Complete First Draft

Pretty Little Love Song

For Lauren, Nathen, Thora and Amy


The Interstate tried to Ignore Medford by passing through it on a viaduct right through town. Instead the people of Medford could look out their second story windows and into the windows of the peopel passing by. The passers by could look too, but it’s suspected they never do. The sounds from the Interstate calmed Sam and allowed him to sleep, but sometimes those sounds mixed with memories in his dreaming subconscious and jolted him awake; tsunamis and fires often sounded like the interstate’s roar. He never drove on the viaduct, even when he had his license. His tow truck didn’t have the umphf nor the brakes to compete, so he avoided it when he could. It was an ugly kind of panic when traffic funneled him onto the interstate. This feeling woke him up.
“Sammy Knows Best,” was painted on the side of his cream colored rig. He considered it for a while before locking his front door and walking to the liquor store. He considered moving it, he didn’t want it sitting there and constantly reminding him of how everything was fucked up in a new and annoying way.
Maybe there was an element of Karma to it, he reposesed cars from meth heads and drunks for many years in Medford until he himself was too broke to pay his own insurance, fines and rent so that soon someone else would soon impound his truck. There would be more of an ironic bite to that thought if he were a more proud man, or sober.
It was hot. He had forgotten to put on deodorant before leaving his apartment. He felt weak and his drunk from the night before was wearing off. Soon a bottle of Evan Williams would restore the unreal stupor and he could watch TV all day and start it all again the next day. Waiting for the light to allow him to cross river street, a car honked making him feel vaguely uncomfortable.
Angie had left him that Spring. It took all spring. She had met him the previous fall through a man who reffered impounds to him. She was his age, early thirties. She had tanned skin, so tanned it was wrinkling. It looked beautiful in sunlight like the kind of light making him squint and sweat. She made Medford beautiful. She was built for the place. She smoked in crappy dive bars, loved cheap Chinese food and would stay up all night drinking white wine in a cheap lounge. She got excited in the morning and drug him out of bed to fish. She made Medford Beautiful. She began to leave him when she realized Sam wouldn’t get her pregnant. They spent many quiet painful nights on her couch, each thinking of a way to make it work and each rationalizing they wern’t too old to start with someone else.
The light changed and Sam crossed the street and made his way into the liquor store. He bought the cheap stuff, counting wrinkled dollars with his shaking hands.
He considered taking a drink while walking home, but decided against it in case he had to throw up. His apartment was sweltering. He turned on the TV and had his first drink of the day. It went down violently, but it cleared the nagging anxiety quite nicely.
The drunker he got, the better the TV got. Perry Mason was a drag, always too long. The best thing about it was the huge old cars they all drove. But thinking about cars made him think about the price of gas and thinking about the price of gas made him think about how little money he had. Thinking about how little money he had made aware of his looming rent payment which was eightyfour dollars more than he had after buying that bottle of whiskey. Thinking about that bottle of whiskey made him feel rich, and he drank from it. The neighboor was a disturbed man in his fifties who drank malt liqour all day and watched the same TV shows as Sam, which made for a strange suround-sound echo through the walls.
Being broke was a new thing to him. He had always been poor, but since leaving home at a young age he had always been busy. When he had his towing job, he was a lube mechanic at a garage, so at one point he was averaging about a seventy hour work week. Angie made him cut down on working, which was fun. They spent his savings driving to the coast. When they realized their relationship was failing, he made the decision to be drunk all all the time. He made this decision early one morning after not sleeping all night. That was working for him, until he got pulled over. Failing to show up for any of the court proceedings, he lost his license and spent a little time in jail with folks whoes cars he had recently reposed. It was all kind of funny when he thought about it over whiskey sours. .
The funny thing about Angie was he didn’t love her. She was beautiful and fascinating, but she never reached him. He would sit next to her in her car and feel liek there was so much he could say, but didn’t. In fact there was an element of anger to their relationship because he always felt like she should ask him why he was so quiet all the time. If it was really ment to be, she could have reached through that quiet and found the screaming man within him.
Sam decided to move his truck. It came to him just as Matlock came on the TV. He didn’t like Matlock and his folksy personae. As Sam was from the country, he knew goofy old men never had deductive powers. Scowling fat men in greasy overalls could look you over and figure out where you were from and what you wanted, not groomed smiling old men. It was all too improbable.
The keys to his rig were hanging on the wall next to the door. Unhooking them, he fumbled them and they fell to the floor. Bending down to pick them up, he hit his head on the door. He swore and left his room. The hallway of the apartment smelled like Mexican cooking and he felt jealous. Behind the adjoining apartment door with the cross on the outside was a domestic bliss. Sober living and hard work, things he felt he wanted, but never could figure out how to keep. Like a good Christian girl or a humming bird.
The hot sun felt good on his drunk face. Wiping sweat from his brow, he realized he was bleeding. He found the scratch on his scalp and rubbed it, then looked at the blood on his hands and laughed. It seemed like a good day to be a piece of shit. He got in his rig and tried to start it. It spun, but didn’t turn over. He popped the hood.
With shaking hands he got the cover of the air filter and sprayed ether in it. He got back in the cab and started the truck and it turned over immediately.
It felt damn good to be driving again. The hot air blew through the window as he turned down side streets avoiding the police who no doubt recognized him and his rig. He approached one of his favorite bars from the back and parked.
The inside was dark and cool. There was an irelevant baseball game on an old faded TV. He ordered a whiskey sour from an old Chinese man who gave him a funny look. Sam frowned back at him, then remembered the blood. He tried to rub it off while squinting into the back bar mirror. Looking at the clock he saw it was 4:17. he rationed seventeen dollars ro stretch until about eight when he figured he’d be drunk enough to sleep again. Drinks were two fifty a piece. He had got there with a healthy buzz, so he figured he’d make it.
The door to the bar opened. The figure looking in was back lit and indiscernible. It loomed in the door way for a moment, then closed the door without coming in. Sam shrugged and drank. He finished his sour and ordered another one. As he paid he thought of something. He sprang up, drink in hand and went out into the parking lot just in time to see his his tow truck being towed away by a newer larger blue rig with a perfect paint job.
Sipping his drink while standing in the parking lot of the bar, he felt calm an somewhat sober. He decided to go back and have another drink.

A heavy knocking awoke him. His mouth tasted filthy. He rubbed his eyes and tried to remember where he was. His boots were still on. It was warm, but not hit. He recognized his apartment. The knock came again. It was morning again. He rose and stumbled to the door. Looking through the peep hole he saw a cop. A wave of panic rolled over him. He froze and tried to remember what he had done the night before. When nothing came to mind, with shaking hands he unlocked the door.
“Does a Sam Waters live at this address,” an officer with what looked like a fresh hair cut asked.
“That’s me,” Sam said, his head swelling with pain all of a sudden.
“Sir, may I come in. I need to tell you something,” the officer said, tying to lock eye contact with him.
` Sam glanced back at his one bedroom apartment filled with fastfood wrappers and empty bottles. The though crossed his mind that he should hide something, but he couldn’t think what, and besides he didn’t really care. He opened the door and allowed the officer to pass.
The officer looked absurd standing amongst the crap in his apartment. He had his gaze locked on Sam. In his hands was a white piece of paper.
“Are you originally from Topenish, Washington?’ he said, taking time to pronounce the town’s name.
Sam’s interest was piqued. “Yeah.”
“Do you have a son?”
Sam furrowed his brow. He looked down at his clothes. His fly was open, he zipped it up. He ran his fingers through his hair. He saw a bottle was on it’s side on the couch. He righted it.
“Sir, do you have a son named Ryan? Goes by the name of Ryan Waters?:
Sam nodded, as technically the correct answer to the question was yes, although he had never seen the boy. A rush of old emotions filled his heart.
“Sir, your son was killed in an explosion last Tuesday in rural Siletz county outside Topenish,” the officer said.
The officer seemed to be trying to lock eye contact with Sam, which was annoying. He wanted him to leave. He dry heaved and the officer extended a hand to comfort him. Sam pushed it away. He felt his knees shaking beneath him. He looked around the room untill his eyes settled on a bottle with some brown liquid still in it. Feeling as if he were about to collapse, he maneuvered over to it. It took both hands to get the bottle to his face, and once there he nearly chipped a tooth getting the lip of the bottle in his mouth. The warm liquid attacked the back of his throat and filled his nose. He stomach clenched like a fist causing him to run for the toilet.
He stared into the filthy bowl, salivating a steady stream. The whiskey stayed down and a calm settled over him. He was tired with an under current of scared. He couldn’t sleep and he needed another drink. He stood and was shocked to see the officer still standing in his living room. He picked up the bottle and sat on the floor. A long silence fell in the room.
“Finally the officer spoke again. “Were you in contact with your son at all?” Sam’s silence seemed to answer the question to satisfaction. “Memorial services are going to be held this Sunday at Christ Luthran Church on 2nd and Downing in Topenish. “
` Sam considered everything. He was broke, lonely and unemployed. His means of getting more money was impounded. A kind of fury grew inside him. He could smell the cologne of the officer standing there in his disgusting little apartment. He could feel his pity. He seemed so close Sam felt almost as if he could count the money in his wallet. Sam was desperate to run out the door and go somewhere, anywhere else. Maybe the ocean. Or maybe kill himself. He tried to hold the bottle in a way such that he didn’t shake so much. “What kind of explosion?” he found himself asking.
“Well, we believe he mave have had something to do with the methamphetamine trade in the area,” the officer said.
Sam’s head roze and and his eyes met the officer’s. He made a solemn nod and looked down again. “I’d like to be alone,” Sam said.
“At times like this advize people to seek the comfort of friends family and his or her diety, Do you have church or spiritual advizer tou can contact?” Sam didn’t look up.
“Well, I’ll leave this paper on your... floor here. It has some numbers you can call...”
Finaly the officer left. Sam could hear his heavy footsteps going down the hall and later his radio in his patrol car. When the car pulled away, Sam stood. He looked around his little apartment. All the furnature was from thrift stores. His dresser was empty, all his clothes dirty on the floor. His kitchen was mostly empty, excpt for empty cans and bottles. He drank the last of the whiskey and dropped the bottle. Under his mattress he kept a canvas bag full of tools. He opened it and let the contents fall to the floor. he then shoved a pair of pants, some underwear and a shirt in it. He put some toiletries in the bag and left the apartment. He stopped for a moment in the hall. With shaking hands he attempted to get the key for the apartment off the ring. He couldn’t manage. Looking at the ring he realized every key was to something he no longer had. One key was for his truck, one was for Angie’s garage, one was for the city impound lot. He threw the ring into the apartment and closed the door and left the apartment building.

Standing in the liquor store he weighed his options. He could get a fifth of whiskey, or a pint and travel light. Or he could get the half gallon and save money. If he got the fifth, he would be ok for a day or two. If he got the pint, it might last last the day, but then again maybe this was a sign it was time to quit drinking. Something in him told his that was a deadly and ridiculous thought. He picked up the half gallon which was in a plastic jug. The fat white woman behind the counter knew better than to make a comment.
It was going to be a milder day, Sam thought as he walked down the street. A powerful fatuige over came him. He identified it’s cause as starvation and stopped at a Taco Bell. There was no one in line and behind the counter was a lovely young Mexican girl. Maybe sixteen years old. She smiled at him with a kind of nativity that almost brought a tear to Sam’s eyes. His hands were shaking violently as he produced his wallet. He ordered a bean burrito, which was ready almost immediately.
Sitting with it in a booth he felt as if he had forgotten how to eat. He took a bite, but it seemed dry and ridiculous. The mechanism for chewing escaped him and he had to consciously direct his mouth to chew. Swallowing was an ordeal. The whole experience was alien and he only got half the thing down before throwing it away.
The bus station was packed. He wasn’t expecting that. People overflowed onto the streets. There were lines for the phone booths and ticket counters. What little picture in his head of his escape was of a stoic journey to an empty buss station. Where were all these people going? A young man sat cross-legged drawing the mob in a sketch book. Sam craned his head to see. He couldn’t quite understand all the lines and shading, but it seemed to capture what his own half drunk eyes saw.
A voice cme over the loudspeaker,” The bus South to Ashland, Redding, Shasta and Sacramento will be delayed another two hours. At that time three buses will take everybody waiting.” A groan came over the croud. Sam waited in line at the ticket counter. His own vuage plan was to go West to the coast, not South. His plans were not yet hampered.
The bus depot was reminded him of a horse barn. It smelled vuagely of feces and all these expresive young faces suffered the captivity of having to wait like young horses. Young is the urge to be free, as is the conundrum of being a horse. As a horse you are geneticly engineered to run and walk, but there’s no where for you to do it anymore. The closest you can get is what a young girl allows you to do in a 4H competition. The rest of the time you wait. Sam always respected horses. Quiet, but full of rage. Obsolete too. Obsolete like rage.
After waiting some time in line, he finaly got his chance to speak to the tired old lady behind the counter.
“Gold beach please,” Sam said and with hands shaking to an almost dibilitating degree, he produced his wallet and managed to extract two twenties. A ticket printed and the old lady handed it to him. Sam nodded his thanks and walked into the bathroom.
He went into a stall and sat on the toilet with the lid down and produced his bottle and drank. A young man droned on and on to a cell phone. His conversation was repetative and adjitated. It seemed to endlessly cycle. Sam peeked through the crack in the door and saw the kid. He was dressed in that urban ganster style, gaudy fake gold jewlry, the kinds you see for sale at the mall, hung from all over his body. Finaly the kid shut up and closed his phone while looking at his hair in the mirror. Right away the phone rang again and the kid said, “what up G.”
Sam became aware of a groan comming from the stall next to him. Looking down he saw mud caked boots and jeans down araound the ankles. From the stall another young voice said, “Please shut the hell up.”
Sam’s eyes jumped over to the ganster talking on the phone who didn’t register the complaint. His annoying conversation cycled on. Sam took a drink.
“If you don’t shut the hell up, I’ll throw you the hell out of this bathroom,” the voice from the next stall said.
Again Sam watched the ganster for a reaction. He seemed to increase his volume to taunt the man in the stall next to him. Sam looked down in time to see the jeans rize and the cowboy boots leave the stall next to him. Sam took another drink. Amzingly the man in the next stall was more of a kid. He looked either part Mexican or indian. His clothes were worn and muddy and his face didn’t have a a lick of hair on it. That would come in a few years. He diliberatly and slowly grabbed the ganster kid by the jacket and led him from Sam’s view through the crack inthe stall door. Shortly there after Sam heard the door to the bathroom close. The kid with the boots returned, walked back into his stall and vomited wildly.
Sam noded with admiration, took another drink and left the stall. As he stopped to get a drink at the hand washing sink, the kid in boots emerged from the stall. He looked pale, skiny and preoccupied. Sam wiped his mouth with his sleeve and followed him out of the bathroom. The ganster kid was standing at the door of the depot with another ganster kid watching. Sam followed his new hero as he moved towards the ambush.
The kid with the boots held the door for Sam as they walked outside the depot. The two ganster looking kids stared at Sam, but didn’t say anything. Sam returned their stare for a moment before the two turned and walked away. It was a ridiculous interaction and the boy Sam followed out to protect didn’t even realize it happened. He was leaning against the wall of the depot, letting saliva drool out his mouth.
“Hey kid,” Sam said. Need a drink?”
The kid looked up with eyes that seemed on the verge of tears. He shrugged like he was willign to try anything. They walked down a narrow alley between the depot and the next door warehouse. Sam couldn’t remember being that hung over when he was a teen. He remembered being drunk, but not looking or feeling that wasted. He handed his big bottle of whiskey to the kid, who braced himself, then took a drink. He held it in his mouth for a moment, then spit it all over the wall. Sam chuckled and drank a little himself. Whiskey tasted like wood smelled, and he liked that.
The kid walked away from sam, down the alley, without saying a word.


