Cowgirl

The list of crimes perpetuated by the fifty or so diners present at the Cowgirl Café on California interstate I5 this particular Tuesday was not unusual – four rapes, five grand theft autos, fifteen assaults, ten with battery and two murders. What was unusual was that all but five of these crimes was committed by only three people.

‘You’ll have her fixing your car next.’ Marilyn, the senior waitress working the Café’s bar that day shot her remark to Pete, the resident owner and chef.

‘Not a bad idea,’ he replied.

‘Hailey, don’t waste your time trying to fix that fan.’ Marilyn called past Pete’s shoulder to Hailey’s legs, the only visible part of her colleague, who was busy fixing the extractor fan over the griddle.

‘All the hot air is out here.’

Hailey paid no attention to the familiar banter. She had been a bus girl at the Cowgirl Café for two months and was grateful for the change from waiting the busy tables. Her mechanical skills were no secret, nor was her recent application to the US Military for a position as a mechanical engineer, so it was inevitable that Pete would request her help when the griddle fan suddenly stopped working that morning.

This was also a day that Billy and Red stopped at the Cowgirl Café. They were en route to the region’s northern logging territories which provided a longer season and more regular work than the short haul work available in their home state of South Carolina.

‘You goin’ to have to pay for breakfast ‘cos I ain’t been paid for near’n a month.’ Red’s latest remark brought Billy’s attention back from the sight of Marilyn’s cleavage as she bent to retrieve a dropped item at a neighbouring table.

‘Plenty’d be glad for the work.’ Billy replied.

‘I swear, you’s tighter ‘n a bull’s arse ‘n fly time.’ Red’s tone now reflected in a small tick below Billy’s fifty-something year old right eye, but above his 5 day old shadow.

‘An’ you bitch more ‘n my ex-wife.’ Billy watched as Red’s huge round shoulders slumped before resuming his scan of the other faces in the restaurant.

Hailey’s timing was probably worse than the coffee she brought to the table of two truckers, but better than the response she met.

First Red. ‘We’s tired as shit an’ so thirsty we’d need a drink just to die.’

Then Billy. ‘Aw, don’t be too hard on her dude. I reckon she’s new here. Why I bet she ain’t even broke in.’ His hand moved quickly down the outside of Hailey’s leg before she had a chance to move away to dodge both the hand and the ensuing laughter.

When Hailey returned to the Café’s bar to replenish the coffee pot she spoke to no-one in particular.

‘I hate it when those jerks are in here.’ But Marilyn heard her easily above the clanking of plates and cups around them.

‘Who?’ She followed Hailey’s line of sight to a booth table by the window and saw the two rough cut figures of Billy and Red hunched over their coffees.

‘Aw, those two goons been coming here regular for the past few months. They’re mighty free with their hands alright. Just ignore them honey. They can shout if they want something.’

Hailey continued to stare at the men as Marilyn grabbed the latest offering from the serving hatch.

Billy’s profile was stamped in monochrome against the sunny window. The image initially seemed familiar. But when Hailey accidentally accompanied it with a reassuring voice from a childhood memory it sent a body blow of betrayal that seemed to paralyse her. Before Billy’s gaze could find her at the opposite side of the Café she spun around and grabbed the full pot of coffee and busied herself between the other tables.

After their meal the men rose, donned coats and left for their rig, leaving a small ball of notes on their un-cleared table. Hailey watched them lope across the muddy carpark towards their bright blue rig, decorated with a small, limp confederate flag mounted on the front fender. She was unable to say if it was a joke or a retelling of their recent fun at her expense that made them laugh just before they climbed in to the cab.

………………………

Following completion of the Armed Services Vocational Aptitude Battery at Portland, Hailey commenced her initial posting in Nampa military base with a mix of orientation and some technical training. In week three she progressed to rudimentary mechanical duties and began pursuing her preference for electrical engineering. Because there were few women she remained separate from the other recruits and used her spare time to study.

She worked hard and on most days attracted little attention. One morning, as she assisted with the service of a Bradly tank, she overheard a passing recruit chide, ‘I didn’t know it was hoof day.’ And it was not until week three that she became aware of the unnecessary nature of the many requests for her to bend over to retrieve tools.

She remained unresponsive to these events and focused on her career opportunity, never doubting her mechanical abilities would eventually yield respect.

