Chris Offutt - The Good Brother

“Joe,” he said. “You want to go to town?”

They took the ranch rig. The Bitterroot River flashed silver panes of light beside the road. The mountains were blue, their peaks still topped by snow, Johnny drove with his palm on the bottom of the steering wheel and his other arm out the window.

“How come you to shoot me anyhow?” Joe said.

“You were too damn close to Frank’s place.”

“I guess so,” Joe said. He wasn’t sure what Johnny meant. “How close?”

“Mile, maybe two.”

“What were you all doing?”

“Me and Owen brought in supplies. We do that every month. Food, water, and propane mostly. Fresh batteries for his CB and shortwave. We’re the only ones who know where he’s hiding out. Us and Ty.”

“Ty Skinner?”

“Sure. They post me on sentry when they work their plans out. That’s what I was doing when you came along.”

“Working plans out with Ty?”

“He’d already left. He’s not part of it, you know.”

“I didn’t think he was,” Joe said. “But I don’t know what it is he does do.”

“He’s the gun man.” Johnny turned in the seat. “But don’t let on I told you, okay?”

Joe nodded.

“He’s got the nicest guns I ever saw.”

Dimming strips of crimson lay in the western sky. The mountains became deep blue, then gray, and finally black. Johnny flicked on his headlights. In Missoula they stopped at a three-way intersection near the fairgrounds, where traffic was backed up in all directions.

“Malfunction Junction,” Johnny said.

“How come everybody wears those Buffalo Bills hats all the time?” Johnny shrugged. “It’s just a sign.”

“Of what?”

“That we believe in the Bill of Rights.”

“I got another question.”

“Fire away.”

“What are those damn letters on the hillsides for?”

“High school kids do it. The L is for Loyola. Then a bunch of dumb college kids put the M up. They started out rock but now they’re concrete.”

“Where do you want to go?” Joe said.

“Heck, it’s town. We can go anywhere.”

“Name a place.”

“I don’t like college bars or music bars except on country nights. And I don’t like sports bars or old men bars, either.”

“That leaves plenty. This place is fall of bars, ain’t it.”

“Ever been to the Wolf?”

“Once or twice.”

Johnny drove into the clear streets of Missoula’s old downtown and parked in front of the Wolf. A line of drinkers sat at the bar’s end, their backs turned to the world. Hard men and women sat at tables beneath the garish fluorescent light. The poker room held three players waiting to start a game. Joe followed Johnny to the strip club, where the doorman let them in free. The lights were dim and the walls held many mirrors that reflected shadows. Slot machines stood beside the restroom doors. Johnny sat at the table farthest from the stage and Joe was amused by his shyness. They ordered beer while watching a woman remove her shirt. She walked with her shoulders arched back and her chin high, kicking her legs forward as if in a marching band. Just above her G-string was the faint scar of a cesarean section.

After a few minutes, another stripper approached their table. She wore knee boots, a short skirt, and a leather vest. Her left eyebrow was split by a scar and Joe wanted to touch it. He felt very warm. The woman smiled at Joe and sat on Johnny’s lap. She held his head in both her hands and kissed him, pressing him against the wall. Joe had never seen a dancer do any more than accept a kiss on the cheek. He hoped she’d kiss him next.

The woman pulled away from Johnny, who shouted above the music.

“This is Sally,” he said. “Sally, this is Joe. He’s sort of a friend of the family.”

“Uh-oh,” she said. “I don’t like the sound of that.”

“He’s not like the rest,” Johnny said. “He knows my sister.”

“Nice to meet you,” Joe shouted.

She smiled, her teeth bright in the dusky light. Her black hair was long and straight. Makeup lay on her face like enamel. Joe wondered if Johnny’s family knew where he spent his time.

During a lull between songs, she spoke.

“I sunbathed in my yard today,” she said. “The baby sat in a box and watched.”

“Anybody else?”

“No way, honey. But you know I have to get a tan all over.”

“You could go to one of those tanning beds.”

“I hate those things,” she said. “They’re like a microwave.”

“Anybody can see you in the backyard.”

“You got it backwards, Johnny. Anybody can see me in here.”

“That’s different.”

“I think you’re Jealous is what I think.” She turned to Joe. “Do you think he’s jealous?”

Joe shrugged and faced the stage. The dancer was completely nude and working for the dollars that customers flourished in the air. Two young men sat immobile, as she quickly rid them of a pile of money beside their beers. The music ended and the dancer left the stage.

In the sudden silence, poolballs cracked against each other across the room.

“I can’t stay now,” Johnny said. “I came with Joe so I have to go back with him, too.”

“He’s sweet,” she said. She wiggled on his lap. “Let’s talk about the first thing that pops up.”

A woman tapped Sally on the shoulder. Sally kissed Johnny, walked backstage, and emerged into the light. She moved with a confident grace that Joe hadn’t noticed at the table. She smirked while prancing, as if flaunting the power granted by the men.

“Come on,” Johnny said. “I hate to see her dance. I mean, I like seeing her dance. It’s the guys who watch I can’t stand seeing.”

Outside the night spread like black oil, shiny stars glowing low in the sky. The mountains were dark hulks on the horizon.

“She’s a nice girl,” Joe said.

“I like her, you know. I really like her.”

He glanced at Joe.

“I don’t just see her here. We have dates. Her kid’s great, she’s just ten months, but she knows who I am. She can say my name, Joe. She knows me.”

He stopped talking and Joe looked away to grant him the privacy of emotion. Joe took the keys and started the truck, letting the big engine warm itself.

“Is she yours?” Joe said. “The baby?”

Johnny nodded.

“Is that why you never told the family?”

“No.”

“Because of her job?”

“That’s not it. Sally makes good money and they treat the dancers better than you’d think.”

“Does it bother you what she does?”

“Sometimes,” Johnny said, “but that’s not it, either.”

“What, then?”

“She’s an Indian. Salish-Kootenai.”

“That doesn’t matter.”

“Around here it sure does.”

Johnny slumped in the seat. Joe wondered if Botree would mind that he went to a strip club with her brother. He jerked his head as if to sling the thought from his mind, and tried to think of Abigail, a wedge he could slip into the gap. Abruptly he knew that he had never loved her. At the fore of his feelings lay sympathy. They’d been together because the community had expected it. He suddenly understood that he’d spent his life following patterns that were designed by other people.

He felt the faint glimmerings of actual freedom, a sensation that scared him. At a red light he looted through the front window of a tavern. There was another bar across the street. Town was where people went when they didn’t have anywhere else to go. They drank and loved and fought, and Joe wished he could be one of them, but knew he never would. He was tired of trying to be like everyone else.

By June the days were long slabs of sun. Weather moved down the valley like water in a ditch. Joe limped around the house without his cane, saving it for outdoor walks on rough ground. He tied a leather strip to its handle and carried it slung over his back like a carbine. He no longer wore a bandage on his knee.