by Rawlin Cash
He looked at her. She was older than him, out of his league. “No thanks,” he said.
“You eating?”
“How much is the burger?”
She showed him a menu.
“How much for an extra patty?”
“You want a double burger?”
“Yeah.”
She went back and spoke to the cook and told him the price and he ordered it with fries and slaw.
When she brought the food he opened the burger and took out the extra patty. He put it on his napkin and brought it outside to the dog. She ate it in a single bite and he patted her head.
Inside, the old man said, “Thought she wasn’t yours.”
Hunter said nothing. He sat at the counter and ate his food and paid the bill and when he was done the waitress brought him a slice of apple pie.
He looked up at her.
“On me,” she said.
Hunter smiled and ate the pie. When he went back outside the dog was gone. He whistled a few times but she didn’t show. He looked around the side of the diner and walked to the end of the block but couldn’t see her.
He walked back to the railway yard as the sun set behind him.
“I told that old man she wasn’t mine,” he said to no one.
He got on a train without knowing its destination and lay on the floor of the car and waited. It was night by the time the train moved and he watched the land roll by. The moon was full and bright. He smoked cigarettes out of boredom, one after another. He fell asleep and when he woke up it was morning and a railway worker was prodding him with a steel bar.
“All right,” Hunter said.
“Get out before I kick you out.”
“I’m going,” Hunter said.
He brushed past the man and walked in the direction that looked like it went into town. He passed a sign that said ‘Welcome to Amarillo’.
Three
Hunter made his way into the city of Amarillo with forty dollars, the rifle, and the over-sized coat. The city wasn’t as big as El Paso but it seemed like a fair-sized place. He walked toward the tall buildings in the distance but on Sixth Avenue he noticed a bar with a help wanted sign and went inside.
The place wasn’t open but there was a man behind the bar setting up.
“I saw the sign,” Hunter said.
The man looked up at him. He was a big guy with a bald head and white beard. He was wearing a biker’s leather vest and an Iron Maiden shirt. He was about forty but looked older.
He took the interruption as his cue to stop working.
He looked Hunter over and told him to take a seat. Then grabbed two beers from the fridge and joined him.
“So, sorry dude, gotta ask.”
“The rifle?”
“Yeah, man, the rifle.”
“It’s just in case.”
The man laughed. “Just in case?”
“Yeah.”
They looked at each other. The man seemed to be waiting for more explanation but Hunter didn’t give one.
He cleared his throat. “All right, kid. Well, what we’re looking for is someone to clean up the place when we close. We close late. We need the floors mopped. The garbage taken out. That sort of thing.”
“I can do that.”
“We also need help clearing the customers out after last call. They’re rowdy.”
“All right.”
“And hauling kegs down to the basement. Can you do that? You look kind of scrawny.”
“I can haul a keg.”
“You sure?”
“Does it weigh less than a bale of hay?”
“I don’t know what a bale of hay weighs.”
“I reckon a keg is lighter,” Hunter said.
The man nodded. “You ever worked in a bar before?”
“No, sir.”
“You ever worked around crowds before?”
“No, sir. Not a lot of crowds where I come from.”
He took a sip of his beer. “Well, we’re one of Amarillo’s premium live music bars. We get all the big acts. You heard of the Wingnuts?”
“No, sir.”
“They played here last week.”
“All right.”
Hunter took a sip of the beer. He hadn’t had many in his life but he liked the taste fine.
“You eighteen?”
“Why pay for an eighteen year old?” Hunter said.
The man laughed. “What’s an eighteen year old get paid?”
“You tell me.”
“About five bucks an hour.”
“You could get the same work out of me for half that.”
“You’ll work for two fifty an hour?”
“Yes, sir.”
The man looked toward the door. Someone was coming in and Hunter turned to see. It was a woman with long brown hair and a low cut shirt that exposed her cleavage and midriff. She was wearing bleached jeans that were low cut and hinted at the pink waistband of her panties.
“Cheryl,” the guy said. “This is our new porter.”
“Well my,” she said, looking at Hunter. “You sure he’s old enough.”
“He’s eighteen.”
“The hell he is,” she said, and popped open the till.
“What’s that for?” the man said.
“I’ve got bills to pay,” she said.
She took some money, kissed the guy, winked at Hunter and strutted back out of the bar.
“She’s probably more trouble than she’s worth,” the man said, “but I sure have a weakness for that pussy.”
Hunter nodded.
“So, what do you think?”
“She’s nice.”
“Not her. The job.”
“Oh. I can start right now.”
“I don’t need you to start until tonight at eight.”
“Eight it is,” Hunter said.
“All right then.”
Hunter drained his beer and stood up. “Only other thing is, I’ll need a place to sleep.”
“That’s your problem, kid.”
“Not for two fifty an hour it ain’t.”
“You want to sleep in the basement?”
