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This is the final chapter of a story that has run all week.

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Joleen wasn’t sure if the crowd would ever stop singing so she and Sam could actually hear each other.  The Dixie Chicks came to the rescue when they came on the jukebox singing Cowboy, Take Me Away.  Most of the crowd was American enough to know not to sing along with Martie, Natalie, and Emily.  They had insulted the president, Texas, and America and most of the crowd couldn’t believe any of their songs were even still available on the jukebox at the Lucky Lady, much less that someone from Fort Stockton had paid to play one.  The place grew as quiet as quiet could ever get at full capacity.

As they began to wander back to their tables, signal their waitress for another bucket of beers, or resume romancing whomever it was they brought with them to the bar, Joleen got a better view of who all was in the crowd.  Unfortunately, so did Dodd Frisco.

From across the room, on the other side of the pool table and standing just to the left of the 12 point buck mounted on the wall, Dodd glanced up and saw Jolene.  The recently divorced woman attempting to shoot pool with a female friend was lucky enough to have Dodd transfer his attention to someone else.  He made his way towards the bar, bumping into tables, nearly tripping a waitress holding three buckets of Lone Star Longnecks, and generally making a nuisance of himself with every patron he came into contact with.  Ignoring Sam standing behind her, Dodd finally made his way up to the bar next to Jolene.

Jolene smelled him behind her, even though she’d turned her back so she didn’t have to see him.

“Ain’t you lookin’ prettier than a damn spring flower tonight?”  Dodd slurred in Jolene’s direction.

Jolene thought that if she just ignored Dodd that he would tire quickly and turn his attention on someone else.  However, Dodd Frisco had been ignored by folks in Fort Stockton long enough to prove taking that approach was futile.

Mamas Don’t Let Your Babies Grow Up to be Cowboys began playing on the jukebox.  Nobody could rile up a crowd faster than Waylon and Willie.  The decibel level in the bar rose  several notches.  When the duo sang “Smokey old pool rooms and clear mountain mornings / Little warm puppies and children and girls of the night,” the crowd all joined in singing the “Little warm puppies and children and girls of the night” part at the top of their lungs, sure that all was again right with the world.  Or at least Fort Stockton, anyway.

Waylon, Willie, and the crowd that adored them, downed out Dodd, giving Jolene some relief, but frustrating her drunk and besotted admirer.  It was at that point that Dodd put his hand on Jolene’s shoulder and tried to forcibly turn her around so she had to look at him.

Sam had had enough prior to Dodd actually making contact with Jolene.  The minute he did, Sam was between the two of them.  He grabbed Dodd by the collar of his worn JC Penny sport coat, nearly lifted him up off the ground and then threw him to the floor.  “You need to step away from the lady, and quit bothering her!  You understand what I’m sayin’ or do I need to make it even more clear, you little piss ant?”

It wasn’t the first time Dodd had hit the floor of the Lucky Lady.  And whenever he did, or anyone else did for that matter, it was sure to part the crowd like Moses parting the Red Sea as people angled for a better site line while trying to make sure they were a safe distance from any danger, but close enough to get the details they’d share the next day.  As the crowd did their part in this ritual, Dodd added a new wrinkle.

While struggling to get up off the floor and regain his footing, Dodd reached behind his back.  Under the sport coat woven of polyester and poor decisions and tucked into the belt of his Wranglers was a quintessential S&W J-frame snubbie  Model 36.  Named the Chief’s Special, the Smith & Wesson .38 was introduced at the 1950 International Association of Chiefs of Police conference.  Dodd found that having the classic weapon tucked into the back of his jeans afforded him whatever courage the daily intake of alcohol was incapable of.

When the crowd saw the 1.88-inch barrel, blued finish, and walnut grips, things took a much more precautionary turn, not necessarily one for the better.  Everyone took as many steps back away from the situation as room would allow.  Jolene threw her arms around Sam’s neck, having no idea who Dodd was aiming to get revenge on, or if he meant to take out everyone he could in one fell swoop.

