It Was All A Dream
“Goodbye, Sam,” I said, and I
pulled the trigger. I don't know who was more surprised, me or Sam.
I know Sam was surprised as hell that I had the nerve to shoot him
in his stupid movie-star face in the first place, but what surprised
me was that the damn beat-up old shotgun didn't make a huge roar and
blow Mr. Handsome's head clean off. Of course it didn't. What
happened instead was the gun made a loud “click” and a little
plastic bullet more or less trickled out the end of the barrel and
bounced off his forehead. But at least he let go of the girl he was
dragging around by the arm and stared at me with a very surprised
look on his face.
“What the hell! Are you insane? I can't believe you were going to shoot me, you sonofabitch!” He was really pissed.
“What the hell! Are you insane? I can't believe you were going to shoot me, you sonofabitch!” He was really pissed.
“Shut up, Sam,” I said,
re-loading another shell into the barrel of the shotgun, “Or I'll
shoot you again.” Which was actually pretty funny, because I was
planning on shooting him again anyway, as soon as I could jamb a
shell into the chamber and cock the gun and so on. I sure as hell
didn't want to get into a big wrestling match over the gun and I
really didn't want to get into one of his goddamn movie-star
fistfights, complete with witty threats and manly bon mots
and all that crap. I had been in a drunk-ass wrestling match more
than once in my illustrious career, rolling around punching and
sweating and grunting and cursing. It was too much like sex and it
always made me slightly uncomfortable afterward.
But Sam wasn't
crouching like a jungle beast preparing to spring or or drawing back
his mighty sinew to deliver a knockout punch. No, he was still
standing there cussing and glaring and just being pissed off. I
couldn't help but think how typical it was of him that he would be
more outraged that someone would try to kill his wonderful self than
be frightened about it. But by that time I had the gun loaded and
aimed at his head again. I could hear shouting and confusion in the
saloon behind me and someone yelled “Don't do it, Blix!” and that
gave me pause. Who was doing all this shouting? Just a moment
before it had been only me and Sam and the lithe, beautiful femme
fatal he was dragging around by the arm. Now who the hell else
was in here?
“Just stand
right there,” I said to Sam, “And you might get out of this
alive.” I didn't really
want to shoot Sam. I just didn't want to share the treasure with
him. And he was such a pain in the ass about money that I knew who
would get the best of the deal if I let him live. So, yeah, in a way
I did want to shoot the sonofabitch. I was definitely sick of his
“me first” crap and his movie star handsome bullshit. I backed
away and turned around. Rusty was sitting at the bar, and over in
the corner by the jukebox was a small cluster of tourists, all
talking at once. The saloon had been closed since Molly's death and
no one was supposed to be in here. And even though it had only been
a few days since she passed away the place was boarded up and just
dusty as hell and there was water dripping from somewhere overhead.
“How the hell did tourists get in here?” I wondered as I walked
over to the bar.
“Wow, man, I
can't believe you were going to blow Sam's head off like that!”
Rusty said. He was really excited. “What the fuck, man! Are you
crazy?”
“Shut up,
Rusty,” I said. “Let me get a grip on this. How did those
tourists get in here, anyway?” I turned towards the corner booth
where the gaggle of frightened witnesses had been babbling and
pointing at me but they were gone. The girl was sitting there
instead. She was wet, her diaphanous white blouse clinging
provocatively to her heaving breasts. She was very beautiful and
very frightened. On the table in front of her was the shotgun. Sam
walked over with a ratty piece of paper in his hands. It was the
drawing of the map that would lead us to the map.
“Are you done
fucking around, now, jackass?” Sam said. “Can we get back to
work?” He spread the paper on the bar top. He was the boss. “Now
look, the way I see it is we've got to cut this trench right
through the concrete here going towards the rear door. That will be
your job, Blix.” He was standing way too close, in my space and in
my face, as usual. Mr. In Charge. He turned to Rusty. “Now you,
Rusty, will...”
“Excuse me just
a minute,” I interrupted quietly. I slid off the bar stool as
casually as I could, then I suddenly exploded across the room,
jumping onto a booth seat to gain some spring action and dove through
the air towards the girl in the booth. She was beautiful and
frightened and too surprised to move. The tourists in the corner
started babbling again. I grabbed the shotgun and spun around fast
before Sam could make his move. He and Rusty were standing at the
bar, looking at me like I was crazy. Sam had the map in his hand.
I was moving closer to him, shotgun pointed at his face. Sam gave
out one of his big dramatic “Here we go again” sighs and put the
map on the bar. He was obviously planning to give me a good
old-fashioned Hollywood ass kicking for my own good.
“Good-bye,
Sam,” I said. I pulled the trigger. Another loud click and
another pathetic blue plastic bullet trickled out of the end of the
barrel. This one didn't even have enough force to make it to his
face. It just made a weak little arc and bounced off his chest. He
was wearing a really expensive- looking white shirt, some kind of
pirate get up, open at the chest. The girl in the booth tried to
suppress a giggle, but I could hear her anyway. There was water
dripping somewhere.
My name is Blix
Dixon. I woke up this morning and decided that I couldn't take it
any more and it was time to just put it all down, write it all down
and maybe get some of this stuff out of my head. I mean, you don't
have to be Sigmund Freud to see the symbolism of dreams like that
one. Everyone has their story to tell and this one is mine. Not my
life story or anything as mundane as that; who cares about all that
stuff? No, I mean the story of what happened the summer after my
second wife left me and I lost the house and my life fell apart and I
got into the drinking and sailing and hell raising on the beach.
And
meeting Ponce deLeon.
Great start!
ReplyDeleteMore! (And I had to look up the meaning of diaphanous...)
ReplyDeleteTJ is always sending me to the dictionary. Nice work.
DeleteThanks guys! Every Monday Wednesday Friday through the summer.
ReplyDeleteM-W-F have just gotten more interesting. Nice stuff.
ReplyDeleteGlad I finally have internet and could finish reading this! More, I need more! Its definitely a great start!
ReplyDelete