A Lonely Way To Die - Art Bourgeau Read online

  We walked for another five minutes without getting a ride. Then an old pickup stopped for us. It was Truman, impeccably dressed in a Willie Nelson T-shirt and jeans. He had a case of Old Blue on ice in a styrofoam cooler, and a full tank of gas. He took us as far as Nashville, where the three of us checked into a hotel room and proceeded to get seriously drunk. Sometime late that night we staggered into Tootsie's Purple Orchid Lounge again. The same bartender was working. He came over and said, "Hey, aren't you the fellow who was looking for Waylon Jennings last week?"

  "Yeah," I said.

  "Well, he still ain't here," he said.

  "The next time you see him you tell him Snake Kirlin stopped in," I said.

  "Right, chief," he said and walked away. Smart-ass bartenders like that probably don't make much in tips.

  The next morning we said goodbye to Truman , and headed east on I-40. We hitchhiked till our thumbs gave out, and then we stayed awhile, gradually working our way north and east toward nothing.

  Six months passed, and it was winter. We had a lot of snow on the ground. One day F.T. came in with a letter from his folks. Inside was another envelope addressed to Snake Kirlin and F.T. Zevich. F.T. opened us a beer, and I opened the letter.

  It read:

  "Dear Snake and F.T.,

  I am fine and I hope you are too. It's a good thing you packed up and left the goat shed because you would have frozen to death in the winter we're having. It has snowed every day for about a week, and I guess it's nearly two feet deep. No one is moving. I am very comfortable. I have a big fire in my stove, plenty of Old Blue, and my records. But today I got to missing y'all so I decided to write to you.

  The town is doing line. A few things did change after you left, and I thought you might like to hear.

  Jessie is still the mayor. We have the second traffic light, but nothing has been done about the shopping center. It looks like the company from Nashville may be backing out. The pictures you passed out at the party really set everybody to talking. Nobody had any idea that Jessie was a lesbian. Anyway, it has given her business a real shot in the arm. Women are now coming to Jessie's place from as far away as Shelbyville and Monteagle. She has so much business that she has had to hire more people.

  She hired Flo to take Cindy's place and has paid for her to go to beauty operator's school. I think Flo was pulling our leg about getting married because her husband has never showed up.

  Virgil was sad when Flo quit, but otherwise, things are the same at the First National Bar & Grill. Now he has a woman named Ida working for him. She is built better than Flo and doesn't seem to be interested in politics. Buford Whaley's wife died. Cancer of the womb is what the doctor said. Buford shot himself after the funeral. It was messy, real messy.

  Lou Young is doing fine. His wife recovered from gallbladder surgery. He has a new butcher named Leotis. Too bad he can't sing a note.

  Dawn went back to school. She was home over Christmas and came around asking about the two of you. I asked her if she was dating anyone. She said she was going out with an engineering student.

  Oh, I almost forgot to tell you. Buck Hill died two days after you left. He was way out in the country and caught some teenagers parking, so he reached in the glove compartment for his flashlight. Someone had put three rattlesnakes, without the rattles, in it, and they bit him. He had been drinking hard that day and died quickly. There's no trace as to who did it. I guess the case will go unsolved.

  And about me. I'm the new constable.

  Drive careful when you come through town.

  Love,

  Truman