Sam’s bus didn’t leave for another three hours. There was nothing to but sit and watch the faces in the depot. The gansters had returned, but they left Sam alone.
Latino girls sat quiet, trying to nap. They had eight times the patcience of the white girls who talked and talked. There were a few college girls in cotton hoodies and sweaters. They seemed so clean and erotic.
There were a few older men, like him, in their thirties, maybe looking for the next gig. They were meeker, orbiting the fringe of the depot, smoking and laughing together outside, or admiring the vending machines.
Sam was feeling reflective. He could feel the drunk moving up his spine. He found an empty part of the floor next to a vending machine and let his eyes un-focus.
If he were younger, he’d be in the same damn position, he thought. No where to go, no real future. Just a hasty retreat on a bus. He had made the decision to escape before, some seventeen years earlier.
It was spring in Topenish. His mother had married a man with a horse barn a few years earlier. They were having trouble keeping the horse boarding buisness afloat and Sam sorta disapeared to his mother. He went to school on his own schedule and dated girls.
Sam stood sudenly and checked the time. He didn’t want to dose off and miss his bus. There was a big map of Oregon on the wall. There was graffiti scratched into the surface all along the Interstat Five corridor which reached up the West part of the state. The coastal towns dotted the shore. Some had indian names, some had generic sounding names. He wondered why the town he was headed to was called, ‘Gold Beach,’ and what kind of work he would find there. He wondered too if he’d have to improvize a place to sleep for a while. A good way to find a place to sleep, a job or a woman was to find a bar and make friends quick. He could stay drunk on cheap whiskey, he thought, and buy cheap beer. It would work out. He sat down again.
He looked at his callused hands. They were ugly, foreign and old looking. It mildly amused him to try to accomplish small tasks with them like touching his thumb to pinky. The shaking made it impossible. He leaned back and closed his eyes.
Giving up was a relief. WHen he was in his twenties he amlost daily thoguht of suicide. Now in his thirties, he rarely thought, which was a relief. A few years ago he sometimes worried about his future. He felt weak next to men his age with some semblance of establishment. Pot bellied men in line at the supermarket on there way to play golf made him feel meek. Drinking made him feel like he was getting somewhere. And that somewhere was drunk.
Giving up did take a daily work. There were a few moments of panic during the day. They came like waves in a dream, drowning in an irrational situation. Thinking about these moments of panic often brought the panic on, as it was doing at that very moment. Sam stood to pee and take another drink in the bathroom.
Getting comfortable in his stall again, he became aware of a rustling in the stall next to him. Looking down he saw two pairs of feet this time. One pair of shoes were smaller and of a daintier style. The other pair were muddy work boots. Sam made some noises to make it seem as if he wern’t listening.
“Fuck it,” he heard a man whisper. “This ones for you.” He then heard a snorting noise. There was a pause and then another snorting noise. Sam assumed they were snorting coke. He took the cap off his bottle and drank.
Then to his astonishment he thought he heard a zipper openning an erotic moan. He looked down at the feet again. The woman was on her knees.
This sent a chill of terror down Sam’s spine. It was such a vile place to do such a thing. Sam gathered himself, and as he was about to leave the stall, he paused ot take another drink.
Out in the waiting area again he felt uneasy. Looking at the younger girls again he felt vuagely depressed. He sat down again in his spot. His eyes watered briefly. A young girl strode confidently from the men’s bathroom. Sam tried not to stare. Soon after her an man his age followed. He was skinny like a skeleton. He left the depot dirrectly. The girl sat on chewed gum wildly. Sam now wondered if they were doing Meth in there. It was such a vile thought to picture that beautiful young thing, someones daughter, doing such vile things. Sam leaned his head back agains the wall and closed his eyes. He remembered girls that young when he was that young. There was April, the girl he had left years before. She had big eyes and always wet lips. She had just turned sixteen when he left. She hadn’t told him she was pregnant, but he knew. It was a simple decision. Go or blow his brains out with the shotgun in the barn. Leaving in his old datsun truck early that dawn felt like he was flying and the more distance between him and that town, the more the guilt seemed to melt. He felt his mouth fall open and sleep overtake him.


Sam’s eyes openned. He remembered he was at a bus station and he had the feeling a great deal of time had passed. He saw a line forming and he stood and joined it. He felt very weak and not at all awake. The line moved quickly onto the bus. The driver tore the tickets without looking and they filled in the seats quickly. Sam melted into his and closed his eyes. The busses idling engine vibrated him back to sleep. He vuagely felt the bus begin to move.
Some time later as the bus was hurtling through some stretch of the interstate, Sam awoke freezing. The busses airconditioner had finaly beat the heat and was now revelling in it’s victory. He took his bottle out and drank more, spilling some down his chin. He pulled his arms back into his sleeves and tried to sleep more. The cold subsided quickly as the whiskey filled his spine. He fell back into oblivion.

The sun was down and they were pulling into a city. Sam had a mild head ache. He saw good looking healthy people leaving a resturant. Some kids were dressed like punks and walking proudly down the street. Sam blinked his eye and sat up. The buss was benieth giant buildings. It occured to Sam he had no idea where he was. He squinted at signs on buildings, trying to get a clue.
Finaly the bus driver spoke over theintercom, “In a few moments we will be ariving in Portland, Oregon.” Please check around you for your personal belongings.”
Sam tried to absorb his error without getting angry or scared. Portland was clear on the otherside of the state and no where nearer to the ocean. He thought he could try to swing it in Portland, maybe find work in the morning. he looked out the window again. He saw another couple. They were arguing and pointing cell phones at eachother. Something about them seemed more vile than the girl giving head to a stranger for drugs in a public toilet in Medford. Sam reached for his half gallon and drank. He was doing ok. He wasn’t stupid drunk and he hadn’t made a huge indent in the liquid.
Getting off the the buss he imediatly detected the urban smog smell. The night air was better than the airconditioning of the bus. Sam walked over to the ticket line to find out what busses were leaving soon. The line was long and full of kids in their teens. Maybe going to college or switching parents for the weekend, Sam wasn’t sure as city people were a little foreign to him.
Dirrectly in front of him was a girl with no bagage. She stared dirrectly forroward durring the long wait. She was dressed modestly, jeans and a hoodie. She anxiotusly bit at her lip. It seemed as if maybe several people were arguing in her head and she was waiting for a moment to jump in. Sam wasn’t sure if she was sixteen or twenty six.
A sasy white woman was yelling at the lady behind the counter and holding up the line. Sam shook his head and sighed. The girl in front of him said, “I’m going to fucking kill her.
Sam smiled at this brutal threat. The sassy loud woman seemed satisfied and left the counter, then turned and stormed back. The strange woman in front of Sam seemed crushed.
“Are you in a hurry?” Sam said.
“I am in a hurry to get the fuck out of here,” she said without looking at him.
“Is Portland that bad?” Sam asked.
She turned her body as if her neck or eyes were stuck and that was the only was she could see him, “yes. yes it fucking is.”
“Oh, I wont stay then,” Sam said looking down at his bag cotaining his bottle. “Where is good?”
“I don’t know. Everywhere is ok a for a few months...” she said turning her body to face the counter.
When finaly she made it to the counter Sam was amused to hear her buy a ticket to Medford. She walked stifly away. Sam walked up to the counter next.
“I’d like to go...” Sam looked at the arival and departure bord like a menu, then blushed as he realized he was being rude. “I’m sorry. I’d like to go to the nearest Ocean town.”
“We have a bus going to Astoria Oregon at 6am.”
“That’ll do it,” Sam said taking his wallet from his back pocket. He found by using his fingers as little as possible he could get the thing open easiest. He often didn’t have the dexterity to put change back into the wallet, so his pockets filled as he spent the money.
He took his ticket and bag and walked outside to get a breath of fresh air. Seven people stood smoking by the door, making this a ridiculous desire. But one of them was the strange girl from earlier. He stood near her.
“You going to Medford?” He said.
“Looks like it,” she said, not facing him.
“Would you like to join me for a beer... I got time to kill,” Sam managed.
“I would, I would. But I’m too young to get in the bar. I am old enough to go to jail and die in a war, but drink a bottle of budweiser or a wine cooler on a Sunday...” she turned to face Sam to finish the thought, “no fucking way.” This made Sam smile and look down at his hands.
“Well, I got a bottle... too,” he said.
She looked mildly disgusted and Sam was about to apologize when she said, “Ok, lets go down by the river.”

It was a quiet brisk walk, she seemed to know where she was going. They passed what looked like a homeless shelter. Sam looked for a guy like himself amungst people waiting in line for something. A few of them looked like him. Maybe he’d escape that fate by getting murdered by this girl. Or he could go to jail for murdering her. No, she was too young and had a decade or two of pure hell to look forward to if she was anything like him.
Confidently she strode by a sign that said, “Warning, no tresspassing,” and had a graphic of a stick figure being hit by a train. They passed some trailroad tracks and walked down an embankment of stones that led to the thick smelling water. It seemed like a good place to get murdered. Sam quickly produced the bottle and offered it to the girl. She held the unweildly thing up to her lips and filled her mouth. With a petite dry heave, she downed a mighty drink.
“How old are you?” Sam finaly asked from behind the bottle he raised to his own lips.
“Wait a second,” she said, leaning over the water and letting a stream of saliva pour out. “I got the spits.”
Sam waited and wondered what he could do for her. Soon she righted herself and shuddered.
“Eighteen, why? Are you a census taker?” she said as if his question were more idiotic than it actualy was.
“Just wondering,” Sam said, shuffling his feet.
“Where are you headed?” she asked with an air of disinterest.
“The coast.”
“A vacation?” She asked.
“Sure,” Sam said. A cool breeze blew across the river. Sam couldn’t think what good a river was, surrounded by rusted steel and railroad bridges. Maybe thats why kids went bad in cities, nothing to do. But in the country, there was nothing to do either.
“What do you parents do?” Sam suprised himself with the question.
“Work. Nothing special.” She sighed. They both seemed to realize there was nothing to talk about.
A wave of emotion came over Sam. Out of no where, he wanted this girl to hug him, slap him, somthing. His eyes welled. “My son died last week,” Sam said to himself for the first time.
“Shit,” the girl said. “Sorry. How old was he?”
“Seventeen, I guess. I don’t know,” a snotty sob escaped Sam’s mouth.
“I’m sorry. How did it happen?” She took another drink.
“I don’t know. I guess he was involved in drugs and there was an explosion or somthing.” Sam looked out over the expanse of water. He grit his teeth.
“That’s fucked up,” the girl said and handed the bottle back to Sam. A kind of weakness came over him. He had heard the expression, ‘sit right down and die,’ he felt that desire to do so too. He looked up at the girl. She briefly met his gaze, then looked away. He took a deep breath.
“I’m going to do something,” Sam said.
“What,” the girl said, looking at Sam to do something strange.
“I don’t know. I’m going to do something about it. All of it.”
“Well, maybe you should,” she took the bottle back and had a drink and turnned her body towards the bustation. The conversation had obviously taken a weird turn in her eyes. She looked so young to Sam. He walked ahead of her to show her he was ok.


The Local buss to Pulman out of Portland stopped near Toppenish, Sam quickly found out. Once he made the decision to return, things seemed to gain momentum. Realistic plans filled the voids the panic left. He thoughtfully sipped from his bottle in the urnial of the bus headed East. Changing tickets was easy, the bus was nearly empty. The lights above the reading passengers had the warm glow of Christmas lights. Sams heart beat heavily in his heart and his mind raced as he tried to remember the layout of his old town.
The bus stopped to pick up passengers and the bus driver went to use a real toilet at a gas station. Sam walked outside to stretch his legs. The air was drier, like he hadn’t felt in years. A few birds were chirping in the night. Sam senced the sun was going to rize in about an hour over brushy range country, not douglas firs and concrete highways. It stirred something in him and he felt no desire to sleep.
Sitting back down on the bus, he noticed across the isle from him an old lady had fallen asleep while reading. Her purse had fallen open allowing her pill bottles to spill. Her mouth was open like she were dead. There was a child like inocense to her drugged slumber. Although she was to die soon, this didn’t mean she couldn’t spend much of the time she had left sleeping.
Dawn began with a distant line of color appearing benieth the sky of stars. These were real stars, not the ones that dances on the perifery of his vision. Seeing stars after coughing or puking scared him at first, but it blended into the scenery of living drunk. Now noticing stars, he wondered who had the time to look at stars but kids and men hell bent on drinking themselves to death. Cops dont pull over and say to themselves, ‘hot shit, look at them stars.’
Sam considered a stragety for his return to town. He knew he wouldn’t be noticed, so perhaps the best plan was not seek anyone out. He’d find out what he could about his son and take it from there. He probably had enough cash for a pay by the week room above the vacuum store on Alpine street, providing it was still there.
Maybe he could pose as someone who wanted to buy drugs, find his son’s killer, strangle him and that would be that. Something simple like that. If that didn’t work he could beat up a few of his son’s old friends, then take it from there.
Well, none of those plans were too plausable, but the rage he was feeling filled out his frame. He felt like a big guy again for the first time in months. He used to be quite scary, he was almost six foot six. When he impounded cars people would come out of their houses with a fighting attitude. Sam would slowly turn and look at them and that would usualy be enough to turn them away. Ever since he really started drinking he felt smaller, but this new rage inflated him.
I mean fuck this town, he thought. It almost killed him, and now he knew it wasn’t an irrational escape he had made. He wasn’t a criminal, this town was bad for the health. He would hit this town running, not take shit from anyone, find out who killed Ryan, and get the hell out.

The bus left Sam at a gas station outside of town. The warm dawn air made him feel clean. He hadn’t properly slept in some time and he felt fatuiged, but alive. The gas station didn’t open for several hours and there was nothing left for him to do but get to walking. He passed a sign that read, ‘six miles, Toppenish.”
He passed large open properties with broken cars being overwhelmed by weeds. Pick-up trucks passed him on the road. He didn’t look at them until they had passed. He could use a ride, but something about it all made him want to avoid human contact, and as he remembered the town wasn’t the, ‘give a ride to a stranger,’ kind of town. Infact he could picture himself as kid eying someone on the side of the road, but not stoping for them. When he was a kid you had to fight and work for a truck, and those without a ride just didn’t work hard enough. Sam wondered if Ryan a truck. Sam’s was an orange Datsun. He bought it from an idian named George who did tack work at the barn. It was a solid truck, not American made so it worked regularly.
An old horse saw Sam coming from nearly a half mile down the road. He walked to the edge of the fence and waited. It was a nice feeling knoing someone was waiting for him. When Sam finaly made it to where the old horse was waiting, he stopped and pulled up some long grass, just out of reach of the old nag. He offered it on an open palm. THe horse sniffed it and gnawed on it with giant old teeth. Sam figured the horse was old enough to have seen him when he was younger. This horse probably never noticed him though, more interested in picking fights or mounting mares. Sam tried to touch the old horse, but he stepped back and threw his head around to fight the flies. Sam put down his pack and sat for a minute and had a drink. There was a trace of dew on the grass and it cooled the sweat he had going from his walk. Before he knew it, he was asleep.

He awoke to a kick in his gut. He opened his eyes to see a black figure looming infront of the sun. Then a shower of shooting stars came from the dark figures head as if he were a religious figure. Sam tried to shake the delirium so he could fight back, but the blow to his gut left him weak.
“This is private property, move on or go to jail,” the figure said.
Sam caught his breath and stood. The horse had his back to them as if embarassed. Getting his wits back, Sam realized a cop had kicked him. He was short, but had a wide stance like a wrestler. Sam imagioned he could incompasitate him despite all the guys training if Sam could find something good and blunt to throw at him. Maybe a rock. He didn’t want to waste his bottle on the guy. The silence grew and the cop didn’t flinch. Sam decided to move on. He could feel the cop staring at him as he continued to walk down the road. After a while the cop drove slowly past him, staring at him from behind large aviator sunglasses. Once he had disapeared over the horizon, Sam vomited.

