Jim went to the bar, thinking he might have a nightcap, catch a taxi to the hotel, and there was the bear, sitting on a stool next to a blonde with breasts so big they were resting on the bar in front of her. The bear, his hat still angled oddly on his head, was chatting her up.
Jim went behind them on his way to a table. He heard the bear say, "Shid, darlin', you dun't know whad yer missin'. 'Ere's wimen all o'er 'is world would lige to do it wid a bear."
"I'm not that drunk yet," the blonde said, "and I don't think they have enough liquor here to make me that drunk." She got up and walked off.
Jim sat down at a table with his back to the bar. He didn't want the bear to recognize him, but he wanted a drink. And then he could smell the bear. The big beast was right behind him. He turned slightly. The bear was standing there, dripping saliva as thick as sea foam from his teeth onto his furry chest.
"Eh, buddy, 'ow you doin'.'' The bear's words were so slurred, it took Jim a moment to understand.
"Oh," he said. "Not so good. Flight to Seattle is delayed until tomorrow."
"Me, too," the bear said, and plopped down in a chair at the table so hard the chair wobbled and Jim heard a cracking sound that made him half expect to see the chair explode and the bear go tumbling to the floor. "See me wid dat gal? Wus dryin to roun me ub sum, ya know." "No luck?"
"Les'bin. The're eberyware."
Jim decided he needed to get out of this pretty quick. "Well, you know, I don't think I'm going to wait on that drink. Got to get a hotel room, get ready for tomorrow."
"Naw, dunt do 'at. Er, led me buy ya a drank. Miz. You in dem tidht panss."
So the waitress came over and the bear ordered some drinks for them both. Jim kept trying to leave, but no go. Before he knew it, he was almost as hammered as the bear.
Finally, the bear, just two breaths short of a complete slur, said, "Eber thang 'ere is den times duh prize. Leds go ta a real bar." He paused." Daby Crogett killed a bar." And then the bear broke into insane laughter.
"Wen e wus ony tree . . . three. Always subone gad ta shood sub bar subware. Cum on, eds go. I know dis town ligh duh bag ob muh 'and."
They closed down a midtown bar. Jim remembered that pretty well. And then Jim remembered something about the bear saying they ought to have some companionship, and then things got muddled. He awoke in a little motel room, discovered the air was full of the smell of moldy bear fur, alcohol farts, a coppery aroma, and sweaty perfume.
Sitting up in bed, Jim was astonished to find a very plump girl with short blonde hair next to him in bed. She was lying facedown, one long, bladderlike tit sticking out from under her chest, the nipple pierced with a ring that looked like a washer.
Jim rolled out of bed and stood up beside it. He was nude and sticky. "Shit," he said. He observed the hump under the sheet some more, the washer in the tit. And then, as his eyes adjusted, he looked across the room and saw another bed, and he could see on the bedpost the bear's hat, and then the bear, lying on the bed without his pants. There was another lump under the blanket. One delicate foot stuck out from under the blanket near the end of the bed, a gold chain around the ankle. The bear was snoring softly. There were clothes all over the floor, a pair of panties large enough to be used as a sling for the wounded leg of a hippopotamus was dangling from the light fixture. That would belong to his date.
Except for his shoes and socks, Jim found his clothes and put them on and sat in a chair at a rickety table and put his head in his hands. He repeated softly over and over, "Shit, shit, shit."
With his hands on his face, he discovered they had a foul smell about them, somewhere between working-man sweat and a tuna net. He was hit with a sudden revelation that made him feel ill. He slipped into the bathroom and showered and redressed, this time putting on his socks and shoes. When he came out the light was on over the table and the bear was sitting there, wearing his clothes, even his hat.
"Damn, man," the bear said, his drunk gone, "that was some time we had. I think. But, I got to tell you, man, you got the ugly one."
Jim sat down at the table, feeling as if he had just been hit by a car. "I don't remember anything."
"Hope you remembered she stunk. That's how I tracked them down, on a corner. I could smell her a block away. I kind of like that, myself. You know, the smell. Bears, you know how it is. But, I seen her, and I thought, Goddamn, she'd have to sneak up on a glass of water, so I took the other one. You said you didn't care."
