Bury Your Horses

by Dan Dowhal

  “Touché. No, sir, tonight you’re my guest. Mi casa es su casa.”

  “Thanks, I appreciate it. No offence, eh? But last time you did pull a gun on me.”

  “I’ll admit I was a little rough on you when we met.” The microwave beeps, and Sanchez goes to unwrap the sandwich and present it to Shane on a paper plate. He continues talking as Shane starts wolfing down his meal. “It was all a misunderstanding. I assumed you were with a motorcycle gang. Now, though, I know better.”

  Shane stops chewing. “Oh. So you know who I am?”

  “Ho, ho, Shane ‘Bronco’ Bronkovsky. You’re famous. Or should I say infamous? Anyway, hombre, you’re all over the news. What I don’t know is why you kept it a secret from me … and also, I gather, from the ladies at the rancho.”

  “If you’d messed up the way I did, would you want people to know it?”

  “Well, there’s the difference between us. If I was royalty, I’d want everyone to know it.”

  “Royalty? Get real.”

  “Are you kidding? You’re a professional athlete with eighteen seasons in the major leagues. Along with movie stars, that’s about as close to royalty as we have in this country. You’re at the top of the heap.”

  “Yeah, well, that was then, this is now. I’m washed up, broke, and now my dad tells me I could be in legal trouble.”

  “That Chicago DA does love the spotlight. With all the noise he’s been making, he may have no choice but to bring charges now.”

  “Great.”

  “Relax, amigo. This isn’t Chicago.” Shane finishes the sandwich, and Sanchez opens a bag of potato chips and dumps them onto Shane’s empty plate. Then the doctor holds up a bottle of amber-coloured fluid. “I was about to have a shot of mezcal. Care to join me?”

  “Sure. Why not?” Glasses are produced, and two shots poured. “Don’t I get some salt and a lemon wedge?” Shane asks.

  For the first time since Shane’s arrival, the smile leaves Sanchez’s face. “If you weren’t my guest tonight, I would shoot you for that comment.” He manages to keep a serious look on his face for a few more seconds, then guffaws again. “Just try this first. But sip it, don’t shoot it. I think you’ll find it better than the piss they serve in most bars up north. Salut!”

  They clink glasses and drink, and as Shane does so, his eyes light up. “Hey. That’s good.”

  Sanchez beams knowingly and refills their glasses.

  “So, Doc, is this where you normally hang out? No offence, but if I could park anywhere, this wouldn’t be my first choice.”

  “The lot belongs to a friend of mine. He lets me park here whenever I want … and tap into the electricity and water. The price is right, by which I mean it’s free. I like it here. It’s private and well policed by the border patrol. But what about you? You were planning to sleep in the park with the ghost of Generalissimo Villa — what brings you down to the border?”

  “I don’t know … my feet just kind of took me here.” Despite the doctor’s admonition to savour it, Shane throws back the rest of the mezcal. “I’m glad they did,” he adds. Sanchez chuckles and refills their glasses.

  Shane rises. “Let me get by you, there, Doc. I gotta step outside for a piss.”

  “Why go outside into the cold and dust? I have a toilet in here. It’s snug, but functional.” He indicates a small doorway, which Shane assumed was some sort of storage closet.

  When he is inside relieving himself, he sees that the compact, waterproofed chamber also doubles as a shower stall. “Hey, Doc,” he calls out. “I haven’t washed in, like, three days. Any chance I could grab a quick shower?”

  “Be my guest. I was too polite to mention it, but you, señor, stink to high heaven. There should be plenty of hot water. I’ll get you a towel and a plastic bag to protect your cast. I can even offer you a clean T-shirt and boxer shorts. A toothbrush and an electric razor, too, if you’re interested.”

  “Oh, man, that would be awesome. You’re a lifesaver, Doc.”

  “Si. That’s what it says on my diploma.”

  Shane emerges from the bathroom stall showered and clean-shaven. He feels and looks like a new man. Wearing nothing but a towel, he feels Doc Sanchez’s eyes scrutinizing him and has a momentary suspicion there may be more to the doctor’s generosity than simple hospitality.

  “You’re not, like, checking me out, are you, Doc?”

