through the screen doors every few seconds as though her mind was a time lapse camera snapping stills that she would later condense, summarize, then turn into gossip to share with the town. Millie knew everyone’s secrets. To her, gossip was just another day of news around town. To everyone else, she had better and far more interesting information than any newspaper or radio show.

At 5 o'clock Millie turned the "Open" sign to "Closed" and padlocked the doors but instead of heading south she stepped between Milo and Laurie and crossed the street to Jackie's place. Millie pops in once in a while to socialize with her best friend, Jackie. Poor Milo was so focused on Laurie he jumped back a foot when Millie said hello as she passed.

Wendy made her a bourbon over ice at the bar. Millie saw us sitting at the corner table. Jackie waved her over and we scooted our chairs to make room.

We watched Milo and Laurie stumble through the ritual of saying goodbye.

Millie bummed one of Tom's cigarillos and drained half her drink. She blinked hard and raised her eyes to the ceiling and blinked again. Wendy got busy pouring her another drink. She took a deep breath and said, “Don't need another one, Wendy. Give it to Tom or somebody.”

Vitamin Jack

She looked out the window. Pointing with her tumbler she said, “Those two, Milo, Laurie, are as borin’ as bible study. Not like Jim and Angel. Panhandle's never seen a pair like that before.”

Jackie saw the question on my face and said, “Jim and Angel met on Friday night, woke up together Saturday, got married on Sunday. Fought all day Monday and skipped work for a week."

Tom chuckled and said, “That's the short version. Millie knows the whole story. Mind telling it again?”

Millie is in her 80s but she looks and acts 20 years younger. When her husband died she succeeded him as Post Master though no one remembers when she was appointed.

Sheriff Tom once told me that given the right breaks Millie could've been a first rate detective in some big city police department the way she put bits of information together to solve a mystery. As Post Mistress she saw everybody's mail – bills from creditors, credit card offers, letters from faraway family members. 'Hmmm, Sue Ellen hasn't written to her sister in years. Probly somebody died. Letters from lawyers going back and forth? Maybe Dave and Kimmie are calling it quits.'

And, of course, when people went to pick up their mail they'd talk to Millie and to each other with every conversation recorded, sorted, and filed away in Millie's brain.

Millie took a deep drag on the cigarillo, a sip of her drink and said, “Nobody gave 'em a Chinaman's chance of stayin' married more'n a week but something happened. When they were single it was Angel goin' her own way, not carin' if anybody liked it. Same for Jim. It didn't matter which way everybody else was goin', Jim, Angel, go against the grain if it suited 'em. If they cared what anybody thought, it never showed.

"For days after, nobody talked about anything else 'cept how Jim and Angel got together that night. Some folks weren't even there but they spun out stories anyway. Took me two weeks to figure out which stories matched up and which didn't, what really happened.

"Now Angel’s the kind who’ll say hi or spit in your eye, dependin’, no matter if you’re a banker or cowpoke. At Billy’s she’ll dance with anybody who asks, ‘cept Harley, and you know why. He knows better than to ask anyway. But when it comes to dating she’s picky. Until Jim come along I never knew her to have a steady beau.

"I heard one time her and Rory were getting' real friendly in a booth at Billy's Last Stand. He's sayin' how bout we go to my place. Angel says no thanks. He keeps up and she pushes him away, gets up and says loud enough for everybody to hear, 'Tonight ain't your night, babe. Many are called but few are chosen.' Rory pulled his hat down, put money on the table and snuck out the back door.

King James didn't like Rory either.

"I don't know that she has any close friends but you ask anybody and they'll say, yeah, Angel she's a friend of mine, ornery, stubborn as a mule, but a friend.

"Then you got Milo and Laurie. Can't figure them out just yet. It's not like they're kids, you know. Both 'em seen enough of the world to be careful and it's not like they just met. Laurie was married once. She had her pick back in the day and picked the wrong one. Lucky she got outa that early, anybody with eyes could see Carter was no good.

"Milo? He's all pluses far as I can tell. Quiet as hell, and he won't say nothin' I can work with. He's been around the world, that boy. You'all know he's walked ground most men will never see. Seems like he come out of it ok. I know there's other women interested besides Laurie. Marie at the library, for one.

"Jim's all muscle and scars from his job on the oil rigs. One look and you know who he is. He mighta lost a fight or two in his time but nobody's ever come back for seconds. Tom's probly told you stories about Jim and Jim and Angel getting into scrapes on the regular. Magnets for trouble those two.

"Jim didn't have a steady girlfriend before Angel. He was playin' the field. Good lookin', single, spent his money without thinking about it much. He knew Angel but didn't make a play for her, too many other women around for him to notice. She never gave him a second look either. When they finally met up close it was like a grizzly meetin' a wildcat. Only one of 'em was gonna come out in one piece.

"It was at Billy's Last Stand on a Friday night, late, people havin' a good time, live music, fancy dancin', boys playin' pool in the back. Angel and Judy Butler were sittin' together eyeballin' the boys in the band. Jim walks up, asks Judy to dance. She says no, that cowboy with the blue hat stepped on my toes last dance. Ask Angel.


"Angel's a real good dancer and Jim’s average but he does ok. They did some line dancin' for a couple of songs before The Lonesome Foursome played a slow song. Jim and her got close but not too close, they just met you know. But right off, there was a problem.

"Jim is left handed. He's used to making right handed women follow his lead. No problem there. He's Jim, he leads.

"Angel is left handed, too. She makes her partners go her way, left right, left right. Most of 'em catch on and go along.