"Oh God," Jim said.
"The fun is in the doing, not the remembering. Trust me, some things aren't worth remembering."
"My wife will kill me."
"Not if you don't tell her."
"I've never done anything like this before."
"Now you've started. The fat one, I bet she drank twelve beers before she pissed herself."
"Oh, Jesus."
"Come on, let's get out of here. I gave the whores the last of my money. And I gave them yours."
"What?"
"I asked you. You said you didn't mind."
"I said I don't remember a thing. I need that money."
"I know that. So do I."
The bear got up and went over to his bed and picked up the whore's purse and rummaged through it, took out the money. He then found the other whore's purse on the floor, opened it up, and took out money.
Jim staggered to his feet. He didn't like this, not even a little bit. But he needed his money back. Was it theft if you paid for services you didn't remember?
Probably. But...
As Jim stood, in the table light, he saw that on the bear's bed was a lot of red paint, and then he saw it wasn't paint, saw too, that the whore's head was missing. Jim let out a gasp and staggered a little.
The bear looked at him. The expression on his face was oddly sheepish.
"Thought we might get out of here without you seeing that. Sometimes, especially if I've been drinking, and I'm hungry, I revert to my basic nature. If it's any consolation, I don't remember doing that."
"No. No. It's no consolation at all."
At this moment, the fat whore rolled over in bed and sat up and the covers dropped down from her, and the bear, moving very quickly, got over there and with a big swipe of his paw sent a spray of blood and a rattle of teeth flying across the room, against the wall. The whore fell back, half her face clawed away.
"Oh Jesus. Oh my God."
"This killing I remember," the bear said. "Now come on, we got to wipe everything down before we leave, and we don't have all night."
They walked the streets in blowing snow, and even though it was cold, Jim felt as if he were in some kind of fever dream. The bear trudged along beside him, said, "I had one of the whores pay for the room in cash. They never even saw us at the desk. Wiped down the prints in the room, anything we might have touched. I'm an expert at it. We're cool. Did that 'cause I know how these things can turn out. I've had it go bad before. Employers have got me out of a few scrapes, you know. I give them that. You okay, you look a little peaked."
"I... I..."
The bear ignored him, rattled on. "You now, I'm sure you can tell by now, I'm not really all that zood with the ladies. On the plane, I was laying the bullshit on. Damn, I got all this fur, but that don't mean I'm not cold. I ought to have like a winter uniform, you know, a jacket, with a big collar that I can turn up. Oh, by the way. I borrowed your cell phone to call out for pizza last night, but before I could, I dropped it and stepped on the motherfucker. Can you believe that? Squashed like a clam shell. I got it in my pocket. Have to throw it away. Okay. Let me be truthful. I had it in my back pocket and I sat my fat ass on it. That's the thing. . . . You a little hungry? Shit. I'm hungry. I'm cold."
That was the only comment for a few blocks, then the bear said, "Fuck this," and veered toward a car parked with several others at the curb. The bear reached in his pocket and took out a little packet, opened it. The streetlights revealed a series of shiny lock pick tools. He went to work on the car do
or with a tool that he unfolded and slid down the side of the car window until he could pull the lock. He opened the door, then said, "Get inside." The bear flipped a switch that unlocked the doors, and Jim, as if he were obeying the commands of a hypnotist, walked around to the other side and got in.
The bear was bent under the dash with his tools, and in a moment, the car roared to life. The bear sat in the seat and closed the door, said, "Seat belts. Ain't nobody rides in my car, they don't wear seat belts."
Jim thought: It's not your car. But he didn't say anything. He couldn't. His heart was in his mouth. He put on his seat belt.
They tooled along the snowy Denver streets and out of town and the bear said, "We're leaving this place, going to my stomping grounds. Yellowstone Park. Know some back trails. Got a pass. We'll be safe there. We can hang. I got a cabin. It'll be all right."
"I ... I ..." Jim said, but he couldn't find the rest of the sentence.
"Look in the glove box, see there's anything there. Maybe some prescription medicine of some kind. I could use a jolt."
