"Made it back, huh?" the younger, way smaller, much balder and more
frazzled guy said drowsily and got up on his elbows.
        "Yup...not working today?"
        "Nope...off again. S'bin slow. Where'd you go this time?"
        "O...Big Bend. Pecos...Kerrville..." Well, two half-truths wasn't too bad
lying, Kit figured (Mooneys are made in Kerrville, and he had certainly been
to the Pecos River).
        "Cool. Good trip?"
        "It was pretty all right," grabbing some fresh clothes out of his pile
behind the recliner and heading to the B-room for dump, shower, beard and
stray hairs trim and mouth brushing. He came back out, stuffed his pockets
and grabbed his jacket saying, "luego."
        "Later," Dust answered, still groggily, and tuned into Fox on the TV after
Kit was out the door.
        Kit drove to downtown Taos, parked in the plaza, bought a paper and
"Flying" Magazine in the bookstore, crossed the plaza to wave to Marty
inside Six Directions and, minutes later, walked through the back door of
"Jenny's", went through the kitchen, 'heyin'' everyone cooking, dishing,
prepping, bussing or waiting away, put his jacket in his locker, threw the
paper and mag on a chair in the hall, went out to the cantina for a Coke and
'heyed' with everyone out there, headed back to the kitchen, clocking in on
the computer on the way, grabbed a cup of soup and packs of Club crackers
and took over on salads from Simon ("Si-moan"), telling anyone who asked
where he had gone on his days off: "Big Bend...Pecos...Kerrville.." adding
that he had just been looking for a real job. Looking for real jobs was one
of the standard kitchen jokes. Ha.
        It became a pretty busy Thursday night - almost 2oo in the dining room
- so there was an extra beer from JP in the cantina after the close, then a little
party at Ang's after, so he got back to the old adobe house way into the morn
and got to sleep on his bed - some foam, blankets and sleeping bag - on the
floor by the wood stove after logging the fire and watching some TV (they
could barely get two stations with the outside antenna mounted on the ground
and strapped to the corner porch post, the top of the aerial barely reaching
above the slopey, deteriorating porch roof).
        He dreampt well into the daylight of a beautiful woman who told him
how after death the anti-matter of our atoms stay with our anti-magnetic field
to hold what it can of our consciousness, and travel anywhere is possible.
Then she "took" him to some "ancient ones", who looked like Native
Americans, and they told him more knowledge that he tried to remember -
but couldn't - after waking up from the cold. He hated that. The cold and the
forgetting. He restoked the stove - Dustman wasn't getting up that time - then
Z'd out the rest of the morn.
        He would sleep until afternoon - and did that one - to make cover as a
lazy old coot; and would drink beer and smoke gonja with the vatos out in
the yard, when they were there, before going to work. Sometimes he would
just watch TV and think, sometimes go to the hot spring pools on the Rio to
see if any ladies were experiencing the warmth in nakedness out in Nature, or
sometimes a cantina. For the cover. Sometimes the after-work party was at
their place, sometimes a poker game, sometimes there was crack or crank or
even mushrooms. And always marijuana. It was a greatly varied and motly
group of friends and fellow workers. And very mellow though, at times,
machoness did flare.
        There was firewood gathering up into Kit Carson Forest, just outside
Talpa, that afternoon, Dust and he going up the valley in Kit's truck and coming
back to block and split their chunks of tree, once again just in time for the
coming eve. They weren't really hippies. But darn close.
        A little beany they would say about Kit sometimes, just getting by real
easy like, living out his name some with all his reported travel around the West
(and calling Taos home like Kit Carson did); an ersatz pioneer of life was one
of the kinder approbations directed his way at the time. And he had learned one
day while watching the History Channel at a friend's there in Taos that Buffalo
Bill had had a son named Kit Carson Cody who had died very young, which
made Kit wonder if his parents had "knowed" that at his birth. Anyway,
everyone was buying his cover. He was even pretty darn convinced himself.
        There were four more work nights before freedom again at mid-week. He
had been at Jenny's for almost two years by then, being a happy slave for $5 an
hour when he had started, got his quarter raises a couple times a year plus the
jump when Jenny put him on the line. He had one of the easiest jobs in the
whole place and maybe even all existence - night salads (and deserts). He could
not complain. Some nights he could read through most of his shift - newspapers,
mags, even books he brought. He got jibes from the other workers, especially
the saute and grill guys, and even Jenny had a wry comment once in a while; but
he did his job well and, at those wages, it didn't matter he didn't do more, though he
would always jam hard in the slams. He worked on his plan in his head during
the work weeks and no one in Taos had any idea his brain was actually in use;
and so far no one had ever followed his convoluted escapes every week back to
the ranch or had caught him in a fib or other cover malfunction. He was just
another character out of the many at Jenny's or around town.
        So he played the poor, three-quarter time kitchen boy/party monster/
camper/crazy, careful he didn't overspend around town beyond his income from
Jen's, even keeping a savings account slowly growing at First State there on the
plaza with paycheck leftovers. His share of the monthly rent with Duster the
Rustler was only $15o or so, basically his only expense besides beer, drugs and
gas. Food was free at work. And the Dodge was paid for.