Making it through another night

"The Lonesome Foursome are just startin’ Help Me Make It Through The Night when people are whisperin' and pointin' at Jim and Angel. She's pushin' one way, he's pushin' another way like pro wrestlers tryin' to leverage each other. Jim goes about 190. If Angel's an ounce over 120 it's a lot. So even money says he's gonna win this round. But anybody ever tried to push Angel around knows there’s always a price to pay.

"She lets go of Jim, steps back and says, “Do you wanna dance or do I have to drag you around the floor?”

"Then Jim does the wrong thing. He pushes his hat back on his head, puts his hands out like what'm I gonna do 'bout the little lady? Lookin' around at his friends, smirkin' a little.

"Angel gets red in the face, rears back, kicks him in the shin and when he bends down she knocks his hat off and stomps on it.

"Everybody's starin', wonderin' what's gonna happen next. Jim and Angel standin' legs apart, lookin' each other in the eye like gunslingers waitin' for the other one to blink.

"I don't know what Jim's thinkin' but I know you don't win a fight by walkin' away. Men like him will fight you to the last dead dog a’fore they quit. It’s all in the book, 101 Things Real Men Never Do.

"Maybe Angel's thinkin' the same way but maybe, too, she's thinkin' steppin' on his hat was worse than his crime. She picks up his hat, brushes it off and tosses it to 'im.

"Jim's a roughneck like a hundred others ‘round here but he's got some smarts. He sees she wants a truce. The band starts playin'. Jim puts his hat on, holds his arms out like askin’ do you wanna dance. She does the same thing.

"Well, Lord knows what went on their heads but before long they were holdin' each other like they're hangin' on a life raft."

Tom spoke up. "I didn't have to add up any clues to know what happened next. Saturday morning I got a call from the Easy Days Motel at the edge of town. Ed told me they checked in late Friday night. Had to quiet 'em down after some guests complained. Couldn't tell if they were fightin' or havin' fun. Next morning he finds the bed's broke. He knows Jim's good for it but he's lettin' me know just in case. He says they headed north on the 60.

"Next I get a call from the bartender at Billy's. Tells me Angel's pickup is still on his lot. He's worried about Angel. I tell 'im she’s probly all right, she's with Jim. He says uh oh. I tell 'im leave the truck there unless you hear from me."

Tom stopped to take a sip. "Jim's a rough one but I know he's never laid a hand on a woman. So far's I'm concerned Angel's with him cause she wants to be. If anybody’s in trouble it’s gonna be Jim.

"I call the Borger Sheriff and tell him let me know if he sees Jim's pickup parked in any of the motels. He says ok. I do the same with the Sheriff Don in Pampa.

"Thursday I check in with the Sheriff in Borger. He ain’t seen Jim’s pickup anywhere. But Don over in Pampa says Jim and Angel are holed up at the Cactus Flower Motel on Main street. So happens that’s across the street from Big Daddy’s Diner where Don takes his coffee and doughnut breaks now and then.

"Says Angel’s lookin’ fine but Jim looks like hell, draggin’ his butt across the street to the diner like he’s been sleepin’ on the street for a month. I thank him and call Jim’s boss let ‘im know Jim’s ok but probly won’t be at work too soon. Mr. Davis is used to his men not showin’ up regular like but he’s glad Jim’s ok. Says if I see Jim tell ‘im his pay’s bein’ docked.

"Now this love story happened, oh, ten years ago. Jim and Angel, you can’t say one name without the other -- JimenAngel. They’re still married, still fightin’ over this and that with each other or with somebody else. Them against the world like always. I guess some home fires never go cold."

Wendy was standing behind the bar, elbows down, chin cupped on her hand. “Milo and Laurie are my friends. When they make up their minds I think they'll keep their fire goin'. Maybe not boilin' like Jim and Angel's but it'll always be simmerin'."

Texas Blues

THIS IS PART ONE. 

PART TWO IS TITLED "DON'T WORRY ABOUT HIM. HE FIGHTS LIKE A GIRL."

“Her name was Peggy. She had blue eyes like you’ve never seen, like the sky between winter and spring, bright, shining, electric. It’s that time of year, I know you’ve all been there. Your chest feels chilly but your back is warm. The sky’s so close you think you can reach up, pull it down over you and feel warm all over. That’s who Peggy was.” 

Steve snorted, made an hourglass shape with his hands and said, “So, what was the rest of her like?” One second later he was on his back holding his bloody nose with both hands.

“If I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes I wouldn’t believe it was Milo who’d decked Steve like that. For one, Steve’s got 40 pounds and 10 years on ‘im. For another, Milo’s the kind that shoos flies insteada squashing ‘em.” 

You can stay as long as you mind your manners

Jackie put my glass on her tray and walked it back to the bar where Wendy was getting ready for the evening crowd. Jackie’s Cold Day Inn is a local favorite, a dark, dusty place without a jukebox or live music to disturb the customers’ conversations or solitudes. It was where I always went after long days in the sun selling farm equipment to ranchers who made it a point of pride to make me keep talking even after I knew the were going to buy. Come sundown I was ready for some cold beer or bourbon on the rocks, no more talking, just listening to other people tell their stories. 

Sheriff Tom, Les, and Doc Harris and I occupy the same table whenever I visit Panhandle but today I was alone. My drinking pals would show up later. They always did. Jackie brought me another bourbon, a beer for herself and sat across from me. 

She saw the question on my face and said, “Yep, that Milo, the guy owns the craft store where you can buy knittin’ needles, yarn, face paint for the kids, any kinda art supplies. He gave Steve a pretty good shiner and a busted nose. You bet he was surprised but no more ‘n the rest of us. We all stood up and Steve bailed, probly thinking we’d back Milo, Steve being who he is. You know, there’s people who are a pain in the ass. And there’s people who are just assholes. Steve’s an asshole. Got what was comin’ to ‘im in my opinion. 

