Whiskey, the Damned, and Redemption

Whiskey, the Damned, and Redemption

Another shot of whiskey warms his throat as it descends from his mouth; he licks his lips and looks out at the brightened sky from the shadows of his rickety and whiskey stained table. A solemn expression sits upon his rough and stubbly mug as he whistles a song of lament. A match’s flash lit up the darkened corner and kisses the cigar hanging from weathered lips. The match and cigar flare as a frolicking flame lights up the scarred and lonesome face of Elijah Tomb. As the match lowers it lights up a star, the silver star of a Texas Ranger. The flame of the match fades and smoke rises from the blackened tip. The match falls away to the floor; the mysterious ranger sighs and shakes his head; he takes up a bottle and fills his sipping glass. Elijah takes a long draw on his cigar; the embers brighten and fade. Elijah takes up the glass; the fragrance of the devil juice comforts his restless mind, and with a slow fulfillment of desire the whiskey fills his mouth and readies for another descent. “Damn it all.” Elijah voices as he sets the glass back down onto the table with a clang! Elijah lowers the brim of his hat and sulks silently; deep in thought his mind wanders and ponders of toils and troubles.

     Rays of warming sunshine shot through the smudged windows of the saloon and struck the aged floorboards of blackened wood. Atop this derelict floor sits a bar, an oak bar with such intricate details as if it were a carpenter’s master piece. Embedded pillars, framing a scene of mustangs running paints the front, and behind stands a man, a simple man. Hopper Barley, a plain, commonly dressed, and humble man stands behind the bar; he wipes the oak top with such care as he stares over at the stranger; his only customer on an oddly quiet evening. “Hey stranger…care to share your troubles?” Hopper asks with a genuine curiosity and a smile of friendly invitation. Elijah looks up at the barkeep; he says nothing though as he turns his head back to his focus; the bottle and his sorrows. “If you can’t tell your bartender…who can ya tell?” Hopper pauses briefly and bears a clever smile “Certainly can’t trust your barber….bunch of gossips, and never can trust a man with a razor.” Hopper voices and laughs and falls silent. A few moments pass in silence, and Hopper decides to really inspire an incentive to kill the boredom “Tell ya what…you share, and I will share.” Hopper graciously offers as he pulls out a bottle. He sets the bottle atop the squeaky clean bar top and pulls the cork with a resounding pop! “A little of the good stuff on the house.” a wide grin forms upon Hopper’s animated face as he pours a glass. Elijah sighs as he shakes his head; he decides to entertain the odd fellow for a spell and stands to his feet with a slow rise.

            Elijah carefully avoids the sunspots on the chew spit stained floor as his slow steps propel him forward. A creak sounds as Elijah sits on one of the many empty stools, and now sitting directly before his host; he slapped his hand on the bar “Well serve it up barkeep,” Elijah says with a bland tone. Hopper slides a glass across the bar top to Elijah; the whiskey sloshes as the glass slides into his hand. Without hesitation, Elijah raises the glass to his lips; the whiskey flows and instantly warms Elijah like no other whiskey before it. A retro scent teases his sense, a bouquet of oak, charcoal, and fermented grains dances on the air as he savors the whiskey that quiets his soul. “That is the good stuff,” he offers praise as he nudges his glass towards the barkeep. “I could do a little more since you’re buying.” Elijah forces a thankful smile as he stares into the barkeeps mysterious but kind eyes.

“Please call me Hopper…So who am I drinking with? What brings a Texas tin man to New Mexico?” Hopper asks as he fills the lawman’s glass. Elijah looks up and sighs, above he sees the high ceiling and an old aging banister lining an upstairs walkway that circles the bar hugging the plain wooden walls. He looks back to the barkeep with a solemn expression

“Well…I am Elijah Tomb, Texas Ranger….tell me something barkeep….you believe in the devil?” Elijah’s tone comes with a weight of lead and Hopper nods.

 “I’ve seen the Devil’s hand at play…care to elaborate Mr. Tomb?” Hopper retorts with unbound curiosity. Elijah set his glass back onto the bar post-harvest, and Hopper wastes not a second in refilling it. The ranger watches the golden liquor rush and well up like the memories and thoughts rushing like a raging river into his troubled mind.

“You believe in vampires Hopper?” Elijah questions as he wears skepticism of even his own words upon his face. Hopper expresses a half smile of intrigue as he speaks “New Mexico is a home to all sorts of the devil’s children, and yes…seen a few in here over the years…I am drinking with one if I am not mistaken,” Hopper offers a friendly smile as not to alarm his guest.

“Yeah…I am,” Elijah Laments. He takes up his glass again and empties it and releases a sigh of satisfaction “I ain’t always been a demon…black pitch runs in these veins now and I can’t live with that,” Elijah’s tone sours the room and chases any casual feeling from the bar. The barkeep fills the ranger’s glass again.

 “Drink up, quiet your soul and listen to ol’ Hopper.” Hopper pulls a cigarette from a handmade wooden box under the bar; he lights it and it flares as he takes a long drag. Smoke drifts on the air from Hopper’s mouth as he speaks “So, you have hunted monsters…you’ve killed in these deserts and you’ve killed in these streets…and now you are the monster,” Hopper pauses momentarily “Maybe being a monster…helps rid the world of them?” Hopper offers as a thought to ponder, but can tell his words offer no comfort.

Elijah fills his glass and he feels his chest burn with a fire of hate and contempt for the present “I have seen more blood and fear than I care to share friend…though hear me and understand me Hopper.” Elijah is solemn as he speaks and breaks to have his shot and relight his cigar.

            “I watched my wife and son emptied of their life blood by demons like we empty this bottle now…I hunt heathens, but now I ride with the devil like it or not.” Elijah voices with lament as he ponders his fate and Hopper can see the life extinguishing defeat on his face.

“Maybe death doesn’t want you yet, eh?” Hopper questions as smoke floats from his parted lips. Silence takes the room by storm and settles for a moment “Listen lawman, maybe you were given this darkness for a reason, maybe it is just added to who and what you already are?” the barkeep offers up with optimism.

Elijah finds intrigue from the barkeep’s words, but very much still wishes for the peace of death “I am a predator of people now Hopper, I crave blood, already I feel the need claw at me with the devil’s own hand.” the lawman argues.

Hopper nods and pours more whiskey for his patron “So that’s it, give up and walk away…I don’t think you want that Mr. Tomb.” Hopper retorts in confidence. Elijah chuckles sarcastically

“What do you know barkeep? You don’t know me.” he states sharply as he lifts his glass and drains the sweet whiskey.

Hopper looked right into Elijah’s hazel eyes seriousness painted upon his face “I know that look; you are lost Mr. Tomb, lost in pain of the past and damnation of the future.” Hopper pauses for a shot of his ‘shine “Redemption is for all men who seek it lawman, we come upon trails we don’t like, but we must finish the game.” Hopper chastises with passionate tones.