Deep, sun-damaged creases meandered across his weathered hands as if each day he had been alive etched a road map of his travels across them. His veins raised in topographical opposition. If life’s design could be interpreted, it would clearly tell every detail of all the hard days he had endured. It was written across his hands, his face. He sat alone. Porter held his stories close to his chest and rarely let anyone near enough to know their heartbreaking magnitude. His long fingers wrapped almost entirely around the cold, damp whiskey glass, smooth against his callused palms. A cool, welcome breeze came through the saloon doors and interrupted the suffocating grip of the hot, stagnant air inside. Storm clouds moved across the sun giving the horses out front an occasional break from the oppressive heat.
Porter motioned toward the bartender who instinctively knew what he was requesting.
“Another round,” the bartender acknowledged and slid another drink the same as before his way.
Porter nodded in appreciation and accepted the glass as it made its way across the bar and into his grasp. Billy knew bar talk was best kept for the other customers. He left Porter to his glass.
The saloon doors flew open. Everyone but Porter turned to see Jessica standing in the sunlight. Her curves sinfully silhouetted in the doorway. The shadows of the sinking sun made her long legs seem impossibly longer.
No one moved as she let the doors fall behind her. She sauntered toward the bar. The crowd shifted so their eyes could follow. She stopped suddenly and climbed slowly into a seat across from Sam, keeping her eyes on him. She crossed her legs, the slit in her dress revealing the top of her thigh. Her tanned skin like honey in contrast with her red dress. She watched him watching her for a moment.
“I’ve missed you,” she hissed as the patrons tired of their interaction and continued the conversations they were having prior to her sultry shadows distracting their attentions.
After a brief conversation with Sam she made her way to the bar where Porter, still alone, was finishing a third drink.
“Well look who it is! Porter how ya been?” Jessica asked the side of his head, as he deliberately kept his gaze from her.
He returned no glance. No response. He waved a disinterested hand in her general direction.
“You mean old grump,” she snapped as she moved toward the others and inserted herself into another conversation looking for a customer of her own.
“You alright, Porter,” Billy asked gently as he reached for his empty glass the way you might slowly edge a bone away from a snarling dog.
“That one’s dead from the neck up. Got no time for it or interest in it.”
The storm clouds shrouded the evening sun completely and finally released their heavy load. Rain came down in sheets quickly flooding the dirt streets in and around the town. Thunder shook the walls around them. The earthy smell of wet dirt filled the room. A pleasant smell that made Porter nostalgic for the easy summer days of childhood.
Another commotion in the doorway caused him to jump. Porter’s alarm went unnoticed. The room settled into an uneasy silence as they all held their breath and waited for what was coming through the doors next. Men bolted inside hoping to escape the storm and maybe make a few dollars at the same time. Talking loudly amongst themselves they shook the rain from their jackets and hats. The bandanas stayed tight across their faces.
“Looks like the storm washed up rats,” Porter thought to himself. He sighed and kept his back to them.
The biggest of the five men picked up a stool and swung it at the wall. Kicking the splintered pieces out of the way, he pulled a pistol from his waist and demanded Billy unload the register into a sack. The others behind him pointing their weapons at the crowd at different angles to protect the big man’s back.
Porter still alone at the far end of the bar was inadvertently scratching at the edge of the bar with a pocket knife and quietly assessing the situation.
While the big man waited for Billy to finish emptying the register’s contents he took notice of Jessica nearby.
“Come here,” he pointed his pistol at her and waved it in his direction. She looked around nervously, her heart in her throat. She walked carefully toward him as if the floor might fall out from under her. He grabbed her by the hair and spun her around with her back against him. She could feel his hot breath against her neck rolling out from the sides of the damp bandana. Her movement restricted by the handful of her hair in his fist.
“Please,” the word stuck in her throat and hardly passed her lips.
Porter, unnoticed, silently took note of the position of each of the men in his peripheral. Five. One holding Jessica, the others at his side. One, two, three, four. Two on each side of Billy. He absentmindedly cut a mark for each in the bar with his knife.
“Yes I think please is exactly the word I want to hear from you,” the big man pulled her face to his.
Porter put his knife away, stood slowly and in one sweeping motion shot the big man in the forehead just above Jessica’s. Blood and bullets flew. The four others in his company dropped one by one. Jessica fell to the ground covered in the big man’s sweat and blood.
Porter holstered his weapon, helped Jessica to her feet, and walked away from the commotion. With people talking frantically about what they’d just witnessed, he took a deep breath and walked out into the rain.
Jessica came running to the doorway.
“Wait!” She pleaded.
He waved her off the same as before. No time for it, not interested in it.
