Cowboy Girl Annie

by Risner, Fay

  Shots fired were common place in this part of town. Employees would peek out a crack in the side doors of both the hotel and barbecue diner to see who shot who. Probably call the cops to get help coming before they even got up enough nerve to check the alley.

  She could run away before the police got there, but she stuck out like a sore thumb in most eye witnesses memories with her western gear on. Anyone who saw her would remember the way she was dressed well enough to describe her to the cops. She was easier than most of the homeless people to describe on the spur of the moment.

  Almost every cop in town had watched her push her cart along the sidewalks, in the park and alleys. They would scour the streets for her until they caught up with her.

  Looking different than most homeless people never bothered Cowboy Girl Annie before, but it would really bother her if someone reported that she shot a gun in the alley and got her in hot water with the cops.

  As Annie closed the dumpster lid a series of loud coos startled her. She flinched and swallowed hard as she came out of her pondering. Looking up, she studied the hotel roof where the noises came from.

  She let go with a gusty sigh when she realized she wasn't in danger. Not yet anyway! A dozen gray and white pigeons strutted back and forth, peeking over the edge of the roof to stare at her.

  Quickly, Annie took another glance around to make sure the coast was clear. It was. So she changed her mind again. Annie opened up the dumpster and lifted out the box. She set it down beside the shopping cart on the hard alley dirt.

  Annie rummaged to the bottom of her shopping cart under the tradeable contents, stacking everything into a heaped pile on the front end.

  She straightened up with a large, scuffed up, off white jewelry box in both hands. She always kept the box at the bottom of the cart. That's where she could hide the gun. That jewelry box was one item she didn't intend to get rid of ever. It was her personal treasure.

  Annie tenderly opened the jewelry box's lid. A small ballerina in a pink tutu bounced upright on a small stage and twirled slowly around to the tinny, tinkling tune You Light Up My Life.

  Annie tried every which angle she could come up with to lay the gun on the jewelry box bottom. She couldn't find a way. The gun just wouldn’t fit, because the ballerina’s stage was in the way.

  As much as Annie hated the thought, the dancer would have to go. She felt guilty about even thinking such a thing. The thought almost made her feel as maudlin as the death of a close relative.

  Many a time when she was lonely and down, she huddled under her cardboard shelter with that jewelry box beside her on her olive green, wool Army Surplus blanket.

  She'd open the lid and squint in the dark, trying to watch the ballerina dance. That little dancer and the music always cheered her up.

  Annie wrestled with herself about whether to rip out the ballerina or not. It would be like getting rid of an old friend that had been good company. She didn't have very many friends. She could count on one hand the live friends she appreciated knowing.

  Her eyes filled with tears when she thought about the loss of that sweet music. She'd miss the comfort of listening to You Light Up My Life.

  Annie's imagination had always allowed her to pretend she was at a stage production of ballerinas. That ship sailed a long time ago. Her being able to go to a stage show was something she knew was never going to happen with her circumstances what they were.

  At that moment, Annie decided she best grow a new backbone and be practical. She realized she had to think about herself and her needs. The gun was a trade or sell item worth considerable money. Enough to eat well for several weeks in the Maid Rite Diner on the corner of Elm and Maple Streets if she stretched the money out.

  As long as she paid cash, the diner owner had always been kind enough to let her eat in a back booth. Her stomach full for a few weeks was surely more important than a ballerina dancing to music in a fancy jewelry box. Wasn't it?

  Annie's lips flattened together in a grim line as she wrapped her fingers around the frail figure in the net skirt. She ripped out the stage the ballerina set on and the small, gold, metal music box attached underneath.

  The ballerina continued to twirl to the music when Annie set her gently down on an old army flack coat she'd wadded up in the corner of the cart.

  Now that the space in bottom of the jewelry box was opened up, she placed the gun on the dingy, pink velvet lining. She was relieved to see the gun laid flat now. She'd have really hated how she wrecked her jewelry box if that gun wasn't meant to fit in it.