“I don’t want to sleep in the basement, but I don’t have anywhere else to sleep.”
“It’s illegal.”
“Half the things you done since you got up was illegal,” Hunter said.
The man smiled. “You’re right about that, kid.”
They shook hands and Hunter made for the door. He killed time until eight and then went back to the bar. The guy was there with three other staff members and the girl from earlier. None of them got along well. The girl seemed to hate the guy. All she did was take his money. The other staff did their jobs but nothing extra. They took off as soon as the tips stopped flowing. Hunter hauled kegs and bottles and cans up from the basement. He helped the band set up and helped them load their stuff back in their van after the show. They were horrible. Heavy metal. He did dishes, bussed tables, and when the place was empty he put up the chairs and mopped the floor.
At the end of the night it was just him and the boss.
“You did all right, kid” the man said.
They had a beer together and afterwards, Hunter went down to the basement and found a crate to make a bed out of. He got a decent night’s sleep and when he woke there was no one around. He put on a pot of coffee and grilled himself a hamburger. He was playing pool when someone unlocked the door.
It was the owner’s girlfriend.
She saw Hunter at the pool table and came over to him. “Where’s Hank?” she said.
It was about eleven.
“Ain’t seen him yet,” Hunter said.
“You’re a good worker,” she said. She was leaning on the pool table, pressing her boobs between her arms to create a lot of cleavage. Hunter stared right at them.
She knew how to use her body.
He took a shot and missed.
“You need to work on your aim,” she said.
She w
ent to the bar and took money out of the till.
“Later, hon,” she said before leaving.
Hunter found some cigarettes behind the bar and smoked. Then he let himself out and killed a few hours. When he got back to the bar at around six, it was open and the owner was there with the girl.
“Where you been?” the girl said.
“I went to a laundromat,” Hunter said.
Hunter asked the guy when he would be paid and the man laughed. “For two fifty you can get paid whenever you like,” he said.
“How about now then?”
The man gave him fifteen dollars and Hunter put it in his pocket. He worked again that night, and the night after, and things became routine. He worked the nights, some were busy, some were quiet. He slept on a crate. In the mornings he had the place to himself and free rein in the kitchen. He didn’t need money for beer, smokes, food, or rent, so his stash grew by ten to twenty dollars a day.
The owner’s girlfriend got friendlier by the day and one morning, when he’d been there about two weeks, she arrived earlier than usual. It was about seven. Hunter had gone to bed late and was still sleeping.
When he woke up, she was naked in the bed next to him and it was too late to stop himself. They fucked and she lay there on the crate afterwards and lit a cigarette.
“You’re going to get me in trouble with the boss,” Hunter said.
“Is that all you care about?”
He started to get dressed but she kissed him on the neck and put her hand inside his pants and pulled him back to bed. After the second time he had a smoke with her in the bed.
It was the first time he’d slept with a woman.
He left and showered at the YMCA and stayed away from the bar longer than usual. It was seven when he got back and the boss and the girl both acted completely normal.
The next morning, he woke to find her in his bed again and they fucked again and Hunter knew his days in Amarillo were numbered. Some days when he was killing time before work he would go to the rail yard and look at the trains.
The girl was getting careless. Hunter would have preferred to be discrete but it was as if she was on a mission to get caught.
They made out in the back room during shift. She stayed late and made her boyfriend leave her there with Hunter at the end of the night. She flirted with him openly.
One morning, they were fucking in his bed when Hunter heard a gunshot. The sound was amplified in the enclosed space. A bullet ricocheted off the ceiling.
The boss was standing there at the bottom of the stairs.
The girl screamed and Hunter didn’t know if it was the gunshot or the orgasm.
When she was done, he got up and started putting on his pants.
“What do you think you’re doing, you son of a bitch,” the boss said.
“Leaving,” Hunter said.
“The hell you are, fucker.”
His gun was a compact Ruger pistol and he swung it at Hunter. Hunter ducked and dodged the swing.
“Why don’t I just kill you right here?” the man said.
Hunter knew he wasn’t getting shot. The guy wasn’t the type. He wanted to be in a band. He didn’t want to go to jail. And he didn’t love the girl. He’d be better off without her and everyone knew it.
“Why don’t you punch me in the face,” Hunter said.
“What?”
“I fucked your girl, you knock my lights out.”
“I ought to fucking shoot you.”
“You don’t want to go to jail for a girl that steals from your till,” Hunter said.
“What did you say?” the girl said.
Hunter didn’t answer her. He stepped toward the man and the man punched him hard in the face with his gun hand. The steel handle of the gun slashed a gouge through his cheek.
Hunter staggered backward and steadied himself on the crate he used as a bed.
The man and the girl both watched him. He finished getting dressed and then got his father’s coat and rifle. The money he’d been stashing was under the crate and he lifted it and took the pile of bills out of their hiding place.
“Leave the money,” the man said.
