T. Parker - Full Measure

The women came off their stools and headed for the cue rack. Trevor set his black leather cowboy hat on the counter, crown down, and wiped his forehead with the back of one big freckled hand. His hair was red and cut close. His handshake was powerful and Ted watched Trevor’s tan eyes roam his face. His voice was soft. “I heard you had some trouble with a local gangster of the Mexican variety.”

“He robbed me at gunpoint.”

“You should take him to the next level, Ted — white man style. I can help. Do you know where to find him?”

“He hangs out on Carmella Street. Or along Old Stage, behind the McDonald’s. I’ve seen him there.”

“Not good enough. Can you get his home address?”

“Easy.”

“Give me your cell phone.” Trevor took Ted’s phone and started pushing buttons. “Here is Joan’s number. When you get it, give her the wetback’s address. Not his name, just his address. I’ve never heard of you and never seen you.”

“I get it.”

“You and me will fix it so he doesn’t want to bother you again.”

“Yes.”

“Mostly you are going to fix it. I won’t fight your fights for you.”

Ted was amazed that the white powder could bring him so much power, then more, and more, and more. It was like being plugged into a wall socket for an endless charge. “I don’t want you to fight my fights.”

“Tell me about the mayor.”

“I hate her politics. And maybe her, too.”

“Your cartoon was cool.”

“Thanks, man.”

“Maybe you should take her to the next level.”

“What does that mean?”

“Whatever you need it to mean. This band is Hate Matrix. They might give you some ideas.”

“Well, I’ve thought about certain things I could do.”

“Thought is for the weak — act. Make a list of people who need to be dealt with. Hold on to your anger. It’s the only thing that’ll get you through.”

Ted felt the power prowling around in him like a tiger looking for a way out. Wasn’t that tiger his life, his passion to do a big and meaningful thing? He was the tiger and the tiger could do the big thing. He smiled.

“As of right now none of this ever happened.”

“I appreciate it.”

“I don’t know what the fuck you mean. I’m a Rogue Wolf, Ted. I live free and hunt alone. You should, too.”

Ted teamed up with Joan. She won the lag and broke and took solids. While she played Ted couldn’t help but notice the beauty of her, the harmonious proportions, the fair skin and the light sheen of perspiration on her neck. She had Pegasus tattooed on her shoulder. He had another beer, and then another. Amber was lovely too, curvier than Joan, with wispy blond curls and a dazzling smile. The women raised their cues and beer bottles and bumped hips each time they passed by each other, and Ted was certain that their laughter was getting him higher than the crank and beer were. He concentrated as hard as he could on the shot-making, and the drugs gave him plenty of confidence and even some steadiness. Between shots he sat on a stool with a half smile and the cue propped up beside him, watching the women and letting their sweet scents drift over him, occasionally looking at Cade and Trevor. He liked these people. Sound judgments on society but no judgments of him. Like-minded individuals but not in lockstep with anything or anyone. Strong but fair. Rogue Wolves, he thought, live free and hunt alone.

Buoyed by camaraderie, meth, and beer, Ted drove west out Mission Road. Near the San Luis Rey River he pulled into the Riverview Stable’s parking lot and got out. He went to the railing, looked down into the arena, and saw that he was in luck. His heart did a little giddyup. Dora was there! Two months ago he had given her a ride into town after her car had run out of gas near here. And of course a ride back to her car after she’d bought a fuel can that he filled for her. Since then, once a week, Ted had come out to watch her teach the night students under the lights. He could tell she liked him. And he liked watching Dora’s mastery over the huge, unpredictable animals.

Now he saw a big chestnut mare ridden by a girl, cantering around Dora. He heard the hollow clop-clop of hooves and the music of Dora’s voice floating up toward him. The air was sweet from the river and the moon was a sliver caught in the sycamore branches. He padded softly down to the grandstand and sat in the front row and watched.

Dora was a pretty red-haired woman in her late twenties. Tonight she was wearing jeans and paddock boots and a red cowl-necked sweater. Her hair shined in the arena lights. Ted smiled with pride. As he watched the horse and rider circle her, Ted thought of the first time he’d gotten on a horse. Why it had reared up, nobody could say. But the gelding’s neck had broken his nose and he had landed hard on his back, his breath knocked out of him. When he came to his senses he was looking up at his mother. He could hear his father cursing and the departing thump of his boots and the more distant thud of hooves. Now he pictured his mother’s face, her beautiful face, the furrow of her brow and the throb of the vein in her forehead, and beyond her the blue sky and white clouds. The horse was named Feather and it was the last horse he’d ever touched.

The lesson ended with a quick hand of applause from Dora. Ted watched the girl lead her horse toward the boarding stalls. Her parents were waiting for her on the other side of the arena and the dad put his arms over his daughter’s shoulders and they all walked slowly past the dressage arena. Dora glanced at her watch as she came from the lighted arena toward him. With a giddy tickle in his heart Ted waited until she was close, then jumped from the darkened grandstand, stumbling slightly. “Hi, Dora!”

He heard the intake of her breath. She stopped abruptly and it took her a moment to identify him. “Ted? Ted? Don’t be jumping out at me like that!”

“I’m sorry.”

“Yes, so what are you doing?”

“Watching, Dora. That’s all. I came to see you.”

“You scared the hell out of me.”

“I’m so sorry, I thought you would see me, even though the light’s not good.”

“Yeah, okay, well I didn’t see you. My heart’s still pounding. Jeez...”

Now Ted felt a twinge of fear too, a little tremble in his gut and a flutter in his heart, as if someone had just jumped out of the darkness at him. “You’re right, Dora. I should never have done that. I’m really sorry. Can I walk you to your car?”

She looked at him, but in the half-light Ted couldn’t read the expression on her face. “I guess,” she said.

He fell in beside her and she moved over and they headed for the parking lot. Ted looked up at the clubhouse and restaurant on the hill that overlooked the property. Through the windows he saw a few diners, candles on the tabletops, a waitress delivering something. He shifted his glance down to Dora to see her jaw set tight and her lips firm and her brow bent into a frown. “Dora, can I buy you a drink or dinner? I really didn’t mean to scare you.”

“I’ve eaten, Ted. No thanks.”

“Glass of wine? Decaf?”

“No and no. I think you’ve had enough to drink, too.”

“Maybe a little too much. Good lesson tonight?”

She didn’t answer. Ted listened to the crunch of their feet on the decomposed granite walkway. He looked down at her petite, lace-up boots, then at his own special-order, extra-extra wide walking shoes which, even fitted with unbelievably expensive orthotics, let his collapsed feet slosh and yaw with every step.

“I asked you not to come here again, Ted. What part of that was I not clear about?”

Ted still felt her fear and now he was feeling her anger, too. He didn’t know why other people’s emotions got into him so quickly and strongly but they always had. They could drown out his own. “I just came by to say I won’t be coming by anymore.”