The properties he passed got smaller and smaller until soon they turned into single home properties. SOme of the properties looked like they were indian owned as they bore the remnants of long defunct road side souveneir shops. He passed an overgrown billboard that had been haistily panted over. The lettering benieth bled through and read, ‘Indian Heritage Museum.’ Sam vuagely remembered a casino openning somwhere near Yakima right befor ehe left. There were signs along the highway opposing and supporting it. April was for it because she heard it would get rid of the indians. She had a lot of hate in her. It was ugly.
April had a running comentary on the world, glaring out the window of Sam’s truck. It suited Sam as Sam didn’t like to talk much and he had no tape player. If she saw the Indians downtown she’d frown and say, “They are like opossums that come out durring the day.” April always glared, except when they were having sex. Then she frowned like she were concentraiting on something. She was skin and bones.
She lived in a double wide a couple of miles north of town where the roads turned to gravel. Sam would drive to pick her up everyday to go to highschool. There were those few blissful hours each day they had the house to themselves. Sam cooked breakfast and April would pace and talk. Sam liked those moments the best and was sad when April wouldn’t skip school with him and hang out.
Sam sometimes wondered if April was ashamed of him. She really never talked to him during school. April made Sam feel alone, but she fucked, and that was that. In hindsight, Sam realized he was kind of a chaufer service with a dick. But that didn’t make leaving right.
The town had a few main streets lain out along some railroad tracks. It was much like most small towns Sam had seen. It had it’s stores, bars, churches, police stations and a complete sence of desolation that made him feel right at hime. The landmarks in this town were the first ones of their type he had ever known. These were the models of grocery stores against which he had compared better and worse ones too. But he had never been to a bar in Toppenish. That seemed like the most logical first stop.
Tom’s ‘Vern was hidden inbetween to vacant store fronts. The front was dark green and the only thing that gave it away as a bar was it’s ‘no minors,’ sign. Walking in Sam smelled that sweet stale beer smell. There was one old guy sitting like a snuffed cigarette on a stool. Sam sat an apropriate distance from him and waited for a bartender to apear. Sam fidgeted. He took his wallet out and aranged his waning fortune with shaking fingers. About two hundred dollars remained, a good amount to drink away. He figured he could find lodging for a week for about seventy bucks, until he had finished his task. Sam became aware the guy at the bar was staring at him.
Finaly a large woman came out of the women’s bathroom. She noticed Sam and hurried over to the bar. “Sorry baby, I didn’t hear ya come in.” The guy next to him snickered.
Sam noticed a large sign for tall cans of Raneir beer for a buck. He ordered one. She put it infront of him and poped the top. holding it with two hands, he brought it to his lips. It tasted thick and nourishing, which nearly made him vomit. Dry heaving made him see stars. They dropped from the top of his field of vision and slowly drizzled to the bottom. It was beatiful. Like christmas. Like a Disney movie.
The stars receded to expose a different bar. It was now familiar. The drabness disolved into a place he felt he could consider his own. The scond sip went down easy.
Presently, Sam became aware the man sitting next to him was staring at him. Sam casualy turned away from him and took in his surroundings. The man made a hideous cackle. Looking in the back bar mirror, Sam saw the man was a hunched old thing. If he had a problem, Sam was sure he could solve it by throwing a firm fist in his face. Sam made that fist in anticipation. It shook in his lap. With his other hand he finished his beer. It made a hollow clank when he set it down. The man laughed again.
Sam paused, then motioned for another beer. The bartender said, “The best part of waking up, huh?”
Sam paused for a while, produced money with his free hand, accepted the beer, opened it, drank from it, then said, “Sure.” The man laughed hideously.
Sam spun, “Listen you son of a bitch, if you think something is funy, I’ll give you punch line you wont fucking forget.” Sam loomed over him. The bar was silent. Sam could barely hear the TV as he stared at the figure.
“Skunk! Say your sorry,” the bartender leaned in. The man turned his head towards her. In the red light of a Budweiser sign sam saw this man had no eyes. Maybe buried in his twitching eye lids were somthing that began as eyes, but what remained were two holes. “Skunk laughs like that all the time. Perry Mason is on, he loves that show.”
Skunked turned his head up toward the budwieser sign and laughed again. He had few teeth. Sam sat. “I’m sorry, can I buy him a beer?”
“Sure honey,” the bartender said and got a tall can from the fridge behind her. She put it infront of Skunk, then put his hand on the can so he’d know it was there. Skunk smiled and nodded exasgeratedly.

Time and beer seemed to fight the akwardness of coming to his home town. As sam drank, he became heavy and thoughtful. Perry Mason was on TV and although Sam couldn’t hear it, it was nice to have something familiar from his life just a few days ago.
Urinating in the bathroom of the place, Sam had a panoramic view through bars on the window of an alley that led to a store front church, down the way. The warm summer air rushed in and Sam was happy he wasn’t squinting in the sun. He returned to the bar where the bar tender was avoiding him after his last explosion. Sam tried to hide his intoxication with a reserved pose as he bekonded the bar tender over.
“Hi. Is there still that hotel on Alpine street?” Sam asked, hoping the bar tender didn’t interperate the question as solicitation for sex.
“Yes there is. Are you new in town?” The bar tender answered while restacking napkins and coasters on the bar infront of Sam.
“Kind of. I am in town for a few days,” Sam tried to think of a good question to ask her to get some momentum going on his quest.
“Buisness or pleasure?” she asked absently.
“A funeral.”
“I guess that doesn’t fit into either. Unless your an undertaker or something,” she said, trying to make light.
“It was my son,” Sam felt a stupid anger well up in him. Stupid because it made him want to throw a violent childish fit, the kind a todler could throw, if that todler were huge and weilding a machete.
“Oh.” The bar tender leaned towards sam with her elbows on the bar top.
Sam looked up and into her rather large breasts. He looked down again. “My kid died a few days back, I guess.”
“I am sorry to hear about that,” she said.
A moment passed between them. Sam spoke, “Buisness.”
“What now?” she asked.
“I hope to find out a few things about his death,” Sam said, finished his beer, then met ehr gaze.
“Well I should think so. My name is Darci, by the way,” She said, extending a pudgy hand.
“My name is Sam Waters.”
“I heard about your kid. I read about it in yesterdays paper. He died in an explosion up in the hills, no?”
“Do you still have that paper? I just got here, I don’t know much.” Darci turned and retreived the paper from benieth the bar, looked at it, then pointed out the picture on the front of a smoking fifth wheel trailer. Sam took it and read.

“...Authorities suspect this accident was linked to methamphetamine use. They are using caution in aproaching the scene due to the danger of harmful chemicals being present. The body of Ryan Waters was identified by his girl friend, Mirna Troy. She told authorities a fight broke out causing the explosion. Police are looking for Cody Brown in connection with this incident for questioning. Police are considering this a homocide. Services are planned at New Beginnings Church this Saturday.”

Sam put down the paper. He then picked up a bar napkin. Darci took a pen from behind her ear and handed it to him. Sam wrote down the names, Mirna Trow and Cody Brown. He knew he needed an address to find Mirna Troy. He coud find that from the phone book, but it would likely be old and useless. Doing impounds in Medford taught him that meth heads were harder to track down and public record wouldn’t help much.
Darci spoke, “do you need another beer?”
Sam noded yes. It was thursday. He had untill this Saturday to find this Cody Brown, or who ever sold him drugs last. Once he had them in his hands, he’d figure out what to do next. If the police caught the guy before him, he’d just leave. He took his beer and napkin over to a phone booth. Settling in on the stool, he manouvered the confounding rotating hinge on the book cover to allow him to open it. There was no phone book inside. “Fuck,” he said and leaned against the wall for a moment.
Darci walked over to him and began wiping down a table near him. “The nearest phone book is in a booth infront of the Lutheran Church down the street. Look for the food bank line, its running today.”
Sam nodded. He’d get some adresses, get a room at the inn, then maybe stop by the food bank. That night he’d start pursuing his leeds. He finished his beer as the credits rolled on Perry Mason. Skunk laughed.

The sun was warming the concrete. In a few hours Sam would be sweating uncomfortably. He found the phone booth, but it was occupied, which was strange. The young girl in the booth seemed to be the first pedestrain he’d seen in this otherwise deserted town. Sam noted the booth had a phone book and walked by.
He walked over to the Inn, which was on Broad street. Sam remembered buying cocaine from a man who used to live there. Sam dreaded buying that drug, because April, who already spoke a mile a minute, would kick into overdrive and start to talk two miles a minute.
Trying the front door, he discovered it was locked. Through the dirty glass he saw a hand writen note, ‘No Vacany.’ This was a blow. Sam put down his pack and leaded agains the brick of the building. He tried not to think about where he would sleep. He had already discovered the cops in town wern’t too friendly towards folks sleeping where they could. A man came out from the Inn, coughing violently as he locked the door behind him. He eyed Sam, stopped and lit a cigarette.
“You looking for a room?” he finaly said.
“Yes I am, in fact,” Sam said. The puffed thoughtfully on his cigarrete. He wore blue sweat pants and smoked with an impossible air of importance.
“The sign says no vacancy,” the man said.
“I can see that,” Sam said, picking up his pack.
“But dave upstairs might have a room. They just don’t want anylocal meth heads tearing up the place,” the man said.
“Dave?” Sam asked.
“Dave,” the large smoking man said. A silence grew between them as the sweatpants wearing man waited to be proded. “Dave,” he said again.
“Dave,” Sam said. “How do I get in touch with Dave?”
“Dave,” the fat man began as if Sam had brought him up out of the blue. “Dave will be here after seven or so. He owns a few buisnesses in town. He might have a room.”
“Well, thank you very much. I’ll come back tonight then,” Sam was glad to be walking away. Sam hadn’t remembered this town being so coy.

The phone booth was still occupied as he walked by. The same girl was talking rapidly with a nervous edge to her voice. She had short dark hair and was no larger than her skeleton. Sam tried to catch her eye to let her know he was waiting. He leaned against a wall near by in clear view of her, but she never seemed notice him.
Sam’s stomach growled angrily. He realized he hadn’t eaten since Medford. The prospect of eating didn’t apeal to him, but he knew he had to do it, so he continued down the street looking for the food bank. It was easily recognizable as it was the only building on the sun bleached street exhibiting any life, if you could call it that. A line of figures solemly waited theri turn. Sam took his place in line at the rear.
Having never been to a food bank, Sam wondered if they would ask for proof or residency or something. He was even considering leaving the line and seeing how far he could make it on beer alone. A general feeling of fatuige kept him in line. Presently the line advanced into the building. A few older men took their places in line behind him. On the walls were schedules for prayer meetings and serives. A few pamplets were tacked to the wall about adiction recovery. Sam took the one down with a picture of a young man looking dejected. In grey letters above his head read ‘Meth, The Path To Living Hell.’
The plamplet claimed an equal exhuberance and euphoria to the use of meth could be attained by letting God into one’s life. Neither meth nor Jesus flowing through Sam’s veins seemed too appealing. As he scanned the pamphlet, his turn in line snuck up on him.
“Any dietary restrictions?” Sam looked up to see a pale faced woman with a clip board staring up at him with mild itnerest.
“No,” Sam muttered.
“Can you cook?” she asked.
“I can, but I don’t know if I have a kitchen.”
“You don’t know?” She asked.
“I’m not sure,” Sam added.
“Not sure? I could describe an average kitchen and you could tell me if you have something that resembles it.” she looked up.
“I’ll know soon,” Sam tried to explain.
“How about now?” she said after waiting a second, waiting for ‘soon.’
“Let’s say I don’t have a kitchen,” Sam said.
“Ok, but if you change your mind...” she said filling a cardboard box full of boxes of macaroni and cheese. “You can cook this, can’t you?”
“Yeah, sure,” Sam said unconvincingly.
“Cheese?” she said holding up a yellow block of it.
“Yes it is,” said Sam.
“Are you sure?” she said.
Sam leaned in and squinted at it. “I’m prety sure it is.”
She looked down and noticed the pamphlet he was holding. Sam held it behind his back. She shrugged and continued to fill the box.
“Do you have a phone book?” Sam asked.
The woman looked skepticly into his eyes. “Yes, but you’ll have to wait until I finish with the gentlemen behind you,” she said pointing at the last few men in line. Sam took his box of food and stood to one side of the line. He put the box on the floor and cleared his throat as he tacked the pamphlet back up on the wall. The woman distributing food noticed with a quizical air.
When the last man had left with food, she brought up a phone book and slapped it on the counter. With shaking fingers, Sam began looking up the names he had writen down at the bar, concious that the woman was staring at him. He found the adress of Mirna Troy, but not the second name, Cody Brown bore no results.
“Sam Waters?” The woman sad, staring at his face.
“Yes,” Sam said, meeting her gaze.
“I was reading about your son. I’m very sorry. I was wondering if you would come back,” sha said. Sam tried to remember the woman. “Electra, Elie Nevile. We went to highschool together. You were a year older than me...”
Sam remembered now. She was a small tomboy who lived near his parents barn. Sam began giving her riding lessons in exchange for her doing chores right before he left. He remembered everything he said to her made her blush, which made him akward. “I remember,” Sam half grinned.
A silence fell over them. Sam finished writing the adress of Mirna Troy down. Elie sized him up. “Lets get a drink,” she said when she was finished. “Come on, I’ll buy. I just got my social security check.”
Sam hesitated. Ellie started turning off lights and closing books before he could object.

Back at the ‘Vern,’ there was beginign to be an actual crowd. Darci brought Ellie a glass of red wine without being asked. Sam asked for a beer, and they waited for it in silence. When it arived, Sam inhailed much of it at once. Putting dow nthe can, he noticed Ellie’s glass was empty too. Their eyes briefly met, causing Ellie to hail down Darci and get another round.
When the dirnks arived, Ellie spoke, “Well.” Sam noded. Sam considered bolting for the door. He was a little delerious. He wondered if he stank to high hell haivng not had a proper shower in a few days.
“Well, why are you here?” Ellie asked with a sudden startling directness.
“What do you mean,” Sam asked.
“Are you here for good?”
“I don’t think so. I’m going to check into a few things and hit the road again. Never was much here...” Sam said looking down. Skunk cackled at nothing. Darci shook her head and turned up a local AM country music station. The sound was welcome reprive to was was turning into an interogation by Ellie.
“You know April is dead?” Ellie said.
“I didn’t know that, no,” Sam said.
“She was hit by a drunk driver about eight years ago,” Ellie said. She seemed to know a lot. “When it happened I looked for you. I guess you never knew.” She lit a cigarrete. “I read the paper,” she finaly said.
“What do you know about Ryan, I mean, is there someone I can talk to about him?” Sam asked.
“Well, the Town has Changed a lot since you left. There aren’t many Indians left in the down town. And the war on Meth has slowed the meth trade quite a bit, or meth’s war on meth heads. The town is kind of worn out,” Ellie said settling into her chair. The red light of a Budweiser neon colored half her face. She had held her looks far better than Sam had. “I have a condition, so all I really can do is watch the town... watch it change.”
“Cody Brown, do you know who he is?” Sam asked.
“Just what I read. Are you looking for him?”
“Honestly, I’ll kill him if he was involved in anyway with Ryan’s death,” Sam said, looking off to the TV. A court TV show was on. His eyes welled up with tears. It wasn’t a rational sadness, he knew that.
“Lets find him,” Ellie said.
Sam heard the word ‘lets,’ and it jared him. He looked at Ellie. She still seemed young and incapable somehow, even though she was in her thirties like him. He watched her stare off into the distance. He decided to let it slide.
Ellie ordered another round and when Darci returned with them, she knelt next to the table. “So you two know eachother?”
“Old school friends,” said Ellie, extinguishing her cigarette.
“That’s nice,” said Darci. She lingered for a minute, staring off at nothing, then stood and left.
“Bitch,” Ellie said, lighting another cigarrete. “Whore.”
Sam looked up at a neon beer clock. It read five fourty five. He figured he’d stay with Ellie for a few more drinks, then go to the hotel.
“What have you been up for the last fifteen or so years?” Ellie asked.
“I was driving a tow truck in Medford Oregon. Not all that exciting,” Sam said.
“Any family there?”
“No. Hell, just before I left, my truck got towed. Impounded. It was time to go, I guess,” Sam said.
“I guess, yeah. The tow truck man got his truck towed. That’s great. Well, everybody has to start over sometimes,” she concluded. “I remember you in your pick-up, driving around all quiet in this town. Frowning, really. I remember that.”
This was the first time the time aknowledged he had lived there, but as the aknowledgement came from someone he hardly remembered, it felt strange. Sam tried to remember more about her. All that remained were snap-shot memories. She remembered she wore her father’s clothes at the time. He remembered that because April wore pink things, second hand things bought from malls in big towns, and it had an air of fake femininity to it. Ellie wore drity clothes like a boy, but rarely spoke.
“I hated high school,” Ellie began without being prompted. “I never talked to anyone. I hated it. I hated the way everyone seemed to deal wiith it, you know? They acted like it wasn’t artificial, like it would last for ever. I hated that. I was quiet then. Do you remember when I fell off the horse?”
Sam looked down into his can. The memory came to him.
“I fell off Thora, your horse...”
Sam remembered Thora bleeding from her nose after a run, she was two when he left.
“I landed and I didn’t cry because I thought I had broken something. I was laying there. You sorta noticed it because Thora’s hoofs stopped making noise, so you looked over from the hay loft above the arena. You jumped down, kinda slow and bored, picked me up from under my arms like a baby, and put me back up on Thora. I could have been hurt, you asshole.”
Sam remembered this too because he could smell Ellie sweating then, and maybe right then as they sat there. Aslo he remembered lifting her in the air gave him an erection. He smiled at that thought.
“I had a crush on you after that,” she finished. She then finished her fourth glass of wine. “You know, if I fell off a horse now, it would kill me? Maybe not literaly, but I have this thing called Fibro Myalsia. It’s this syndrom where I constantly feel pain. I hate it. I really do.”
Sam made mental note of term Fibro Myalsia. He had never heard of it, or heard of it and forgoten. His mind was swaying back and forth like a ship at sea and he wanted to keep hold of a few facts from the day before he became blacked out drunk. “You are constantly in pain?” Sam asked. The word ‘pain’ gave him a little pang of panic.
“It started when I fell off a ladder at work. I was an administraitive assistant at the grade school. I was up on this high ladder in the auditorium putting up a string of christmass decorations. I broke a few ribs and stuff. But after that I always had this nagging pain. It wouldn’t stop. I had to go on disability. It took years. Years and years,” She paused and remembered the years. “So I’m trapped. I’m trapped in this town and in my pathetic body. You left and came back. That’s because your not trapped,” she said with a weird smile.
Sam ordered another beer.
“So. tommorow we go to the police. You can get more information by looking at their files or what ever on the explosion. Maybe you can get some last known adresses... not in the phone book. We can go knock on a few doors and see what we can find, ok?” She said all this not looking at him.
Sam noded. Another beer was set infront of him.
“Do you need to eat? I mean I don’t eat much so I forget,” she said. Her eyes seemed glassed over. It was relaxing.
“No, I don’t need to eat,” Sam said. He had left his box of food on the street outside the bar. It had seemed peaceful laying there in the sun. It would have seemed a shame to kidnap nourshiment and take it along with him.

