Not From Around Here.

Not From Around Here

         The sallow little man behind the New York high rise apartment registration desk cast a wary eye upon Jake Barstow. "You, what?" he asked, disbelief evident in his tone.

         Jake peered down upon the man and sighed loudly. "I said, I found this here wallet over by the fake potted plant and wanted to turn it in to 'Lost and Found.' That's you, ain't it?"

         "Yes," the miniature man answered. "Does it have money in it?"

         Jake pushed the brim of his sweat-stained Stetson up off his forehead and frowned. His sun-dried and weathered face creased with deep arroyos. "How the heck would I know? I didn't look. Ain't mine to go meddlin' with." He tossed the wallet on the desk and sauntered away with a bow-legged gait toward the elevator, shaking his head. He was as out of his element as a male hairdresser at a rodeo competition.

         Stabbing the elevator "up" button with a gnarled, thrice rope-broke index finger, Jake wondered for the hundredth time in two days why he had let the man he had business with talk him into coming to New York instead of Jake having the man come to Fort Worth.

         As he waited patiently for the elevator, Jake was joined by an agitated young man who punched the "up" button several times, even though it was already lit up. "Don't make it come no faster to keep pushin' that button," Jake said amiably.

         The harried man snorted. "Unlike some people, I don't have all day to wait, cowboy."

         "Sure ya do, son. And many days after this one if you're lucky, and God sees fit."

         At that moment Jake glimpsed a small shape at his feet from the corner of his laugh-lined eyes. Looking down, he saw a dog smaller than the rabbits that roamed his ranch. The useless-for-all-practical-purposes animal peeked up to meet Jake's stare and defiantly lifted its hind leg over the toe of Jake's high-topped boot. In a low, menacing voice, Jake said, "Dog, you take a whiz on my new alligator-hide boot and you're gonna find it planted up your little fuzzy frou-frou fanny."

         The dog tilted its head to one side questioningly, guiltily broke eye-contact and lowered its shaky leg. The red-haired, heavily made up dowager on the other end of the dog's leash, stroked Jake's solidly muscled shoulder. "Oh, my! You're so strong and big !" she gushed. "From a distance I thought you were Clint Eastwood, but you're much better looking!"

         Jake favored her with a weak smile.

         "You're obviously not from around here," the woman continued. "How do you like our tall buildings?"

         Shifting his weight as a prologue to telling a Texas tall-tale, Jake bragged, "Been tossed higher by a snake-scared horse, Ma'am."

         Suddenly, the impatient man cried out like a calf at branding time, "Son of a ...!"

         The little dog, with a toothy doggy smile for Jake, was using the man's shin for a fire hydrant. Jack quelled the impulse to say, "Good dog!"

         The man, shaking his dripping pants leg, fumed off in the direction of the restroom while the dog's owner picked up her tiny hairball and headed for the front door.

         The elevator door slid open, and Jake stepped inside. "Floor, please," the elevator operator, an eight-ball shiny black man with a halo of white hair circling his head asked.

         "Seven," Jake drawled.

         The operator cocked his head toward Jake, squinted and tapped his finger to the hearing-aid in his left ear. "Battery must be shot," he complained. "Sounded like you said 'heaven', mister."

         Jake patted the old man's hunched back. "There or Texas, partner. Whichever comes first."

The End

DMM