Chapter Six

The Outlaw

Thanks to the help of Jackson, Monte at least had proper identification though it was illegal. Looking it over again, he still marveled over the idea they could make him look so small in the picture. But the ID gives him a new name and a new birthdate. Monte was born in 1859, just five months shy of the start of the Civil War. Now it says he was born in 1959, just a few weeks shy of being in this godforsaken future he can’t stand.

Jackson told him that sooner or later he would have to get a job when his money got low or start robbing people. And that was where Monte started thinking.

I could hold up people, but I can’t get away so easy here as I could in my own time. This here place has all sorts of do-dads I ain’t never heard about before. Tail-e-phones, cars, tell-e-vision, ray-dios, walky-talky’s, and something Jackson called a CB. Then there’s that thing they call a come-puter, whatever the hell that is. It’s just too easy to be called on one of those things, my ass would be back in prison in no time. But a job? Never worked a day in muh life, I can recollect. But guess now is good as time as any.

One thing did help Monte before he broke out of prison; there was an old man called Jenkins who helped him learn how to read. It was probably the only good thing that came from being there. Otherwise it was either busting big rocks to make smaller rocks or digging ditches to fill up the next day and start over, two meals a day, and a cell with a bed just as hard as the rocks he broke.

Reading the newspaper he saw where some place called Manpower was looking for people to work and they paid daily. He had heard about them from somewhere, he couldn’t remember where. They hire anybody and most of the work is hard labor, something Monte knew all too well about.

Walking around town, mostly at night, he knew where this place was and decided to go there first thing in the morning.

Getting up out of a chair in the hotel lobby, he made his way for the stairs when a gruff voice said, “Hey! Ain’t you the one that roughed up my friend?”

The hair on the back of Monte’s neck stood up. Turning slowly, he knew this was going to be trouble. He still had his gun tucked inside his pants, shirt hanging out to hide it, but he knew better than to reach for it and shoot this son of a bitch.

“Don’t right know who your friend is, friend.”

“I ain’t your friend, mother-fucker. Me and my friend here are gonna beat the shit out of you.”

“Wouldn’t be a good idea. Somebody could get hurt and I can tell you, it won’t be me.”

Monte stood his ground, his eyes turning to steel, vacant of any emotion.

The two men, about five feet from each other started walking toward him.

The desk clerk shouted out, “I don’t want any trouble here. I’ll call the police if you don’t get out right now.”

One of the two men turned and looked at the clerk, brandishing a knife and said, “If you do, it’ll be the last thing you ever do, old man. Just keep your fucking mouth shut.”

It was then, Monte took advantage of the conversation and quickly rushed the man with the knife and hit him flush in the face, once in the stomach and kneed him in the head as the man went to the floor. Turning abruptly, he faced the other man who now had a look of disbelief and fear written across his face.

Throwing his hands in the air, he exclaimed, “Hey, mister, you’ll get no trouble from me. If you can take Badger down that quick, I don’t want no part of you!”

Monte stood a little taller, nodded his head and said, “Then you better pick up your friend and get outta my sight before I do something I know I won’t feel bad about.”

In less than a minute, both he and Badger were out of the lobby.

Monte walked over to the clerk.

“You all right, Jimmy?”

“I’m-I’m fine. I’ve been here doing my job thirty-six years and that’s the first time my life’s been threatened. Thank you.”

“Think nothing of it. Just good to know yer okay.”

Going back to the steps to get back to his room (he still didn’t trust that l-e-vator none), he surprised himself before he laid day to get some shut-eye, that he actually had feelings for someone.