“It happened last Friday. Milo’s not a regular, comes in once in a while, has drink or two and goes home. Wendy found out it was his birthday so we invited him to a party. He’s a nice guy, pretty much keeps to himself. He’s not bashful or anything, doesn’t ask questions but he listens to everything you say. 

“Nobody had enough candles so we brought what we had, put ‘em all on the cake. Anyway, we had a 200 candle cake. We sang happy birthday, gave him some cheesy gifts we bought at his store, the whole nine yards. Everybody had too many drinks and we started talking about old times. Milo was laughing and talking along with the rest of us. He had some funny stories about teaching Freshman English on the West Coast.” 

I saw the Sheriff, Doc, and Les crossing the street towards the bar. The door swung open and they came in. Wendy said, hi guys, and set their drinks down. We said our hellos, toasted the end of another day and waited for somebody to say something. 

“We were talking about last Friday, Milo and Steve. Have you seen Milo lately?” 

Doc Harris shook his head no, said Steve was in to see him about his nose. “Funny thing about that. Everybody saw the punch in the nose, but I think Milo musta hit ‘im twice. He’s got a fractured cheekbone, too. And, Tom, just so you know, he’s saying it ain’t over between him and Milo.” 

Wendy was drying beer mugs behind the bar. She stopped what she was doing for a moment, listening, and then went back to the mugs. 

Tom leaned forward and said, “I thought I had too much Jack in me, blurry vision. Now I’m not so sure Milo didn’t ring Steve’s bell twice. Two times with one hand or one time with each fist.” 

We chewed on that for a while then Tom spoke again. “I have to know who everybody is in case I gotta arrest them sometime. That way I won’t be surprised if somebody like Tony Lambert opens the door holding a baseball bat when I go looking for ‘im. 

“I remember when Milo moved here. He was unpacking the stuff for his store, lots of boxes of books and I thought he was setting up a bookstore, but he said, no, those are my books. I’ll be selling craft supplies, party stuff, and such. Well, a man that reads that much don’t usually settle in a place like Panhandle. Man like that wants to be around people more like him than us. Not sayin’ he’s better, he’s just different.

“Then I’m thinkin’ Milo’s running from something – bad marriage, the law or worse, could be a deserter. He says he was a professor at a university on the West Coast, retired. I make a buncha calls and everything he says checks out. One parking ticket 20 years ago. Didn’t exactly retire, just up and quit one day, packed his stuff, wound up here.” 

I said, “What does this have to do with Peggy Blue Eyes? Who was she?” 

Tom said, “You gotta understand, Milo’s not a steady drinker so whatever he says when he’s had a few is probly the truth and a lot more than he intended to tell. Said Peggy was a nun. Not when he met her but after.” 

That didn’t sound right. I said, “Milo meets Peggy. They fall in love and she backs off and becomes a nun?” 

“Wasn’t like that. He was on three day leave before shipping to ‘Nam, met Peggy at a block party in L.A. They hit it off, spent the three days talking about life and stuff. Third day she says she’s entering a convent next week so she can’t write to him or nuthin’. 

“Laid him pretty low. She was ‘the one’ and there was nuthin’ he could do about it. Then he thought Peggy was making it up about becoming a nun, letting him down easy. When he finished his tour he checked it out. What she said about the convent was the truth. Never saw her again. My friend at the VA told me he signed up for two more tours after that.

“Milo was talking about Peggy when Steve opened his yap, ruined the moment and got himself a broken nose.” 

“Wow”, I said. “What a sad story. Some birthday party.” 

Jackie said, “Well, that part of it, yeah. Once Steve left for the ER we forgot about ‘im.” 

Doc Harris gave Jackie a sly look and said, “Weren’t you and Steve hot stuff in high school?” 

Jackie choked on her drink, put her hand to her chest. “Doc, you don’t know the half of it. I know how it looked but it wasn’t that way. Oh, hell. Steve bragged so much everybody thought he knew everything about everything, especially about girls. What I knew was I didn’t wanna be a virgin anymore. I was 17, dating Steve, the hottest guy in school. I was ready and I thought he was, too. But he wouldn’t make a move so one night we’re at the drive-in watching a Gary Cooper movie, I don’t remember which one. I take his hand, put in on my boob. He jerks back like I was putting his hand in a bear trap and says he’d better take me home. And he did. A few years out of school a bunch of us girls we’re talking about him, comparing notes. We ended up agreeing Steve was ‘all talk, no hands.’ 

“I never saw Steve the same way anymore, let me down in more ways than one. All that macho confidence was all for show. It was Steve’s friend, Rick, taught me how things are done in the dark. 

“Don’t look so surprised, Tom. You might be the smartest, handsomest Sheriff for a hundred miles North, South, East and West of here now but back then nobody knew about me and Rick, including Steve. You never saw us holdin’ hands and stuff but we had our secrets. Good ole Rick, rest his soul. He wasn’t my idea of the love of my life but he was close enough. I’ll bet you good money if Steve found out about us now he’d say he knew it all along. Maybe someday I’ll tell ‘im, see if I’m right.” 

Les said, “Huh. Rick never said anything about you, Jackie, ‘cept how lucky Steve was. You and Rick, I never woulda guessed. 

“Rick was all right. Remember his old truck, Half- a-Horse? He and Steve were seniors then, worked on that junker all summer to get it ready for the Labor Day races. Problem was that old truck was plain wore out and the boys didn’t have enough money to fix it right but they did the best they could to make their dime look like a dollar. 

