Twisted (20 page)

“S
O
, AJ
, what do you want to know about cowboy culture?”

He thought a second before answering. “You know, Jeff, it’s like a whole new world to me. I really don’t know much about the history or anything.”

We were sitting in the living room after a great dinner. Sandy, Maria, Smitty, and José were there with us. Jason was in the bunkhouse with Mike’s dad. We’d called him when we got back to the ranch, and he came right away. Smitty had already told Jason about his friend. Jason had been pretty quiet about it. Bryan and David were here too. They were interested in the cowboy talk.

“Let me start with a bit of history. Cattle raisin’ started in Mexico, fairly shortly after the Spanish came. As the Spanish spread north, so did the cattle. So the first cowboys were Latino.”

José snickered. “I keep telling you, boss, just how much you norteamericanos got from us.”

I laughed. “You’re right there, ’mano. Since the first cowboys were Latino, a lot of the names of things and a lot of cowboy slang comes from Spanish. Buckaroo, which is another name for cowboy, particularly here in the Northwest and Great Basin, is from vaquero, cowboy in Spanish. Lariat comes from la reata. We use the Spanish word for whip, látigo too.”

“That’s interesting, Jeff.” AJ was looking at me now. “What about cowboy dress? Is it all for show?”

“Not hardly. Just about every piece of cowboy clothing has a use. Our wide brimmed hats, for example, keep sun and rain off ya. Bandanas can be used to dry off with, to tie things, to filter water, as a dust mask, and probably a lot of other things. Our boots, with the narrow toes and high heels, make it easy to put your foot in stirrups, and the high heel makes it tough for your foot to slip through.”

“Why do you guys wear jeans so tight? It seems like you guys like to look like you were poured into them.” AJ was grinning as he asked the question.

“If your jeans are tight, you’re not going to get a fold of cloth under you when you’re ridin’. You don’t want a blistered ass from spendin’ all day in the saddle. Also, if the jeans were baggy, there would be a chance of them getting caught on somethin’, brush, the saddle, or somethin’ like that.”

Bryan spoke up this time. “What about the red long underwear you always see in the cowboy movies. Is that just some stereotype?”

This time Smitty jumped in. “No, it isn’t. A lot of ranchers only supply wood stoves for heat in the bunkhouse. The bunkhouse can get pretty cold. Many bunkhouses and just about all line camps have outhouses. It makes a big difference, when it’s ten below zero, when you don’t have to drop your drawers to do your business.”

AJ laughed. “I understand now.”

Bryan spoke up next. “I read somewhere that a cowboy’s two most prized possessions were his saddle and boots. Is that true?”

“It is,” Mike answered. “A cowboy might spend days in the saddle, and his boots would be on all the time. He’d want both to be really comfortable. His boots and his saddle would probably be the two most expensive things he owned, so he’d want ’em good quality, to last.”

Bryan then threw out another question. “It seems there’s a lot of disrespect about cowboys, like for example, if you call someone a cowboy at work, you’re implying they act first and think later.”

Mike laughed. Everyone looked at him, and he just said, “Ask Jeffy about that one.”

I turned red. “I’ve been accused of acting first and thinking second a few times.”

“Do you think there were a lot of gay cowboys?” AJ looked from me to Mike.

“I would reckon there were some. The existence and number of gay cowboys is a hot topic among gay folks now. You’ll see lots of pictures of cowboys sharing a bedroll and dancing together in old photographs. In part, I think that folks weren’t quite so quick to think about men being gay if they touched, or something like that. They shared bedrolls to keep warm, and danced together since there were no women. But I’m sure some of them fooled around from time to time, either for lack of women, or just because they enjoyed it,” I answered.

Bryan looked from me to Mike. “Guys, on a more personal level, I know you’re both artists. I’ve seen your bronze castings, Jeff, but just what are horsehair belts and hatbands, Mike? I’ve never heard of that before and can’t quite imagine it.”

“The belts and hatbands I make are from hair from the horses’ manes and tails. I take the hair and separate it according to colors. Then I knot it in patterns around a wooden dowel. I slide the horsehair off the dowel, flatten it out, and I have a strip to use for a hatband or belt. The actual process of the braidin’ and knottin’ is called hitchin’.” He stood up and showed off his belt.

“That’s really beautiful, Mike.” Bryan looked closely at Mike’s belt. “The geometric patterns are really striking. The black horsehair you used in the background seems to shine.”