  Sanchez guffaws. “You mean am I queer? Admittedly my life would be much simpler if I didn’t relish women so much. No, it was purely occupational interest. I’ve worked with professional athletes before — boxers, in Las Vegas. You are in phenomenal shape, amigo.”

  “When you’re low on talent and high on mileage, working out hard is pretty much the only way to stay in the game.”

  “Here, I promised you clean underwear.” He tosses over the garments. Before Shane puts on the T-shirt, he studies the logo on the front that reads Lobos de Chihuahua. A stylized wolf crunches a hockey stick in its mouth.

  “Hey, this some kind of a hockey team?”

  Sanchez’s stout figure inflates with visible pride. “That’s my hockey team. It’s owned by an old and dear friend of mine, Don Aléjandro Arguijo, but I’m the team physician, general manager, and chairman of the board.”

  “Lobos de Chihuahua, eh? I don’t get it. I’m pretty sure lobos are wolves, but aren’t Chihuahuas those yappy little hairless dogs that chicks like to carry around in their purses?”

  Sanchez shakes his head with exaggerated sadness. “I expect that sort of ignorance from my fellow Americans, but I thought you Canadians were a little worldlier. No, Shane, Chihuahua is one of Mexíco’s states.” He points out the window toward the land beyond the illuminated Great Wall. “That is Chihuahua.”

  “No shit. And it has a hockey team?”

  “Yes, we’re an expansion team in the Liga Mexicana Élite — that’s our national hockey league. In fact, we’re just finishing building a new arena right next door in Puerto Palomas. You can see it right there, on the other side of the wall.”

  Shane has a look and then laughs out loud. “When I headed south on my motorcycle, I wanted to get as far away from hockey as I could. Now I find out that hockey is huge down here, right in the middle of the desert. Who knew?”

  “They’ve been playing hockey down here in the Southwest for seventy-five years. Sure, the arenas are small, and it’s not your calibre of play, but the fans are passionate. And now the sport’s catching on in Mexíco, too. I, for one, think it’s a beautiful game. I was a big fan of the Albuquerque Six-Guns and the Houston Apollos as a boy.” He holds up the mezcal bottle. “Another shot?”

  “Sure.”

  “You should meet Don Aléjandro. He’s a great man, and I know he’d love to talk to you, given your NHL experience. He and I go way back. We went through school together.”

  “You went to school in Mexico? I thought you said you were American.”

  “No, no, Don Aléjandro went to school here, in Columbus.”

  “Kids from Mexico go to school in the U.S.?”

  “Why not? It’s the closest school around. Those who can afford it pay for it. But a lot of mothers pay the tuition the hard way.”

  “What do you mean?”

  “For decades, some Puerto Palomas women on the verge of giving birth, and I do mean on the verge — we’re talking broken water, contractions, the baby practically crawling its way out — have been coming to the U.S. border checkpoint, where the guards feel they have no choice but to call an ambulance. The mother is taken to the hospital in Deming, the baby’s born stateside, and presto, it’s an American citizen, entitled to an American education.”

  Sanchez points outside at the shining wall again. “That border, amigo, is an illusion, although, as Einstein would say, it’s a persistent one. We are all one people who were living here long before the bureaucrats decided where to place their fencelines. I have relatives north and south, and so does pretty much every other Chicano family herea
bouts. Of course, once you leave this vicinity, your bloodline is unimportant. All the gringos see is your ethnicity, and as far as they’re concerned, you’re an illegal immigrant who just came scurrying over the border fence to steal their job or rape their daughter. Maybe that’s why I came back here.”

  “Back from where?”

  “I took pre-med in Tucson, then did med school and interned in Los Angeles, and finally, I tried private practice in Las Vegas. I’d had enough of dusty, rusty Columbus and was going to seek my fortune elsewhere. But the old WASP doctor who ran the clinic in Vegas was a great tutor in racial intolerance … among other things. He gave me every shit job he could find and insulted me constantly. In the three years I worked there he never called me anything other than ‘Pancho Villa.’ That was my own fault, I suppose, for trying to educate him about our little bit of local history, and the fact the generalissimo and I share the same first name — Francisco.”