After her fourth month at Nampa, Hailey decided to leave the base for a weekend back home. Twelve hours later her 1978 Chevy pickup throbbed up the highway through an Oregon summer morning towards Medford. The heat of the sun penetrated the metal of the vehicle just as it had the day before as she couched in the Bradley she was working on. She could feel a few strands of her hair had escaped from her ponytail and now stuck stubbornly to her neck. Despite the breeze from the open window she had begun to regret her decision to remain in uniform for her mother.

She had driven most of the four and a half hours back to her home town when she saw the Cowgirl Café sign pop above the horizon and suddenly she realised how tired she felt. Just seconds before it was too late she decided to take one last stop and perhaps get a free coffee from one of her old co-workers at the café.

The pickup lurched to the right and she heard the familiar sound of her tool boxes slapping the side of the truck’s bed as she swung in to the carpark, just missing the shiny bulk of a parked up rig.

 Billy half listened as Red filled the space between them with his familiar drawl.

‘And now she’s hav’n another brat and how I’m even s’ppose to know it’s mine? I’m on the dern road for 385 days of the year an’ I ain’t been laid the last 3 times I been back.’

‘Aw that’s easy.’ A downturned smile crept across Billy’s lean face. ‘If the little fucker pops out with hair like Ronald Mac and a dick for a brain then it’s yours.’

‘Yeah, I guess.’ Red leaned forward on his bulky forearms and in to Billy’s tired eyes. ‘An’ if it’s so skinny it falls through its arsehole and hangs itself then I’ll know it’s yours,’ he retorted.

The men’s raised voices filled the café and for a moment Hailey forgot she was one of only a handful of diners. She looked up to see the familiar sight of Marilyn quietly gliding between the tables towards her smiling.

‘Hey, look at you. All spit and polish. How the hell yer been?’

Hailey returned Marilyn’s smile.

‘Oh, I’ve been ok’. She looked over at Pete at the griddle. ‘But how about you? He still kicking your arse and paying you peanuts?’

Marilyn was warmed by the banter. ‘Aw, he’s harmless and I can’t complain. But I sure could use more help in this place most days.’ She looked over at Billy and Red. ‘I still gotta dodge idjits and assholes, but I reckon you probably know all about that.’

Hailey followed Marilyn’s eyes to the booth towards the front of the diner and thought she half recognised the figures at the table before returning to the menu in front of her. ‘Well, I’m going to have the burger with all the extras. I deserve it after spending the best part of a day in that sweat box on wheels.’ She looked up at Marilyn who was already writing down her request before beating a speedy departure with a wink and ‘Sure thing, honey.’

‘An’ then ya know what that cheaky fucker says?’ Red was still in full flight. Billy still nailed to the booth seats by tiredness.

‘Wha’?’ He continued to respond and wondered why.

Red’s big frame started to wobble ‘He tells me my Hog’s forks are bent when all’s he’s asked to do was stick a new chain on the fuck’n bike and grease it.’

‘Maybe they is.’ Billy was looking expectantly at the griddle chef and noticed Marilyn heading in his direction.

‘They probably is,’ Red continued, ‘and that greedy little sack of shit probably bent them. He don’t think I knows a tail light from an tank but I swear, one of these days I’m gonna rip off his head and shit down his neck if I catch him robb’n me.’

Billy’s hunger was now gnawing at him. ‘Where’n Christ’s name is my meal?’ he snarled at Marilyn as she approaches their table.

‘We’ve only got one in the kitchen today, mister. But yours is next up.’ She managed a tight smile.

‘You must think we jus’ fell off the turnip truck?’ Billy’s voice now rising and the tone edging into neighbouring conversations.

‘Excuse me?’ Marilyn was standing by their table, but not close enough for Billy’s reach.

‘We come to this armpit on the side of the road every month and order the same shitt’n thing every time. Why, for the love of J H Christ,’ his voice now raised, ‘does it always have to arrive a week after we tell y’all what we want?’

Hailey looked in the direction of the rant. She could see Marilyn trying to move away from the table she had been attending while Red, smiling underneath his drooping moustache, had managed to intercept Marilyn’s reversing rear with his large, waiting hand.

‘How about some nice rump?’ he guffawed at Billy.

Hailey’s eyes narrowed as she looked at the familiar profiles of the two men. Instinctively she rose from her seat and rounded the tables towards Red, Billy and Marilyn.