“The day of the race they flipped a coin to see who would drive and Steve won. There wasn’t any more they could do, filled the tank at Ben’s Conoco. First prize was $500, big money for Steve and Rick. ‘Course, they didn’t win but everybody who was there remembers Half-a-Horse. Ask around. Half-a-Horse is a legend. Steve still won’t talk about it. 

“Tom can tell you the rest of it. He stayed ‘til the end.” 

Tom drew an oval on the table with his finger. “The winner was the racer who completed the most laps around a half mile course in 15 minutes time. Nobody shows up for 15 minutes of entertainment so the land developers frontin’ the race had a whole carnival setup, rides for the kids, hot dogs, watermelon eating contests, some damn good barbecue, country music bands, the works. They had something for everybody. The race was the big finish. 

“There’s about 20 racers, all junkers, mostly teenagers like us drivin’ hard for that $500 prize. My ride quit after two laps. Half-a-Horse is doing ok, leading sometimes, falling behind, catching up. The crowd’s really into it cheering every time the racers pass the finish line. 

“About ten minutes in, something goes wrong with Half-a-Horse. Steve never figured out what. I just think that old truck’s time had come. Whatever it was, the only thing working was the steering. Half-a-Horse was stuck at 30 miles an hour, wouldn’t downshift and Steve couldn’t shut the engine off. All he could do was steer. You might wonder why didn’t he just hit the hay bales surrounding the track. If you ever hit anything at all at 30 miles an hour you know why he didn’t do it. 

“The 15 minute time limit comes and goes, the race is over. A guy from Borger wins, gets the money. Meanwhile Steve and Half-a-Horse keep going round and round, full tank a gas and all. A few folks stayed around for a while, cheering them on, not exactly makin’ fun, but it was late in the day. Everybody was wore out from all the carnival stuff. At the end it was just Steve and Half-a-Horse going around the oval, me watching. Even Rick went home after an hour. Took another two hours to run out of gas.

Half-a-Horse's last days

“That would have been the end of it, but a stringer from Amarillo picked up the story and it went regional then statewide in all the papers. Steve and his truck were famous in the worst way. He hid out for a while but he came out eventually. Half-a-Horse disappeared. Neither of the boys ever said how or when.” 

Wendy came over to clear the empties and the ashtrays. We were quiet while she worked. When she was done she said, “I don’t think Milo’s showing us all his cards. Sometimes when we’re here alone we sit and talk. Nothing serious, mind you, just everyday stuff about his store, people around town. I don’t know what it is but sometimes he seems like a lion tamer being careful not to turn his back on the cats. Careful with his words, a little too much. Everybody’s got secrets, mostly embarrassing ones. Milo’s secrets, I don’t know what to think. 

“I saw the punch. From where I was standing I could see Steve from the back. Milo came over the table like lightning. I don’t drink when I’m working so I’m sure Milo hit ‘im twice with his left hand so fast it was a blur. So what about that? Milo’s right-handed. I’ve seen lotsa fights. Even lefties lead with their right.” 

Doc Harris said, “That explains both fractures and their location. Wendy, are you sure he hit ‘im twice? Real sure?” Wendy nodded. 

Tom sat back, patted his tummy with both hands and said, “So we have a ninja among us. Three tours in ‘Nam, he coulda been counterintelligence, or CIA. He never said which military branch. If any of that’s true it means he coulda killed Steve if he was inclined to. It also means you damn well better have receipts if you want your money back for the ribbons you’re bringing back to his store.”

[The story continues in "Don't worry about him. He fights like a girl"]

You're Nobody 'Til Somebody Shoots You

  The race is not always to the swift, nor the battle to the strong, but that's the way to bet. Damon Runyon

I walked into my favorite Texas hole-in-the-wall bar, Jackie’s Cold Day Inn, just as Sheriff Tom was finishing one of his stories.

Arms spread wide, a drink in his hand, he said, “...Mister, I know I made you mad but I ain’t leaving ‘less you tell me what you got against the horse I rode in on.” Perfect ending. I made a mental note to ask Tom to tell me that one someday.

Sheriff tugged at his neck brace and winced when he tried to sip his drink. Doc Harris gave him a stern look. “You don’t stop messing with it I’ll put a cone on your head.” Tom waved him off.

Jackie brought my Jack & Coke, set it down. She handed Tom a straw, put her fingertips to her lips and said, “It looks good on you, Tom. That gray color brings out the color of your skin.”

I asked what happened to Tom’s neck and Les said a band of Apaches ambushed Tom in Carlsbad. Lucky for him, Milo was there to save him from certain death. Jackie said she heard it was at least 30, or was it 300 Apaches against the Sheriff and Milo. Battle of the Little Bighorn, Part Two.

Tom set his jaw, took a slug of bourbon and glared at Les and Jackie. Les, he just smiled while Jackie flounced back to the bar.

If there’s anything a storyteller hates is for somebody to tell his story all wrong. Especially if the story mocks him. He’d twisted his neck reaching for his handcuffs after Milo laid out a couple of rowdy cowboys. Tom’s neck still hurt and he wasn’t even in the fight. “Long story,” he said to me.

Tom sat back in his chair. Doc Harris rattled a pill bottle and pushed it towards the Sheriff.

“This is powerful stuff, take it as you need it. I’ve called my doctor friend in El Paso to look after you while you’re visiting. His phone number’s on the bottle.” Tom gave Doc a sour look but he put the pills in his shirt pocket.

