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Taking Chances, by E. L. Van Hine and L.H. Nicoll
MaineWriter:
From Chapter 32:
Ennis shook his head, eyes gleaming with unshed tears. “No ma’am... an I still don’t know, he never... well. I saw em in May, I guess before he come up here... course... “ his breath seemed to be choking him, “ he wouldn’t tell me somethin like that...” Ennis’s eyes had blurred, his head was aching, and picked up his coffee, taking a long, slow sip.
Mrs. Twist put out a tentative hand, which brushed the edge of Ennis’s hand very lightly. “I’m real sorry... I thought maybe I was puttin yer mind at ease. I didn’t really think he had nobody else, cause sometime in July he called an said he was down in south Texas an had met up with a ranch liquidator who he was tryin ta get ta come up here an do an assessment a value or somethin before he threw himself into it, an that is when he’d make a decision whether ta break things off with his wife an come up here. That was his last call."
Ennis looked up from the black circle which reflected his pain-stricken eyes. “He was in south Texas you said? Meetin with someone?”
She nodded. “Gave his name too, I wrote it down somewhere. I supposed when he had that blowout on the road was on that trip.”
“Yes ma’am,” his voice was tight, and he felt as though he was about to strangle on the lump in his throat now. “If... you know who it was he was meetin.... that might be real important.”
She gave him a sharp glance. “Why do ya say so? I thought it was an accident he had.”
Ennis shook his head, feeling he weariness of his whole life pile up on him. “I don’t think so ma’am. I think... he was killed fer bein ... queer.” He gulped, went silent, eyes staring down at his coffee cup as though trying to find an answer in it.
“Then I guess I should be findin that name,” she said, voice hushed.
“Yes ma’am. It could be real important.”
L
MaineWriter:
Chapter 33:
“You doin okay down there?”
“Yep. Miss you something awful though Ennis, I hope your gonna be back Friday an pick me up. I’ll be on the 10 p.m. arrival. I’d come back sooner but --“
“I wouldn’t be there sooner Ellery. I stayed over here an it’s about 6 hours ta Brokeback. I should already be gone.”
“Well you take care an be careful drivin that truck. I worry about you in it.”
“Don’t worry about me, only kinda truck I can drive is old, Ellery. See ya Friday.”
“I love you sweetheart.”
“Yeah. Me too.”
L
MaineWriter:
And more from Chapter 33:
So Justin Worrell and Western States Ranch Liquidators were here in Austin two years ago. He just had to find out where they had gone since. He located Centerville Lane on a map and drove there, checking his watch. It was just shy of noon, and found himself knocking on the door of a small, neat rancher on the northwest side of Austin. To his surprise, a well dressed woman with a stylish brunette bouffant hairdo answered the door with the suspicious look reserved for salesmen. Ellery was still wearing his earring, but had changed into less daring clothes for daytime use. It didn’t really matter – the woman had only to see the earring and the color drained from her face.
“Can I help you?” she said, voice clipped.
“I was lookin for Justin Worrell. Does he still live here?”
“Who in the hell are you?” she said, voice wavering as though with hostility or fear.
“Friend of a friend, ma’am. The name is Cantrell.”
“He’s outta town like he usually is. An I’ll thank you to keep yer business where it belongs an don’t come sniffin round here anymore!”
He blinked. “Business?”
“He doesn’t have nothin ta do with you kinda boys no more, so leave him be!” she cried, her eyes already filling with tears as she stepped back and slammed the door in his face.
He stood on the stoop of the house before turning to go to his car, and as the initial shock of her reaction wore off, he raised a hand to the piercing and twiddled it between his fingers. “Hot damn. Bingo.”
L
MaineWriter:
Chapter 34:
He decided to wait until dawn to spread the ashes, then return down the mountain. He cooked himself some beans, a deliberate choice he made in memory of Jack, an invocation of their magical summer together. At first, it had seemed like a sentence of exile – the harsh rocky crags, the sudden weather shifts, the bone chilling cold at night, and the endless, inescapable stink of sheep creeping into everything, even their food. And all that changed, gradually at first, then all at once with the spark of their intimacy. And what lingered in his memory, was this sweetness... this magic.
He crawled into the tent when dark fell over the mountain, letting the fire die out, the urn lying next to him, and once again found himself in a one-sided conversation with his dead lover. “You always loved it out here, even when it was too cold for ya. Not so bad that summer, though... if it weren’t for the fuckin sheep.” He took a sip of whiskey from the bottle he had brought with him, another tribute, he supposed. Every time he and Jack met, they had whiskey with them, in later years, a handful of joints Jack brought with him and they shared, mostly when winding down after sex. “Haven’t smoked any weed since you been gone, how d’ya like that, hm?” he said, drifting, in a kind of a muzzy half-dream, and it seemed to him he saw Jack sitting up, pillow tucked under his arm, looking down at him.
“You ain’t changed a lick,” he said. “You ain’t never gonna grow old I don’t think,” he said, and Ennis looked up at him, thinking that was an odd thing to say.
“Well you can’t grow old cause yer dead.”
“True, that,” Jack replied, a distant look in his eyes.
“Listen ta me, Jack. What happened in Austin that night? Ellery’s down there rackin his brains to find this Worrell fella. Was he the one? Did ya make some kinda move on em an he hit ya on the head? I need ta know, Jack, it’s drivin me insane. If I’m gonna let ya rest here I got ta know the truth.”
“Ya got ta find out, Ennis. Ya got ta find out,” Jack replied, and Ennis jerked awake, looking around the tent, finding himself awake and alone.
L
MaineWriter:
And more from Chapter 34:
His voice broke halfway through the Psalm, but he kept on through the tears and the pain that welled up in his chest. When he finished, he opened the urn and let the ashes flutter out into the breeze, which carried them up and off, a small, insignificant cloud, like a puff of dust rising before a storm, and then dispersed. The last remains of Jack Twist. He set the urn in the shallow place he had dug for it next to where he had buried the letter, and covered it up with a hand trowel and his hands, dirtying them.
“Rest in peace, Jack. I will never forget you, as long as I live. An if I can, I will find out who did you in so you can have justice. Amen.” He knelt by the marker for half an hour until his weeping stopped, and he blew his nose with a handkerchief, a sad smile on his face. “I’ll be back soon, boy.”
Then he hoisted his backpack, and started back down the trail, feeling a sense of peace he had not had in many years.
L
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