It was dark. Sam need to vomit, but didn’t know where he was. He flailed his arms and they knocked heavily on something. Throwing a blanket from his body, he could see a little more. He stood and rubbed his eyes. There was a huge heavy feeling fighting it’s way up his throat. He saw something that resembled a door and threw it open. He hit his head hard on a low door way and fell a few feet onto cool dirt. He let the vomit escape in mighty heaves while laying on his side. When he stopped vomiting a cloud of shooting stars lit his vision. He caught his breath and watched them dance. As they fadded, he saw by the light of a light hung from a tree he was in a trailer park. The trailers sat in no aparent order. All bathed in a light yellow, they seemed calm and old. Sam closed his eyes.

Sam pulled his blanket up over his sholder to keep out the cold. His head pitched and rolled. He wasn’t hung over, still drunk. Reluctantly he stood to go pee. This made him realize he had no idea where he was. He had been laying at the foot of a trailer. he wondered if he could go in and use the bathroom. He decided against it. He walked down the gravel road between the trailers that led out of the park. The first lights of dawn were raising over the adjasent hills. In the landscaping under the sign naming the trailer park there was a small tree. Sam peed behind it. While going, he saw a cop car drive slowly by, it’s lights proving a swath of ugly detail. It rolled slowly into the trailer park, stopping at one point to shine a bright light on one trailer door. The car then drove on and out of the park.
Sam waited a moment, then walked over to the trailer the cop car had stopped by. Shivering from the mild chill, but mostly the shakes, Sam tried the door. It was locked. He listened at the door for a moment, then walked around back of the trailer. He peeked in a window. The light hanging in the tree bled through the windows on the other side of the trailer. Sam could barely detect what looked like a mad scientists lair inside the trailer. There were tubes headed in everywhich direction. He checked the three other windows on his side of the trailer and detected no signs of life within. The trailer seemed gutted to house the weird aperatus. Sam put his sholder against the side of the trailer and gave it a good shove to disturb who ever might be sleeping inside. A few moments passed and Sam was satisfied the the trailer wasn’t occupied. There was a broom handle on the ground. He picked it up and used it to pry open a cracked window.
Crawling in the window wasn’t an easy task. Suporting the weight of his body with his arms was hard as the exertion caused his to shake violently. He fell in the trailer head first. Weilding his broom handle as a weapon, he ran his hands on the wall to find a light switch.
A pale neon light flickered on and revealed a trailer lined on the inside with aluminum foil. There were the remnants of what looked like a lab, hastily looted. Tubes and broken glass lay on the floor. It stunk. Sam turned off the light and crawled back out through the window. He figured he had seen his first meth lab.
Returning to the trailer he had woken up infront up, he tried the door of a pick up parked next to the trailer hitch. It was unlocked. he crawled over to the passenger seat and closed his eyes. When the sun was up, he’d figure out where the hell he was and if he had a friend in Ellie anymore.


The door next to Sam opened, startling him. He was having that rare deep sleep. Ellie was standing in a loose fiting men’s shirt. Sam rubbed his eyes and confirmed it was not his shirt. She was holding a steaming cup of coffee. She gustured for him to take it.
With wobbling hands he tried get hold of it. It was too dificult.
“Here,” Ellie said and held the cup out at an angle. Sam shook his head and blushed. She insisted. Sam monouvered his shaking head to the cup. When the liquid hit his lips he recognized the rough flavor and smell of whiskey. With his teeth banging against the cup, he sucked down a mouthfull.
“I forgot to crack the window when I went into Wal-Mart. I coulda fried your little brains out. Come in and eat something,” she turned and walked into the nearest railer.
Sam got out of the truck and slammed the door. The truck was a seventies Ford F-150. It was fairly well taken care of, no flats or rust and the tags had only recently expiried. It was a guys truck and it had a trailer hitch. Sam followed Ellie into the trailer.
It wasn’t too cramped. If Sam were shorter, it could even seem comfortable. It was one room with a small table and chair unit, a bed and a kitchen area. Sam recognized it as where he had woken up the first time. His pack was on the floor as if he had used it as a pillow. There were boxes of food she’d had taken from the bank over time stacked on the floor infront of the sink. There were bills, and papers on every flat surface. Boxes of wine sat on the floor next to the bed. It seemed cozy.
Sam spied his mug of coffee at the table and sat with it. Ellie unpacked the food boxes and put a kettle on for hot water. “That truck wont run without the keys, or the battery hooked up again, or with out an engine... It could use a driver too. Maybe some gas. It needs tags. It’s in pretty good shape otherwise” she said.
“Who lives in the trailer down the way on the right,” Sam struggled to make accurate diriections in a trailer park.
“Which one? The fifth wheel?”
“No, it was a pull trailer. Big, about thrity feet.”
“No one has lived there as long as I have been here,” she said suspiciously.
“How long is that?” Sam’s shakes were considerably better and he could opperate the mug alone now.
“Dan went to jail about two years ago,” she said absently while reading the instructions on an oatmeal packet. Two years I guess. I don’t know, why?”
“I didn’t do anything too stupid last night did I?” Sam asked.
“Nope. We just talked at the bar until you looked like you were going to fall over so I had you come home with me. You fell asleep right there on the floor the second we got it. I had to step over you to go pee like eight times. You didn’t move. II even kicked you once to make sure you were alive. At some point you stormed out of here,” she said. “I guessed you were late for church and let you go.”
Ellie began mashing the hot water and the oatmeal together. It was a little comical as the bowl was so large, as was her shirt, and she was so small. She then ladeled the thick brown goo into two bowls, putting one infront of Sam. He noded his apreciation. She sat infront of hers. A silence came over them.
“What’s our first move?” she said.
Sam considered his food. “We could go knock on some doors, see what happens. then I could talk to the authorities. I kind of want to see where it happened,” the ugly reality of the task made Sam’s heart sink.
Ellie looked down at her food. She picked up her fork, then put it down. “I’ll make a list.” She picked up an envelope and a pen. There was already a list on it, but by crossing the old list out, she found enough room for the new one.
“Knock on doors, talk to cops... find trailer,” she said. She put down her pen and stared at the list like it were a gift.
“Do you run the food bank today?” Sam asked.
“One day a week,” she said, picking up her bowl and putting it in the sink. Sam put a spoon ful in his mouth. It was heavy and warm like someone had chewed on cardbord, then spit it out for him. He forced himself to swallow some. He was hungry, but food didn’t seem like the right thing. He drank more of his coffee. It fought it’s way down.
There was a window that looked out onto the aluminum outside wall of the next trailer over. Unfocusing his eyes, Sam saw their reflection in the glass. A bolt of panic shot through him. He felt absurd. He felt like any moment it would occur to Ellie how ridiculous he was and her attention would turn to indifference. He felt welcome and alive now, but to be in her trailer again as a stranger would be unbareable. It was probably unavoidable. People and circumstances were like that. He’d have to find a place to stay.
“I should take a shower,” Sam said staring into his coffee cup. Ellie nodded agreement and walked over to the corner of the trailer the shower stood in. She pulled back the curtain and removed a large plastic container.
“You might have to sit, you’re a big guy,” she said, sniffing a near by towel.
The idea of bathing with her in the room frigtened Sam, so he did not move. Ellie slowly became aware of this, “Oh. I’ll go check my mail and things,” she said. Before ducking out, she took several orange pill bottles from the shelves above the sink and took a few pills from each. Once she had closed the door behind her, Sam stood and opened the Fridge. There was an expired carton of whipping cream in it. He poured in into a pint glass until it wa shalf full. He then filled the rest of the glass with whiskey. With both hands he manouvered the glass to his face and messily gurgled the concotion down. A rush of neasia came over him. With drunk courage, he stripped naked it the cramped trailer amungst ther belongings. He steped into the shower and turned on the water. Finding it easier to sit, he did. A sence of ease came over him and he laughed out loud picturing himself as a fetal nude and drunk man in his old home town.

When he emerged from the shower, Sam was good and drunk. He dried himself and put his clothes back on with swiftness and ease. It was strange to dry himself with a woman’s drity towel. Rummaging through Ellie’s medicine cabnet, he found a stick of deoderant and put it on. He was fully encased in foreign clean smells and it invigorated him.
While considering taking a shot, he noticed an empty cough syrup bottle in the trash. he briefly washed it out, then filled it with whiskey. His big bottle of whiskey was nearly to it’s half way point, which seemed like a good pace. Putting the cough syrup bottle in his back pocket, he stepped out into the sunshine. Ellie sat on the trucks hood smoking a cigarrete.
“Let’s get going,” she said.

They were both silent dring the short walk to town. They seemed like strangers to each other again. Ellie cleared her throat, Sam looked at her expecting her to say something. THis caused him to jump. She flinched. Ellie’s deoderant kicked in under Sam’s arms. He stil lfelt older than Ellie. Sam decided to go back to the Tom’s.
Darci had the lysol out. It’s smell didn’t mix well with the night befores stink. Ellie and Sam sat at the bar. Ellie unfolded the newspaper.
“The Elks are having a rumage sale,” Ellie said.
“Do you want a drink?” Sam asked her.
Ellie lit a cigarette and looked Sam up and down. “no hun, you go right ahead.”
Skunk emerged from the bathroom. He shakily walked over to where Sam was sitting and motioned to sit where Sam was sitting. Sam gently guided him into his own stool. Sam began to feel slightly at home again.
“What is our first move?” Ellie asked.
Sam watched Darci pour him a shot. He could see the rings on her finger through the liquid in the bottle.
“Have you spoken to the police?”
“Yes,” Sam said recalling being kicked in the stomach earlier.
“What did they say?”
“We didn’t talk about anything in particular,” Sam said as the shot glass was placed in front of him. His hands were steady so he hoisted the drink into the air and peered into it.
“Well, maybe we should go together,” Ellie said.
“I’d like that,” Sam said then drank. “I’d like to get a gun too. Lets get a gun too.”
“Let’s do that last,” Ellie sugested.
“Fine, we’ll get the gun last thing.”
“Still in town?” Darci asked.
“So far,” Sam said.


Paydirt Pawn had an open sign. The pawn shop next door also had an open sign, but it’s front door was locked. It had been closed for some time. As Ellie and Sam entered Paydirt, the a large man with a large beard looked up from a computer. A large leather chair swiveled around and a younger girl glared at them. Sam peered in the glass cases. There were video game systems, knifes, fishing reels, jewelry... no guns.
“I’m looking for a handgun,” Sam said. Ellie met the younger girls glare.
“Oh,” the large man behind th ecounter said and nervously looked at the girl. She turned collected something off the counter, it looked like a powder or drug of some kind. Under where the drugs and behind glass were several guns.
Sam leaned over the counter and partialy into the girls space. “Excuse me,” he said.
“Not at all,” the girl said, scooting the chair out of the way.
Sam looked up and noticed a few shotguns leaning against the wall behind the guys head. Sam produced a fifty dollar bill and pointed at a battered Smith and Weston. The shop keeper produced the gun and put it on the counter. Sam took it and put it in his pocket.
“Aren’t you going to look at it first?” the girl said.
“Why?” Sam said.
“I don’t know, to see if it works or what ever,” she said.
“There’s really two ways to know if a guns going to go off and kill some on or not, One, stick it in your pocket and pray. Two, point it at something and pull,” Sam said, slightly proud of his speech.
“I need your name and adress,” the shop keeper said producing a clipboard.
Sam wrote his name and Oregon adress. It didn’t seem to impress them.
“Do any of you two know Kyle Waters?” Ellie said.
“No, we don’t,” the girl said reclining into her chair. The large man sat preening his Viking Mustache. The two seemed quiet, Sam stared at them for a while, then put the gun in his pocket. It was uncomfortable and heavy. Ellie watched him. She seemed further away.
Sam started to look at the clipboard. The large man noticed and reached for it.
“Is this dangerous work?” Sam asked for no reason.
“Are you looking to buy anything else?” the girl said.
“Like what,” Ellie asked.
“A girl as thin as you should know what I’m talking about,” the girl said.
“I think I know what your talking about,” Ellie said.
“I hope it’s kinky,” the large man said. Sam stopped breathing and stared at him. Everyone was quiet. The large man reached into a drawer under the display case. Sam pulled his empty gun and the girl laughed as the large man lit a cigarette he had just retrieved.
“What are you going to do with a gun?” Ellie asked.
“I’m going to look for Cody Brown,” Sam said.”

The library was hot. A man sat at a small table copying the numbers at the bottom of the bar codes on magazines into a notebook. As they walked by, he smiled with hideous black teeth. Ellie sat Sam next to her at a computer. She clicked away and a screen came up. It was an E-mail account. Sam saw briefly a heading on a message from a correctional institution from a Dan Colgan. Ellie clicked away from that page. She pulled up a backgroud search page, then entered the name, ‘Cody Brown.’ It asked for a state and Ellie entered Washington. A few hits for adresses and phone numbers came up. Nothing promising for such a generic name. After a moment, she entered Sam’s name and Oregon. His MEdford adress came up.
“Married?” she said with a shock.
“What? Where does it say that?,” Sam asked leaning in.
“No where,” I was just kidding.”

Ellie then typed in the adress to a criminal background search. She entered Cody Brown’s name and state in again. This was far more usefull. Cody had noumerus arrests and an outstanding warrent in Toppenish County. Most of the convictions were for battery and asult.
“He beats women,” Ellie said.
“That makes it easier,” Sam said.
“Makes what easier?” Ellie asked with an incredulous tone.
Sam didn’t feel like responding. He went into the bathroom and drank from his bottle. The liquid was sweet and cherry flavored. It wasn’t booze. They’d have to go to a bar.
“I mean, Sam. You can hurt a woman a lot worse that hitting them. There is a lot worse pain than a black eye. You think I’d give a fuck if you punched me in the eye?” She was blocking the door out of the bathroom.
“What do you mean?”
“I don’t buy this manly, don’t talk much bullshit, gonna kill some mother fucker you never met bull shit. I don’t. If he’s like me, you could beat the shit out of him and it wouldn’t mater. It wouldn’t mater. If you beat me up, that’d be the least of my problems. I’d still have to live here. I’d still have to live like this.”
Sam notcied the librarian pick up the phone. “Please, Electra, take me to the bar.” The weakness in his voice broke through to her and she stormed out of the library.

Back in the ‘Vern, Darci poured them their drinks. Sam was feeling light headed, slightly happy. He got his drink to his face without much trouble.
“How do we find him? I’m sure he’s not around anymore,” Sam said.
“We could find out where he had lived before,” Ellie said. “Then try to figure out where he’d be going.”
“When my husband left me, we figured he went a long way away. He was i nthe rears in child support a few grand, you know I kept up the paper work in case he won the lottery, I could get it you know. It turned out the son of a bitch was hiding in the hills in a trailer. Hed rather camp in a shitty trailer than pay for his kids to eat,” Darci said.
“I have an idea,” Sam said, looking up at the clock.
“What,” asked Ellie.
“Let’s go back to the pawn shop and look at their records,” Sam said.
“Are we going to break in?” Ellie asked. Darci walked away as to not hear anymore than she wanted to.
“I think so,” Sam said.
“When?”
“I was thinking later tonight. Maybe I could take a nap. I feel a little light headed,” Sam said, wondering what was in that bottle he had drank from.
Back on mainstreet, they saw a police car at the library. They hurried along.

