People Don’t Change

By Julian Denney

The small bar was rowdy, filled with the strums of guitar strings, slurred singing, and clinking glasses. Andrés was unfamiliar with the place; he’d been stuck in the town for a few more days than anticipated. It was supposed to be a quick place to sleep on his travels but was beginning to look more like a long-term arrangement as his mode of transport left him stranded.

“This seat taken, sir?” A dirtied man stood awkwardly, a bit tense. The newcomer's dark eyes stayed trained on him as they awaited a reply.

“Naw.”

The man sat down, not appearing put off by the curtness. His hair was tousled, grains of sand insistently sticking to his face and clothes. He settled into the seat with a now waggish grin.

“Name’s Beau, thanks fer askin’.”

I didn’t ask.

“Andrés.”

Beau stuck out his hand, waiting for a handshake that didn’t come. With a sigh, he dropped it. The guy seemed like a bad flannel mouth; he refused to drop a dead conversation. It was clear he’d seen his fair share of quick acceptions and rejections, though. He knew how to carry on every time Andrés thought it was blatantly over.

“Whaddya drink? I’ll buy you a glass of whatever booze you want.”

“Whatever gets me tipsy quickest. Listen, I don’t wanna listen to yer wobblin jaw. I came here to mind my own, you should try it.”

“Gee, sorry I asked.”

Despite the snarkiness of his tone, he ordered ryes for the both of them anyway. If anything, this guy wasn’t a half-bad distraction from the current predicament Andrés found himself in. His horse had gone lame a day’s walk from the town. It was unsalvageable. Until he found someone generous enough to offer a free ride out, he was stuck at sea. Frankly, that was the only plan he had. Beau stayed silent for a few short moments, analytically watching Andrés.

“Fall on hard times?”

“Sure did. My damn horse went n’ made himself crowbait.”

“Ah, no wonder you ain’t sociable.”

“I am. Just not with people tryin' to butter me up.”

“I ain’t tryin' to butter you up, I’m just making conversation!”

“Nobody buys a stranger a drink unless it’s a good-lookin girl, and I ain’t that. What is it you want?”

Beau stared at him, breaking out in another grin. He looked like he was rehearsing each line, cycling through a practiced dialogue. It was almost unsettling -- like he was waiting on a fish to bite a lure.

“Is it so wrong to be generous when kindness is so sparse?”

“I ain’t a kicked dog, and I doubt you got the typa kindness I want.”

“And what kindness do you want?”

Andrés fell quiet now. It couldn’t hurt to try and hitch a ride sooner rather than later, but it still felt risky. Even if the man could spare a ride, was he the trustworthy type? By the looks of it, he wasn’t the helpful, down-to-earth sort. Maybe he was judging too harshly. In his imagination, he’d planned for his saving grace to be a merchant, or some sort of family man, or even a woman. The saying was to trust your gut, but the only sensation he was getting so far was some sickness from the booze.

“You got a ride west?”

“That’s something I can work with!” Beau barked out a laugh, slapping Andrés back.

By the next morning, Andrés was regretting his choice to accept help. The moment he’d stumbled back home last night, he’d started regretting his choice of drinking. His head hurt, his body felt weighed down, and he was suppressing the urge to vomit -- it was like his body's late reaction of disagreement. As it was now, he still felt shaky on his feet. He was used to hangovers, and that wasn’t what was happening; he knew it wasn’t. But, he had bigger issues to focus on.

“Sleep well, princess?” That voice was really starting to irritate him.

“Never better. What’s the plan?”

Andrés’ voice came out with more malice than he’d intended. Maybe the rough night was grating on him more than he’d thought.

“You want a bite to eat while we hash it out? Looks like you need it.”

“If yer the one payin'.”

Sitting across from Beau was more uncomfortable than sitting right beside him. His eyes were piercing, and watching the man examine him like a project was disconcerting. On the upside, the little joint offered foods that reminded him of home. It tasted like the warm biscuits his wife used to make, and he could almost envision his twins beaming at him from across the table. At least that memory had yet to feel sour. Yet to.