Dodd’s hand shook, the gun in it wavering.  Hank slowly tried to make a move for the baseball bat he kept hidden under the bar, while calculating whether or not he might be close enough to do his best imitation of Joe DiMaggio on the snubbie in Dodd’s hand.  Sam didn’t flinch.  The jukebox fell silent, Willie, Waylon, the Dixie Chicks and Carrie Underwood all waiting to see what happened before entertaining the crowd any further.

Time seemed to stand still as it does in these situations.  It seemed like ten minutes passed while the crowd stood frozen.  But it was only seconds.  

Then the shots rang out.  One after another, three of them in rapid succession.

Sam Snyder buckled to his knees, then fell over completely on the floor in front of Dodd.  A pool of blood poured from his body and quickly formed a river that flowed towards the old oak bar.  People stepped out of the way to avoid being more active participants than they already were.  Jolene screamed and fell on top of Sam.

Shocked, Dodd looked down at the gun in his hand.  He hadn’t fired a single shot and had no idea what had just taken place.  It was then that folks began to notice the entry wounds in Sam’s lifeless body were in the back, not the front where he’d been facing Dodd.

The crowd behind where Sam had been standing parted.  A brunette woman came out from the crowd that had parted for her.  The smoking gun was still in her hand, her long delicate fingers wrapped around the grip, one still on the trigger.

She made her way to the body laying on the floor, Jolene draped over it.  Jolene looked up at her, confused.  “You think you’re the only pretty little thing who’s ever been knocked up by a cowboy with tight jeans, loose morals, and promises real enough to make a girl believe them?”  The strange woman was the only one in the room who was emotionless as her arm slid down to her side and the gun slipped out of her fingers.  “He probably even did the Frolic camper bit, didn’t he?  Makes it all seem so real.” She laughed as she tossed her mane of thick hair behind her head at the memories of it.

The ambulance was there within 15 minutes, which might have been a record for Fort Stockton.  The 1961 Cadillac was converted by Miller-Meteor of Piqua, Ohio, for use as an ambulance. It was stationed at the Uravan mill site in Nucla, Colorado, before being sold at auction to Mayor Goodman and then resold at a profit to the city.

The Cadillac was finished in red and white with chrome bumpers and trim. The body had been modified with an extended-height roof, and other features included a Beacon Ray roof-top emergency light, a rear work light and front spotlights, truck-style mirrors, a rear access door, and Miller-Meteor fender badges.

Jolene knew Sam was dead as they loaded him onto the stretcher.  The stream of his blood had made it all the way to the kitchen, at least that which hadn’t been soaked up by Jolene’s sundress as she laid on top of him.  Once in the back of the ambulance, Jolene noticed a bank of storage cabinets housing supplies and sitting ahead of a folding jump seat and a gurney with a mattress, a lifeless Sam laying on top. Additional equipment included a first aid cabinet, a Linde emergency oxygen unit, a fan, and overhead lighting.  None of the items were used.  There was no need.

The woman who’d shot Sam Snyder in front of an entire crowd at the Lucky Lady Lounge stood waiting next to the bar while they wheeled out her former boyfriend, the father of her own small child.  She’d waited six years for this moment and wanted to savor it.  She made no attempt to flee, knowing the police were on the way.  She even finished off the last of the Lone Star Sam had been drinking. “No need to waste it,” she laughed.

Jolene walked back into the bar after seeing Sam loaded up and the ambulance headed to Fort Stockton Memorial Hospital and Animal Testing Facility.  She walked straight up to the dark woman who’d just shot her dreams dead.  As the police burst through the front door, the woman reached into her purse, causing all but Jolene to fall back a step or two.  She pulled out a set of keys and tossed them to Jolene.

“It doesn’t feel like it now.  But someday you’ll thank me,” she told Jolene as the police cuffed her.

In the palm of her hand, Jolene looked down at a set of keys to a red and white 1959 Ford Fairlane 500 Sunliner Galaxie convertible.  A car whose name was as complicated as whatever makes a cowboy tick.

That’s the thing about cowboys.

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