“That’s from my horse, Thundercloud. The reddish-brown squares are from Jeffy’s roan, Charlie.”

We continued talking for quite a while. The dudes really seemed to enjoy the talk. Smitty, Mike, José, Sandy, and Maria all chipped in with information. The evening just seemed to fly by.

After a while, Al and Jason came in from the bunkhouse. Jason was pale and had an anguished look on his face. I felt bad for him and wanted to talk with him, but I didn’t think he’d appreciate it, in front of everyone. Finally, AJ, Bryan, and David headed off to their rooms. José headed out to the bunkhouse, and Sandy and Maria headed back into Winslett. Al had gone with them, so it was just Mike, Smitty, me, and Jason.

“How ya doin’, Jason?” He looked at me like I’d grown another head.

“How do you think I’m doin’? One of my best friends just got killed. He was tortured to death. The news is saying he deserved it because he hustled. Fucking assholes, they never had to survive on the streets.”

Before I could say anything, Mike spoke up. “They didn’t, Jason, and you’re right, they are assholes, self-righteous assholes. They’re just tryin’ to sell their stories. What was your friend’s name?”

“Paul.”

“Were you guys friends a long time?”

“Yeah, from the time I left home, we were friends. When we needed money, we watched out for each other. We’d get the license plate numbers of cars that we went in for each other, and we’d share food, money, whatever.”

“It sounds like havin’ a good friend like that sure made life easier.”

Jason looked at Mike. “It did. Now he’s dead.” He hung his head a few minutes and then asked Mike, “Did you have a friend like that when you were on the streets?”

“No, I didn’t. I was too afraid to make friends. I didn’t want to lose friends because of bein’ gay.”

“Paul’s family won’t even claim his body. What fucked-up pieces of shit!” Jason was angry, and I didn’t blame him.

Mike glanced at me, and I could see pain in his face too. I had a thought. “Hey, Jason, it sounds to me like you were more of a family to Paul than the people he grew up with. Do you think he’d mind if you and I claimed his body and gave him a funeral and memorial service?”

Jason had tears in his eyes, and his voice was choked with emotion. “I think he’d appreciate that. Thanks, Jeff. That’s real good of you to do.” Smitty rubbed Jason’s shoulder.

“Well tomorrow, Jason, we’ll call the coroner and make arrangements.” We sat in silence a few more minutes before Smitty and Jason headed to the bunkhouse. As I was turning off the lights, I noticed that both AJ’s door and Bryan and David’s were open a crack. I was glad they were sympathetic enough not to have come out while we were talking. Mike and I headed upstairs. We got into bed and just cuddled. Finally we drifted off.

A
FEW
days later, we were in the cemetery. The county had just released the body. It had ended up being a dark and gray day. We had just finished up with the funeral.

The day was raw and blustery. The gray clouds moved quickly overhead in the wind, promising more snow. Bryan and David had headed back to Seattle, and AJ was leaving tomorrow. The only folks who had come to the service were myself, Mike, Jason, Smitty, Sandy, Maria, José, Josh, Renee, AJ, Mary Grace, Al, and Sheriff Johnston. The sheriff had shown up with a man in a suit and a long overcoat. After the service, which was given by Al, the sheriff came up to me and introduced the guy in the suit.

“Jeff, I’d like you to meet Agent Holder. The agent is here investigating the deaths attributed to the West Coast Cutter.”

I stuck out my hand. “Pleased to meet you, Agent Holder. I just wish it was under different circumstances.”

“Likewise, Mr. Connelly, on both counts. May I call you Jeff?”

“Certainly.”

“Great, Jeff. I had also wanted to ask you if you have a vacancy at the ranch. I’ll be in the area for a few days investigating the deaths.”

“We do, Agent Holder. We’re fixin’ to head back to the ranch now. Would you care to follow us? We’re having a little wake for Paul.”

“I’ll do that, Jeff.” He walked back to his rental car. Most of the folks had headed back already, happy to get out of the wind. Mike was waiting for me in the truck. He had it all nice and warm. I jumped in the passenger side.

“We got a new guest, buddy.”

“That man in the suit I saw you talkin’ to?”

“Yep. He’s an FBI agent, lookin’ into the murders.”

“I hope he catches the guy right quick. No one should have to go through what these guys went through.”