It didn’t take long to hash out the details of their plan. Beau doing most of the talking made it easy enough. It was haphazard, but as long as Andrés made it out of that town before sundown, he didn’t care.

They set off just before noon, the sun glaring down on them unsparingly. Andrés was stuck with a slower pack mule a Beau kept to his quarter horse. He was considerate enough to keep a slow pace, steadily walking in tandem with the mule. The conversation started as shut off as it had been in the bar, though it gradually opened up more. Andrés even found himself cracking lighthearted jokes, rather than sticking to his snide remarks. It wasn’t half bad if he was being honest with himself.

By the time the sun was about to set, they’d both loosened up enough for their interactions to be easy. Setting up a camp for the night was a breeze, the bickering limited to joking jabs instead of the full-blown arguments Andrés had been anticipating.

“I can take over cookin’. Not to be a braggart, but I fancy myself a good cook. Call it my payment for the help.”

“I ain’t ever gonna be against doin’ less work, if you wanna bust your chops then feel free.” Beau grinned.

Setting up a small dinner didn’t take much time. The fire cast a comforting glow over their makeshift camp, sizzling of meat in lard filling the silence. The scent of well-seasoned food lingered around them. Sitting so close to Beau, it struck him how much he’d really grown fond of the man. He couldn’t keep sitting with a guilty conscience, couldn’t keep letting the guy sit next to such a monster unknowing.

“I-.. I got somethin' I gotta get off my chest, Beau.”

“Have at it, Andy.”

“I got a bounty over me. My family’s dead, and everybody thinks it’s my fault. I know it ain’t, but it feels like it sometimes. Hangin’ around me is dangerous. I know I didn’t kill ‘em, but that don’t change that I coulda prevented it. That don’t change that they’re in the earth now. It’s a big price over me, Beau.” It all poured out at once. Even though it should’ve felt like a weight lifting, the only emotion he felt now was dread. What if he’d just lost his only friend?

“...It’s alright, Andrés. I believe you. I got somethin to tell you too.”

He paused.

“What??”

“I’ve killed people. It was my fault. I pulled that trigger myself, didn’t have nobody makin’ me do it. It was my job, but I didn’t feel remorse for ‘em. I don’t know what them people did, but I always assumed it was bad enough if someone needed ‘em dead.”

The sizzle of meat was the only thing that filled the silence, and it felt a bit less comforting than it had just moments ago.

“Ah- that was a lot. I’m sorry, I just couldn’t keep it to myself any longer. I understand if you don’t want to stick around anymore. I swear, I’m a different man.” Beau seemed to fumble for words for the first time.

“It’s.. it’s alright. I used to give the benefit of the doubt more, but I got a lot more resentful after my whole… ordeal. Guess this is my sign to go back to bein’ kind, huh?” He hesitated for a moment before giving Beau a friendly hit on the back. Beau smiled.

“Thank you. You don’t know how much that matters to me.”

Andrés offered a nod of acknowledgment as he got to his feet, plating both their meals before sitting back down. Beau went back to filling the quiet with stories, yarning the hours away long past when their food was finished. By the time they’d readied up to go to sleep, it had to be near midnight.

Falling asleep was shockingly easy. Andrés had developed a hate-hate relationship with sleep after he’d gone on the run; it was hard to knock out, it was hard to stay out, and his dreams made sure he woke up still exhausted. While drifting off, he’d almost been able to realize something was wrong -- that the day had been too good to him.

He knew he was right when he woke up. It was still dark -- no more than an hour or two after they’d gone to bed. Beau was hovering over him with a musket, letting Andrés have a view straight down the barrel. His expression matched what Andrés had envisioned when the man had come clean about his history -- there wasn’t a lick of remorse in his eyes. Rather, it looked more like enjoyment. Andrés found himself tripping over his words as adjusted to the situation.

“What the hell’re-”

“You had a bounty over you, and you still bought into a stranger's niceties?” There was no more warm southern accent when he talked, just a monotone northern mockery.

“I told you the true story! You-.. I…” He couldn’t find what he wanted to say — damned ten-cent man.

“And I told you mine. You shoulda kept true to your guns -- people don’t change.”