"I.. ."Jim said, and then his voice died and he opened the glove box. There was a gun inside. Lazily, Jim reached for it.
The bear leaned over and took it from him. "You don't act like a guy been around guns much. Better let me have that."The bear, while driving, managed with one hand to pop out the clip and slide it back in. "A full load. Wonder he's got a gun permit. You know, I do. 'Course, not for this gun. But, beggers can't be choosers, now can they?"
"No. No. Guess not," Jim said, having thought for a moment that he would have the gun, that he could turn the tables, at least make the bear turn back toward Denver, let him out downtown.
"See any gum in there?" the bear asked. "Maybe he's got some gum. After that whore's head, I feel like my mouth has a pair of shitty shorts in it. Anything in there?"
Jim shook his head. "Nothing."
"Well, shit," the bear said.
The car roared on through the snowy night, the windshield wipers beating time, throwing snow wads left and right like drunk children tossing cotton balls.
The heater was on. It was warm. Jim felt a second wave of the alcohol blues; it wrapped around him like a warm blanket, and without really meaning to, he slept.
"I should be hibernating," the bear said, as if Jim were listening. "That's why I'm so goddamn grumpy. The work. No hibernation. Paid poon and cheap liquor. That's no way to live."
The bear was a good driver in treacherous weather. He drove on through the night and made good time.
When Jim awoke it was just light and the light was red and it came through the window and filled the car like bloodstained streams of heavenly piss.
Jim turned his head. The bear had his hat cocked back on his head and he looked tired. He turned his head slightly toward Jim, showed some teeth at the corner of his mouth, then glared back at the snowy road.
"We got a ways to go yet, but we're almost to Yellowstone. You been asleep two days."
"Two days."
"Yeah. I stopped for gas once, and you woke up once and you took a piss." "I did."
"Yeah. But you went right back to sleep." "Good grief. I've never been that drunk in my life." "Probably the pills you popped." "What?"
"Pills. You took them with the alcohol, when we were with the whores."
"Oh, hell."
"It's all right. Every now and again you got to cut the tiger loose, you know? Don't worry. I got a cabin. That's where we're going. Don't worry. I'll take care of you. I mean, hell, what are friends for?"
The bear didn't actually have a cabin, he had a fire tower, and it rose up high into the sky overlooking very tall trees. They had to climb a ladder up there, and the bear, sticking the automatic in his belt, sent Jim up first, said, "Got to watch those rungs. They get wet, iced over, your hand can slip. Forest ranger I knew slipped right near the top. We had to dig what was left of him out of the ground. One of his legs went missing. I found it about a month later. It was cold when he fell so it kept pretty good. Wasn't bad, had it with some beans. Waste not, want not. Go on, man. Climb."
Inside the fire tower it was very nice, though cold. The bear turned on the electric heater and it wasn't long before the place was toasty.
The bear said, "There's food in the fridge. Shitter is over there. I'll sleep in my bed, and you sleep on the couch. This'll be great. We can hang. I got all kinds of movies, and as you can see, that TV is big enough for a drive-in theater. We ain't got no bitches, but hell, they're just trouble anyway. We'll just pull each other's wieners."
Jim said, "What now?"
"I don't stutter, boy. It ain't so bad. You just grease a fellow up and go to work."
"I don't know."
"Nah, you'll like it."
As night neared, the light that came through the tower's wraparound windows darkened and died, and Jim could already imagine grease on his hands.
But by then, the bear had whetted his whistle pretty good, drinking straight from a big bottle of Jack Daniel's. He wasn't as wiped-out as before, not stumbling drunk, and his tongue still worked, but fortunately the greased weenie pull had slipped from the bear's mind. He sat on the couch with his bottle and Jim sat on the other end, and the bear said:
"Once upon a goddamn time the bears roamed these forests and we were the biggest, baddest, meanest motherfuckers in the woods. That's no shit. You know that?"
Jim nodded.