        Well, this week that girl from ten years ago was way up in his cerebellum,
clanging around, and at a point on Sunday he decided he was going to fly to
Kentucky that coming "weekend"; going to find her to show and tell her the plan,
he was. To see what she thought. To tell her how it had all come out of his love
for her over all those years.
        Heck, he had darn strong feelings of lust for Jenny, Donna, Madeline,
Lauren, Brandy, Amy, Stef, Kyra and others at work and around town. And
then Essy, though that was way beyond just lust. Then there was Marty, more
his age. He was pretty darn crazy for her too, getting so excited when he would
go in to talk with her at Six Directions that you would have thought he was a
16-year-old in the throes of heat. He felt he desired her as much as anyone, but
didn't want to start anything - if she or any of them were even interested -
before going to find "Ten Years Ago". So he pursuedeth not anyone there; and
figured they figured him up a poor, lazy, crazy playboy with a few fries missing
on his combo plate. If they figured him at all. Cover he felt he could live with.
        But it was "Ten Years". Jessica. And he was dead sure it was time to try
to find her. Jenny's wasn't too busy that Monday night, so he got finished a little
early, had his shift drink and took off for visits to pick up marijuana, crank,
coke, speed, mushrooms, peyote and acid. OK, yeah, that was a lot for a
regular Kit weekend, and he didn't want to raise suspicion. But he felt he really
should stock up and he was low on everything, as it happened, and had the
money from the last paycheck plus leftovers from the previous one. He made
sure the vatos understood it was all for his annual "Spring Review". One of the
guys even had some Ecstasy, so he bought a little of that too and drove on back
to the casa, packed up his bags and shared a little coke with Dusty, who was on
his bed watching Terry Murphy on "Hard Copy".
        Kit had worked on a story with her back in 1974 when she was reporting
for WKRP-TV and young Kit was the media guy for a candidate in the special
Congressional race in Cincinnati that turned into a referendum on Richard Nixon
during Watergate. He told Dust, "I worked with her once."
        "Yeah, right," his homey snickered.
        "Well, see ya," Kit  answered as he put his jacket on and picked up his
bags, figuring that true story might even help the crazy or even hazy part of his
cover.
        "Goin' again, huh? Where to?"
        "Don't know. West, maybe. Maybe Chaco. Mexico. Who knows. Well,
luego..." and was out the door by Dusty's "later".
        He was going to go by the way of Eagle Nest and Black Lake and the
back way into Mora, but changed his mind at the last second in case someone
was reading his mind. He had a healthy case of paranoia, but was also plenty
aware of  "remote viewing" and all by the government and others and had even
done some of that himself in the early '80's, actually having received a "piece"
of Hinkley's assassination attempt on the Gipper the day before that had
happened. So he liked to stay "fluid".
        He drove North out of town, then West about 3o miles to Tres Piedras,
back South to Espanola, then Santa and on out East and up the Pecos, getting
into the hacienda after midnight. He got his cabin "turned on", fires burning and
went right to work.
        He turned Pute on, went to the "document" files, keyed "D" and the screen
filled with a declaration. He studied the wording a while, made a change,
consulted Pute's opinion on it all, which was "go", and punched up the printer to
make 192 copies. As the printer whirred on, he went to the kitchen for a Frog,
walked over to the door and stood there looking out over the yard and thought
about Jessica, imagining what she might be doing and looked like and all, taking
guzzles as he 'magined. He looked around the ranch to Jul and Ria's cabin and
the barn and around in the moonlight - about three quarters - shining down
through the breaks in the clouds, and realized how much he loved it all and yet
how willing he was to risk losing it all, surprisingly enough. What the heck was
life all for anyway, he thought.
        He had called Julian from outside Taos to tell him he was on his way back
but taking the long way, so not to stay up for him, besides having plenty of
work to do before flying out early. Jul had checked it was Kit when he had
driven in, but had gone back to bed. Kit knew if there were any problems his
pard would let him know. They never discussed too much over the phones
anyway. Everyone was asleep over in the other cabin except Es, who was
laying in bed and excitedly thinking of going next door.
        Kit got the flashlight and walked out to the barn and there she was. Juliet.
All shined up. By the kids, he figured. Very nice job, he thought to himself.
The guys had arranged to have a close friend-neighbor get a fuel tank filled
with avgas in Espanola, then Jul and Juli had picked up the friend's pickup with
the full tank on it at the friend's ranch to get the fuel to Julie. Kit checked the
tanks with the flashlight and they were full with the right color blue fuel. "Nice
job, guys," he said aloud.
        He lit the lantern on the work bench and there was a note under their
one-inch wrench: "We hit one giant heap of Quartz around the Silver. The
vein keeps growing. Wait till you see it! 'Fuled' Juliet and the children cleaned
her buena. Hope to see you but if no we kino. Vaya con Dios, Jul."
        His eyes welled up a little as he thought about all Julian, Maria and the
kids meant to him and continually did for him. He began a walkaround check
- draining the fuelcocks for precaution against any water or dirt in the tanks
and looking at everything. She was "beeyoodeefull", he whispered with a chuckle
as he remembered Essy's comment from the week before. And she was
ready to fly and he felt like the richest man in the world. Friend richest.
        He jumped when two arms clasped around him from behind and hugged
him hard. "ESSY!" he let out as he turned to see her. "You scared pee outa
me!"

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