  Gently, Annie placed the ballerina on the ground. With another look both directions in the alley, Annie set the jewelry box back on the bottom of the cart and spread all the other items over it to cover it up.

  She picked the dancing ballerina up and opened the dumpster lid to toss her into the barbecued swill. Her hand froze in mid air. She just couldn't do such an awful act to that clean ballerina that had given her so much comfort when she was lonely and blue.

  So Annie walked over to the clean trash dumpster, opened the lid and placed the performer down on the flat side of a gallon milk jug. Now the dancer could finish this one last dance.

  “Take it easy, my little friend. If this morning works out right, I just might be back after you. Don't give up hope yet. Maybe I'll see you later, ya hear,” Annie whispered as she lowered the dumpster lid.

  Without looking back, Annie pushed her shopping cart out of the alley as she listened to the song fade away with distance.

  She pictured her ballerina eventually winding to a stop as the battery died. Her lips trembled. She surely would miss that ballerina. She had only herself to blame if this fool notion didn't work.

  Walking away was like leaving a faithful friend to die unattended. She ought to know about such things, after all. She'd lost count of all the friends she'd sat with in an alley or the shelter house in the park until they took their last breath.

  Mostly, she was on death vigil in the winter time when everyone, down on their luck, caught head colds. In their run down conditions and exposed to the winter elements because they didn't have the nice cardboard boxes like the one she slept in, the colds turned into pneumonia.

  Dang! She surely did get sidetracked easily. She still hadn't found any food, and not much chance of finding scraps until later this evening now. As long as she'd fooled around in that alley, she was bound to be out of luck for lunch. The other rummagers were sure to have checked all the good dumpsters by now.

  Chapter 4

  As Annie headed toward the shops on Main Street, she had no doubt she'd better get rid of that gun fast. Maybe she'd be lucky enough to sell it before word got out about whatever despicable thing it had done in some desperado's hands.

  If this worked out all right, she might have time to hustle back after her ballerina and put the old gal back in the jewelry box.

  When the bell tinkled over the pawn shop door, the owner was cleaning a show case glass. The case was full of watches and clocks. Making a final swipe with a drying rag, he didn’t bother to look up before he spoke, “What can I do for you today?”

  Annie didn't answer. The pudgy, balding guy thought he had a customer. When she talked to him, she wanted his full attention.

  The prune faced man turned around and critically surveyed Annie. He stared at her slumping brimmed, faded tan cowboy hat and worked his way down to her faded red blouse and the worn brown full skirt to her knee length cowboy boots.

  He sneered at her. “What do you want in here?”

  Annie swallowed hard as she looked the man right in his cold blue eyes. He wasn't any friendlier than a rattler, but she was used to his kind of attitude. None of that mattered if she was successful in selling the gun to him. She wouldn't have to deal with him ever again if she was lucky.

  “A friend of mine found a pistol he'd like to sell. He sent me in here to see if you would be interested in buying it,” she said.

  “No deal. The cops were in here earl
y this morning, checking to see if anyone had shown up with a revolver to pawn or sell. I was able to truthfully tell them no, and I want to keep it that way.”

  “Surely it wasn't my …. my friend's gun. Why, he's as honest as the day is long,” Annie stammered and swallowed hard.

  The man grunted and slanted his head to the side while he gave this nervous woman a curious look. “Sure, if you say so. It doesn't matter to me one way or the other what your friend is like. The police say they need the gun they're looking for to pen a murder on someone.

  Now that crime matters to me if that gun was to be in my shop when the cops come back. It would be my hide they'd nail to the wall of one of their jail cells.” The man's voice rose as he continued. “If I'm not making myself clear to you, lady, what I'm telling you is in my line of work guns are too hot to handle right now. I ain't buying any guns. You got that? No guns. That's my final word.”

  Annie thanked the pawn shop owner politely for his time. She made sure to mention she'd pass the information on to her friend before she hastily retreated out the door. After taking a look both ways, she pushed her cart across the intersection.