"But, along come civilization. We had fires before that, I'm sure. You know, natural stuff. Lightning. Too dry. Natural combustion. But when man arrived, it was doo-doo time for the bears and everything else. I mean, don't take me wrong. I like a good meal and a beer"—he held up the bottle—"and some Jack, and hanging out in this warm tower, but something has been sapped out of me. Some sort of savage beast that was in me has been tapped and run off into the ground ... I was an orphan. Did you know that?"
"I've heard the stories," Jim said. "Yeah, well, who hasn't? It was a big fire. I was young. Some arsonists. Damn fire raged through the forest and I got separated from my mom. Dad, he'd run off. But, you know, no biggie. That's how bears do. Well, anyway, I climbed a tree like a numb nuts cause my feet got burned, and I just clung and clung to that tree. And then I seen her, my mother. She was on fire. She ran this way and that, back and forth, and I'm yelling, 'Mama,' but she's not paying attention, had her own concerns. And pretty soon she goes down and the fire licks her all over and her fur is gone and there ain't nothing but a blackened hunk of smoking bear crap left. You know what it is to see a thing like that, me being a cub?" "I can't imagine."
"No, you can't. You can't. No one can. I had a big fall, too. I don't really remember it, but it left a knot on the back of my head, just over the right ear. . . . Come here. Feel that."
Jim dutifully complied.
The bear said, "Not too hard now. That knot, that's like my Achilles' heel. I'm weak there. Got to make sure I don't bump my head too good. That's no thing to live with and that's why I'm not too fond of arsonists. There are several of them, what's left of them, buried not far from here. I roam these forests and I'll tell you, I don't just report them. Now and again, I'm not doing that. Just take care of busi ness myself. Let me tell you, slick, there's a bunch of them that'll never squat over a commode again. They're out there, their gnawed bones buried deep. You know what it's like to be on duty all the time, not to be able to hibernate, just nap? It makes a bear testy. Want a cigar?"
"Beg your pardon?"
"A cigar. I know its funny coming from me, and after what I just told you, but we'll be careful here in my little nest."
Jim didn't answer. The bear got up and came back with two fat black cigars. He had boxed matches with him. He gave Jim a cigar and Jim put it in his mouth, and the bear said, "Puff gently."
Jim did and the bear lit the end with a wooden match. The bear lit his own cigar. He tossed the box of matches to Jim. "If it goes out, you can light up again. Thing about a cigar is you take your time, just enjoy it,
don't get into it like a whore sucking a dick. It's done casual. Pucker your mouth like you're kissing a baby."
Jim puffed on the cigar but didn't inhale. The action of it made him feel high, and not too good, a little sick even. They sat and smoked. After a long while, the bear got up and opened one of the windows, said, "Come here."
Jim went. The woods were alive with sounds, crickets, night birds, howling.
"That's as it should be. Born in the forest, living there, taking game there, dying there, becoming one with the soil. But look at me. What the fuck have I become? I'm like a goddamn circus bear." "You do a lot of good." "For who, though? The best good I've done was catching those arsonists that are buried out there. That was some good. I'll be straight with you, Jim. I'm happy you're going to be living here. I need a buddy, and, well, tag, you're it."
"Buddy."
"You heard me. Oh, the door, it's locked, and you can't work the lock from inside, 'cause it's keyed, and I got the key. So don't think about going anywhere."
"That's not very buddy-like," Jim said.
The bear studied Jim for a long moment, and Jim felt himself going weak. It was as if he could see the bear's psychosis move from one eye to the other, like it was changing rooms. "But, you're still my buddy, aren't you, Jim?"
Jim nodded.
"Well, I'm sort of bushed, so I think I'll turn in early. Tomorrow night we'll catch up on that weenie pull."
When the bear went to the bedroom and lay down, Jim lay on the couch with the blanket and pillow the bear had left for him, and listened. The bear had left the bedroom door open, and after a while he could hear the bear snoring like a lumberjack working a saw on a log.
Jim got up and eased around the tower and found that he could open windows, but there was nowhere to go from there except straight down, and that was one booger of a drop. Jim thought of how easily the bear had killed the whore and how he admitted to killing others, and then he thought about tomorrow night's weenie pull, and he became even more nervous.