“Yep.” I didn’t want to keep talking about murders and torture and death, so I changed the subject. “I’ll be glad to get back to the ranch and change. I ain’t used to wearin’ this fancy stuff.”

“Well, Jeffy, I do gotta say you look hot in a suit.” In deference to the occasion, I’d worn a suit. It was dark blue. I had on a white shirt with a red tie. I was also wearing a fedora-type hat that had belonged to my grandfather and a trench coat.

“Thanks, but I’m uncomfortable and feel like I should be in
Dragnet
or something.”

“Maybe sometime you could wear that for me when we’re alone?” Mike smiled at me.

I had to laugh. “You got a one-track mind, buddy. By the way, you look hot too, in your suit.” He joined me laughing. He was wearing a charcoal-gray suit, sky-blue shirt, and a shiny, gray and blue tie. I thought he looked nice in wing-tip shoes. We rode the rest of the way back to the ranch in companionable silence.

By the time we’d gotten back and changed, Sandy and Smitty had put out a platter of cold sliced roast beef, roast chicken, several salads, bread, and condiments. José had gotten Agent Holder all checked in. We’d all changed from our dress clothes. Holder stayed in his suit. Mary Grace was telling Jason about her concept of the afterlife. Al was listening also.

“So, Jason, Paul first will go to the land of the dead. There, he’ll review his life and look at the lessons he’s learned and what he still needs to learn. Then he’ll go to the Summerland to rest up and get ready for his next life.”

“That’s kind of cool, Mary Grace. It’s nice to think he’ll have a chance for a better life, next time around.”

Just then I felt a hand on my shoulder. It was Agent Holder.

“Do you believe in that, Jeff?”

“Well, sir, it makes more sense to me than a God of love who will throw people into an eternally burning lake of fire if they’ve never heard of him.”

“That’s a pretty blunt and forthright answer.”

“I don’t have a lot of patience for folks who condemn and judge others. I also have no problem with anyone else’s beliefs, as long as they respect my right to believe what I do.”

He gave me an appraising stare for a few seconds.

“So, how long have you and Mike been together?”

“Almost four months now.”

“He’s had a tough time of it, like Paul and Jason, hasn’t he?”

“Yes and no. In some ways tougher, in some ways easier.”

“That’s a roundabout assessment, isn’t it, Jeff?”

“Honestly, sir, you’ll have to ask Mike about it.”

“I will, Jeff, I will. Anyway, we’ll have plenty of time to talk about the case. I do want to speak with you, Mike, Jason, Al, and some others.” He smiled at me before continuing. “This is a beautiful place to have grown up.”

“That it is. I still never get tired of the scenery in the valley.” Just then Sheriff Johnston and Mike came over and sat down. Mike handed me a beer.

“Thanks, buddy.”

Sheriff Johnston spoke up. “That was awful nice of you to claim the body and pay for the funeral, Jeff.”

“It was a crying shame that his folks threw him out for being gay. Maybe if they had some compassion, he’d still be alive.”

“There’s a lot of really messed-up people out there. I guess some of them can change. Most don’t want to though.” Mike looked at his father as he spoke. Al was on the other side of the room, speaking with Sandy and Smitty.

AJ walked up. “I never realized that there’d be so much excitement on my vacation.”

“I could do without that excitement.” Mike turned to me. “I reckon we both could, eh Jeff?”

“Yep.”

AJ looked from Sheriff Johnston to Agent Holder. “Just what type of a guy would do this sort of thing?”

I was surprised when Agent Holder spoke up. “You’d be surprised. Serial killers usually look and act normal. Ted Bundy was very charming. John Gacy did a lot of volunteer work for his neighborhood. Gary Ridgeway was a model employee at work. Sooner or later, he’ll make a mistake.”

“If he fits in that well, I guess that would have to be what it takes, for him to make a mistake, right? He’s either real smart or real lucky or both to have gotten away with nineteen murders.” AJ continued talking as I excused myself and went up to the table and got a plate of food. Mike followed me.

“How ya doin’, buddy?”

“Okay I reckon. I can’t say I’m too comfortable with funerals, especially when the person was so young.”

“Yeah, Mike, it’s a huge tragedy.” Mike and I both filled our plates and headed back to where we’d been sitting. AJ was still asking questions and giving theories to Agent Holder and Sheriff Johnston.

“Why’s the FBI involved?”

“One of the things we investigate is kidnapping across state lines.”