Above the Bridge (10 page)

The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar wasn’t terribly crowded when he arrived, but by the looks of the busy sidewalks, Jake knew it would be filling up soon.  The regular doorman, Billy, tipped his cowboy hat at Jake and waved him in.

“How you doin’, Mr. Norris,” Billy said as Jake flashed a grin his direction.

“Doin’ fine, Billy, doin’ just fine,” Jake answered, taking a quick look around the room.

“What brings you out on a cold night like this?”  Billy asked, more for small talk than anything else.

Jake glanced over his shoulder to respond as he sauntered by.  “Just hangin’ out, figured a beer or two might taste good.”  Billy nodded in agreement before turning back to the door to check the ID’s of a couple young ladies.  Jake continued on into the room, passing a row of pool tables before arriving at the well-known bar counter.  Swinging his leg over a saddle, he nodded a hello to the bartender.

“Hey, Deke,” Jake called out, “How about a cold one?”

The bartender gave a thumbs-up sign in Jake’s direction and opened the door to a refrigerator under the counter.  Pulling out a tall, frosted glass, he angled it under one of the spouts for draft beer and filled it most of the way, then turned it upright at the last minute, allowing a perfect head of foam to settle on the top.  He placed it in front of Jake and slapped his hand playfully against the bar.

“One Snake River Lager, Jake, old boy.  That’ll be three bucks for you.”

Jake pulled out a billfold from the back of his jeans, leaning to the side a bit in order to reach it.  He slipped out a five and slid it across the bar.  “Keep the change, Deke.  It’s always a pleasure doing business with you.”

Taking a slow drink of the amber liquid, he looked around the bar and took in the usual nightly scene.  A few men stood casually around one pool table, leaning on cue sticks and watching one man take a shot.  In the far corner of the bar, a band twanged out a country song, spotlights casting a red glow on the stage as the musicians played.  A few old timers danced on the wooden floor in front of the band.  Several men in jeans, boots and cowboy hats leaned against the far wall, eyeing the room and watching for any attractive ladies who might show up.

There was no sign of Frank.  Jake kept an eye on the door, forcing himself to look around only occasionally, so as not to appear too anxious.  He began to feel irritated at having to wait.  Frank had inconvenienced him enough.  He’d had just about all he was willing to take, and then some.

The band broke into a run of old classics – Merle Haggard, Johnny Cash, Waylon Jennings and Willie Nelson.  Jake was tapping his foot to a rendition of “I Walk the Line” when he saw Frank enter the bar, glance casually around the room and then walk over to where Jake sat.  He took a saddle next to him and told Deke to serve up one of whatever Jake was drinking.

“How’re you doing tonight, Jake?”  Frank said with feigned politeness, handing Deke exact change for his beer.

Jake waited until Deke walked away, knowing that bartenders often heard a little too much of everything said at the counter.

“Don’t mess with me, Frank,” Jake said, lowering his voice.  “I’m all out of patience with you.  Don’t even think about wasting any more of my time.”

Frank paused a few seconds, just on general principle, and then reached into his pocket, pulling out an envelope that looked much like the first one he had passed to Jake in the town square.

“I don’t know if I should even trust you,” Jake mumbled with exasperation.  “How do I know this one will be different from the other?”

Frank stood up, gulped down the rest of his beer and looked Jake straight in the eyes.  “You’ll see,” he said.  “Put the pieces together and you’ll be on the right track.  You probably could have done it with what I gave you before, but maybe this will make it easier for you.”  He dropped fifty cents on the counter as a tip for the bartender and then turned toward the door and left, stepping aside only briefly to let a few people enter the quickly filling venue.

