I rolled up a Drum cigarette and walked out of the bar to get a drag. Promptly I heard "excuse me, sir. Do you have an extra cigarette?"
"You'll have to roll it" I said as I turned around and got the shock of my life. He stood there tall and lean, long hair but clean shaven, big backpack on. "Scout? Is that you, Scout? Damn!" The former Marine was somewhat startled but said "Mickey! Where the hell you been?"
"I been around. You still on the tracks, Scout?" I handed him the pack of Drum. "Oh, yeah." he answered. "I can tell by the way you're dressed that you ain't on the rails no more. I wondered what happened to you. What's it been? Like, 18 years."
We were standing there talking and reminisiing when we heard "HOOOOEEEE!!!" We jerked our heads around. It was Chico! Wow! What the Hell!, I thought. "I ain't seen you guys in 18 years and you both show up on the same street corner at the same time?" Chico looked at the way I was dressed. "Mickey, I only need 80 cents to get a bottle. Can you help me out?"
"To hell with that, Chico. Come on inside. I'll buy you guys drinks." We bellied up to the bar. "Beth, I need 3 PBR's and three shots of V.O. Throw your packs down boys! The drinks are on me! Folks, I want you to meet some friends of mine. They're real F.T.R.A. No cheap imitations. This is BS Boy Scout. His name is on every train trestle in America. And this is Chico. So is his."
Chico and the Scout got introduced around. "What's F.T.R.A?" someone asked. "Freight Train Riders of America....or F--- The Reagan Administration. Whichever you prefer."
Chico eyeballed me. "You sold out didn't ya?" he said as he downed the shot. "You went legit. Fancy clothes, fancy shoes, fancy haircut, top shelf whiskey? You went square, didn't ya?"
"No, I didn't, Chico."
"Who do you work for?"
"I dont' work for anybody."
"Yeah, right. So how'd you get off the rails?"
"I gambled my way out of it."
"That's a bunch of B.S."
"I ain't lying. I didn't sell out. I gambled my way out of it. I still am."
"You remember, Chico?" Scout uttered. "He was always talking about gambling."
"So give us some gamblin' tips" Chico said.
"Sure. Dont' pull the money out of your pocket. You're unarmed."
"What money?"
"Hey, Jack!" I yelled down the bar to the bar gopher. "Can you go around the corner and get me two packs of Drum?" I handed him $25 as he walked by. "Keep the change. Beth can you get us some more whiskey?"
Jack came back in and handed me the two packs of Drum. I threw them down in front of Chico and the Scout. "Mr. Chico" Jack asked. "What's those teardrop tattoo's next to your eye mean?"
"Get the hell out of here, Jack!" I yelled. I turned around to see the look in Chico's eyes. "Let it go, Chico. You served your country well. You did what you had to do."
On the way to the restroom I whispered to Jack "Chico was a sniper in Nam. Don't bring it up again. It changes his personality."
We all got pretty drunk and talked about the old days. Who was dead. Who was still living. Who was in the Pen. I handed them both some money. "C'mon, let's get a bottle and head down to the tracks" Scout said. "I ain't gonna go and get drunk down by the tracks" I replied.
"We gotta find a camp spot for the night" Chico said.
"Well, you guys know my watering hole. Stop back in and visit me."
We said our goodbyes. They grabbed their packs and took off.
It's been two weeks now and I ain't seen hide nor hair of them. I know damn well they hopped a train.
I stopped by WalMart today. I bought a sleeping bag, a backpack big enough to stuff the sleeping bag and a change of clothes in, travel size toiletries, and a notebook. I'm fixing to walk out the door, onto the highway and stick my thumb out. It's gonna be a working vacation. I'm carrying $1000 cash and debit cards. I'm gonna hit every dive bar/casino in Montana. They're all gonna get a dose of Mickey Crimm's gambling poison. I bought the notebook so I can take notes along the way. I'll let you all know what happened when I get back. The road goes on forever and the party never ends.
