Ol' Marshall Dillon and Miss Kitty sat and talked to each other for twenty years and he never so much as got a peck on the cheek. He seemed happy with the way things were...I figure because every now and then on a Saturday night he snuck over to a saloon on the other side of town and caught a dance or two with a few saloon girls. As 'Should Have Been A Cowboy' blared over the speakers above the dance floor, I found my mind wandering. Jacy Morrow and I were like Miss Kitty and Marshall Dillon...just talk, no action. And thus, here I sat, in a bar on a Saturday night hoping for a dance with a saloon girl or two.
It was that backwoods Kentucky accent that caught my attention. I glanced over at the table next to me.
"I can't believe you ain't gonna dance with me!" her head turned toward me, wild eyes gleaming in the neon lights, "Mister, do you dance?"
"Well, yes I do." I cautiously responded.
"Then get your ass up and dance with me!"
She grabbed my hand and pulled me toward the dance floor. Beneath the dancing neon lights, she looked fairly decent, mid-forties I guessed but her face told of a hard life.
"What about your man over there?" I asked, giving her a spin on the dance floor.
"Oh, he ain't my man. He's my neighbor. My man's dead. Hells Angels killed him ten years ago."
I digested that tidbit of information as the song ended and we headed back toward our tables. The neighbor stood in the dim light, his arms crossed.
"I think I'm going to head out. She's all your's now buddy. Have fun!"
"Well, thanks for nothin'," she retorted as she moved an oversized purse over to my table."
And that was that. She was all mine for the night. I motioned toward the dance floor and she took my hand and followed.
"What's your name?" I asked, peering into near black eyes."
"Bonnie, but everyone calls me the Black Widow...she pronounced it 'widder.' That's 'cause everyone I meet winds up dead."
"So, do you have kids?" I asked.
"Yep, thirteen...five of 'ems dead, though. Don't know where the rest of 'em are."
The song ended and I walked her back to the table. She scooted a chair up right beside me.
"I'm forty-six...don't look that old, huh?" She took a swallow of her beer, "I look pretty good with my clothes on...but after thirteen kids, my belly looks like bubble wrap."
With that, she hiked her strapless silky black blouse up higher than she should have and tucked it under her chin. She grabbed the skin of her abdomen and began playing with it as if it were Play-do.
"See, I just have to fold it up and cram it in my britches. I got some pretty good lookin' legs and my ass ain't half bad. I'll show ya later."
I looked her in the eye..."Umm-humm...so, what do you do...you know, a job?"
She shook her head, "Oh, I can't work. I got shot in the leg a few years back. I used to work for the FBI."
I snickered..." and what did you do for them?"
"Oh, I snitched...I knew where to find all the people they were looking for...hey, I still got handcuffs."
She reached under the table and dug around in her purse for quite some time then plopped a pair of handcuffs on the table.
"Pick 'em up...feel how heavy they are."
I hefted the cuffs...they were indeed well built...and may have been lifted right out of Marshall Dillon's jail...they were that old.
"So, do you have the keys to these."
"Naw, I lost 'em somewhere."
She reached back into her purse and produced a large butcher knife, laying it on the table. I was beginning to feel a bit uneasy.
She continued to tell her stories. "I been in prison three times...got stabbed in my right thigh. Got in a fight over someone trying to take my woman..."
She was still rambling on about her prison experiences. I found my mind wandering off...I wish Miss Kitty were here...I wouldn't be caught up with this phycho woman. WWMD do? (what would Marchall Dillon do...) I knew there was no way I was stepping out of this bar with this chick...let alone take her home...let alone...I shuddered as I pictured myself in handcuffs with this crazy person standing over me holding a butcher knife.
"Because everyone I meet winds up dead..." echoed in my ears.
"So, are we gonna dance some more or you just wanna take me back to your place and do the dirty? 'Cause I'm good with either or. That is what folks come to bars for, right? Those are your two options."
The Black Widow took my hand and shoved it into her crotch, her bony upper body rubbing against my arm. Before I could pull away her tongue found the back of my throat. I withered in fear as my eyes focused on her other hand gently caressing the butcher knife on the table between us.
"Hey, listen...I have to go. It's a long ways back home, forty...I mean, a hundred miles."
I lurched from the table, her hand still maintaining a firm grip.
"Well, I don't mind coming home with ya!"
"No! No! I am...not available!" I almost shouted as I pulled my hand free.
I dashed through the crowded bar, seemingly in slow motion, finally reaching the front door. I fumbled for my keys, unlocking my pickup, and dove inside. The key struggled to find the ignition. And then there was a tap on the glass.
My eyes widened in fear as I stared at the Black Widow standing outside my pickup, butcher knife raised. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth as she spoke.
"You never even told me your name, cowboy!"
As I stammered my reply the glass shattered, handcuffs walloping my skull. Through blurry eyes, I saw the flash of the knife as it made its way toward my chest...
I lurched into an upright position as the ringing of my cell phone brought me back to safety. My heart pounded in my chest as sweat dripped from my forehead.
"I just wanted to wish you a Happy Halloween! You sound out of breath! Have you been doing the dirty?"
"No I...uh, dozed off watching a scary movie. I'm really glad you called!"
"Ahh, what a sweet thing to say. Hey...you're not scared out there all alone on Halloween night, are ya?"
Regaining my composure, I couldn't help but smile.
"Why? Are you going to come out and keep me company?"
That's my Miss Kitty!