That Big Silver Dog

It was a fair piece of asphalt between Cheyenne  to San Francisco and to ride the bus made it the perfect adventure for Jesse Costa. He’d traveled the many by-ways across the good ol’ U.S. of A., the same way he was traveling now.

Always in the same seat, the ones on the right, jus’ before the back tire’s wheel-well. It’s where Jesse felt the most calm, because it soothed his OCD and the tires hum and drone made it easier to fall asleep.

This didn’t mean that he might not move elsewhere on the bus as they slipped down the road into the sunset and deeper into the night. It jus’ meant that for now he was comfortable and might even get a few z’s before their next scheduled stop in Rock Springs.

The bus always stopped in Rock Springs. It’s where it took on more fuel and the passengers had a chance to have a real meal, and not simply the snacks provided at the smaller stops.

It’s also where the couple stumbled aboard the half-full bus. Jesse could tell that there was trouble amidst the pair.

She was plain, a petite blond, and could be pretty if given the chance. He was tall, rangy in stature, smelling of stale cigarettes, sweat and cheap booze, with shoulder length greasy hair.

Jesse put the thought aside as the bus moved back out onto Interstate 80. Before he realized it, the sun was gone and the dark was becoming more and more pronounced.

Dream-filled sleep crowded Jesse’s head again, but for how long he’d been asleep, he did know. What he did know was that he could hear a woman crying and it wasn’t from happiness.

Looking around, he studied the faces of the passengers, which were drawn tight, nervous and in some cases pale. He also detected the musky odor of fear.

Then he heard it. That sharp snap of a face being struck.

He turned in his seat. Greasy-hair was berating the blond, calling her names and when she dripped a tear, he struck her.

“Whatcha lookin’ at?” Greasy-hair growled at Jesse as he watched the man’s behavior.

“Nothing,” Jesse replied.

“Then mind yer own business.”

“Don’t mind if I do.”

Jesse stood and in three steps reached Greasy-hair’s seat. Without a word, he reach down and grabbed the abuser by the throat and squeezed.

The violent and sudden closure of his windpipe left the man unable to speak or breathe. In a low growl, he said, “Hit her again or make any other sound and I’ll toss your ass off this bus and I won’t be using the door. Got it?”

The man, wide-eyed, shook his head rapidly.

“Now go sit in the front of the bus and stay the hell away from her for the rest of your trip.”

He released Greasy-hair, who flopped back in his seat, then quickly got up, coughing and pale, and slipped past Jesse, towards the front of the bus. He dropped hard in the second seat from the front, behind the driver.

Jesse looked at the driver in his rear-view passenger mirror and the driver smiled. As for Jesse, he simply went back to his seat and slipped into sleep.

In his dreams he returned to his wilder days, running with his pack, when Jesse Costa was their silver-haired Alpha and not jus’ another lone wolf traveling the roadways of America.