Sam took a beer from the fridge. It was cold and comforting in his hand and the aroma made him weak. He sat on Ellies bed, then hunched over. Ellie pushed him back. He was asleep almost the second he lay back on Ellie’s bed. He had a vuage memory of his shoes being taken off.
He dreamed of spiders and magots in cuts in his hands and scalp. Feeling in the folds of the bed were crushed beetle abdomen. He rolled face down into the gore, causing him to bolt up in the bed. It took a few moments for him to remember where he was. He peered through the dark at a clock. It was one am. He turned on a light which revealed Ellie asleep, upright in a chair. She looked dead.
Sam touched her face with shaking hands. She stired.
“Jesus, I couldn’t sleep.” With fumbling hands she openned a pil lbottle and shook out a few onto the table. She couldn’t pick them up. Sam watched unsure what to do. With his own shhaking hands he caughht one pill. He couldn’t hold it with his thumb and pointer finger, so he cupped it. Ellie lapped it out of his hand like a horse, then chewed it.
“What’s that?” Sam asked.
“Whiskey,” she said.
The thought made Sam begin to look for a bottle of whiskey.
“Try one,” Ellie said with a slurred voice.
Sam took a pill, then remembered the red bottle in his pocket. He took it out.
“Fucker,” Ellie said. “I thought I lost that. Carefull. If I loose a bottle like that I can get the person I buy it from in trouble. See the name on tthe perscription?” Sam couldn’t make it out, but took her word for it. They both sipped on the bottle.
The night air was cool and th etrailer park seemed nice. Ellie walked unsteadily so Sam gave her his arm. They walked towards town together.
“You know,” Ellie began, then stopped herself. Sam didn’t goad her on. She continued anyway, “We’re not too different.” It almost seemed as if it would be easier if Sam were to carry her small body. The thought crossed his mind. Looking down on her he realized she was wearing one of his old Tow shirts he had brought. He wondered who Dan was.
“Maybe,” Sam said.
The town was quiet. They walked into an alley behind Paydirt Pawn. There was a large Iron door barring their way. Sam pulled on the door handle. It didn’t open. A wave of disapointed rage came over him. He picked up a rock and slammed it down on the door knob. It bent. He hit it again and it fell off. The door still wouldn’t open. Ellie put her small fingers into the hole where the nob was and manipulated the door open. When they opened the door, a wave of warm air hit them. As they stepped into the dark, an alarm sounded. Ellie pulled Sam away.
They walked briskly away. They weaved through alleys towards the old train station. It appealed to them as it was dark and unlit. They sat on an old bench.
“What am I doing,” Sam said.
“Sitting on a bench,” Ellie said.
“If i can’t unlock the mystery of sober healthy living, and the fact that mysteries don’t fucking exist... I mean what the fuck. What am I going to find?”
They sat in silence listening to any noise in the night that might be a police man looking for them.

The pill had a nice calming affect on Sam. He drifted off to sleep. It was a calming pure sleep. he awoke to a streak of light in the sky, th ebegining of dawn. He shook Ellie awake and they began to walk back to her trailer.
Walking down the dead mainstreet, they heard something. Sam worried at first it was a police siren comming to get them, he pushed Ellie behind a dumpster. But after a few seconds of lsitening, he realized what it was. It was the security alarm from the pawn shop. It had been going for hours and had been ignored. They quickly slunk towards the back door.
The shop was dark, but they quickly remembered the lay out. Ellie found the clipboard they were looking for first. Sam grabbed a random acordian file folder and they left.
The sun was just rising as they got to Ellie trailer. They laid out all the contents of the folder and lay all the sheets of paper from the clip board out on the table and floor. They crawle don all fours for about an hour looking at every name. Cody Brown was not to be found, but on one pawn register sheet there were five consecuative entries for a Sam Waters.
“What the fuck?” Ellie said.

“That’s my name, adress and birthday. Not my writing,” Sam said.
“Fucked up,” Ellie said.
Sam realized he was reading the writing of his son. And further more his son thought enough of him to steal his identity.

Kyle had pawned several guns a few months back. He had unpawned a welding torch and gloves as well.
“Does this change anything?” Ellie asked.
“Not really,” Sam said.
“Those poeple at the pawn shop must have recognized your name,” Ellie said.
Sam agreed, but didn’t know what to think. Kyle must have found his adress on line. It was exciting and sickening to know his son knew exactle where to find him. It was exciting and sickening to think that the times he thought about contacting his son, his son could have and decided not to contact him.
Sam braced himself to stand up. Once erect, he quickly fell down again. The word went gray, then re-materialized. Ellie curled up next to him on the floor and said into his ear, “You should eat.” Sam breathed a deep sad sigh.
He cried briefly, his heaving chest bouncing Ellies arm that was draped across it. Seeing this looked like her waving, he began to giggle. They began to kiss. Ellie unbottoned both their shirts with a matter of fact inevitability. She then unbottton his pants and lowered them just enough to expose his penis. She took off her own pants and mounted him. She braced herself by holding on to the kitchen counter and rode her way to an orgasm, her vagina clentching around Sam’s penis. She slid his penis out of her vagina and put her pants back on and lay down next to him. Once she was asleep, Sam crawled towards the bathroom and lay with his head on the bathmat and stared at the wall for a long time. The real possibility of shooting helmself haunted him as the gun dug into his thigh.

Sam and Ellie walked to the ‘Vern,’ once they both were awake. They didn’t say much to eachother. Infact the silence between them as they drank seemed almost like comfort. After two drinks Sam felt good and drunk due to the lack of food in his system. He began to stare at Ellie.
Ellie met Sam’s stare for a minute, then ducked. Sam realized Skunk was staring at her from the other side. It made him smile to meet his unseeing gaze.
“Don’t obsess,” she said.
“What do you mean,” Sam said.
“What do you mean?”
“I’m not obsessing,” Sam said.
“I know,” Ellie said. “Your just thinking about one of three, maybe four things, because that’s all you can do. It’s not obsessing... it’s living to your intelectual potential,” Ellie said. She seemed drunk. It suited her. Under the soft red neon of the bar lights, with the simple country balads playing and with Skunk presiding like a church official, it seemed like a a kinf of beautiful marraige. A heavy hand fell on Sam’s shoulder. A blot of what felt like lightning made him grit his teeth. He was staring at the cieling and he couldn’t move.
He became aware Ellie was struggling with someone up on her barstool. Sam flopped onto his side and fought the ridigity enveloping him and bit the booted ankle of who it seemed was attacking her. He heard a scream, then another bolt of lightening hit him.

He knew exactly where he was when he woke up. It was a drunk tank. There was a crude toilet in the corner. All the bencjes were empty. It was a drunk tank built years ago for a town with an economy. The town had since lost it’s economy and the drunks had moved away. Their smell lingered.
Sam realized he had several broken teeth. Parts of old fillings were littering his dry mouth. He was sore all over. He dry heaved i nthe awful toilet for a while, spitting tooth fragments out. The exertion left him spent, and he went back to sleep.
Later he woke up hungry and shivering violently. He rose to his feet and called for a guard or officer to help him. His voice echoed in the empty cell complex. He called and called. After about an hour, he gave up and curled up on the floor.
He spent several horrible hours shaking. He took inventory. His gun and wallet were missing. His boots were on. The idea of hanging or strangling himself dawned on him. He needed a drink badly. The fear combined with his shaking and he had a seizure.
The seizure was much like being hit with the tazer. Only when the seizure was over, he didn’t pass out. He just lay on the floor in his own foamy vomit saliva and felt the next seizure creeping up on him. Tazering would have been great.
The next seizure was more violent than the first. It was a ful lbody clentching, sort of like vomiting, only instead of expelling bad things, it was almost like the body was sucking in the hell of the world. It lasted for far too long. When it was over, he felt an unfathomable saddness and fatuige. He was too tired to do it again. When it happened, he felt a dead indifference to it.
He knew he was alive because he was gasping for air. He tried to stop. He focused his eyes and saw a growing puddle of blood expanding around him. It was comming from his mouth. He tried to cry, but just made bubbles out his mouth. He saw a figure watching him through the bars. It wasn’t his mother, it wasn’t his child, it wasn’t Ellie, it was a police man waiting for him to die. He closed his eyes as the next seizure hit.

“Go home,” an officer said and handed him a buss ticket to Medford and his wallet. “Go home or die,” he added.
The thought made Sam smile. he was dead. Come on. Sam took a huge deep breath, mustered all his strength and fought his way to his feet. Once standing a rain of shooting stars fell on him. The clouds cleared and he saw the officer standing infront of him. The officer lightly pushed Sam, and he fell over.
“You smell like shit,” the officer said.
“Why the fuck are you wearing sunglasses inside?” Sam asked, staring at the cops boots. He saw the boots turn and walk away. Gigling idioticly, Sam roze to his feet and stagered down the small cell block. No one looked up at him as he walked out of the front door of precinct.
In a shop window he saw what a mess he was. He was thiner than he ever remebered. His face and hair were matted with vomit and blood. He pushed on the door of the ‘Vern’ for a while before remembering it was a ‘pull.’ He pulled on the door, but fell over backwards and hit his head. He remembered the church and crawled there.

She knew what she was doing. It was thicker than applesause. It had a bite. It had substance. He remebered something a long time ago that was applesause and he didn’t like it. This new thing was good. He ate it. As it hit his stomach, he felt more alive. He focused his eyes through a tunel and saw Ellie there. She had a jar of baby food and a pint of whiskey. Like the tiny child he was, she helped him up and guided him into car. He imediately vomited up the baby food and giggled. The car took him to Ellies trailer. Ellie guided him up into the trailer. He puked again, but wanted more. She gave it to him. He rolled back and forth in the tub and she hosed him off.
“What the hell are you doing to me?” he asked her.
Ellie laughed. “If you have to poop, tell me. There’s a better place to do it.”
“What are you talking about?” Sam said, then realized what he had done.
With applesause, Sam ate some kind of pill. He gathered all his strength and emotion and looked Ellie deap in the eye. He sobbed for a second, then calmed himself. “I love you...” he couldn’t remeber her name. He rolled over and cried himself to sleep, Ellies hands patting his hair.

“What the fuck?” Sam said. It was dark. He had a vuage idea where he was.
“What’s wrong,” Ellie said.
“Where am I?”
“Toppenish Washington, honey. Your’e sick.”
“I know. I know. What happened to me,” Sam asked.
“Honey you were taken by the cops. You detoxed. It was all very wonderful. You are ok. Shhh.”
“Jesus. Please. turn on the lights. let me figure out whats happening,” Sam said staring into the dark.
“Go to bed.”
“Really, turn on the light.”
Ellie turned on the light. Sam looked around the trailer. He remembered everything. It all came back. Looked down and saw he was nude. It was hot.
“What day is it?” Sam said.
“Honey, it’s a lot later. You’ve been in bed for a while.”
“How long?”
“A few days.”
“Did I miss it?”
“Yes.”
Sam felt empty. The funeral was over. With wobbly legs he put his jeans, which were clean, his boots, which were deoderized, and his shirt on and, grabbed his wallet and went out to get a drink.
Together they had several honest drinks in silence at the bar. Simon and Simon was on. A promo for the eleven o clock news informed him it was tuesday, a full week after he had arived at town. The acohol calmed the hideous reality.
“I went. I went to the service. The police were there. It was a closed casket at the home. His moms family paid for it, but they didn’t go. You were in the paper. They said you were jailed for suspicion of being under the influence of methamphetamine. It aint pretty out there. You threw up in my moms car. You know what she said? Just like old times. The bitch. It’s over Sam.”
Sam scratched the back of his head, “Those sons of bitches tried to kill me.” He smiled alittle. Ellie rubbed his back.

The old house sat on the the bluff, its windows reflecting the comming rain storm. Fall was comming. Sam walked up to the front door. He knocked. His mother openmed the door. She looked him up and down and backed away from the door. Sam followed her into the kitchen. She continued to scrub the counter as Sam took a beer from the fridge.
“New fridge,” Sam said.
“Yup,” his mom said.
She cleaned on. Sam took his beer out back to the stable. Indain George still worked for his mom, which amazed Sam. Idian george recognized him.
“You’re back,” he said.
“How did you recognize me?” Sam said with uncharacteristic bravado.
“You were in the papers. The back of your head was the crossword puzzle. Who the fuck is Evan Ceasar?” George said.
“Yoy know how I know this is my family?” Sam said.
“How?”
“Cause we can all get to gether and act like twenty years of hell never happened.”
“This is my family because they pay me no mater what string off bullshit lies i promise them,” George said.
“Shit, maybe theyre more of a family to you than me,” Sam said. “Let me borrow a horse.”
“Why?”
“Because the forest service closed the logging roads, there’s rain comming and I want to check out the squats,” said Sam.
“Oh,” said George like this was a normal occurance. George brought out Thora, now an eighteen year old nag. Once Sam’s horse. Thora had no idea who he was. She was a masive ugly brute who had been in the pasture for probably four years. George was taken a back when Sam actualy jumped on her back, bare backed.
“Hey, idiot. It was a joke. I’ll bring you a real horse.”
“That’s ok,” Sam said and yanked on her mane. She wasn’t happy about it and pranced in place.
“Hey, idiot. Becaureful riding bare back.”
“It’s ok, I’m drunk.”
“Hey, Idiot. Be good to that old bitch. She’s my oldest friend.”
Sam did th emath and realized this ment he wasn’t his oldest friend. Together Thora and him cantered up the logging road, past the gate toward where the old ring of trailers were.

Sam could tell Thora both loved walking and was in a great deal of pain both at the same time. Occasionaly she sighed deeply. Sam remebered her as a tiny year old his father bought. She used to kick th stall doors untill her hoofs and nose bled. This horse Electra had ridden. What a huge piece of rotten meat and history. She was very unhappy and excited.
A light rainfall began to flatten Sams hair. Dusk fell and Thora slowed to a walk. She was shaking her head as if to say, ‘this is a bad idea Scoobie.’ Sam drank from his pint. He came to a loggin truck turnaround. There were a few abandoned trailers there. He pooked his head inside each. They showed the evidience of having been abandoned for sometime. Years and years. He mounted again. The rain, although not heavy, was constant and he was getting cold. He had another drink and offered some to Thora. Her huge nostrils considered the offer, then she shook her head as if to chide him for not offering her a big enough cup. She was a good old lady.
Sam noticed a set of wheel wells leeding off into the shaded forest. He followed it. It was dark amungst the trees. He could vividly hear Thora breath. After a while he came to aclearing and a trailer. In front of it, a firepit smoked having recently been extinguished. He dismounted. Thoras old knotted spine had rought hell on his ass. He adjusted his jeans. A ahot rang out.
Sam pulled his jeans out from between his ass and ran for the trees. He was being shot at with a shot gun, which was obvious as the the tree he was behind exloped ahving been hit with a wide spray. Two quick shots then a pause ment it wasn’t a semi automantic, just an antuique two barrel. He showed his face for two seconds. No shot. Two barrel. He waited, then showed his face for a second and hid. The gun fired. He played the same trick again and drew the shot. After that he ran balls out into the woods. He knew he was leaving who ever was shooting at him in the dust, the shots came from farther and farther behind. By the time he got to the logging turnaround, the night had fallen. He krept back along the road to the trailer. A truck of some kind rushed by. Sam walked on. Thor apaced nervously by the smoking fire. Same looked in the trailer briefly and saw it was empty and by the light of a ligher saw just a sleeping bag which briefly scared him as he thought it was a corpse.
Thora walked slowly home. She seemed very tired. By the time they made it back to the barn, the rain was comming down in sheets. In the light of the Barn, George looked tired. Sam looked down and saw he was caked in blood.
‘Shit,’ he said while feeling his body over for a bullet wound. Sam threw his shirt off and inspected himself. George led Thora into a stall.
“She’s hit bad,” George said.
Sam realized he was covered in the horses blood. “Damn.”
George took an old single barreled shotgun off of a rafter and checked the barrel. He looked up at Sam with a strange look in his eye. He walked into the stall with the horse.
The gun went off.
Sam drank, the liquid sloshed in the bottom of the bottle. He looked up and was suprised to she Thora walk out of the stall. Sam looked in and saw the George, headless and lying in the straw. Sam took the gun.