  So now this was a fine skillet of fish she was in. The cops were already checking the pawn shops. That gun was going to be harder to get rid of than she first thought so no use going to another shop. One of the pawn shop owners would be sure to turn her in to the cops.

  While she pondered, she slowed her cart down. Maybe she was going about this whole thing the wrong way. She should rethink getting rid of the gun. She could keep it for protection.

  After all, cowgirls had guns back in the old western days. It didn't matter to Annie if no one knew she had the gun like a real cowgirl. She'd know, and that was all that was important.

  In the past, she'd run into some mighty rough hombres living the life she did. One of these days, she might not be able to talk herself out of a dangerous scrape. She'd need a gun to defend herself.

  What was that cowgirl’s name I used to read the stories about? She was such a crack shot years ago. Her name was Annie just like mine. Annie? Annie? Annie something. She puzzled over the last name and couldn't come up with it. “Oh well, maybe I’ll think of it later,” she mumbled.

  A male voice behind her shouted, “Hey, Cowboy Girl Annie, wait up for me, will you?”

  Annie cringed as she sped up her cart to get away. Her first thought was the pawn shop dealer had called the cops even though she knew that was foolish. Not many of the cops knew her full handle so as to be able to call out to her by name.

  Her problem was she purely was feeling guilty and nervous right now. She had to take a deep breath and calm down. She needed a clear head to decide how she intended to ditch the gun if that sour puss pawn shop man had squealed on her.

  If one of the cops stopped her, she'd need to come up with a good story. She could say she threw the gun away, because she knew she couldn't sell it.

  If he asked who the friend was the pawn shop owner said she mentioned, she'd have to be honest and say she found the gun. Because it was none of that old man's business, she'd lied to the pawn shop owner.

  If the cop believed all that she hoped he'd believed she threw away that gun. What if he decided to search her shopping cart?

  I'll be up a creek in a canoe without a paddle when the cop finds the gun in my jewelry box.

  What was she going to do then?

  Chapter 5

  Once Annie got hold of herself, she took a good look over her shoulder at who called to her for the second time. A tall man was hurrying in long strides toward her.

  Annie calmed down at the sight of him. The guy was her friend. He not only was harmless he didn't know anything about her finding the gun. All she could do was hope the pawn shop owner minded his own business so she wouldn't get into trouble with the law.

  Watching the man hustle in her direction made her smile. She was never sure if Skinny Jake got his nickname because he was skinny, or if it was because the clothes he had the misfortune to find in the trash were three sizes too big for him.

  “Looks like you’ve been lucky lately,” stated Annie, eyeing with envy the bulging, canvas knapsack slung over Jake's shoulder.

  “Some.” Jake stared at her cart. “You should talk, Annie Girl. From the looks of your cart, you haven't been doing so bad yourself. Got anything you want to trade for a half full bottle of whiskey?” Jake asked, taking the knapsack from his shoulder.

  He gently placed it on the sidewalk and rummaged in it. “Here it is.” He came out with the bottle and shook it at her as he took inventory of her cart, trying to figure out what of her junk would be worth while to bargain for.

  Annie squinted down her nose at him. She'd never known Jake to give up a whiskey bottle when it wasn't empty. “I might trade, and I might not. Why you want to get rid of that there whiskey? It tainted with something bad?”

  “Nah, of course not. I wouldn't make you sick, Cowboy Girl Annie.” Jake offended as he walked along side the shopping cart, checking out what items he could see.

  “If it ain't tainted whiskey, and you're wanting to get rid of it, what is wrong with it? Say, you go on the wagon or something? You ain't sick are you?” Annie asked suspiciously.

  “Nah, just thought I'd offer you a good drink as a trade for something else. Business has been pretty slow lately. Say, I figured you trusted me better than that,” Jake said, faking a hurt face.

  Annie grinned. “I do trust you, Skinny Jake, as a rule, but I still figure there is something fishy in Montana with this trade you're proposing.”