Tom was going to El Paso the next day to give a speech at a Sheriff’s convention. By coincidence I had to be in El Paso for sales training on the new farm implements I’d be selling all over the Texas Plains the following Spring. Doc Harris was letting Tom travel as long as I was driving. The trip would take eight hours so we agreed to start early the next day.

The next morning I knocked on the door at Tom’s house. His dog Sunuva met me on the porch, sniffed my shoes, checked out the tires on my rental, peed on two of them.

Tom's dog, Sunuva, on duty

Tom looked terrible. As he put it, he felt like an old truck with the air leaking out of all the tires. He perked up with coffee from the go cup I bought at Mamacita’s diner.

As we reached the outskirts of town we passed some kids from the high school track team running single file up the road.

“That takes me back a buncha years. Growing up, kids, we used to race all the time, see who could run the fastest. Charlie García almost always won even when he gave us a head start.

“Eighth grade the three of us joined the track team. It was grade school so we didn’t have spikes just tennis shoes ‘cept for Charlie. His folks couldn’t afford tennis shoes so he ran barefoot. The coach wrapped his big toe and the ball of his foot with trainers tape, wide and thick. Didn’t matter to Charlie, he ran like a Whitetail deer.

 

“He wore spikes for the first time in high school. After that, nobody ever beat him. Nobody. Some folks thought he mighta gone to college on scholarship, but it was 1967, Vietnam got ‘im instead. That growed him up in ways like it did most of us. After ‘Nam he left town, traveled and worked construction everywhere in the country for years and ended up in El Paso. Charlie, he turned out all right. Good wife, good kids, home at last.”

As we headed south on the 87 I thought about the other time Tom and I had gone to El Paso and met with Charlie García. We’d gone to a bar in Juárez and drank ourselves silly. Over the years Charlie had occasionally mailed Tom postcards telling about where he was. I remembered how we’d looked at the postcards while Charlie told the stories behind them. I thought about  Charlie describing himself as a tumbleweed, drifting here and there until he found a home, a wife, and a family. Tom was right. Charlie was home at last.

We drove in relative silence for several miles. Tom talked about various landmarks on the horizon telling of old Indian campsites he’d found, the boundaries of ranches that had changed over time.

He fussed with the neck brace. “Carlsbad. Just for the record,” he said, “there were only two Indians and they were the good guys.

“Milo and I went fishin’ at Red Bluff in Reeves County two weeks ago. I had some time off and his craft shop wasn’t doin’ a dime’s worth of business so we decided to catch us some White Bass or some Stripers at the reservoir.

“Of course, Milo didn’t catch any fish. He doesn’t bait his hooks but he’s good company, reads a lotta books I never had time for. According to him, the fish and him have a deal. He won’t bother baitin’ his hooks and they won’t pull on his line and disturb his reading.

“Anyhow, our fishing trip was over, we’re heading home but we stop in Carlsbad for some chow. There’s a pair of Indians at another table, a young one and an old one. Can’t say for sure they were Apache, but some kinda Indians. For sure they weren’t white and didn’t look Mexican. The old one's probly 60, 70 years old, gray hair down to his shoulders, wore a thin necklace made of colored beads and four wolf fangs.

“I found out after that the young one was called Big Chief at work and he didn’t mind. Everybody at an oil rig has some kind of nickname. He wasn’t all that big but he worked the chains, the most dangerous job for a roughneck. Old time chain guys are easy to spot what with missing fingers, deep scars across their arms and noses. Whenever the chains go haywire it’s time to call EMS or the undertaker.

“His real name was Ted Whitefeather from the Mescalero Apache Reservation in New Mexico. He and his uncle were passing through Carlsbad on their way back to the reservation when they stopped for a beer where me and Milo were having sandwiches from the grill.

“We’re sitting there eating corned beef sandwiches, the Indians at another table minding their own business when a pair of cowboys come in whoopin’ and hollerin’ like they’ve never been indoors in polite company. They get some beers at the bar, start looking around and they see the Indians. One of ‘em starts in on ‘em makes noises with his mouth like he’s seen Indians do in the movies. The Indians don’t pay them no mind and that don’t sit well with those yahoos and they swagger to the Indians’ table like TV cowboys.

“One cowboy stands next to Big Chief and the other one next to the old Indian. He says, ‘Say, old man, can you do a rain dance?. We sure could use it hereabouts.’ The other one laughs like that’s the funniest thing anybody’s ever said about anything since the beginnin’ of time. The bartender reached down below the bar and kept his hand there.

“The Indians ignored the gits and didn’t even look up at them. Then the cowboy points to the old Indian’s necklace and says, ‘Hey, Geronimo, you some kinda wolfman? Whooeeee, I’m scared just looking at this guy.’ By now the young Indian’s ‘bout had enough and says, ‘Show some respect, he’s a chief in my tribe. His name is Chief Nando, Warrior Wolf from the White Mountains, Protector of the Young.’

‘Boy howdy, that’s some fancy name you got there, Chief. So when the phone rings you gotta say all that?’

“Milo and me we’re watching this and I’m keeping one eye on Milo. He’s tensing up something fierce, fists clenched, eyes buggin’ out. I saw the bartender edge over to the end of the bar nearest the Indians. The cowboys glanced at us and saw me, an outa shape old man, and Milo, a smallish guy with glasses. No real threat. You don’t know Milo’s trained in martial arts unless you know him like we do.

“The cowboy grabs at the old Indian’s necklace and the young Indian jumps up but the cowboy next to him lands a roundhouse right that sends him to the floor. The cowboy was fixin’ to kick but he never had a chance. Milo was on ‘im like white on rice, put ‘im in a headlock, flipped him on his back and came down on the cowboy’s forearm with a knee. That was the first cracking sound I heard. The second crack I heard was when the bartender laid some wood on the other cowboy’s head with a half size Louisville Slugger and the fight was over, five, six seconds tops. Me, I’m just standing there with my thumb…. never mind.