Ellie came back fro mher day at the food bank with a brown paper bag, pepered with dark rain spots. She was doing much better. She seemed to have a vitality to her. She unpacked the food items onto the kitchen counter. Her vitality melted when she saw the gun.
“How the fuck much did you spend on that thing? You know what we could have done with the fifty you spent on the one the cops took?”
Sam didn’t say anything. Lets go to Wal-Mart.
Electra came alive under the bright lights of the super store. Half the size of the Medford Wal-mart, it was impresive. Ellie grabbed a cart and wized away. Sam walked slowly and deliberatly towards the sporting goods part of the store. The shaodw of the sales associates brow made him look like a skull and briefly Sam mourned his humanity. He bought a box of shells for seven dollars. The box of shells for five eighty eight didn’t seem brutal enough.
Sam found Ellie in the ladies clothes section. She had several outfits thrown over the back of her cart. It chilled him to the core as he knew she wouldn;t buy them, she was playing dress up. HE couldn’t afford even a four dollar blouse at Walmart. As she went into a dressing room, Sam slunk in behind her.
“I love you. That is the only thing I know,” Sam said.
Ellie put his face on her boney chest. She took off her underware and put one leg up on the bench of the dressing room. Sam put his penis in her and ejaculated quickly. Slowly the sound form the instore PA filled their sences. They bothe breathed hard in each others arms.
A new dynamic came over them, the consentual feeling of love. Like two pitbulls primed to kill everything on the face of the planet except each other, they walked through the check out isle without paying. No one stopped them.

The tuck backed up to the barn. Two tons of hay had to be off loaded and thrown in the loft. For this Sams mother would pay him five hundred dollars. With five hundred dollars, Sam hoped to Pay Ellie’s rent and maybe buy a truck. The kinds of trucks that could be had for less than five hundred were just the kind Sam wanted. Clear title and a real VIN number would just make it harder to abandon the thing on the side of the road. Real cars and trucks, tow truck drivers were required to make a good faith effort to find the the owner. These thoughts distracted Sam from the burn of the twine of the on the hay tearing his hands apart.
Idian George had had what his wife called, ‘a traditional Idian burial.’ At the service in the Moose hall, his two wifes met for the first time and had tried to kill each other. It sounded funy, but it was tragic to see the blod and tufts of hair on bar tables where the fought. Sam had hid in the bathroom when the cops came and arested everyone in the Moose lodge. Aparently the police chief was a Moose and didn’t aprove of Indians renting the basement bar for any reason. Sam spent an hour alone at the bar after everyone had left for jail, drinking whiskey and planning. If he couldn’t find and kill Cody Brown, he’d kill him self by shooting himself on the banks of the Union Gap River. He’d leave a note so no kids would find him. He smiled and drank to that idea. Thora had lived through her gun shot ordeal and it looked like she’d outlive him.
Stars fell from the ceiling everytime he lifted a bale of hay.

“Are we stil looking for Cody,” Ellie asked.
“Yes, or I am,” Sam said.
“I hate going along for the ride,” Ellie said.
“I know and I’m sorry.”
Sam watched the semen drip out of Ellie’s vagina and fall onto the straw. Rain lightly fell on the barn roof and she shivered. Thora’s blanket was bloody from her wound soaking through the gauze, but they pulled it over them anway and slept deeply together.

“Have you ever done meth?” Ellie asked as they dressed. Dew had settled on them in the night and they both shivered violently.
“No, I haven’t,” Sam said. “have you?”
“I live here don;t I.”
“Why do you ask?”
“Because were going to buy some today,” Ellie said, putting Sam’s old tow uniform on.
“What? Why?”
“Because I’m in charge now,” she pulled the blanket over sholders and tied Sam’s shoes.
“What?”
“If we find a meth dealer, maybe we can follow the information back, think about it.”
“What does meth do to you,” Sam asked.
“It makes you concentrait. It makes you very awake. It even makes you very horney,” she said, stood and walked towards the lader up to the loft.
“It makes you horney?” Sam asked.
“Not just me,” Ellie said.
“How much meth did you do?”
“Before I was on disability, a lot,” Ellie said. The path to the road was covered in fog. She was walking briskly to fight the cold. Sam skappered along next to her.
“Why?”
“I am in pain, honey. All the time. My knees right now are searing, stabbing, like a tiny needle is shoved in between the cartlidge. It’s real. The ER rooms wouldn’t take anymore. Fibromialgia stinks.”
“It made you horney? What does that mean?”
“I wasn’t a slut, if that’s what you mean. Fucker.”
“You can’t be horney alone. I mean you can...”
“I had a friend. A good friend.”
“Was his name Dan?” Sam asked.
“For short. Dannielle,” Ellie said.
“Was he french?”
“He?”

The first kid they talked to was at the old trian station. HE was selling weed. They asked where they could get meth, but he said meth was hard to come by.
Ellie walked out into the street and stopped a 69 Impalla full of Mexicans. She talked to them for a while as Sam watched.
“They said they buy it from a white guy who is in town once a week,” Ellie said.
“When is he in town again?” Sam asked.
“They don’t know,” Ellie sad and walked away.
“So you used to do meth with a guy named Danielle?”
“Sam. Dan, was a girl, but one of th ebiggest men I ever knew.”
“Oh.” Sam thought long and hard and followed Ellie. It seemed like she was walking towards the pawn shop.
“So when you were shot at, you said you didn’t see who was shooting at you, right?” Ellie asked.
“Yes.”
“Why?” she asked.
“Why what?” Sam asked.
“Why didn’t you see them?”
They were hiding.”
“Why?” Ellie asked, “Why didn’t they walk up to you and blow your brains out?”
“I don’t know.”
“They knew you had a gun,” Ellie said approaching the pawn shop.
“I didn’t have a gun. The police knew you didn’t have a gun, I knew you didn’t have a gun... you might have known you didn’t have a gun. Who does that leave?”
“Shit.”
The large man looked up when they entered the pawn shop and frowned. “The police asked about you,” he said.
“I’m glad they’re concerned about our health,” Ellie said.
“I said I think you robbed this place,” The large man said, stroking his beard. “I told them your name was in my files several times.”
“That’s interesting that you put that together,” Ellie said. “What’s your name?”
“Nathen,” he said.
“Did you tell the police that the entries into your pawn ledger from months back were forged?”
“No...”
“You knew enough to notice Sam’s name was in your files, but you didn’t remember that the person who used his name before, wasn’t him?”
“I didn’t know that.”
“Bull shit,” Ellie said, leaning into Nathen. Something about a tiny skiny woman could be very terrifying.
“I didn’t know that,” Nathen repeated.
“Did you tel lthe police that?” Ellie asked.
“No...”
“How about the ATF. They could have this place closed, you know,” Ellie said.
“No they can’t...”
“Oh bullshit. I’ve been to jail... don’t lie to me, I know. Is this your shop?” Ellie asked.
“Yes,” Nathen said. He seemed smaller.
“So if I get it closed down, it would really suck, wouldn’t it,” Ellie stated.
The girl came out from the bathroom with, nude with a shotgun aimed at them.
“What’s your name,” Ellie said.
“A drity fucking cunt, that’s my name,” The girl said.
“Ok, DFC. I want to buy some meth,” Ellie said. DFC lowered her gun, got her pants from beneith nathan and put on a shirt. Nathen zipped his fly. Sam began to understand what they walked in on.
With shaking hands, DFC opened a brand new box with a scale in it.
“Give me a gram,” Ellie said.
DFC cut a chunk off a piss collered crystal, weighed it and put it in a bag.
“Thank you,” Ellie said and handed her three twenty dollar bills.
“Don’t tell anyone I sell this. I just started and I want the right people to buy from me,” DFC said.
“I wont tell anybody,” Ellie said.
“There’s a barn bash tonight out on route 22. I’m selling there,” DFC said.
“This is from Seattle, isn’t it,” Ellie said holding the meth up to the light.
“Maybe,” DFC said.
“I guess you’ll be taking over this town,” Ellie said.
“That’s the plan,” DFC said.
Ellie left the store. Sam stood there looking stupid for a while, then followed her.

In ‘The Vern,’ sam had a shot and a beer. Ellie took a pill and leaned her head against the wall. “I feel like shit,” she said.
“Where is Dan,” Sam asked.
“Jail. Weapons violations... fucked up her parol.”
“Do you love her?” Sam asked.
“Yes,” Ellie said. “But she’s gone. Probably wont come back.”
“You’re a lesbian?” Sam asked.
“I’m human.”
“Aren’t a lesbian or not?”
Ellie looked anoyed.
“I mean, you are a lesbian or not. Your atracked to... sexual, your own gender... or what ever,” Sam said feeling more and more stupid.
“Sexualy?” Ellie asked.
“Well, yeah.”
“Sex is... a tiny part of it. And a huge part. It’s emotional. Love is emotional,” Ellie said.
“Sex is human nature. I mean, you like the penis or not. I hate penises,” Sam said, blushing.
“I hate them too,” Ellie stated.
“You do?” Sam’s heart sunk.
“Come on. Do you think it’s fun being jabbed ninteen times by a cigar? Then the mess?”
“I hoped it was,” Sam was about to cry.
“It is, yes. I like what it does... to you. I do. But it isn’t the best sex I’ve ever had,” Ellie said.
“I don’t understand... at all,” tears were welling up in Sam’s eyes.
“The best fuck I’ve ever had...” Ellie began, then lowered her voice as Darci walked by, “the best fuck I’ve ever had was being tied to my bed, my arms above my head and my legs open. Then having my clitorus licked for two hours. I came and came again. My body wanted to rest but I couldn’t get untied. My whole body hurt from being tired, but I came again. I had no control. I couldn’t see. It was hell and heaven both at once. I completely lost my body,” Ellie said.
“Was that on meth,” Sam asked.
“That doesn’t mater,” Ellie said.
They both sat in silence for a long time. Sam got and lost an erection thinking about it all.
“I love you,” Ellie said, finaly.
Back at the trailer, Sam tried to tie her up, but felt silly. He felt ugly and akward lumbering around her tiny body as she watched him. He lost his erection and slumped on the bed next to her. She slipped out of the loose knots Sam had tied with some belts and took his flacid penis in her mouth. For a long time Sam’s thought raced. The blood and guilt of his entire life passed through his mind. In a jolt those thoughts melted and the vonerable reality of ejaculating in the mouth of a women he loved put his entire soul at ease. The slight gentle rocking of the trailer as Ellie masterbated lulled Sam to sleep.

Sam waited outside Ellie’s mothers single wide as she slipped in and stole the car keys. Sam could just see the sillohette of Ellies mother sleeping infront of the TV.
In a clearing infront of an old barn were parked maybe twenty pick-up trucks. A bonfire gave the whole atmosphere an erie red glow. As they aproached they saw many of the pick-up beds were occupied by people having sex. They made hellish groans. SOme looked up as they walked by.
Ellie led them past the fire and behind a stage. A band was playing loud unorganized blues. The leed singer had a shaved head and was screaming into th emicrophone. It was a good soundtrack for the place.
In a 80’s travel trailer behind the stage sat DFC. Ellie sat on a cough facing her.
“Hi,” DFC said. her eyes were wide.
“We’re looking for Cody Brown,” Ellie said.
“I really don’t know him. Ask Patrick when he gets done,” said DFC. Ellie produced her bag of meth and snorted a tiny line off a CD case. She offered it to Sam, but he refused. He sipped at a pint of whiskey.
The music stopped and Patrick walked into the trailer. He looked at everyone and said, “Groupies,” while putting down his guitar.
DFC said, “Hi.”
“You are selling glass to these folks. I haven’t met you. I’m Patrick.”
DFC thought about it, then said, “They call me DFC.”
“They call you DFC? That’s mellodramatic, isn’t it?” Patrick lit a cheap cigar and eyed Sam. Sam wasn’t sure how old Patrick was. He was ugly. “I sell these people glass. If you want to sell glass, you can sell my glass, DFC.”
“Nope,” DFC said.
Patrick puffed his cigar, got a beer from a small cooler next ot the sink. He drank from the bottle, put it down and slapped DFC across the face causing her to fall off her chair. Patrick then turned and looked at Sam. Sam stood up and raised his fists. Patrick decked Sam, causing him to fall on the floor. Sam stood up, threw a punch and missed. Patrick punched him again and Sam went down again. Sam stared at Patricks muddy boots from the floor. He was a little suprised when Patrick fell on the floor and faced him. Patrick looked concerned as DFC hit him over and over with his guitar. He tried to get up but a blow to his head with the body of the guitar flattened him.
Sam drug himself up to the couch and watched dazed as DFC took down Patrick’s pants and started pressing the neck of the guitar into his ass. He started to squirm towards the door, but DFC put her foot on his neck and pressed the guitar in harder. The ends of the strings tore the felsh of his white ass as the head of the guitar disapeared in. Patrick seemed to be screaming, but no noise came out of his mouth.
DFC dropped the guitar and it fell, still stuck in Patrick’s ass. She chopped a line of meth out on the table and snorted it, then offered it to Ellie. She snorted a line. Patrick began squirming and crawling towards the door of the trailer. DFC got up and poked her head out the trailer door to see if anyone was watching, the nclosed the trailer door and sat down again.
“This is pretty bad stuff, I’m taking the money I got tonight and buying some better stuff in Seattle tomorrow and comming back,” DFC said.
Somethign was wrong with Patrick’s hand, it seemed broken as he tried to get the guitar out of his ass.
“Pull harder,” DFC said. “One quick tug. Get it over with all at once.” Patrick couldn’t get it out.
“Do you want me to pull that out?” DFC asked while watching dispasionately. “I’ll take your guitar out of your ass if you tel lme who Cody... what was his name?”
“Cody Brown,” Ellie said.
“If you tell us about Cody Brown,” DFC said.
Patrick whimpered. “I used to sell the glass he made. I haven’t seen him in a few weeks. His trailer blew up and killed that kid. I haven’t seen him.”
DFC was satisfied with the information and took the guitar out of his ass, the strings were bloody. Patrick rolled over onto his side and whimpered.
“Look honey, your guitar is fine,” she said. Patrick crawled on his belly towards the door of the trailer. “So I sell glass here now, ok?”
“Yes,” Patrick said.
DFC knelt next to him with a tiny line on a CD case. Patrick snorted it and chuckled slightly. A line of blood trickled out his nose.
DFC then offered another line to Ellie. As she snorted it, DFC said, “Ellie, is that short for Elizabeth?”
“No, Electra,” Ellie said.
“Like the Super Hero, or the play?”
“Both.”
“I went to college for two terms in Seattle. It was rough. My video gammer boyfriend got me into speed. We were going to read Electra in one of my classes, I think,” DFC said.
“My dad was really into being Greek until he found out his mother wasn’t greek but indian. He took it hard and disapeared. Weird, huh,” Ellie said, leaning towards DFC. “What’s your real name?”
“Besides Dirty Fucking Cunt? It depends on whoes asking,” DFC reached into the back pocket of her jeans and produced a wallet. “If it’s a cop, I am Mirna Troy, a young kid from around here with a good record. She even has a bank account that I’ll use to deposit three hundred bucks a month into. I bought her for three hundred and fifty bucks. If you want to buy drugs,” she took another wallet from her back pocket, “I guess I’m DFC.” In this wallet was a small digital scale and cash.
“That’s neat,” Ellie said.
“What?”
“Being different people in different situations. I like that. I wish I could do it,” Ellie looked at Sam with some sadness in her eyes. “I swear it’s the same damn pain and bullshit no matter what I’m on.”
Sam felt in over his head. He couldn’t make sence of the screaming comming from outside, if it was joyous or pained. Patrick was grining and Ellie seemed to have calm effection in her eyes. With wobbly legs, patrick stood to leave.
“We have to go get a drink.” Ellie said.
“Hey, nice talking to you. Thanks for trying to stick up for me, big guy,” DFC said at Sam.

“Myrna Troy. She’s Myrna Troy. Wasn’t that Klye’s girlfriend?” Ellie’s eyes shone in the neon of the neon beer sign above Sam’s head.
“I’m so fucking tired,” Sam said. He had just returned from vomiting his first drink.
“If that’s a coincidence, it may still have meaning,” Ellie’s eyes watched Skunk hoble over to his bar stool. Skunk had laughed at Sam as he vomited. It was a touching moment of mutual friendship. “I wonder where we could find her. If we checked on the internet we’d just get activity DFC has been doing recently. Hmm.”
“I have seen her,” Sam said into his hands while rubbing his eyes.
“What? Where?”
“She spends a lot of time at the telephone box. I’m pretty sure that’s her,” Sam said.
“How do you know?”
“I don’t at all, but if we ask her what her name is and she refuses it with a paranoid tone, it’s her. If not. I give up,” Sam said. “I’m so fucking tired.
“Do yo uwant to try some of this?” Ellie said not indicated to what she reffered. Sam understood though.
“No.”
“Well, let’s go to the phone booth,” Ellie said.
Sam got a shot at the bar then they both left. Sam drove to the phone booth and reclined the seat in Ellie’s mothers car. He was fast asleep.