‘Hey!’ she called and smiled at Marilyn. ‘Can you tell me who owns that Blue rig out front?’

Marilyn turned to Hailey visibly surprised. ‘Say what?’ she muttered. Billy’s and Red’s attention shifted instantly to the sight of the uniformed Hailey standing assertively beside Marilyn.

‘Whose ask’n?’ Billy glared at her while Red sat, arms folded across his giant, checked chest.

‘Is that your vehicle, mister?’ Hailey continued. ‘Listen, it’s probably noth’n. But I just saw this mighty close call on your truck and well, you might want to check it out. Looked like maybe that other rig that just pulled out might have clipped your trailer.’

Marilyn devoured her cigarette out the back of the Cowgirl Café while Hailey listened to her bravely retell the story. ‘Thing is, those hicks haven’t eaten anything without my spit in it for months.’ Across the carpark the blue rig pulled on to the highway. ‘And I’m gonna stick a fork in that prick’s hand the next time he touches me.’

The day was drawing to an end and Hailey wanted to make a move and put the Café behind her.

‘Well, so long as you’re ok.’ She rested her hand on Marilyn’s arm. ‘Don’t worry, they’ll get theirs.’ She smiled at her old workmate.

‘Hey, you get going now.’ Marilyn playfully pushed Hailey towards her parked pickup. ‘Or I’ll stick a fork into you too.’

Before pulling out of the car lot Hailey looked back through the Cafés large windows and at Marilyn’s silhouette moving through the restaurant. She knew it was only a few grades and an extra year at school that separated their fates. She gave the gas pedal a generous pump with her foot and pulled her hair free from its ponytail as the Chevy lurched back on to the highway.

………………………..

The lamp next her mother’s small frame gave the room a dusty, yellow glow as the long evening drew to a close.

‘I’m thinking of going canoeing at the lake with Lauren tomorrow.’ Hailey said to the wall opposite her. On it hung a small picture of herself aged five with her mother and father. She wondered what it would have been like stay young longer.

‘Oh, lovely. It’s beautiful up there at this time of year.’

Her mother pointed the remote at the TV and gave it a stab with her bony thumb. Suddenly the room hummed with the sounds of crowds and commentary.

After a few minutes Hailey stood and stretched. She felt listless and knew she would not sleep easily.

‘I’m going for a run, mom.’

‘Of course, honey. See you in the morning.’ Her mother now spectral and intermittent in the white flashes from the TV.

Hailey climbed the worn, carpeted stairs to her old room. She stood in front of the pine framed mirror above her dresser and stared at her uniformed self. She wondered at the feelings of looking so different while being just the same. Without further delay she removed her uniform and folded it neatly on the bed. She quickly located a pair of shorts in the dresser, dug her shoes out of her military carryall and left the house for the streets.

She instinctively followed the darkening paths towards the stream she played in as a child. It was too late to turn on to the tracks through the woods so she decided to head out on the long stretch towards the light commercial limits of her home town.

After around 30 minutes she saw a familiar turn to her right and decided it was a good halfway point. A street lamp flickered overhead, eventually being replaced with a blue and yellow glow from a motel sign on her left. She jogged across the quiet road to take advantage of the better lit path created by the signs.

As she passed by she glanced down the length of the accommodation buildings and parked cars. She noticed a couple unloading cases from a dark station wagon parked outside the lit door of one of the units. The car park looked full so some late arrivals had taken refuge in the empty lot next to the motor inn. She noted 5 vehicles in total including a large rig. Its shining bulk peaked out from behind the large trees that separated the lot from the neighbouring hotel.

She thought nothing of the blue cab that was clearly visible in the half-light. It was only when she caught a glimpse of the gently waving confederate flag mounted on the front of the truck that she stopped in her tracks. Her already racing heart now began to pound in her head as well as her chest.

After just under one minute it was clear to her what she had to do.

Billy and Red were at their truck early the next morning.

‘Dern it, I ain’t got a pot to piss in ‘til end of ‘a month, y’all’, Red’s plaintive tones resonated from the cab as he struggled to retain the cell phone while shoving a 24 pack of Miller Lite into the space behind the driver’s seat.

‘Well, giving me jus’ one more week to pay won’t give ya cancer.’ He continued to stab irritably at the box of beer.