“I yelled at the bartender to call the Sheriff. I stepped on a beer bottle while I was reaching for my handcuffs, slipped, went ass over elbows and landed on my neck. Now I gotta wear this brace ‘til Doc says I can take it off.”

I asked if the Indians said anything while they waited for the Sheriff and EMS.

“We talked for a bit. Big Chief thanked us getting them out of a jam and so on. Then he said something I didn’t get right away but Milo laughed as soon as he heard it. Big Chief says, “Do you know what is the most important thing about our Sacred Rain Dance?” I allowed I didn’t know. He leans over and whispers, ‘Timing’”.

When we got to El Paso I carried Tom’s bags into the hotel where his fellow lawmen greeted him enthusiastically. My hotel was across town and I spent the next three days learning about the new tractors and furrow makers that would change the lives of my customers in wondrous and miraculous ways.

Tom’s speech went well at the Sheriff’s convention. He was the man of the hour, respected and honored by old and young LEOs. I was tied up whole days at my training sessions so we didn’t have much time to visit with Charlie except for dinner at his house the night before we left for home. He looked very much at ease. I noticed he was growing a little paunchy though he could probably still outwork anybody half his age. Neither of them drank like they used to but seemed to enjoy it more.

We decided to take the same route home taking U.S. 62 heading east. Tom unsnapped the neck brace and made me swear not to tell Doc Harris.

As we drove through Whites City Tom told me about a retired Sheriff at the convention. The old guy was a legend among the Sheriffs of the southwest. During his 33 year tenure he'd single-handedly captured many of New Mexico's most notorious criminals. After one cocktail party he was surrounded by younger men, one of whom wanted to know how come his sidearm was a vintage .45 ACP instead of the Glock 19 the others favored. He gave the kid the side eye and said he had his reasons. Number one: It only has seven shots so you need to be damn sure where and why you’re shooting. Number two: It’s inaccurate at any distance over a few yards but when you do hit the target, it will go down and stay down. Number three: He carries a .45 because nobody makes a .46.

Arriving at La Mesa we took the 87 North towards Lubbock. The road signs to different cities reminded Tom about the day he’d been shot.

“Fifteen years ago I was down in Big Spring, visiting a friend at the VA hospital. I was at a bakery buying coffee across the street from the Credit Union when I saw two young fellas wearin’ dusters walk in. Overcoats in 80 degree weather, better check it out. Those two were robbing the place. One of them had a pillowcase to hold the money and the other held his coat open with his left hand, said the dynamite strapped to his chest would blow up if he pressed a switch in his other hand.”

Tom paused, took some time to pour coffee from my Thermos jug and said, “You hear all the time about criminal masterminds. Police chiefs on TV shows talk about master criminals they haven’t caught. The fact is, real masterminds are pretty easy to catch because they’re rational and logical. Get in their heads to figure out their next logical move and bingo they get caught. It’s the dumbass criminals that are hard to catch because there’s no way to figure out what they’re gonna do next. You gotta wait ‘til they do something stupid like the two I saw robbing the Credit Union. They’re wearin’ dusters. Only place you see outlaws wearing dusters is in the movies, for Pete’s sake.”

He rubbed his left shoulder and stared at nothing for a long time. I kept my eyes on the road and waited for more.

“I didn’t draw my gun that day, (maybe I shoulda). Too many folks in there, so I walked up to Mr. Dynamite and cold cocked him. His buddy panicked, pulled a snub nose .32, shot me, saw what he’d done and passed out. Folks said that was the bravest thing they ever saw until they noticed like I did, that the dynamite sticks were actually road flares. You can light a road flare but I’ll be damned, you can’t make it explode. I lost a lotta blood and had a collapsed lung.

“Well, even so, the newspapers and TV played it up pretty good, picture in the paper and everything. They made me a hero for a few days while I was laid up. That’s law enforcement for you. You’re nobody ‘til somebody shoots you.”

  

The Bible According to Judy Butler

Better the devil you know than the devil you don't.

End of the month, end of a sales trip, end of the day, I went to my favorite bar in all of Texas, Jackie’s Cold Day Inn, my last stop before I checked in at the Lazy Bones Motel. Doc Harris and Les were already seated at their usual table in the corner next to the windows facing the street . The Sheriff’s seat was empty. No one else ever sat there. He liked to have a clear view of the street, the front door and the exit in case there was any trouble which there never was.

Wendy saw me come in, waved hi, and held up two fingers, meaning Jack & Coke and a beer chaser. I nodded and took my place at my friends’ table. I heard Jackie at the back door hollering at Rollie to clean up the alley like she’d told him that morning and if he thought he’d get another free beer don’t even ask. She slammed the door and huffed into the store room.

I told Doc Harris I’d never heard Jackie yell at anybody. If she wants your undivided attention all she has to do is set her chin and flash her green laser eyes on full power. Look at her straight on you know your future health depends on doing exactly what she expects you to do. I suspect Rollie is very busy cleaning up right now.

Les said she’s upset because Sheriff Tom had arrested her friend, Judy, and was taking her down to the lockup in Snyder. “I heard she busted up a church or something like that. Tom’s pickin’ her up now. He’ll probly stop in before he heads out to Snyder. Jackie told him she wants a word with him before he goes.”

Jackie came out of the store room, went behind the bar and poured herself a drink. Les waved her over and we made room at the table. A few minutes later Sheriff Tom and Judy came in.