A few dream of half crushed bugs in his mouth occasionly jared him awake. It took a few seconds to remember where he was. Ellie sat next to him staring at the phone booth in the night.
Near dawn Ellie woke him. The girl was at the phone booth. “Get out there and talk to her,” she said.
“Why me?”
“Be sincere. Tell her how tired you are. It could be the only way,” Ellie said.
THis made some sence to Sam. It seemed like some quick messy closure with a drug adict ex lover of his son’s could help him end this ridiculous chase. He got out of the caar and walked over to the girl and knocked on the cracked dirty glass of the booth.
“Are you Mirna?” The girl slammed down the receiver and stared at him. I nthe low light she looked like Ellie, only much younger. A long pause filled the air.
“Listen. I am Kyle’s father. I was here for the funeral but missed it. What ever. I was going to kill Cody Brown. I guess I still am. I want to know where he is. IF you loved my son and you knew anything, you’d tell me, wouldn’t you?”
Mirna stared at him. FInaly she said, “Don’t kill Cody Brown, what ever you do.”
“So he’s around?” Sam asked, a little shocked at her responce.
“Don’t kill Cody Brown,” She said again and stood up straight.
“Listen, I’m going to kill Cody Brown if he had anything to do with the death of my son. Did you love Kyle?”
“Yes,” Mirna said. “Don’t kill COdy Brown,” She said again.
“Why the hell can’t I kill Cody Brown?”
“He...” Mirna walked away. Sam caught up to her and grabbed her wrist. “He is the father,” she said looking down at her belly.
“You fucking whore,” Sam said. They stood there for a while, Sam didn’t release her hand. He didn’t know what to do with her. He ignored the sound of a car approaching.
“Let go of that girl and maybe I won’t shoot,” the officer said. Sam let go and the girl walked away. “Get in the car son,” the officer said.
This time the officer was more polite in guiding Sam to the drunk tank. Sam didn’t mind it so much either. He collapsed in the corner and got some real sleep.

“My name is Sherif Richard Banall. I gather your name is Sam Waters. We need to talk.” Sam sat up. The cell door was open.
The Sheriffs office was generic and lit buy the window covered in venetian blinds. The Sheriff brough out a bottle of whiskey from a new paper bag. He poured a stiff shot in two paper coffee cups. With shaking hands Sam drank his. It was very good whiskey, it warmed him and tasted less like poison. Sam’s tired mind calmed down. The Sheriff swiveled his chair to look out the window.
“Your kid got killed in the local drug trade. That’s bitch. And I mean that, I do. I wont tell you what happened to mine i nthis little shit town. There’s just nothing we can do about any of it. I can say sorry for your loss and get the hell out of town. Or I can say if you plan on staying in this town I can’t help you anymore. I can tel lyou I respect and admire the murder in your eyes but from this morning on, you are my enemy and I will shoot you.”
“I don’t get any of it,” Sam put down his empty cup a little to hard.
“Help yourself son,” the Sheriff said.
With both hands, Sam poured a shot. The shakes seemed gone.
“That there is Irish whiskey. It wont destroy the cerebellum quite so fast. If you plan on living, I sugest you get a job so you can afford the better stuff. Yes sir, better on the cerebellum. I can;t aford a cheap drunk at my age. If my finger gets to twitching at 4pm beause I aint had a shot, I’m libel to kill someone,” the Sheriff said.
“I’ve seen so much dark terrible nasty shit in this town... out in the open... everywhere. But you are no where. Everytime I slur my voice you are there to lock me up. Open your eyes. Yo uare the law in a town with no law,” the second shot seemed to imediately make Sam feel drunk. He decided to buy a bottle for himself if the Sheriff let him out.
“You don’t understand the little system I got going. If you got a barn full of horses, you don’t police their moods, you let them fight, play, roll in the mud. The only time you raise your weapon in the barn is when one of them is dying and don’t know it. You know that, Son, I know your family owns the stables.”
“Everyone is dying here...”
“Some sooner than others. Some sooner than others. I got diabetes. Listen close now. I got diabettes and a two fire arms. The one I discharge for the state of Washington. Everytime I discharge that weapon I file a report. I send that report to Olypia. If I can fire that weapon enough times in the name of the war on meth, I get some real funding around here. My other weapon is an unmarked piece which I use when I need to make my service gun have meaning. It’s a ballance. You are up to your neck in the meth trade around here wether you like it or not. Right now I got my service pistol aimed at you, but if you stop the meth trade, stop my funding, stop my promotions or even try to get me fired, I’m gonna shoot you with the other gun. It’s sad but true.”
“So you don’t care about the meth,” Sam said, thoughtfully.
“I do care about the meth. Meth scares me to death. It’s a cruel misstress. My own daughter is a meth head. I’ve fired ten deputies in the last two years for dipping into the ecidence locker. It’s sad,” The Sherif poured himself another cup, then turned back towards the window.
“You are going to shoot me if I stick around,” Sam said.
“Quit distilling it like that. You are a shit load of paper work waiting to happen. Do you realize that if I shoot you I have to drive to Oylimpia for manditory counseling? Otherwise I risk loosing my pension. Aint that a bitch?”
“Honestly, I don’t know what I’m doing here anymore,” Sam said.
“See, now you sound like one of us. I can look in your eyes and see you aren’t afraid of dying. I damn neared killed you in that cell by making you DT. I just wanted to talk to you, let you know I’m here and I know how horrible it is out there. It’s ten times worse than you even know,” the Sheriff said.
“What do you know about the girl I was talking to when you picked me up,” Sam asked.
“She’s a burn out.”
“Is that all?”
“I interviewed her when your son died,” the Sheriff said.
“What did she say?”
“She said she was moving away. She said she was done.”
“She told me she was pregnant,” Sam said.
“Who isn’t around here?”
“Who is the father?” Sam asked.
“That’s not police buisness. You’ll have to ask Maurie Pauvich,” the sheriff said.
“Why did Cody Brown disapear?”
“Who said he did. He may have a fucked up meth harem going. I hope he’s around. I’d like to tag him with with a pound of meth. That’d look real good,” the Sheriff said, now intruiged with the conversation. He poured himself a shot.
“Gut feeling, is he here?” Sam asked.
“Yes. That aint a gut feeling either. I think he’s here because you are here trying to kill him. That’s all the evidence I need and it’s in my ‘bull shit meth watch report.”

Sam sat alone at the ‘Vern. Perry Mason was on. Skunk perked up every time Della Street said anything. Though Sam felt useless, he knew he had a gun and that was something.
After about an hour, he was drunk. He stopped by the liqour store and bought a bottle of Bushmills. As he walked home, the sheriff drove really slow beside him.
The sunlight was nice filtered through the windows of Ellie’s trailer. Sam lay back in her bed and took in her smells. He sipped at his bottle until his eyes danced with intoxication. He wondered what it was like to be sober and in a long term relationship. He knew those people didn’t enjoy the moments as they came, but he also knew those people were far more healthy. If only he could be a broken drunk with a lot of money. He’d buy Ellie things, lots of things.

Ellie came in sometime later and interupted Sam’s nap. She crawled into bed next to him.
“I followed her to a house. It’s a forclosure owned by the bank... I checked at the library. She stayed there for a while, then walked back to the phone. She called some one she called ‘pudding,’ isn’t that nasty? She’s going to meet Pudding tomorrow at the old Indian arrow head museum. She’s giving him money. What do you think?” Ellie said.
Sam pulled Ellie up onto his arm, “I’m going to be there,” he said. Ellie’s 72 hours of spun conciousness gave out on her. She fell asleep on his arm. As the feeling drained from his left hand, Sam managed a good long drink from the bottle, gently tossed it to the end of the bed and went back to sleep.

Sam knew he had one shot at at this guy, then he’d have to beat him to death with his hands. It was a long uncomfortable walk along the highway to the boarded up museum with a shotgun in his pants leg. In his pockets were extra shells, a pint of whiskey and a sandwich made by Ellie. Ellie was going to wait by the phone booth as Sam had promised to call her the moment he had figured anything out. There were two closed gas stations near the museum, both with phone booths. One of them was bound to work.
Sam was still several hours early when he got to the museum. He ate and vomited his sandwhich, tried to take a nap, then began to drink his pint. The sun set quickly and Sam set up shop in an over turned dumpster facing the highway. Occasional trucks drove out of town, probably taking the last life essence from it. Time moved very slowly.
His mind was blissfuly clear of consequence. He’d shot and kill this kid, then go home. THat was the plan. One day at a time, it’s how he took his alcoholism. It worked.
He considered his pint bottle. It was beautiful in the waning light like a precious stone, or like amber jewelry. He remembered a girl years ago who wore amber jewlery. She didn’t take it off when they made love in the bathroom of the chain tire retail store they both worked at. That was aa long time ago when he could muster an erection at will. When he was nineteen he could probably have mustered one right there, waiting to kill a man. THe thought made him laugh. He had another drink and looked at his gun. He realized the gun had been ineffective in killing Thora, but had blown George’s head off. THis ment it was a very close range weapon. This could prove dificult. Stealth was never his best quality. Perhaps if he jumped off the roof of the museum, he could suprize and kill Cody from behind by jumping down. But more likely he’d break his ankle. Sam decided to shoot a near by rusted out box van to test the efficiency of his gun. He had another drink.
At point blank range the shell broke the skin of the vehicle. He reloaded and took a step back. At three feet the gun stippled the surface, a few pellets broke through. HE reloaded and considered the problem. It was firing exaclty like a sawed off shotgun which ment there was a deviation in the barrel. He peered into the blackness of the gun.
It was too dark to see more than a few inches down. He wondered if George had looked down the barrel. He wondered if guns were haunted. He wondered what he would think when he finaly did shoot himself. He thought about the long walk back to the trailer and how shooting himself would be preferable. By straining his neck, he could just reach the trigger of the gun. He tested the play on the trigger.
The back door of the box van slamed. Sam knew it wasn’t the gun, there was no recoil. He did jump at the possibility of being discovered in such a ridiculous position. HE gathered his wits and had another pull off the bottle and focused his drunk eyes in time to see a figure in it’s underware leap a hedge and skamper out ino the range.
Sam remembered how close his weapon had to be to be effective, swore and ran after the figure.
The day was a red line on the horizon, as if the earth had impaled the sky and the redness was the growing infection. In the light of the moon Sam could see the white body of his prey hoping over obstacles and putting a great deal of distance between them.
“Cody!” Sam shouted. The figure dropped. Sam walked forward and the figure hoped up and ran some more. “Cody,” Sam yelled again. This was exactly like hunting wild turkey. Only you don’t want a skiny Tom, you want a big delicious Hen.
Cody stopped and faced Sam. He was at least a quarter mile away. Sam wheezed and trudged after him. Cody walked backwards keeping his distance. THis went on untill the light of the day was completetly gone and most of Sam pint was as well. Out of frustraition, Sam fired a shot at him. THis was a mistake. Though Cody droppped seeking protection, he probably dicerned by the the rain of pellets around him he was facing a cheap Sears catalouge shotgun from the late sixties. He began to make a wide circle back towards the old Indian Museum.
Cody must have been living in that van and when Sam fired a few shots at it he scared the guy out of bed. He probably had a weapons stash back there.
Now Cody was equaly far away fro mthe van as him, just a few basketball courts lengths to the side. He was slowed though, Sam wondered if he was wearing shoes. Sam jogged along, trying to veer into COdy to get a clsoer range shot at him. Cody would just increase his pace and veer out, but still towards the van.
Sam stopped and considered his options. Cody walked on and towards the Museum, which was growing closer. Sam had about three shots of whiskey left. He drank it all, yelled at the top of his lungs and sprinted towards the museum.
They both reached the parkinglot at the smae time. Cody was as white as a gohst. Sam ran as best he could, stars flying through his feild of vision. HE had his gun extended and pointed at Cody. Snot dripped from Sam’s nose and down his throat and he began to choak. The top of his body got ahead of his legs and he fell foward. He kept his eyes on Cody who had reached the van some twenty five feet afead of him. As Sam hit the pavement, he fired his gun. The spray hit Cody’s back and burned his underware nearly off. He arched his back like he’d been shot with a flame thrower. As he stood there frozen, small trickles of blood emerged from each tiny wound on his back.
Sam had skidded on his chin on the pavement and th eblood began to drip down his neck. Neither of them moved for a few seconds, until Cody realized he wasn’t mortaly wounded. He turned and looked at Sam. His face was in the shadow of his brow, making him look like a skeleton. Sam regained his wits and got his second to last shell out of his pocket and put it in the barrel.
Cody realized his hesitation had cost him the battle and sprinted off back over the hedge.
For a long time Sam lay on his belly breathing hard, his gun aimed at the hedge.

By mathclight Sam found Cody’s gun. It was a Smith and Wesson. Had he shot it out with Cody, he knew he would have died. It was a well banalanced and cared for gun. He filled his pockets with shells and lit a Pnethouse magazine for more consitant light. In the van there was a camp stove, an almanac of the United States, a bag with tools in it, some food and a brand new Baby’s First Book. It al lmade Sam sick. He took the hack saw from the bag of tools and cut part of the barrel of the shot gun off to make it more portable.
Sam let the fire catch the sleeping bag and spread through the van. As he left, the baby book was begining to burn. He went across the street and dailed the phone booth in town.
“Hello,” Ellie answered.
“Hi,” Sam said with a tired tone.
“I wanted to come, but I got scared off,” Ellie said.
“You shouldn’t have come. You did the right thing,” Sam said. He leaned against the side of the booth. He wanted a drink or to sleep.
“What happened?” Ellie asked.
“I chased him, he got away,” Sam said.
“You chased him?” Ellie asked with a note of suprise. “Why did you chase him?”
“Because, that’s what I have to do,” Sam said.
“Oh,” Ellie seemed confused.
“When can you get me?” Sam asked. His knees were wobbly. The fire in the van was growing.
“Tomorrow, we’ll go,” Ellie said.
“Tommorow? I’m so tired,” Sam said.
“Tomorow at the canyon, I’ll find you,” Ellie said.
“I love you,” Sam said.
“I love you too,” Ellie said.
After hanging up, Sam realized he didn’t know anything about a canyon. He guessed he’d have to find one. He shook his head tried to think clearly. He hadn’t been tlaking to Ellie. That must have been Myrna. This made him smile. He sat down in the booth and fell asleep with his head resting on the glass. It smelled like urine in there.
Sam woke for a few seconds to watch the sherif extinguish the fire in the van partly, peer in, then go into the trunk of his car and get a can of gas and re kindle the fire and drive off. The fire quickly regrew as it found the oils and residual gas in the long iddle engine. The fire’s soft glow luled Sam back to sleep.