  “The saying is there's something rotten in Denmark I think,” corrected Jake, poking his finger through the shopping cart to move some of Annie's treasures over.

  “That's not the saying where I came from. Get your hand out of my cart before you set off the rat trap. I'd hate to hear your whining, because you broke your fingers in my rat trap,” Annie snapped.

  Jake put his hand back on his knapsack fast. “When did you start setting a rat trap in your cart?”

  “Recently, when other polecats like you had a notion they could rifle through my belongings when I didn't want them to do it,” Annie said.

  Jake eyed the cart again. “Say, how about that jewelry box I see there,” he exclaimed, leaning over to look through the bottom of the cart.

  Great! He would have to pick on the jewelry box now of all times. Annie had to get Jake to trade for something else.

  Since she wasn't much of a drinker, Annie didn't really want the whiskey, but someone else might. She knew plenty of drinkers. If she had that half full bottle, she might be able to trade up for something better.

  “I won’t trade that jewelry box. It's special to me.” Annie rammed her hand down in the pile and back out.

  “Careful there, Cowboy Girl Annie. You'll set your rat trap off,” Jake worried.

  “No I won't. I know where the trap is.” Annie jerked out the long scarf. “Here’s a fairly good wool scarf with only a few moth holes. Good enough to keep you warm.”

  She threw the scarf on top the pile and rifled around for the gloves, thinking they might seal the deal. “Here's a pair of black leather gloves with only two fingers missing. They would be good for when the cold weather comes. You can have both items for the whiskey,” Annie suggested, holding the winter apparel up for Jake to inspect.

  Jake's eyes narrowed. “Hey, ain't you for sure afraid of getting caught in that rat trap?”

  By doggies, no. I told you I know exactly where it is,” Annie declared shortly, wanting to keep Jake from getting sidetracked. “Now how about the gloves and the scarf for the whiskey?”

  “Nah, that's not much of a deal, and you know it. I cain't wear them things until winter, and I don’t want to have anything extra to drag around all summer that I cain't trade,” Jake declared. “Most people think like me which I reckon makes gloves and scarves hard for you to get rid of. I figure you've already found that out from the way you're pushing them at me.”


  Annie uncovered the men's shoes. “Here's a snazzy pair of penny loafers.” She took time to study Jake's large feet, tapping her lips with a finger. “From the look of things, they might just be your size, and there's plenty of wear left in them.”

  Jake slanted his head over one shoulder. “Not like you to give up a trade, Cowboy Girl.”

  “Concentrate on what I'm saying to you, Jake. I'm not giving up a trade. I'll even put a penny in each one of these shoes. Now that's a real deal,” Annie pitched, trying to get his fixated mind off the jewelry box.

  “Sure it would be if I needed shoes which I don't. I'm just curious you understand. Does the jewelry box still have a ballerina dancing in it and play music?” Jake asked.

  This man is like a dog with a month old bone. He cain't get anything off of it, but he won't let it go. “It did at one time, but the ballerina’s shot you might say,” Annie hedged, grinning at him as she sort of enjoyed her pun. “Don't matter to me none. I'm not trading the jewelry box so you never mind.”

  “I figured the ballerina was missing. That's what landed the box in the trash, or you wouldn't have something that fancy looking. What’s so special about a broken jewelry box then?” Asked Jake in a suspicious tone.

  “Nothing at all special about the old thing,” said Annie, searching for an explanation that Jake would accept. “It's purely just a useful item to me. I use it to hold small junk I find that will fall through the cracks in the bottom of the shopping cart otherwise.”

  Annie glanced up at the front of the bakery shop. It was time she changed the subject since neither of them were going to budge on the trade.

  Food always got Jake's attention. “Take a deep breath will you, Jake? Ever smell anything so great in your whole life? Nothing I like better than fresh, warm doughnuts,” she said wistfully.

  “Ah, you and that sweet tooth of yours,” Jake teased.

  “I cain't help it,” Annie said gruffly.