Showdown at Cowboy's Saloon
etty Jo Parker was one hundred and twenty-five pounds of trouble, packed
into skin tight jeans. When she walked into Cowboy's Saloon, in the rural town of
LaBelle, Florida, on Wednesday night, the eyes of all the men were glued in her
direction. They studied her from the top down, from the cute cowgirl hat that
covered her long brown hair, to her $700 snakeskin boots. She stood five feet eight,
her breasts were full, her hips round, and her legs long and shapely. When she
walked, her buttocks swayed back and forth, looking like one side was bouncing off
the other. Some guessed her age as 25, others a little older, but she was 32, and in
the full bloom of her womanhood.
Up close, her brown eyes had that partially closed look that men take as a bedroom invitation. Her nose lifted slightly at the end, set pertly above lips that were full and sensuous. When she said a man's name with those lips, it was natural to wonder what it would be like to have her wrapped around him, moaning it. Men got hard being around her, and she knew it.
Betty Jo walked up to the bar, said, "Bottle of beer, please," to Sonny, the bartender. Sonny was 48, and the Florida sun had already etched deep wrinkles into his leathery face. He was a good bartender, knowing when to keep quiet, and when to make conversation. He opened a cold Coors and slapped it down in front of her. When she took out a bill to pay for it, a tall young man of about 25 walked up behind her and held her hand back.
"Your money ain't no good here tonight, pretty lady," he said, throwing a fifty on the bar. She turned around, and was greeted by a 1000 watt smile.
"Thanks. Now, if you let go of my drinkin' hand, I can get to workin' on that beer," she smiled back. He let go and sat down next to her.
Betty Jo studied him quickly. She knew the type. "Probably a farmer who thinks he's a cowboy," she thought, judging by his muscular build and his calloused hands. He wore a black Stetson and a thick patch of dark chest hair stuck out of his silk cowboy shirt. His jeans were tight, and she liked the bulges front and back.
"Name's Buddy," he smiled. "Buddy Charles."
"Well, hello, Buddy Charles. I'm Betty Jo," she answered. "Here's to you," she added, raising her bottle and toasting his generosity.
"You must be new around here, ain't ya?" he asked.
"No. Just new to this bar," she said, looking at him and batting her long brown lashes.
"You like to dance?" he asked, motioning over to the dance floor where a few couples were doing the two step to the jukebox music.
"Yes, I do," she said, taking his hand now. They moved easily around the dance floor, and he winked at his friends behind her back. When the song was over, a slow dance came on. Betty Jo started to walk off the floor, but Buddy held her back. As they danced, he pulled her close. When she felt him get excited, she left him there and walked back to her barstool. Buddy stood there, alone, shaking his head in disbelief. His friends were laughing out loud now.
He stormed back to the bar. "What'd you do that for?" he said, angrily.
"Felt like it," she answered. She took another drink of beer, and then licked the tip of the long necked bottle.
"You're a teaser, ain't ya?" Buddy said, turning up the wattage on his smile.
"Maybe," she said, smiling to herself.
An older man walked into the bar, his brand new black Cadillac parked just outside. He looked about 55, stood a trim five feet ten, and had thinning gray hair. He wore a thousand dollar Brooks Brothers suit, and Wing Tip shoes. He scanned the bar quickly, and then walked up to Betty Jo.
"Betty Jo, I been lookin' all over for you," he said.
"Yeah, well, I reckon you found me," she answered, looking at him out of the corner of her eyes.
"Betty Jo ..." he said, a pleading tone creeping into his voice. He reached for her hand, and she pulled it away.
"Leave me be, now," she said, turning her attention to Buddy.
"Betty Jo ..." he repeated.
Buddy got off his stool and walked over to the older man. Buddy stood his full height, dwarfing him. "The lady is with me, friend."
"Mind your own business, boy," the older man said, dismissing him.
Buddy looked over at his friends. They were watching. Then he looked at Betty Jo.
"What's he to you, Betty Jo? he asked
"Buddy, say hello to J.T. Parker. J.T. is my soon-to-be third ex-husband."
Buddy's jaw hit his chest in surprise. "Husband?" he asked.
"Yes, darlin'. And as you can see, J.T. not only looks old enough to be my daddy, he thinks that gives him the right to act like him, too," she added.
"Betty Jo, let's go home and work this out," J.T. said, pulling her off the barstool.
"Get your hands off of me, J.T.!" she shouted.
Betty Jo's shout mobilized Buddy. He grabbed J.T., and pushed him away. J.T. tripped backwards on the leg of a chair, fell into an empty table, bounced off of it, and rolled onto the hard, cement floor that was covered with sawdust and peanut shells.
"The lady said you're about to be her ex-husband, so I reckon you don't have the right to be man-handlin' her," Buddy said, looking down at him. He turned to Betty Jo for her approval.
"Buddy, you shouldn't have done that," Betty Jo warned.
When Buddy turned around, J.T. was back on his feet. He had a revolver in his hand.
"J.T., you put that thing away, now, before someone gets hurt," Betty Jo ordered.