  Sanchez stops talking and looks at Shane hesitatingly, like he’s about to broach a matter of extreme delicacy. He leans forward and lowers his voice. “By any chance, would you care to smoke a joint?” he asks.

  Shane’s face becomes all grin and gratitude. “Hell, yeah! I’d love to. You know, I had some in that toiletry bag of mine that got stolen.”

  “No kidding.”

  “Yeah, but, frankly, I don’t expect to ever see that again. Losing the cash and credit cards and ID is hassle enough, but it’s losing my dental plate that really pisses me off.”

  “You lost some dentures, too? Hang on a minute.”

  The doctor gets up with a groan and goes to a small sink amid the medical equipment. He brings back a plastic cup with false teeth floating around inside.

  “These yours by any chance?”

  Shane recognizes them immediately. “Holy fuck, yeah! Where did you get them?”

  “A patient of mine brought them to me. Said he found them on the side of the road. I’ve been cleaning and disinfecting them.”

  Shane fishes the dentures out and places them in his mouth. He chomps his teeth a couple of times and flashes a big smile. “How do I look?”

  “Like a million bucks.”

  “Not anymore, Doc. Not anymore.”

  ELEVEN

  Their two-man party goes on past midnight, and Shane wakes up in the passenger seat of the vehicle covered in a blanket, with the landscape rolling by his window.

  “Good morning,” the doctor’s voice says beside him. Shane flops over and sees Sanchez at the wheel of the van, looking remarkably fresh. “I assumed we wouldn’t want to miss our appointment with Tammy.”

  “Oh, crap. You’re one of those early bird types, aren’t you?” Shane moans. “All piss and vinegar in the morning. I’ve roomed with a few of your type over the years.”

  “Trust me, I’m hurting as bad as you are. But I’m used to getting my sleep interrupted at all hours — occupational hazard. Nobody wants to see their doctor dragging his ass, so I’ve just learned to disguise it. After a while, you almost believe it yourself.” Sanchez suspends his right hand. “See that? Steady as a rock. Need your appendix taken out?”

  “No, thanks. Say, have you seen my dentures?”

  “They’re in the bathroom. If you want to freshen up while you’re in there, you’ve got ten minutes or so.”

  Shane splashes some water on his face, then brushes his teeth and combs his hair. Even though it’s only been a few hours since he shaved, he decides to run the electric razor over his face again, too. They reach their destination, and Sanchez drops Shane off, promising to return after the doctor secures a cup of coffee.

  When Tammy arrives, Shane comes around to open the door for her. She steps out, again wearing her town clothes, and her eyes take him in. “Wouldn’t have recognized you except for the cast,” she finally says. “My, my, you clean up real good.”

  “Why, thank you kindly, ma’am. And you’re looking mighty purdy this morning, too, if you don’t mind me saying,” Shane replies, doing his best hokey cowboy impression.

  That produces a smile, and Shane feels his heart beat faster.

  “I was feeling guilty about leaving you out on your own last night,” Tammy confesses. “But I see you managed to land on your feet all right. But where on earth did you find your chompers?”

  “A patient of Doc Sanchez’s found them on the road. The doc was kind enough to put me up last night, too. Otherwise I would have ended up sleeping outside in the park.”

  She touches his bare arm lightly, and the sensation goes right through him. “Okay, then, let’s see if that money got here.”

  Today, there are no problems at the counter, and Tammy is issued a stack of fifties and twenties. She does not extract her share, instead handing the whole wad to Shane. It is almost as if she is testing to see whether he will grab the money and run off. Holding the cash in the fingers of his casted hand, he pulls out the agreed upon amount and passes it to her.

  “I want to thank you again for all you did for me. I’ll always think of you as my angel of mercy,” he says.

  To his surprise, Tammy blushes. She shoves the money into her pocket without counting it. There is something erotic in the way she sticks out her hip to push the bills into her jeans.

  “I’ll be honest, Shane, I figured I’d never see this money. I guess I misjudged you. And, well, it was handy having you help out, too. Good luck.” She holds out her hand.

  Shane shakes, but isn’t ready to take his leave just yet.