Billy stood near the rear of the rig, drawing on a cigarette and reviewing a well-worn map while the engine ran. The sun was already warm and they had a twelve hour drive to reach their destination, the first hour in commuter traffic.

‘Red, I’m fixing to leave now!’ he called before flicking his butt to the ground. He slowly walked the length of the rig while driving his fingers through a crown of greasy, greying brown hair before wiping his hand on tired jeans and climbing in to the driver’s seat.

The journey around Medford was uneventful. Billy’s experienced driving ensured the truck’s powerful engine was barely called on during the slow drive north. Red tinkered with the CB radio searching for a familiar voice while Billy’s reptilian glare scanned the traffic that passed them. He sneered at a small sedan and its overweight, bottle blonde driver that had briefly kept abreast with the rig before finally managing to pass revealing its “Honk if you love Jesus” bumper sticker.

‘More likely to see Jesus than a stiff cock,’ Billy muttered.

‘Huh?’ Red’s head was still trapped beneath the dash as he tried to read the dial on the radio. Eventually, the horizon of his broad back straightened and he surfaced.

‘That radio ain’t worth a crap’. He complained to the road ahead and then followed Red’s gaze in time to catch an older coupe sail pass them leaving a trail of smoke. Both struggled to focus on the writing on the car’s bumper - “If you don’t like logging try using plastic toilet paper.”

Before long Red had eyed up their next target. A motorbike with a pillion passenger wearing tight leather trousers passed the truck with ease. ‘Oh my good God would you look at the rear engine on that thing,’ he enthused. ‘That’s the purdiest piece of fender fluff I e’er seen. Oh mother o’ Mary what I wouldn’t give to wet my dick in that little piece of pussy pie.’

Billy rose to the occasion and unleashed the rig’s mighty horn. Both rider and passenger waved back at the rig, the passenger turning back to them, smiled revealing a substantial moustache.

‘Holy Jesus!’ Red reeled in his seat. ‘That’s a couple of them bum bandits.’ The gash of Billy’s mouth widened into a tobacco stained grin.

They were now in better humour as they approached Falls Road just off the interstate. The trees had grown more frequent and were dominating the landscape. Billy could begin to see the expected turn off approaching up ahead and turned up the radio to fill the gap that was left by Red’s suddenly halted conversation. Before the corner he pumped the brakes a few times but did not need to read the signs which warned of steep grades. He had driven it many times before.

As the gradient of the road began to drop before them, Billy shifted down through the gears and started to gently lean on rig’s powerful brakes. He could drive in his sleep (and sometimes had) and so gave little thought to the slight sponginess underfoot attributing it to a delayed service and need for adjustment.

Despite the fact that the truck was not loaded, there was a discernible increase in its pace as it descended the long hill. Billy pumped a little harder at the pedal and could hear more exhaust being grunted from the large stack by his head than usual.

‘She’s mighty slow pulling up,’ he reflected to no-one in particular. Red was gazing down in to the large drop beside the road. He could just make out the river, beyond the trees that lined the slope and was surprised by its size, given the time of year.

Hailey’s decision to put the governor setting of the brakes on high was undoubtedly a masterstroke. It meant the brakes would continue to function until they reached an almost intolerably high 150 PSI before the safety valve was forced off by the pressure. To Billy and Red this would amount to an almost imperceptible “pop” about the time they decided their only chance to slow the rig’s increasingly rapid descent down the Falls Road was to deploy the park brakes. They had already tried the usually reliable tandem brakes but the jubilee clip Hailey had adapted to fasten on to the brake lines starved the air supply better than even she dared to hope.

But it was the extra half hour spent disabling the rig’s springbrake valve that sealed the fate of its unsuspecting passengers. It was a brave decision on Hailey’s part which very nearly resulted in her being caught out by a late night dog walker after his canine companion took an unexpected detour towards the rig to empty himself before eventually returning to the footpath and his master.

Neither Hailey nor Billy would get the chance to see the irony of the truck’s departure from the road and towards the ravine, passing as it did so a bill board advertising the increasingly popular “Cowgirl Cookies”. Hailey was of course kayaking around a cobalt blue lake with her friend of 15 years, having long forgotten her earlier tiredness. Billy, on the other hand, had his face pinned to the steering wheel of his truck by a 24 pack of Miller Light. So it was only Red’s voice, intermingled with some locals on the CB radio that could be heard as the rig took its last journey towards the river that fed the falls that gave the road its name.