"Move back towards the bar, boy," J.T. ordered. Buddy looked over to his friends for help, but they weren't offering any. Nobody was. Everyone inside Cowboy's Saloon was standing up, and looking towards the front door for escape.
"Betty Jo, you're either walking out of here with me now, or they're going to be carrying you out in a body bag. Same goes for your new boyfriend, there," J.T. said, pointing with his gun.
J.T switched his gaze to Sonny. "And bartender, you better be reaching for more peanuts underneath there, or you're going down, too."
The bartender slowly brought his hands out from under the counter. While J.T. was preoccupied with Betty Jo, Buddy, and the bartender, the rest of the patrons made it to the front door, and then ran to their cars and drove away.
Betty Jo shook her head, turned her back to J.T., picked up her beer, and took a sip.
"Did you hear me, Betty Jo?" J.T. asked.
"I heard you, J.T.. I just ain't payin' no mind to it," she answered.
J.T. fired a shot. The bullet shattered a bottle of Jim Bean sitting on the back counter near the cash register. Whiskey and glass sprayed over the bartender and onto the floor. "I'm not bluffin' Betty Jo," J.T. said through clenched teeth.
"It's over, J.T.," Betty Jo said, turning around and facing him. "Shootin' up this place, and killin' some people ain't gonna change it."
"Betty Jo, it can't be over. I still love you."
"But I don't love you. J.T.."
"If you don't mind, this sounds like a private family matter, and I'd like to leave," Buddy said.
"No, you stay right there!" J.T. ordered.
"Oh, J.T. , let him go, already," Betty Jo sighed. "He don't matter. If it wasn't him, it woulda been another like him. They're mostly the same."
Buddy backed slowly to the door. J.T. walked up to him and kicked him in the butt. Buddy got angry, but did nothing other than rub his sore backside. He kept moving towards the front door. When he got there, he ran to his pickup truck, jumped inside, and burnt rubber getting away.
"If you don't mind, I'd like to leave, too," the bartender asked J.T..
"Go ahead," J.T. said, lowering his gun.
"Get me another beer before you go, bartender," Betty Jo interrupted.
Sonny got one out. He turned to J.T.. "You want one, too, sir?" he asked.
"No."
Sonny opened the bottle and placed it softly in front of Betty Jo. Then he walked around the counter and out the front door.
"Well, it's just you and me, honey," Betty Jo said, taking a sip from the beer. "Better do what you got to do, and right quick. Reckon the Law will be showin up at this party real soon."
J.T. sat on the bar stool next to her. He put the gun down on the counter, then took her hand and placed it between his two hands. There were tears in his eyes. His voice broke when he spoke. "Betty Jo," he pleaded, "don't leave me ... please don't leave me ... Whatever you need, I'll get for you. Whatever you want, it's yours."
Betty Jo let him hold her hand. She shook her head, sighed, and then spoke. "J.T., I married you for your money. Wasn't that clear from day one?"
"I thought that might be true in the beginning, Betty Jo. But I hoped, in time, you would grow to love me." He didn't bother to wipe away the tears that cascaded down his wrinkled cheeks, and over the gray stubble of his beard.
"J.T., my love didn't grow for you. All that grew was my love of spendin'."
"Well, you can go on spending. I don't mind."
"J.T., I married the first two times for love. Turned out to be lust, and that burnt up quick. Figured the next time out, I'd give money a chance. But tradin' the best years of my life to a man I didn't love turned out to be too damn expensive."
They heard Police sirens now, off in the distance.
"Sounds like the Calvary's comin', J.T.," she said, looking at his gun sitting on the counter.
J.T. looked into Betty Jo's eyes, and what he saw there, chilled him. "Betty Jo, you are one cold-hearted woman, ain't you?" he said.
"I reckon I can be, J.T."
"I must have been crazy, to want to trade my life for your love. What you feel for me ain't worth spit." He reached for his gun .... and then put it back in his pocket. He brushed off his suit, and walked to the door. When he got to the door, he turned around and looked at her one last time.
"Betty Jo, seems like the first time I met you, you was sittin' in a red-neck bar just like this one. My friend Artie was with me then, and he was on to you right away. He said, 'J.T., that woman there is a picture-perfect, red-neck bar cunt if I ever seen one.' I shoulda listened to old Artie. Woulda saved me alot of pain, and a lot of money, too."
J.T. got into his brand new Cadillac and drove away. Three Police cruisers passed him a mile down the road, speeding on their way to Cowboy's Saloon. Minutes later, Officer John Patrick, 35 and recently divorced, kicked open the front door. He had a Glock 9 mm automatic in his hand.
"He's gone," Betty Jo said. She studied Officer John Patrick. He was a clean-cut, powerful man who looked like he stepped out of a recruiting poster for the Florida Highway Patrol. He was the kind of man who made her lose her breath.
John Patrick put his gun in his holster. He studied Betty Jo, and then undressed her mentally. He liked what he saw, and had the erection to prove it.
"Oh no," Betty Jo said to herself. "Here we go again."
