The Drifting Tumbleweed

Chapter I: Tony Twomoons

Tyee Twomoons stood behind the bar drying glasses. His face expression hard as flint. Newcomers often made the assumption that he didn’t notice anything. That assumption was generally incorrect but typically lacked tangible proof. The regular patrons had learned not to underestimate what Tyee observed. Many a bar fight had been settled by Tyee recounting the events leading up to the brawl. No one could dispute his word. Tyee’s version was always accepted as fact and unruly patrons soon found themselves on the other side of the door if they attempted to argue. In the Drifting Tumbleweed Bar, Tyee’s seldom heard voice was law.

Although when he wasn’t on the reservation and here at the bar he was known as Tony Twomoons. While he grew up in an orphanage on the reservation his school was in town and only hired white teachers. None of his teachers could pronounce his first name. Until one teacher didn’t even try to say it and just called him Tony. Everyone could pronounce Tony so he just accepted it. It saved him the repetition of pronouncing his name at every roll call. Now he was usually surprised when he heard his own name and sometimes forgot to answer to Tyee.

The Drifting Tumbleweed Bar was a far cry from being glamourous or prestigious. But only a handful of people could recall a time when Tony didn’t work there. He was even there before the current owner, Gil Sanderson. Tony stood at his post behind the bar almost as some kind of sentinel who happened to also pour drinks. Every night he poured drinks, wiped the bar clean, and most important, kept a vigilant hawk eye view on the room. He didn’t miss any tricks or sleight of hand. All vital skills in this particular bar just outside of town along the only highway through town. No citizen who thought themselves remotely respectable ventured through the entrance. And that’s the way the regular patrons preferred it. Thick cigarette smoke dimmed most of the light, the bar stools had tears in them and were wobbly, there were nicks and cracks in the bar from previous brawls, and the only music came from a jukebox with its newest song “Carry on Wayward Son” which was at least 10 years old by now.

Though disregarded generally by townsfolk who wanted to appear morally upright and outstanding and used as a common punchline for the school children, the bar had managed to stay in business for a few generations. Although how Gil became owner was something the rumor mill couldn’t agree on. He either inherited it from his uncle or bought it out from under him. The rumors went in both directions regarding Gil and the type of character he was. But Tony never complained. He just came to work and worked his shift. Patrons of the bar were often snidely referred to as drifters. Some of those that turned up their noses while among their town social circles also turned up at the bar. Usually late at night or on the weekend.

But business had slowed the last few months. It all started four months ago when the body of a Native American man was discovered on the other end of town. His body had been thrown in a ditch. No one had reported him missing, his body just happened to have been found by a hitchhiker who had climbed down the ditch to relieve himself.

That was a disturbing find. But it was generally assumed the dead man had been walking back to the reservation and was hit by a vehicle. It was classified as a hit-and-run. No case was open to investigate further.

But then two more Native American bodies were found a few days later. All three with the same type of wound marks on their bodies. This started to make the people on the reservation nervous. Still no formal police investigation was conducted. Only tribal authorities looked into it but without access to the local law enforcement’s resources, the case didn’t get very far.

Over the next few months, more Native American bodies were discovered. None of them on the reservation so that made the townspeople start to get a little nervous as well. It appeared a serial killer was in the area. Even though the killer had only targeted Native Americans who is to say that won’t change? Maybe those were merely practice kills? What if the killer was working to some specific target?

It was enough to keep some of the townspeople from venturing to outskirt dives such as the Drifting Tumbleweed. Especially when the news spread that all of the victims had been at the bar within the last few months. That bar, the whispers said, was the common link. Being killed would be horrible. But being killed and having it known you were coming home from the Drifting Tumbleweed? Not worth the small-town infamy it would bring to one’s family.

That was just the feeling of some of the regular patrons. Others either didn’t think anyone would be interested in killing them or they just didn’t care. So, there was still a small crowd in the bar on this July night.

And Tony watched them all.

It stands to reason that the killer wouldn’t be bothered about going to the bar because he knew he was safe. Which means he could be in this very room at the moment. Although Tony doubted it very much. One of the gifts he possessed was to see through other people’s facades. He could tell if someone was putting on a fake front or pretending. The rumor is he was left at the orphanage’s doorstep on a night with two moons. Because of that, he could see the true person he was looking at and couldn’t be fooled by fake cover ups or masks. Rumor also had it that he was half bear and half human so not all of the rumor can be fully relied on.

Whatever the reason, he had that ability to tell when people were lying or wearing a mask to cover up. Which is why he hated to watch movies even though his wife managed to drag him with her on occasion. He couldn’t stand to see someone pretending to be something they were not.

His wife Sheila was as well-known as he was. She was his opposite in every way. As much as he was known for his quiet and stoic way, she was known for being strident and volatile. He stood at 6 feet 2 inches and solidly built. Just by looking at him one could tell he was not to be messed with. He had the vibe that he could take care of himself. Looking at him, one could see why the rumor about him being part bear was started. His wife barely hit 5 feet 2 inches and was just about as wide. While it was generally known no one would ever mess with Tony it was also agreed that absolutely no one would mess with Sheila. Because even though she was short she had the power to kick Tony out of their house on occasion. Gil was never surprised to come to work and discover Tony had spent the night in his office on the couch. If people were awed by the quiet giant Tony, they were just as genuinely afraid of his wife.

Sheila had suggested that since Tony was a bit more advanced in years, maybe he should not work the late shift while the killer was still on the loose. He shrugged off her suggestion. “What would the killer want with this 61-year-old man?” he asked her in reply. Which was his way of saying she wasn’t going to change his mind. He would continue to go to work.

That’s why he was standing behind the bar noticing every little detail. Just after 11:00pm, the door flew open and in walked a stranger. Tony watched as he walked in and had several quick thoughts.

This person was not from around here. Tony had never seen him before.
This stranger did not fit his persona. He seemed to be wearing a mask that didn’t match his soul.
The imposter reminded him of a character in a movie Sheila had dragged him to last week. He thought it was called Pretty in Pink and there was a character that reminded Tony of this guy. This well-coiffed man didn’t belong anywhere near a place like this. Especially walking in by himself. At any rate, he was way out of his element in this bar.
This lone outsider was probably going to be dead by morning. If Tony noticed all this about this person, surely the killer would also. Which could actually be good news because then a formal police investigation would finally open if the victim looked like this outsider.