The Drifting Tumbleweed

Chapter II: Larry Dowd

It should probably be mentioned at this point, that Tony Twomoons did not, in fact, wish anyone any harm. Ever. His personal mantra aligned with ‘live and let live’. But that was the problem in the area at the moment. Not all the people were being allowed to live, were they? Someone had taken it upon themselves and started robbing other people of the most precious gift – the gift of life. For whatever reason, the fact that the victims had all been up to this point Native American and not white like the stranger that walked into the bar did not factor into Tony’s quick succession of thoughts. He also couldn’t explain why he naturally assumed the stranger would be another victim and not the killer. All Tony knew is when the stranger walked into the bar, Tony thought the blond-well-coiffed man with the popped up collar would be a victim not a perpetrator.

The stranger didn’t exactly do anything to change Tony’s mind either.

It’s not often that someone can walk into a room and draw every single person’s eyes in his direction but that’s exactly what this man did. He walked with a stride that ancient kings must have passed on to their posterity. Confidence manifested with every step. With his short gait from the door to the bar every person in the bar knew this person could not possibly be from anywhere nearby.

“Hello, old man,” the stranger said and if Tony had been the sensitive type he might have taken offense. But Tony could never stoop so low to be bothered by any of the patrons in this bar. Even the strange and out of place ones. “I want the most expensive drink on tap.” His voice was low and slow. He sounded like he learned to talk with some kind of permanent stuffed up nose and almost over compensated for it. Which meant each syllable was enunciated distinctly.

Everyone in the bar sat quietly and looked at the stranger.

He seemed to notice and said, “And buy a round for the house.”

At this, the other patrons tipped their glasses toward him in gratitude. The crowd may not know whether the stranger was friend or in fact foe but at least he he was generous with the good stuff. Everyone seemed to relax a little bit and started chattering amongst themselves again.

He nodded at Tony but Tony’s face didn’t flash any sort of acknowledgment. Tony continued his normal stare at the room.

“Any sort of excitement in this town?” the stranger asked attempting to engage Tony into a conversation.

The patron sitting next to him answered. “You’re better off getting that wall behind the pool table to answer you than to wait for Tony Twomoons to respond.” His name was. Eddy Edwards and he was a small man of about fifty though he had lived the kind of life that had added a few years to his appearance. He mostly dressed in oversized overalls and what hair he had left was never combed. Eddy was a regular to the Drifting Tumbleweed and since he lived alone, he chose to still go to the bar rather than sit in his tiny one-bedroom apartment all alone.

The stranger shot Tony a glance and cocked one of his eyebrows. In known Tony fashion, the bartender didn’t even acknowledge him with a full look. Instead, he did grace him with a quick side look. “Tony Twomoons?” the stranger asked. “That’s an unusual name.”

Eddy seemed happy that someone at the bar was speaking to him and continued on. “He was left at the orphanage on the night with two moons,” he said quickly looking at Tony. It was as if he was daring Tony to speak up but Tony didn’t take the bait.

“Night of two moons?” the stranger asked continuing to size Tony up. “There’s no such thing. Unless you’re an alien? Did you come from a planet with two moons?” He asked his question loud enough that a few of the other patrons looked in his direction.

Eddy slapped his hand on the bar and hooted in delight. “Trust me,” he cackled. “That is one of the rumors going around. We’ve all been trying to figure ol’ Tony out.”

When Tony didn’t even flinch at the conversation about him Eddy seemed more disappointed than the stranger.

Just then, Gil walked into the bar. He didn’t make eye contact with anyone but went straight to the till and opened it. He took a couple of bills out. His actions weren’t abnormal but he had been acting a bit skittish since the victims had started piling up. While he refused to let a “few res deaths” close his business, he himself did not venture into the bar at night as often as he once did. So, for him to come into the bar at this late hour and grab some cash was something Tony noticed in his stoic, non-flinching way.

Gil looked around the bar as he closed the till. “The wife wants some take-out,” he explained to Tony and nodded his head. He didn’t wait for a reply which he didn’t expect one from his bartender anyway but left as quickly as he had walked in.

To Tony’s relief, Eddy seized upon the distraction to change the subject off of Tony and became the narrator to the stranger. “That’s Gil Sanderson,” he explained matter-of-factly. “He owns the bar. Hardly been coming in though since…”

“Since?” the stranger pressed.

“You looking for some excitement? How’s this grab you for excitement in the town?” he lowered his voice as if he was sharing a secret. Tony found it odd that Eddy felt it necessary to whisper about the serial killer yet he gossiped about Tony right in front of his face. “You best be careful. It seems we have a serial killer in our midst.”

The stranger continued to stare at Tony for another moment before turning to look at Eddy. He took a sip from his glass and looked around the room. “You don’t say?”

In Tony’s book, that was an odd response. There was no panic but rather a coolness as he expected something of the sort or a familiarity with the information. The stranger seemed to be already well aware of the bit of exciting news.

Or it could have been possible that he didn’t believe what he had heard which coming from Eddy he couldn’t blame him for having that reaction. But Tony felt the stranger was hiding something.

“I guess I will need to careful then,” the stranger said looking around the room. “I’m staying up the road a bit at the Elk Motel.” He said it loud enough for everyone in the room to hear it. “Plan on being here for a bit.”

What an idiot, Tony thought. It’s like he’s trying to get himself killed. Or at least robbed because even before the serial killer sharing something like that with this crowd would have gotten him robbed.

Eddy nodded and then stretched out a black oil stained hand. “The name’s Eddy,” he said thinking he had found him a new friend. Tony’s eyes now looked at the stretched out hand because he doubted very much the stranger would want to make contact with it.

The stranger looked down at the proffered hand and shook it gingerly. “Larry Dowd,” he said stiffly.

Tony’s next train of thoughts also came in another quick succession.

1. This was not a man that went by Larry. If anything this was a Lawrence.

2. Why didn’t he even bat an eye when Eddy told him about the serial killer? Even if it was some kind of cruel rumor, hearing it for the first time would at least give someone pause for a moment, wouldn’t it?

3. Why did he shake Eddy’s hand? It was one thing to be polite but Eddy was not the type of person anyone bothered being polite to. Especially when that someone had prettier hair than the women in the bar.

Tony still didn’t feel like Larry was a killer but there was something about the man he didn’t trust.