CHAPTER NINE

Paige hoisted her tote bag over her shoulder and walked to her car.  She opened the door, tossed the bag across to the passenger seat and then straightened up to look at the sky.  The rain had stopped, at least temporarily.  But she had gotten to know Jackson Hole too well by now to trust the weather to stay the same for very long.  Still, it was nice to have a break in the rainfall.  The gray clouds were slightly lighter in color, though there were no patches of blue sky to be seen. She looked up the street toward Snow King, the pine covered mountain that bordered Jackson, rising to an impressive altitude of 7780 feet. A layer of fog hovered across its slopes.  A glance in the other direction brought her gaze upon the town square, deserted at the moment.

Paige paused, narrowing her eyes a bit.  It seemed once again that there was a slight glow coming from the antler arch.  She looked up at the sky, as was now her habit, to check for a ray of sun that might be slipping through the clouds anywhere, but there was nothing.  She pressed the lock on her car door, pushed it shut and walked briskly toward the arch.  It seemed ridiculous to be irritated by an inanimate object, but enough was enough.  If it was some sort of prank, she intended to get to the bottom of it.

As opposed to the other times she had seen the mysterious light surrounding the top of the arch, this time it didn’t fade away as she approached.  Instead, it appeared to deepen, blending mysteriously with the misty air.  She stepped closer, stopping when she was just a few feet away.  Looking around, she saw the square and sidewalks were still deserted.

She took a few more steps forward, continuing until she stood almost directly underneath the well-known, stacked antler landmark.  Above her, the glow continued to grow even brighter.  Paige was certain this time that she wasn’t imagining it.  The light quickly grew diffused as it spread outward into the air, but the immediate glow on the arch itself remained constant.

Paige looked around for some sort of logical source for the light, perhaps an electrical plug for Christmas lights that had been turned on early.  But there were no power outlets or cords anywhere and she saw nothing else out of the ordinary.  The antlers simply rose from their cement bases with nothing attached in any way. 

Once again Paige looked around on the ground surrounding the front of the arch and then focused her attention on the walkway.  What appeared to be an old, rusty skeleton key rested at an angle on the ground, just a few feet beyond the arch.  She looked around, thinking she might see someone who had dropped the key, but there was no one on the square or surrounding sidewalks.   Curiosity finally getting the best of her, she stepped through the arch and reached for the key.

*   *   *   *

Paige picked the key up in her hand, feeling the coarse texture of the rust against her skin.  Aware of a sudden sensation of tightness around her chest and some difficulty breathing, she straightened up, unprepared for the scene that met her eyes.

The well-maintained landscaping and central statue of the town square were nowhere to be seen.  There was no neon sign across the way announcing The Million Dollar Cowboy Bar and not a single souvenir-stuffed shop in any direction.  Nothing but dust stretched out before her, a concave hollow of dirt mixed with a few stray bushes of sagebrush scattered across the land.

Bringing her hand to her chest, she found the source of her shortness of breath wasn’t only the shock of the change in scenery, but the stiff undergarment of a corset, tightly laced beneath a soft, red satin bodice, trimmed with antique ivory lace. A full skirt of matching fabric flowed down from a tight, pleated waistline.  The hem rested mid-calf, just above a pair of dressy black boots with tassels dangling from their upper edges.  Several layers of colorful petticoats peeked out from below the hem of her skirt. 

Paige felt a shiver of fear run up her spine and crossed her arms in an attempt to fight off nervous shaking. She struggled against the restrictive corset to take deeps breaths and bent forward to rest her hands on her knees.  Whatever was happening to her, panic would not help the situation.

Straightening up, she looked around and shook her head in disbelief.  Perhaps there had been some sort of drug mixed in with her latte.  It all seemed so real, not at all like the haziness of a dream. As if to affirm this feeling, a clatter of horse hooves approached on the left.  Paige watched as a weathered wagon passed by, haphazardly loaded down with supplies – barrels of vegetables, an old stove pipe, a couple of bales of hay and other assorted goods.

She glanced cautiously around, noting very few buildings. Those that caught her eye were weathered and rustic in nature.  A store of some sort stood across the open grounds, bearing a sign across the top that announced it as “Deloney’s General Mercantile.”  There were large gaps between the buildings, simple, open spaces of dirt.  The scene resembled a ghost town movie set, so sparse were the surroundings.  Still, other commercial establishments lined the dusty streets – the Jackson Hotel and a pitched roof structure called The Clubhouse.  A handful of smaller businesses were also scattered about, offering services of varying trades.