Wendy brought the Sheriff’s drink and a Coke for Judy.

Judy was early to mid 30s; slender, dark hair, dark eyes. She was dressed in jeans and a green plaid shirt, shiny riding boots, a new Stetson set back on her head. Judy was every inch of five feet tall. Everyone said hi and introduced me.

Wendy told me about her once. Judy Butler is a fixture at Billy’s Last Stand. Billy claims that she was already inside the bar the day he opened for business. She loves to dance and isn’t too proud to pull a cowboy out of his chair to dance with her when the Lonesome Foursome get started on San Antonio Rose. According to Billy she can nurse a Lone Star three, four hours. In the meantime, her dance partners keep buying drinks just to sit and listen to her talk. She knows more stories than Sheriff Tom. They say old stories sound new when she tells them. Judy’s never settled on any man for a life partner. The way she looks at it, after a few years a wife and husband stare at each other across the kitchen table to see which one of them is the most boring. So she samples here and there, she’s happy as she is.

Sheriff Tom saw Jackie giving him the stink eye. He raised his hands chest high, palms up and said he’s doing his job like the judge ordered. According to the arrest warrant Judy was charged with inciting a disturbance in a church, stomping on a Sheriff’s hat (after knocking it off his head), and leaving the scene of the crime.

I looked around. Wendy and Jackie smiled admiringly at Judy. Les and Doc Harris looked a little confused. Judy did that?

Jackie aimed her low beam laser eyes at the Sheriff who crossed his arms and said it’s better if Judy tells it.

Judy hesitated then stood up and pointed at Sheriff Tom. 

“I don’t remember all of it but this is more ‘r less what happened.

“First of all, the old coot Sheriff they got down there made it sound like I set fire to the church. I know he’s your friend but he’s still an old coot.

“It’s true I stomped his hat but it was on accident. A dozen folks saw it, they’re on my side. And, yeah, I did run out of the church because people were fighting, tossing chairs, and yelling. But I didn’t start no fight.”

Sheriff Tom cleared his throat. “Tell ‘em how the fight started, Judy. Why were you there?”

“Well, I was visitin’ my sister, Deb, and she says come with her to the church social. I said, Deb, you know I don’t do church stuff and she says, it’s just cookies and punch, come on. So I say ok and we go. There’s 30, 40 people there eatin’ cookies, yakking at each other. I get a cookie and some strawberry punch. I don’t know anybody ‘cept for Deb so I got nothin’ to say to anybody. Everything’s fine. I figure hang around half hour then get outa there.

“Then the preacher, Jason something or ‘nother, gets on the microphone and says welcome everyone and starts on Bible readings. He does that for a couple of minutes and stops to look at the people standing around. He sees me and Deb says, ‘She’s my sister, Judy, from Panhandle.’ Well, if you know Deb, she’s Bible thumper like you’ve never seen. She knows every word King James ever put in his Bible. If she gets to heaven King James is gonna run the other way if he sees her coming. She leads Bible studies every Wednesday, rain or shine.

“I guess Jason thought I was the same way but I gotta tell you I’ve been thrown outa three or four churches in my time; not thrown out zactly, just told never to come back. There’s lots of stuff that ain’t in the Bible that nobody thinks to ask. Some folks don’t like it when I ask questions.

“Anyhow, Jason says why don’t I come up and share the Good Word with us, Judy. My sister’s poking me in the ribs, go on, she says. You were the star in Sunday School when we were kids. Jason’s sayin’ come on up, Judy. Everybody’s looking at me and Deb. I say, Deb, you don’t wanna hear what I gotta say but she pushes me in the back. Now I’m mad at Deb for gettin’ me in this fix. You asked for it. I’m ready. I get on the stage and waited for everybody to sit down.

My Grampa gave me a Bible when I was a little girl and I read it twice, three times or more. There were some good stories but the Jesus stories went kinda fast, didn’t say much about women, or what people did on regular days. One Sunday after services, I asked the minister if the Apostles had wives. He said some did. I got to thinking what about the wives and how they lived. I imagined them in the market, grocery shopping.

“Hi, I’m Mrs. St. Peter.”

“Nice ta meecha, I’m Mrs. St. James.”

“From the infirmary?”

“No, from the Red House up the hill at the end of the street. Lotta folks confuse us.” 

 
Well, that was kinda disrespectful, I guess, but I saw people sit up in their chairs, ‘specially the women. I’m pretty sure Jason never told Bible stories this way. I see him in the back stuffing cookies in his pockets, not listening, and he walks out.

At Sunday school they said Jesus picked a dozen guys to follow him around. A couple of them were fishermen, another was a tax collector, and I suppose the others were just common folk like everybody else.

Next, I’m wondering how he organized them. Maybe he calls the first meeting and tells them what each of them what their job is. First thing they’re gonna need is money so he says they have to sell all their stuff and give the money to the guy he appoints as treasurer. Then he says, we’re gonna need food and tells St. Peter and another guy they have to go fishing every day. St. Peter says great, I love fishing every day. It’s like I retired!

Now none of these guys is rich and Jesus knows they’re gonna need more money than they have altogether so he says they have to depend on other people givin ‘em food and a place to sleep while they’re travelin’.

He teaches them how to beg by preachin’ on the street corners. He says, tell ‘em that even though things are bad now, there will be plenty of everything after they die, but for now you need some of their cash to keep your body and soul together while you preach salvation to the rest of the world.