It was a horrible cold morning as the night had been clear and all the earth’s heat had been sucked out into deep space. Sam was covered in dew. As he stood the pain from his fall and the exertion of running, combined with sleeping in a phone booth made him growl with pain.
Ellie turned from watching the van smoke and saw Sam approach. She ran to meet him.
It was a long discouraging walk back to town. Sam felt hollow and tired. The final battle seemed to be like a rainbow, something he would be pursuing to his death but never catching. Rubbing his face accidenly caused him to knock off the scab on his chin and he began to bleed again. His mind staggered through the memories of the last few days and got lost. He stopped walking and felt truely confused when he couldn’t remember why he was out to kill Cody. He looked into Ellie’s tired face. She had wrinkles around her eyes, you could dicern the shape of her skull under the thin skin on her face. Her sklin was gohst white accept where light freckles dotten her cheek and nose. She seemed inhuman untill he looked at her eyes and he saw again the girl he knew in highschool. There was real fatuige and pain there. Then Sam remembered his son. His resolve returned and he walked on.
“So, what did I miss?”
“I got drunk and blew it,” Sam said.
“Whose van was that?”
“Codys. He was staying in it and I walked right by it. It was a fucking joke,” Sam said.
“How did it catch on fire?”
“I burned it,” Sam said. “I tried to call you and I thought I talked to you. I talked to that Myrna girl. No shit. They’re meeting tonight at Oneonta Canyon, then skipping town. I’m going to be there. This will be done tonight.”
“Hey, lets go somewhere after,” Ellie said.
“What do you mean?” Sam asked.
“Lets go. We wont run, we’ll take it slow and go somewhere. I don’t care where. You’ve been in charge for a while, I want to go somewhere simple. Maybe where there are jobs and streets and pets and flower beds and flower pots in windows. I want fresh fruit and cold water out of taps. Simple things. Rain. Maybe the coast or something. No cities. We can eat peaches from cans from the food bank and chicken and stuff. Something like that. Somewhere with a bath tub. If you take baths and water isn’t warm enough i’ll heat water in pots on the range. Can we smoke in our bathroom? Please?”
Sam turned and walked into a gas station mini mart. Ellie waited outside and smoked. Sam stared at the malt liqour for a while, then shook his head and walked over to the baby food. He bought the peas and carrots flavor and cinnemon applesause.
“Dude, you look gnarly,” The boy behind the counter said.
Sam looked up and saw himself in the Marlboro mirror. He had a beard of blood, he’d lost weight since Medford. HE still was a big guy. Feeling the guns tucked in his belt, he felt larger and a little crazy. It was another day in his life. Sam returned to the Malt Liqour isle and bought a 22 ounce bottle of old English.
“Don’t worry about it dude,” the kid behind th ecounter said.
Sam nodded and gathered his groceries in his arms. As he left he stopped and thought. “A piece of advise; something to keep with you as you age. A nugget of knowledge. Are you ready? Fuck it. Remember that.”
Sam and Ellie continued to walk down the highway. A few cars wizzed by them. Sam ate the peas and carrots while Ellie ate the apple sause. Feeling no desire to vomit, Sam drank the Old English.
“If our place had a window I could feed the squirels or something, don’t you think? I can work you know. I can pump gas and I get two hundred and fourty bucks a month in social security. You can change oil somewhere, or get your licence back. Think about Christmas. We can go to the dollar store and buy eachother like twenty things and fil lthe room with presents. THey don’t have to be any good. We can drink Irish Cream Whiskey in the morning and listen to Christmas Carols. I get sick in the winter. But tea and sleep helps. Then spring will come and we can get coats from the church. We’ll walk to work and it’ll be ok. It’ll be ok. Coast towns are small and you can walk everywhere, can’t you?”
The rest of the walk was quiet as they made there way to the trailer. When they got there Sam ran the hot water in the shower. He shed his clothes, his guns falling to the floor with a thud. He took a scalding bath trying to rewarm his core. The water turned red with blood around his feet from his weeks worth of wounds.
As he stepped out of the shower he realized Ellie had disapeared with his clothes. He set an alarm for three in in the afternoon and slept.
When the alarm jolted him awake he remembered imeadiatly where he was and what he meant to do. Ellie was still gone, but his clothes were cleaned and folded on the table next to a pint of whiskey, a jar of babby food and his guns aranged in a heart. A note read, “Come back to me.”
The sun set rapidly, daylights savings time must have occured some time in the last few days. It was pitch dark by the time he reached his parents old house. There was a blue light from the tv comming from the living room of the ranch house he’d lived in.
The barn was dirty and littered since George’s departure. Sam took Thora’s blanket and threw it over her old boney back. He then led her by the bridal out into the night and along the acess road, past the gate up into the hills.
He led her for hours, past the trailers and higher and higher into the hills. Presently he met the Necanicum creek winding through the low trees. He remembered from his youth the Necanicum came out of the mountains through a narrow canyon. At the back of the canyon was a waterfall and dead end. It was mysterious and grand to explore when he was a kid. Right when he moved into the house with the bar, he spent quite a bit of time during the summet up in that canyon, building forts, fishing, msterbating and talking to himself.
The opening to the canyon loomed ahead, a kind of orifice on the mountain face. The moon light defined it’s opening but didn’t penetrait it. He tied Thora to a fallen log and ranaged the blanket on her back to serve more for warming than riding.
As he aproached the canyon face he noticed a newly lain road past the front. The creek passed under it through irigation pipes.
Sam could smel lsmoke as he felt his way along the walls of the canyon. He was wading in knee deep water and he moved slowly to not injure himself or wet his weapons. About an hour of deliberate slow quiet progress probably advanced him one hundred feet when the walls of the canyon exploded in light. A car had parked at the mouth of the canyon.
A figure got out of the car and turned on a large bright flashlight. It was Myrna. Sam had hoped to avoid her by ariving early, but he had misjudged the speed of his traveling.
The broad beam ilumintated the walls of the canyon and swung along the ground as Myrna made her way towards Sam. Sam put his guns on a rock and imersed himself to his neck in the fridgid water and water for Myrna to pass. When she got close, he imersed his head up to his mouth. The water chilled him to the core.
After she had passed and put some distance between them, Sam began to follow her, along the path she had taken which was drier and mroe traveled.
At one point Sam kicked a stone. Myrna spun around and shone her beam down the canyon. It seemed as if he was discovered. Sam slowly reached back and put his hand on Cody’s revolver, not sure what to expect. Blinded by th ebright beam, Sam waited for Myrna to react. But the beam turned back up stream and she continued on. Sam imagioned Myrna had seen countless monsters in the rocks and cranies of the canyon and Sam’s wet clothes and white face bended in with the chaos.
Soon the canyon came to a bend around which was the water fall and camp fire of Cody. The poor boy wa still mostly nude. Sam leaned against the cold canyon wall and watched as Cody and Myrna embraced. From her back pack, Myrna produced clothes, two guns and food for Cody. Cody touched her belly, which turned Sam’s stomach.
As he drank, Sam recalled something from his past. He had walked in on April being eaten out by Travis, a guy on the school football team at a party. It hurt him to the core to see her pale legs open and that basterds face down in there. It was something Sam had pushed back into his mind and forgotten about. He thought of it everytime April wanted oral sex form him and it hurt. She never even apologized. She just didn’t speak of it again. What it was, was humiliating. Painful too. The possibility that his son’s death was a suicide flashed through Sam’s mind. With that doubt, others arose. Was his son a bad person? Did that mater? Had he ever hurt or raped anyone? Then the idea of humilation occured to Sam. Living on knowing some asshole had killed his kid would be humiliating. He decided to go through with it.

The canyon widened out into a baskeball court sized opening. The water rushing down the canyon face masked any subtle noise. Sam checked his guns to make sure they were loaded. He tucked his shotgun in his belt and surved the scene. There were several rocks he could drop behind should a seige ensue. He had about ten bullets for the revolver and stil ljjust the one shotgun shell in the barrel of the gun. HE figured if need be he could beat Cody to death with a rock. He began to aproach the fire. He decided not to fire until they saw him and reacted.
His aproach was slow and deliberate. He kept th esight of th erevolver on Cody’s head. Each step into the black water made it so he had to re aim. It seemed like an eternity. The closer he got the, louder the waterfall seemed. For the first time too he could dicern their voices. They had a silly glee to them. If there was a lot of blood, or he had to kill the girl, Sam decided he’d shoot himself as well. A gust of wind came from no where and chilled him. A stupid smirk came over Sam. He decided to stop and have a drink.
The bottle at it’s highest point, the bubles of air gurgling up to replace the whiskey draining into Sam’s throat, at that moment Myrna looked up and saw Sam. She shook and tried to scream but couldn’t, instead cralwed backwards away form the fire.
Sam screwed the cap back on the bottle, redrew his revolver and fired at Cody with one hand as he tucked the pint back in his pocket. He missed both Cody and opening to his pocket. The bottle fell into the black water and Cody scrambled behind a rock.
“Fuck,” Sam said reaching down into the black water and feeling the rocks at the bottom. The stupididity of his priorities occured to him and he looked up intime to see Cody pick up one of the guns Myrna had brought and aim it calmly at Sam’s head.
“Wait,” Myrna screamed from behind a near by rock.
“I don’t know who the fuck you are,” Cody said looking down the barel of what looked like a shorter 22 riffle. Those were nasty guns. The bullet was known to ricochet around in the body for quite some time after striking the body. Sam imagined there was probably nine rounds in the barel of the thing, it looked like a semi automatic from Wal-mart. A target shooting rig for kids. Then again the little bullet might just graze through his body giving him time to fire a few 9mm rounds into Cody. Sam wasn’t giving up. HE held his gun away from his body and continued to scan th ecreek ben with his free hand.
“Just let us get out of here and that’ll be that,” Cody said.
Sam knew Cody was doing the balistics math in his head as well.
“Wait,” Myrna screamed again from behind her rock. Cody recognized he couldn’t see Mryna and watch Sam at the same time. He began to walk to the side so he could see Myrna and Sam at the same time.
“Drop your gun, man,” Cody said,
“No,” Sam said, now moving back thinking the bottle had made it’s way down stream.
“Baby, start walking towards the car,” Cody yelled at Myrna.
Myrna apeared from the black and walked towards the fire. Sam felt his gun wobbling violently in his hand. He needed a drink. He smiled.
“We’re gonna walk by you and get in our car and leave this county, you’ll never hear from us again, ok?”
Sam shook his head. Myrna seemed very distracted. She was staring at the second gun on the ground. Sam cocked his head at her in reporach. She looked at him with a glare of real hate.
Outguned and shaking like a fool, Sam realized things wern’t looking good. Mryna slowly reached down for the gun.
“Don’t do it baby,” Cody yelled, “Let me deal with this.”
It didn’t make sence how slow Myrna was moving. Sam began to aim his gun at Myrna. A wild clicking came from Cody’s gun. Thier guns wern’t loaded. Cody dropped down and scrambled towards Myrna. Myrna made exsasperated screames as she tried to break the plastic seal on the ammo. Sam squeezed the but of his gun but the paulsy was so wild he couldn’t get a shot. He wheeled around and scanned the creek for his lost bottle. Splashing around he picked up a few rocks wich looked bottle shapped. Finally he found it fifteen feet down stream stopped against a log. Sam grabbed it and turned in time to see Myrna holding a revolver and firing it wildly at him.
Sam dropped into the water behind the log and drank from the bottle and waited.
“Did you hit him?” Cody asked. Sam heard them aproach in the water. “becareful.”
Sam did the math again. Four left in the chamber, Ten in his pocket, one in his belt. THe shotgun was wet, but it might work depending on the dryness of the firing cap. He took the gun out of his belt an d put it ontop of the log in plain view.
Myrna screamed and fired her last last few bullets. A duller shriller sound erupted from Cody’s gun. Had they been drunk, Sam figured they’d choose their shots beter.
A few seconds pased and Sam figured they both had droped for cover. He peeked over the log. Myrna and Cody had scrambled to oposite sides of the canyon. Sam guessed Myrna was out of bulelts so he tried to figure out where Cody was.
The canyon seemed alive with sounds. Sam decided to use his four rounds in the gun to try to flush them out as he could reload again while hiding behind his tree. He took aim at a human sized rock and fired. No knock against women, but hiding behind a rock with an empty gun, anyone would howl when fired at. She did.
The odds seemed evened again. A cascade of rocks betrayed where COdy was climbing the canyon wall. He too was was obscured by a log which had falled into the canyon, but had come to rest upright against the canyon wall. Sam figured as long as Cody was moving, he couldn’t aim. Sam grabbed his shot gun and scrambled towards Myrna.
She screamed at him as he settled next to her in the creek muck. He then set his pistol on top of the rock and aimed at the log Cody was climbing behind waiting for him to show himself. With three shells in the chamber they had to be good shots.
The canyon went white. Sam knew why. Myrna had hit him with a rock. He heard his own gun fire. The thought of sleep crossed his mind, but he held on. As the light subsided, he realized Myrna was tugging at his guns and kicking him repeatedly. He threw her aside. Shrill bangs and tiny explosions around him ment Cody was firing at him. Sam dropped down into the water back behind the rock.
“Are you ok?” Cody asked.
“I’m ok,” Sam heard Myrna say as she slunk along the creek bed away form him.
“Is he dead?” Cody yelled.
“No,” Myrna said.
Sam heard a splash as Cody dropped into the water down stream from them now.
“Stay where you are,” Cody said. He then noisly made his way down stream. Honour amung meth heads. The sun of bitch was trying to lure Sam away from Myrna. Sam considered staying pat, but decided against involving Myrna anymore. She was as much of a liability to him as an asset. Sam let Cody get some distance, then began to follow him.
Slowly Sam followed him back into the canyon. Sam knew he was backlit by the fire so tried to move as low as possible. Sam reaalized too all his tactics came from imagining gun battles in this very canyon as a kid. It was a sick coincidence. It a perverse way, Sam was enjoying himself. He stil lfelt sleepy and figured he had a concucion from Myrna’s blow to his head. Sam sat in two feet of water and thought for a moment.
He was feeling goofy and his mistakes were becoming more frequent. HE decided to make a move. Ellie crossed his mind. A girl like that deserved to be happy. She must have been happier before he hit town. He raised his pint bottle and finished it, toasting her. He then slowly stood with his back against the canyon wall. He could see the entire stretch. Somewhere in the black, Cody’s eyes were scanning for him. Sam chucked his bottle against the canyon wall down stream. From the black, a shrill 22 blast fired blindly at the sound of the falling glass. As Sam began to walk towards Cody, he realized he hadn’t reloaded. Two small arms rounds and shotgun blast is all he had. Too many mistakes, it has to end soon.
Sam froze when he saw Cody. He was fifteen feet ahead of him. Cody was intent on the far canyon wall. He completely exposed himself. Sam aimed his revolver at him with one hand, and with his lef thand aimed the shot gun.
A barage of bullets from upstream dropped Cody. Myrna had reloaded and was firing at anything that moved. Sam senced the bullets flying past his ear and flattened himself against thee canyon wall. Codycrawled through the water towards a boulder. Sam leaned itno the canyon to shoot Cody, but a 22 round blazed through his side. It stung like a hypodermic full of fire. Either fear or a colapsed lung made breathing hellish. He realized he had dropped the revolver. Glancing upstream he saw Myrna aproach, gun aimed into the blackness.
“Cody?” she called.
Sam decided to wait. If Cody stired, he’d use his last shell on him, then let Myrna kill him.
As if things wern’t bad enough, the thundering sound of shotgun explosion filled the canyon. Myrna ran to one side. Sam squinted downstream. A small flashlight was shining towards them. The clatter of 22 rounds followed. The flashlight fell to the gorund. After a few seconds, Myrna passed Sam. She was mubling something hysterical. Her gun was pointed into the blackness. Sam waited a minute then followed her.
Near the opening of the canyon, Cody stood staring down at a body. Myrna tentativly aproached Cody. They hugged. Sam walked out of the darkness, his sawed off shotgun aimed. Myrna noticed him first. She got off three shots before running out of bullets. Sam guessed they all hit true, it felt like he was being pushed back. Cody put his hands up. As Sam fell, he shot Cody in the chest.

Perry Mason and Pual Drake riffled through the files of a famous art dealer. At the eleventh hour they files had turned up in a sedan at the bottom of the quarry. Perry asked the judge for a recess to examine the contents of the file. Drake was disapointed that all the ink had run and the files betrayed nothing of the identity of the real murderer. Mason knew beter. By showing up court the next day with the files, the real murderer would be scared into confessing. A color comercial broke the trance. Sam looked down at his beer.
He took short breaths and looked at the empty bar stool next to him. It was Father’s day in Toppenish. The newspaper said so. Skunk returned form the bathroom and belly laughed. It was Sam’s turn. HE went into the bathroom and sat in the stall without a door. He just sat. Slowly his legs went numb.
Soon a beer distributor came into the bathroom and used the urinal.
“Sup,” he said to Sam. Sam didn’t reply. The distributor washed his hands and left. Sam heard through the bathroom door the distributor talk to Darci.
“What’s up with the dude in the bathroom?”
“Isn’t that great? I got the laughing blind man and Sam, the catanic. My days fly by,” Darci said.
“What happened to ‘the thinker,’ in there?” the distributer asked.
“He came back to avenge the death of his son. Turned out the kid he shot was his son. The kid tried to escape town by making everyone think he’d died when a drug dealer blew himself up in a meth lab. The kid almost made it out of here.”
“Jesus, what a town, man. No offense, but thank god I don’t live here,” he said.
“No offense taken. He had a thing going with the foodbank lady too, she got killed to. It was a real balls out gun battle,” Darci said.
“No shit.”
Sam heard the front door of the bar open. He perked up a little to hear better. An unkown voice asked, “Where is he?” It was followed by silence.
A few moments later the door to the bathroom opened. Myrna came in holding Sam’s grandchild in one hand, a shotgun in the other. Sam smiled and wondered if it was the same gun he’d used. She blew his head off.

The End