  “Say, I’m waiting around to pay off Doc Sanchez. But, after that, how about a cup of coffee? I mean, if you’re not in a hurry.”

  Tammy tosses her hair and cocks her head sideways as she considers his proposition. “I got a couple of things I need to buy, but I ain’t in no rush to get back to the ranch. Do you know where the Sierra Cantina is?” Shane nods. “Okay, then, meet me there in an hour.”

  Before driving off, she offers him an enticing smile that sets him tingling. He is standing there lost in thought, wondering what it is about that self-sufficient, unflashy woman he finds so attractive, when a horn jolts him back to attention.

  “Hola, Shane,” Doc Sanchez calls down from the driver’s window of the van as it pulls up. “All good?”

  “Awesome,” Shane replies. He peels off more bills and passes them up to the doctor. Unlike Tammy, Sanchez does count the money, but his smile reveals all is in order. “Gracias, amigo. In future, I hope you’ll think of Doctor Sanchez’s Travelling Medicine Show for all your health needs in Luna County. Well, duty calls.” He leans out to shake Shane’s hand. “Say, what are your plans, anyway, now that you’re flush again? Heading home?”

  Shane looks down at the remaining money and does some mental calculations. “Actually, I could only hit my dad up for so much cash, and what I got left won’t last long. No, I guess I’ll hang around here for a while, maybe even see if I can get my bike back.”

  “And stay as far away from Chicago as you can?”

  “There is that, but I was actually thinking of trying to talk Tammy into letting me stay at the ranch and help out for a while. I’m going to have coffee with her in a bit.”

  Sanchez erupts in a giant laugh. “If the rattlesnake don’t bite you, something else does, eh? Well, if that doesn’t work out, feel free to come knocking on my door. I’m generally parked in the same place. But, this time, you bring the mezcal. I prefer Del Maguey Minero. Don’t forget.” He waves a final farewell and puts the van into gear.

  Shane finds a general store where he can buy some T-shirts, underwear, and toiletries before walking to the cantina. He orders a big breakfast and is working on his third cup of coffee when Tammy arrives. Shane rises and pulls her chair out for her, as much to sniff her scent as to make an impression. Tammy orders a cup of tea, and they make small talk about the weather and the town before the conversation drifts to Shane and his plans.

  “You must be relieved to be back on your feet,” Tammy says. “I expect you’ll be headi
ng back up north.”

  “Actually, I was planning on sticking around. It’ll take a few days and a bunch of phone calls just to figure out my next steps, plus I’m still hoping the cops might find my motorcycle.”

  “There’s a couple of motels in town. Nothing fancy, but they’re clean.”

  “Well, actually, I was wondering what you’d think of me staying at the ranch for a while.”

  She opens her mouth to reply, but closes it again, and her lips contract. “I’m not sure that’s such a good idea,” she finally says.

  “Why not? The stable is good enough for me, and I’d sooner the money go to you than some motel. Plus, I can do work … you said yourself it was a help having me around.”

  “Yolanda wouldn’t like it.”

  “I get the feeling there’s not much Yolanda does like. But is it really her decision?” Tammy sips her tea and says nothing, but Shane has a sense that she at least is thinking about it. “I’ll pay you a thousand bucks,” he adds.

  “You ain’t got a thousand bucks, remember?” she shoots back, but is smiling when she says it.

  “Well, not in my pocket, but I’m going to arrange for more money. I need to pay my dad back, anyway.”

  “I don’t know. I’m just not sure about a man staying with us, that’s all.”

  “Haven’t I proven that you can trust me?”

  “You’ve kept your word so far, I’ll give you that. But I barely know you.”

  “Well, if I ever lie to you, you can have Yolanda shoot me.”

  Tammy laughs and brushes her hair back with a hand. She drinks some more tea and scrutinizes Shane’s face. He hopes that she is maybe contemplating other fringe benefits of having him around.

  “Okay, how about this,” he says. “I’ll pay to rewire the stable, and do all the work. Now, how can you say no to that? Even with only one good hand, how often does someone offer to pay to work for you?”

  “We sure could use the money,” Tammy says, almost to herself, and Shane senses he has gained the advantage. He changes to a lighter approach.