Paige moved hesitantly across the open space and, still struggling to breathe, took notice of a few more details. A slight twinge of curiosity began to seep into the continuing feelings of uneasiness and fear.  She stepped into Deloney’s store and glanced around.  A portion of the shop clearly served as a market, offering apples, potatoes, flour, corn starch, syrup and numerous other types of provisions.  The remainder of the establishment housed just about every type of household item one could imagine, from sewing supplies to hardware, as well as basic machinery and farming tools.

Back outside, she slowly began to wander through the town - if it could be called such, with only a handful of buildings in sight.  Yet, as empty as the landscape appeared, activity surrounded her.  Customers emerged from Deloney’s store carrying boxes of assorted household goods.  A few men leaned against the outside of a blacksmith shop, having an animated conversation that involved a good portion of laughter and knee-slapping.  A mother walked by holding a young boy’s hand tightly in her own, scolding him for misbehavior. Though sparsely populated, it was clear to Paige that the activities of a town were going on – trade, communication, and various aspects of community life.

Paige paused in front of the building with the sign above the door identifying it as The Clubhouse.  Playful sounds of piano music floated out into the dusty air and seemed to beckon her from within.  Hoisting her skirt up to avoid tripping, she climbed a handful of stairs to the front door and slowly stepped inside. 

The music was upbeat and grew louder as she entered. A few other women stood around, some dressed in similar garb, though the colors and fabrics varied.  One neatly coiffed woman with auburn hair and elegant green attire fanned her face with one hand and rested the other on the arm of a rough looking man. Yet another, a slender brunette with sultry eyes, sat in a chair against the wall, her back straight and poised, as if waiting for a cue.  The music stopped briefly and immediately started up again with a different tune, this one even livelier than the last.  The woman in the green dress was drawn out toward the center of the floor by the man she accompanied, where the two began to dance.  Another gentleman crossed the room, grabbing the hand of the brunette, gently pulling her to her feet and escorting her to the dance floor, as well.

It was a festive atmosphere, bustling with music and laughter, but it hardly seemed a place that would help Paige get her bearings.  She was just turning to leave when the sharp voice of an older woman called out.

“There you are, little lady,” the voice shouted from across the room.  Paige glanced over to see the woman bustling rapidly towards her.  She was a little heavier than the other women and the lines on her face gave her age away as at least a couple decades down the road, as well.  She charged up to Paige and grabbed her arm, pulling her over to the side of the room.

“Finally,” she said with exasperation.  “They said they were sending you, but we expected you a few days ago.”

“They were sending me…”  Paige repeated, her voice trailing off before her words could manage to take on the tone of a question.

“Yes, they were sending you, just not very quickly, if you ask me” the woman muttered, patting Paige’s hair with her hands and, holding her by the chin, turning her head to one side, then to the other.  “It’s just not that easy to get girls out here.  This is Jackson, not one of your big towns.  Now let’s get you a little more painted up.  You’re not going to please any men with a plain face like that.”

“I…”  Paige started to object, but found she was essentially speechless.  The woman grabbed her hand with an awkward tug and quickly whisked her across the floor.

“Now, Maylene.  That’s your name isn’t it?”  The pause that followed lasted only a split second, not long enough for Paige to even respond.  “Of course it is, that’s who they said they were sending.”  The woman parked Paige in a chair and patted on some face powder and rouge, followed by eye shadow and red lipstick that must have been as bright as her dress.

“My name’s Pearl, but you can just call me Mama.  I take care of all you girls.  If you’ve got a question or a problem, you just bring it to me.”

Paige was quite sure at this point that she had a whole string of problems, but she wasn’t about to spill them to Pearl, who stood above her now in a huffy, matronly manner.