“The hell I will,” Hunter said.
“Leave it or I’ll shoot you.”
Hunter ignored him and put the money in the inside pocket of his coat. He walked to the stairs.
“Stop right there or I’ll shoot you in the back,” the man said.
Hunter kept walking.
Four
Norman, Oklahoma was the last stop before Oklahoma City. It was raining when Hunter got off the bus and he ran into the café across the street from the greyhound station.
“You’re getting the floor wet,” the waitress said.
There wasn’t anything he could do about that so he went back outside and walked down the street. The town was quiet. It was a rainy Saturday afternoon and it seemed like it was mostly office buildings around.
He was glad of his father’s long coat.
He walked away from the downtown and for want of a better idea started hitchhiking. It took a while before a worn out pickup truck pulled over for him.
The man driving had on overalls and a hat. He was about Hunter’s grandfather’s age.
“Where you headed, son?”
Hunter didn’t want to say he didn’t know. A road sign said they were headed west so that’s what he said.
The man nodded and they drove on. The rain let up after a while and the man asked Hunter about the rifle.
“It was my father’s.”
The man nodded. “My daddy taught me to shoot too,” he said.
“It was my daddy’s gun but my grandfather taught me how to shoot it,” Hunter said.
The man nodded.
They drove on a few more miles and the old man slowed down at a gas station.
“I can pump,” Hunter said.
The old man nodded. “That would be fine,” he said.
Hunter pumped the gas and the old man went into the store to pay. Hunter sat in the truck and waited. He could see into the store. The man bought two cups of coffee in takeout cups and paid for the gas.
Then another guy came out from the office at the back of the store and started talking to the old man. The man from the office was fat and had a thick black beard that might have made him look friendly. But he didn’t look friendly. It seemed like they were arguing. The guy with the beard waved his arms around. When the old man came back out he was agitated.
“Everything okay?” Hunter said.
The old man nodded. He handed Hunter one of the cups of coffee. He had some creamers and sugar packets but neither of them used them. The old man lit a cigarette and offered Hunter one. Hunter took it.
“That bearded old jerk,” Hunter said.
The old man looked at him and smiled. He didn’t say anything for a while and then said, “He ain’t that old.”
They drove on a little more and then the old man said, “I’m turning north at the next road.”
“Where does it lead?” Hunter said.
“Leads to my farm.”
Hunter nodded.
“I can let you out at the turn off. I suppose I should have left you at that gas station but I forgot.”
“The turn off is fine,” Hunter said.
The man brought the truck to a stop and Hunter shook his hand.
“Thank you,” he said.
“You sure you know where you’re headed?” the old man said.
Hunter shrugged. “We’re all headed the same place in the end,” he said.
The old man let out a laugh. “You’re smarter than you look, kid.”
Hunter got out and watched the pickup turn onto the side road. It drove off north raising a cloud of dust behind it.
The sky had cleared up but Hunter could tell the rain had been out there too. The land was wet. Grain swayed in the breeze. He was a long way from anywhere and was beginning to regret taking the ride. There hadn’t been another car
on the road since the gas station.
Hunter still had a little coffee in his cup and he crossed the road to sit on the fence. He lit another cigarette and took in the view. It was all grain as far as the eye could see.
Clouds billowed up out of the ground in the distance.
Crickets did their thing.
There was a car coming down the road from the same direction he’d come. Hunter thought about trying to catch a ride but it was slowing down. It came all the way to the turnoff and turned right.
Hunter recognized the driver. It was the bearded guy from the gas station. He didn’t look like he was making a social call. In the passenger seat next to him was a younger guy.
Hunter watched them pick up speed and leave the same trail of dust the old man had left. He was sitting on the fence in plain view but they hadn’t seen him.
Hunter finished his cigarette and then started walking north along the same turn off.
He’d walked a few miles when he heard a car coming in his direction. He got off the road and ducked in the long grass. The car sped by.
Hunter kept walking and it was over five miles by the time he saw the first farmhouse. The old man’s pickup was out front. There was a barn and a few outhouses scattered around. There were silos.
He walked up to the house and called out hello.
No one answered but a dog came running toward him. She was a good dog, like the dog he’d had in El Paso, and he crouched down and patted her. He was walking toward the house when he saw the old man in a field. He was bent over a horse. When Hunter reached him he saw that the horse was dead. It had been shot in the head.
“Those men do that?” Hunter said.
The old man looked up at him and if he was surprised to see him he didn’t show it.
“Yes they did,” he said.
“Over money?”
The old man sighed. “What else?”
Hunter nodded.
“You run this place by yourself?” he said.
The man nodded.
“I need work if you want a hand,” Hunter said.
The old man nodded and brought him into the house. “I see you’ve met Sally,” he said. The dog was by Hunter’s side.
The old man made coffee on the stove and they drank it together and smoked. Then they went outside and made a bonfire for the horse.