Twisted city. Part eleven.

I have three weeks of editing left.

Twisted city. Part eleven.

Coyote and Tiffany walked to the Seattle pier. He told her. I will take you to the best tavern in Seattle. The bartender make the best Long Island ice tea on the west coast. She laughed and she told him. In my city of New York. They can be tasty also. They entered Kill Irish Pub and he took her right hand and he dragged her to window view seat. They sat down and he asked her. Do you like? I have been coming here for many moons. A pretty waitress walked over and she told Coyote. Hello stranger. We thought you died or wandered to Europe again? He smiled and he told her. Dear Emily. Only the good die young and I am old. She laughed and she told him. You are not old. You are the prettiest Seattle poet, we have. He asked Emily. How are you and the children doing? She took his hands and she whispered in his ear. Very good now. Thank you for helping me in my bad days.  She turned and she faced Tiffany. She asked her. What will be your death tonight? Coyote told her. Tell Ernie, I want two of the classic Long Island ice teas. She stood tall and she told him. No problem John and she walked away to the bar. Coyote turned to Tiffany. And he asked her. You like New York city? Me and Beatrice, we go to New York in September for my book tour. I do love the food and the people are kind to me. I believe the New Yorkers are more fearless, loud and bold. I do enjoy this. She smiled and she told him. With ten million people in one city. We must be fearless, loud and bold. He laughed at her words and he told her. I did love the Grand Central Park. I wrote two long stories by the statue of the Cleopatra's needle. He liked her face, he liked the gentle flow of her brown hair, He adored her long strong legs and her hazel eyes. She knew, he was observing her and she observed his green eyes, the movement of his hands. She liked he was strong and solid body. No extra weight and his arms could break someone in two. He knew she wasn't on vacation. She was the hunter and she was a skilled hunter. She was using too many of her senses. She tried to put old clothing on him, she tried to see him unshaven and his voice. Haunted her. Now she sat with a confident man and she didn't know. If he could be the killer. She knew the killer was a salamander. Appeared different to every person.

Coyote taps her shoulder and he asked. Were you off and dreaming of a better place? She laughed and she told him. I could use some sunny days. Old Seattle, the rain never stopped. He told her. My Beatrice liked Seattle. The apartment in Seattle is in my name. Beatrice tells me, I need more tax write-offs. She can't live here full time. She need the sun. She stayed in San Francisco in her condo most of the year. She enjoyed Seattle. 13 years ago, we came here and she saw the great opportunity for poets, writers and musicians. San Francisco literature was falling asleep and she helped create a city where people can succeed in writing and music. Tiffany, ask him. Are you marry? 15 years together is a long time. He laughed at her words and he told her. Dear Beatrice believed marriage is ownership and she loved her flexibility. I believe I made her become this independent person. I remember I met her in Berkley on a Friday poetry reading 15 years ago. She followed me to my truck and we roamed to the city of San Francisco. We sat at the pier and we talked for many hours and I told her. I was a up and coming writer, needing a good editor. She told me. I am a editor and I am a terrible writer. From that day on, we became friends. I spend the month of early Fall with her. She make me sell books on the East Coast. She told me often. New Jersey and New York. I sell the most books. People on the west coast forgot how to read except Seattle and in Texas. Just drink and sing. When she needs me. I go to her and we enjoy each other company. I demand little from her and she demands little from me. Tiffany laughed and she asked him. Do you believe, she had lovers? He laughed at her words. Once someone told me, she was seeing a painter in the city of san Francisco. I never asked her about the painter. I am like a Leonard Cohen song. My hope, she is happy with her life. Someone can make her smile.

He quit talking, falling into the cheekbones of her face and he knew she was seeking something from him. He heard a whisper in his mind and soul. "Escape now, she is your killer, she will be your storyteller".  He smiled and she asked him. Why are you smiling? He told her. You are so beautiful, you remind me of someone I have known. Beauty confuses me, beauty hide things and beauty can be trickery. She asked him. How does beauty confuse you? He told her, sometimes beauty things are hiding  secrets and like the sea. So beautiful to see and so dangerous. She liked how he talked. Reminded her of her favorite teacher in college. He spoke soft and delicate. Make you understand and grasp the hard things, we must learn. The third Long Island was finished and the Pub was closing. He asked her to walk to the pier? They left the Pub and the streets of Seattle was quiet. She stumbled a little and he took her hand. She felt safe with him and he told her, we will go to my favorite place. They found a bench near the open sea on the pier. She didn't know if he was the killer or not? This killer had killed bad people only and she knew. She had more questions than answers. They sat with a kind silence and they watched the Pacific dance for them. It was almost four am and she asked him. Can you walk me to my hotel? Coyote liked her. She make him know peace and she make him know chaos. She laid her head against him and she whispered. I am so tired. They walked to her hotel in a needed silence. She asked. Can I see you tomorrow? Coyote told her. I have a free day. Beatrice must go to San  Francisco tomorrow. I can buy you lunch and maybe. We can drive down the coastline and wander. She smiled and she told him. I would  love this and thank you John. She kissed his face-cheeks and she wandered into the hotel. He told her, at noon, be ready. Sweet dreams dear Tiffany.

Coyote

Author's Note

Thank you for reading.