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.

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.

79

Harrison opened his eyes. It took a few moments for him to see enough of his surroundings to realize he had not, in fact, died yet. He was still here. Wherever here was because at the moment he couldn’t remember.

“Hey Pop,” his son Brian said. He held Harrison’s hand and squeezed it. “Still here.”

At this point, Harrison had no recollection of who Brian was or what he was saying. But he could feel the loving pressure on his hand and realized he was somebody he probably knew once. It made him frustrated that he couldn’t remember but there was literally nothing he could do about it.

“He’s awake,” Brian said to his sister Fran who sat at a desk at the other side of the room.

19

It was the clicking that made Harrison restless.

“Hey,” he called out from the cell he occupied. “What is that clicking sound? “

No response.

“Sounds like it could be trouble with your furnace.”

No response.