Snapshots: We'll Always Have Cowtown

gavin cardigan was out of his element.

it wasn't just that it was hot, and it was certainly very hot.  the sun was blazing and there wasn't a single cloud in the sky to soften it a whit.  cardigan couldn't even find any shade.  it was as if every building in Fort Worth was a reverse-vampire that worshiped sunlight and feasted on darkness instead of blood, sucking the shadows from all manner of people and objects.

and the wind.

it wasn't a refreshing breeze from off the bay, spritzing his cheeks.  no, this was a steady gust of dry, hot air right in his face, no matter which direction he turned, carrying dust or ash or exhaust or the odor of cow manure with it.

oh, yeah.  cows.  they didn't have cattle round-ups every day in downtown san francisco, either.

"i want to go home," he muttered to nobody in particular but drawing the attention of several cowboy hats that were lingering nearby.  he cursed to himself, pulled down his fedora, and stepped into The White Elephant Saloon.

he felt better immediately.

it was nothing like Poor Yorick's Pub, but it was familiar enough.  it had a bar, and a bartender, and alcohol. he ordered a beer, took a sip, and sighed deeply.

"mr. cardigan?"

that voice...he turned around in surprise.

"ms. dupree?  are you stalking me now?"

she laughed, ignoring his outstretched hand to instead lean in close and kiss him on the cheek.  "maybe.  depends on where you're going."

"i going to buy you a drink," he grinned.  "what's your poison?"

"dark and stormy," she replied quickly. 

"what's that?" he asked as he signaled the barkeeper.

"dark rum, ginger beer, and lime," the bartender informed him.

cardigan shoved his beer away.

"make it two.  that sounds amazing."

cocktails in hand, they raised their glasses.

"to destiny, mr. cardigan!"

"it's gavin.  or cardigan.  and i thought you only believed in destiny when you're in san francisco, ms. dupree?"

she sipped, and considered her answer.  "it's lily, and your memory for details is amazing.  that must be what makes you a good detective."

"this is really refreshing," cardigan nodded at his drink with approval, then lifted his eyes toward hers.  "i remember every detail.  the Germans wore grey, you wore blue."

she laughed.  "Casablanca."  *clink*  "here's looking at you, kid."

cardigan looked around the saloon, the old cowboy hats hanging on the walls and ceiling.  "of all the gin joints in all the towns in all the world, you walk into...the one i'm in.  what in heaven's name brought you to Fort Worth?"

"work.  or at least, that's what i thought.  seeing you here, though...it seems that destiny has taken a hand."

"we're going to run out of Casablanca quotes at some point."

"then we'll just drink too much and sing As Time Goes By all night."

cardigan tilted his head and considered.  "do you think that's destiny had in mind for you here?"

lily stirred her drink, stalling.  "i don't know.  i've been thinking about you, cardigan."

"really?"  he sat up straighter.

"yes.  i was thinking of hiring you again."

"oh."  he tried and failed to keep the disappointment out of his voice.

she noticed and smiled.

"i'm not your client yet, though.  tell me, what are you doing in Fort Worth, cardigan?"

"suffering," he muttered.  "until you showed up, that is.  a client back in 'Frisco owns an art gallery.  he discovered a new western artist here and wants to offer him a contact to be his exclusive dealer.  but, having dealt with a lot of artists in his business, he knows that they can be a bit flaky and unreliable, so he wanted me to check out first.  it's not the first case i've done for him.  what kind of work brought you here?"

"there's a beautiful old episcopal church here called St. Nicholas on the Prairie.  the original architect was from new orleans, and it has a unique french colonial style.  the diocese brought me out for a consultation.  i'm a restoration architect, specializing in church architecture."

"holy moly."  cardigan cringed as he said it.  "why churches?  because you don't believe in destiny?  or because you do?"

"dammit cardigan, you sound like my old priest," she laughed.  "you are determined to get inside my head, aren't you?"

"to start," he winked.

"okay, now you sound nothing like my old priest!"

"was he more successful at getting answers out of you?"

"he would say no, but i think he understood me better than anyone.  he was very perceptive, and a good listener, and had great instincts.  just like you, really.  he would have been a good detective, too.  maybe you would be a good priest."

"i don't think priesthood is destiny.  but, we weren't talking about my destiny, were we?"

"weren't we?"  she signaled for another round.  "this isn't just about me; it's about us."

"oh, we're an us, are we?  pray, continue."

she gave him an exasperated look.  "it was much easier to hire you over the phone last time."

"but far less fun, with far less rum."  he finished his first drink just as the bartender delivered the second.  "does this mean that you're hiring me again?"

"i don't know.  i'm enjoying your company too much, and the...case...is not something i have ever talked about with anybody.  not even my priest.  it's something that happened a long time ago, that i ran away from.  i have been thinking lately that maybe it's time to go back there...but i'm also afraid that maybe it's too late and it might do more harm than good."

"that's very mysterious.  but that's not surprising.  you're a mysterious woman.  a living ghost, i believe was the description we agreed upon last time we met, the way you moved about the city as if you were on a different plane and in a different time than the rest of us.  and you don't know the extent to which that symbolism has played out in san francisco since you left."

she raised an eyebrow.  "now you're being mysterious.  what are you talking about?"

"the fat man, Gutman, who took pictures of you and then used them as a model for his painting.  i bought it, at a mutually beneficial discount with the owner," he grinned. 

"you did not!"

"oh yes i did!  but i gave it to my friend danny to hang at his Pub, since i spend more time there than i do anywhere else.  but the painting made a much bigger impression on danny than i ever thought it would.  he stares at it, straightens it when it doesn't need straightening.  i've even seen him try to draw it himself on cocktail napkins.  so, even in a painting your presence is haunting, like a ghost.  but from what you're telling me, it sounds as if you're also haunted by something in your past."

"but your detective skills are even spookier!  is this Pub the one you said has excellent food?"

"yes, Poor Yorick's Pub.  it's kinda weird.  danny doesn't have a menu.  he just makes one thing every day.  you never know what it's going to be, but you know it's going to be good."

"Poor Yorick's?"  she looked startled.  "i used to have a d---"

BBBRRRIIINNNGGG!!!!  BBBRRRIIINNNGGG!!!

they both checked their phones, pressed a button, and turned them off.

"now that's spooky!"

"it was destined to happen," cardigan agreed.

"aarrgghh!!  what am i going to do?  i'm not used to being indecisive."

cardigan drained his drink.  "it sounds like you're running from the truth, darlin'.  truth is my business, and i've learned that while it hurts, it also heals."

"you sound like my priest again," she sighed and drained her drink.  "i think i need to sleep on this some more."

cardigan straightened his imaginary tie.

"but not with my priest."

"hmph."