COYOTE

Chapter 3

Stopping for some liquid courage, Jessica James pulled up in front of a familiar washed-out wooden building sporting a faded mural of a muscular bulldog in boxing shorts and gloves ready to fight. The place was at least a hundred years old. It had been everything from a doctor’s office to a boxing ring, but it had been the Bulldog Saloon for all of Jessica’s twenty-one years.

When she opened the front door, the smell of stale beer, burger grease, and Alpo dog food hit her in the face and brought back memories of fake IDs and high school dates gone wrong.

A pudgy white-and-brown bulldog was snoring next to the woodstove—even in June, they had a fire going. A sign above the bar read, “Find us online at www.Fart-Slobber.com.” With his jowls and bald head, the bartender-s***h-owner resembled the chubby bulldog. Some things never change.

At the bar, she sat on an antique barstool and swiveled back and forth in time to the ’80s rock blasting from the jukebox. When the bartender saw her, he tapped a glass of beer, slopping Coors Light onto the floor as he delivered it. He tossed a fart-slobber bulldog coaster onto the bar in front of her and set the frosty mug on top of it.

“On the house. Welcome back, Jesse.” His jowls wobbled as he leaned over the bar to kiss her on the cheek.

“Thanks, Boomer. Beer, it’s not just for breakfast anymore.” Picking up the overflowing glass, she tried not to spill as she sipped. “Hey, Boomer, do you know what’s going on out at the mill?” she asked, distracted by the collection of antique jockstraps hanging from the wall.

Glancing around her old haunt, she saw Tommy Dalton’s older brother, Jimmy, sitting at the other end of the dark bar. Illuminated by flashing neon signs, his fat face was pointed right at her, and it was too late to duck back out of the tavern. Why was it, everywhere she turned there was a cursed Dalton brother?

Jimmy shouted down the bar, “Why if it isn’t Miss Jesse James. Get your butt over here, girl. I’m gonna buy you a drink.” He patted the stool next to him.

He was the last person she wanted as company. She’d left the reception to get away from his i***t brother Tommy, but now she was trapped.

Growing up, Tommy Dalton was the nice one, Jimmy Dalton was the obnoxious one, and Frank Dalton was the responsible one.

Reluctantly, she scooted to the other end of the bar and pulled up a stool next to Jimmy. In the sickly green light, his dark glassy eyes peering out of his round, flushed face had a sinister glow. She prayed somehow he’d become the nice one. You never knew with the Dalton brothers. She’d heard rumors they all still lived together in some shack out in the hills near Hungry Horse.

“You don’t need to buy me a drink, Jimmy,” she said.

“Jim,” he corrected. “Honey, I’m loaded.”

She was puzzled. “You’re loaded? Are you sure you want to have another drink?”

Spittle formed around the corners of his mouth when he laughed. “No, stupid. I’m loaded in coin. Just sittin’ here on my a*s, I’m makin’ five hundred bucks a day.” When Jimmy leaned toward her, she was assaulted by the rank smell of booze emanating from every pore of his body.

She blinked and stepped off her stool.

“Best investment I ever made. That old dozer paid for itself in the last week just sittin’ up there on a lightning fire in Flathead National Forest. From here on, it’s all gravy.” Jimmy slapped the bar and sent pretzels flying in all directions.

Jessica downed her beer. “Thanks, Jimmy, er Jim. Gotta run.” She’d heard the Forest Service paid loggers to keep their equipment on fires to build fire lines and trenches, but she had no idea it was that much. The high pay explained the two-hundred-dollar Stetson on Jimmy’s ten-cent head.

“Wait, JJ. Boomer, get Miss Jesse here a whiskey.”

“No really, I have to go. But thanks anyway.” When she turned to go, Jimmy grabbed her sleeve.

“Sit down here and have a drink with me. What? Are you too stuck up now? Too good to have a drink with old Jim? I remember when you wasn’t above snugglin’ up with my little brother Tommy.” As Boomer dropped off her whiskey, Jimmy gave her a lecherous look and a menacing drop of saliva fell from one side of his mouth.

Ewwww. Jessica grimaced and pulled her shirt loose from his grasp. “That’s not it. I just—”

Ewwww. “Sit back down here, girl.” He slapped the barstool. “I wanna tell you something about your cousin Mike. Yeah, good ol’ Mike.” His head bobbed and swayed to some inaudible music. Suddenly, he slammed his beer down on the bar. “Sit!”

Jessica dropped back onto the stool, sipped her whiskey, and waited. Jimmy stared into space as if she weren’t there. After a few minutes of silence, wondering why the heck he’d wanted her to stick around, she turned to him and asked, “What about Mike?”

“What?” Jimmy gaped at her. “Mike?” He swiveled his stool to face her and put one foot on the bottom rung of her stool in between her feet. “Mike was a helluva guy. Let’s drink to Mike.” Jimmy missed his mouth and spilled his beer down his shirt. “s**t! Get me another barkeep!” His maniacal laughter clawed at Jessica’s skin. He put his hands on either side of her stool, and like a caged wildcat she was desperate to get out.

“Please Jim, I need to go. Thanks for the drink. But let me go.” She tried to stand up, but Jimmy still had one foot and two hands on her stool.

“Yeah, Mike was a helluva guy. Too bad he was an Injun lover. What about you? You an Injun lover too?” Jimmy narrowed his watery eyes and bared his teeth at her.

Jessica pushed his arms away with both hands, knocking the nasty Dalton off his stool and onto the floor. Asshole. She hoped he’d broken a bone or two. She stepped over his spread-eagled legs and marched out of the bar into the night.