If you do it right, he said, they’ll empty their pockets for you. I’ll show you how. You see, you don’t say exactly what’s in store after they die. All you say is IT’S GONNA BE GREAT. YOU’RE GONNA LUUUUUV IT. Each one listening will work it out in his own mind whatever it is he thinks will make him happy forever. But first, he needs you to help him out. There was a guy I knew in carpenter school who said he’d be happy forever if he could have virgins at his disposal anytime he wanted. I asked how many would make you happy? He said, 30 or 40. His buddy said 72 would be good. Crazy as that sounds, who knows, it could sell sometime in the future; somebody write that down.

After weeks of training they’re ready to put their show on the road. They’ve got their cross-fit sandals on just in case they gotta run away sudden like. Their backpacks are by the door outside Jesus’ house.

They have a going away party, invite the neighbors, set out some barbecue, loaves and fishes, big jugs of water. Judas’ cousin brings his band, Priest, for entertainment. Next morning, they all gather in front of Jesus’ house. The whole family’s there to say goodbye. The women and kids wave as the men set out to the next village.

Mary, Jesus’ mom, turns to her neighbor, Mrs. St. Peter, and says, “They’ll be back a lot sooner than you expect. If I know those boys they don’t know much about taking care of themselves. They’re used to us women doing everything for them; wash and mend their clothes, fix their food, and… you know.” Mrs. St. Peter nodded.

Mrs. St. Peter says, “Hmmph, what are they gonna do for breakfast tomorrow morning? They got money for a couple days eating at the inns but after that they’d better do some mighty preaching to get enough money for 13 Happy Meals, three times a day.” 

 
Some of the women snickered. The men frowned and shifted around in their chairs.

St. Thomas’s live-in girlfriend was there, too. She said he was useless around the house. She couldn’t even send him to the market to get the basics for meals. It took him three hours wandering around the stalls to do what she could do in twenty minutes. And he always got something wrong; three pounds of lentils instead of barley. And forget about the meat. I told him a thousand times that the prepared meat was too expensive but he got it anyway. He’s starting to bug me, too. He questions everything I do. I used to think it was real nice that he was paying attention but now if I say I’m going to see my mother he looks at me like he doesn’t believe me.

Back in Bible times there were lots of preachers wandering around. Maybe there wasn’t enough other work so preaching was a way to stay busy and get some money without working with your hands.

Grampa thought maybe Jesus was that way since he was a child, always telling the other kids how they oughta behave. His dad never taught him how to fight so he got beat up a lot for being so bossy. It really hit the fan when he was about 12 years old. He would go into town and stop people on the sidewalks and preach at them. People usually ignored him but one time he came up to three Pharisees, got in their faces about being hypocrites or something. Anyway, they brought him home, complained to his folks, told ‘em they’d better do something about the boy. They sent him to carpenter school in another town and he quieted down for a few years.

He was fine, helping out at his dad’s shop, got real good at making right angle cuts. But on his time off he’d be off in the desert preaching to the bushes or talking to the hermits that lived in the hills.

I don’t remember when it was but he musta been a grown man, he went to the temple one afternoon and got mad about something and attacked the moneychangers, turning their tables upside down, whipping whoever was nearby. Big riot. The Pharisees weren’t having any of his excuses and they took him before the King but the King let him go, probly because the Pharisees were a bunch of blowhards.

When he came home, Mary tried to explain that there had to be moneychangers because the town was a crossroads for trade from all over the east and they all had different kinds of money. They set up shop at the temple because it was smack in the middle of town and had a big open area with shade. Plus, there was a huge food court there. You could have lunch without having to go home. If you needed something from God there was lambs and other livestock you could buy to offer as sacrifice. Funny thing about that is that you gave the lamb, doves, or whatever to the Pharisees to do the ceremony but you never got to see it. You had to trust them to do it right. Jesus said okay, okay, Mom, but I don’t think she got through to him.

Grandpa had other ideas that he said flat out weren’t in the Bible. He said he thought about it a lot that Jesus and the Apostles traveled all over by themselves and he didn’t think that was the way things happened. In his way of thinking, the Apostles traveled with their families because it didn’t make sense to leave the women and kids at home without money coming in. And they needed the women and kids for cooking and cleaning, minding the flocks, milking the goats; all kinds of stuff a normal Jewish household had to do every day.

In those days there were two kinds of women – super holy or super bad. Mary and her mom were good ones, doing a happy dance when Mary said she was pregnant with Jesus. Another good one was a widow who donated her last thin dime to the temple and all the time there’s the Pharisees makin’ fun of her.

Some folks think one of the bad ones was Mary Magdalene who nobody knows for sure what she, being single, was doing traveling with a dozen men. And there was a bad woman accused of sleeping around. It’s true, Jesus saved her from being stoned to death but it made the Pharisees look bad. Eventually that kind of stuff got him killed.

By now everybody’s listening hard. I could tell it was a good story. Leaning forward in their chairs nobody even coughed. They were probly used to Jason spending half the service tellin’ ‘em about goin’ to heaven then the other half sayin’ how bad they were, makin’ the Baby Jesus cry every minute of the damn day.

I was gonna say some more when some old fart stood up and yelled “Out, Jezebel! Get out Jezebel!” But when he stood up, he knocked his chair into the man behind him who pushed him hard so he fell into the row in front. Just like that you got men throwing punches and chairs, women gettin’ away fast. Me, I’m headin’ for the door, Deb can take care of herself. I bump into the Sheriff as he’s rushin’ in, his hat falls off and I kick it with one boot and step on it with the other and I’m gone. And now, here I am.

Honest, I’m kinda scared. The Sheriff’s upset about his hat. Deb says I committed the sin of blasphemy and my soul’s possessed by a demon. And Minister Jason’s mad because some of his folks want him to bring me back for more Bible teaching.