In the City of Shy Hunters Read Online Free PDF

five-gallon bucket, turned the bucket over, brushed the bottom off, patted it, and said, Here, come up and sit on this bucket, up here between us.
    My wallet was in my inside jacket pocket.
    Can get stuffy back there, Ruby said. Then: Here, this’ll help, he said, and pulled a can of Budweiser out from its plastic ring and handed me the beer, put the joint to his Ruby lips, inhaled, and passed the joint to me.
    This’ll help too, Ruby said, holding his breath and sucking in the words like you do.
    It’ll take the edge off, Ruby said. Ruby was smiling.
    Seemed like a good idea at the time.
    I offered the joint to True Shot.
    He don’t smoke socially, Ruby said.
    I handed the joint back to Ruby. Opened the can of beer.
    Driving more like floating.
    Punch in that Sioux tape! Ruby said.
    True Shot punched in his Sioux tape and both he and Ruby, all at once, started singing, howling, and crying singing, Indian songs like in Fort Hall when Bobbie and Charlie 2Moons and I lived on the rez.
    Where are we? I said.
    When my words came out, they did not stutter.
    True Shot and Ruby looked at me, looked at each other.
    Broadway, Ruby said.
    You ain’t from here, are you? Ruby said.
    Broadway? I said.
    Earth, Ruby said. His famous smile.
    New York, Ruby said. Here, he said, putting both his hands on my shoulders and pushing down. Here.
    Now here, Ruby said, Or nowhere, Ruby said. Depends on the space in between.
    Outside the windows of Door of the Dead van, neon vegetable stands passed, windows, concrete columns, lampposts, traffic, parked cars, wires, and lights: green, amber, red, go, wait, stop.
    The wind was blowing Ruby’s gold-red hair.
    You know, Ruby said, sucking on the joint, I’ve been trying to figure out who you look like. He handed the joint to me.
    And I think I’ve figured it out, Ruby said. What do you think, True Shot? Handsome Einstein or intelligent Tom Selleck?
    True Shot’s bandanna. His mirrors. The silver ring on every finger, even his thumbs. The buckskin bag with the blue horizontal and the red vertical hanging on the buckskin necklace. True Shot’s lips, under his mirrors, moved.
    Handsome Einstein, True Shot said.
    His voice, the child out of the culvert, hollering into the wind.
    You sure? Ruby said.
    Selleck can’t look intelligent, True Shot said.
    Then: What’s your name? Ruby asked.
    William, I said. William Parker.
    Friends call you Bill?
    Will, I said.
    I’ll call you Will then, Ruby said. Ruby’s smile.
    This here’s True Shot and I’m Ruby Prestigiacomo.
    Glad to meet, I said, You guys, I said.
    I shook Ruby’s hand, went to shake True Shot’s, but thought, He don’t shake hands socially, so I just looked at him.
    I didn’t expect, I said, New York folks to be so friendly.
    Ruby ate the roach.
    When you’re in the Spirit Schlepping business like ours, Ruby said, Friendly’s just part of the program. Besides, that’s bullshit. New Yorkers can be the friendliest people you ever met.
    Not what I’ve heard, I said. Back west, I said, Where I’m from, folks think New Yorkers are rich Jews, I said, Mafia Italians, and black guys in gangs who play basketball and kill white people.
    Ain’t too far off, Ruby said.
    Then: Where back west?
    A bunch of places, I said. Jackson Hole, I said. Most of my time in northern Idaho, but I was born in Pocatello.
    Ruby turned his head around quick, put his hands to his cheeks, and screamed: In a trunk in the Princess Theater!
    Then Ruby was laughing the way you do on good dope. I started laughing too, though I didn’t know why.
    You know, Ruby said. The song, A Star Is Born , Ruby said. Judy Garland!
    I was born in a trunk in the Princess Theater in Pocatello , Idaho , Ruby sang.
    Never heard it, I said.
    Then: Brooklyn, Ruby said. I was born in Brooklyn. Bensonhurst.
    I waited for True Shot to say where he was born, but he didn’t.
    Staying here long? Ruby