One Of These Nights 3

One of These Nights

One of these crazy old nights

We're gonna find out

Pretty mama

What turns on your lights

The full moon is calling

The fever is high

And the wicked wind whispers

And moans

You got your demons

And you got desires

Well, I got a few of my own

Green River, Utah anno domini 2015

Pete Harper was late. It was past 7am and he had overslept. It was going to be another warm day in the high 70s, unusual for mid Spring and he still had a seven mile trip upriver to check the hives.

He normally made the trip by bicycle, but in the interest of time, today he would take his scooter, a 2014 H-D Heritage Classic 114. He wanted to inspect the brood boxes before the sun got into the canyon and the bees got active.

He slipped on a light jacket, grabbed his brain bucket and a warm beer and headed out. As he guzzled the brew, he thought, 'breakfast can wait. There's a pork chop in every can.'

Pete pushed his bike into the street before he started it to avoid waking his girlfriend Vanessa and pissing the neighbors off. He eased on the throttle and got underway.

The town was still largely at rest. Nearby I-70 was busy around the clock, but since town planners had built a business loop that skirted the town proper, it had returned for the most part to a dusty, sleepy burg. Truck stop diners and convenience store havens had thankfully stayed on the outskirts.

Green River was an anomaly. A blip of civilization in a sea of sand and and blazing sun overhead. A ribbon of life-sustaining water appeared briefly out of monolithic sandstone formations, cliffs and mesas before disappearing again into the wilderness on it's way south to join the Colorado River. It was very isolated and that suited Pete just fine.

Pete took the county road that paralleled the river. It was a short hop to the first hive. He kept his gear in a bear proof container, so he unlocked it and dressed in Mylar with a bonnet and grabbed a smoker. He gave the hive a dozen puffs and lifted the lid.

All was in order. The workers were busy tending the combs. After a moment he spotted the queen. She was laying eggs in rapid succession, being attended by a few faithful servants. This was a good sign. Pete needed the hive on the upswing. At it's peak there would be as many as 20,000 workers, and he had 4 more hives. Peak blossoms required peak numbers.

Pete eyeballed the melon fields; acres upon acres of different species of watermelons; picnic, icebox and sugar baby. Crenshaw, honeydew and cantaloupe rounded out the field. The sandy soil and warm nights of the river bottom made an unrivaled combination for both flavor and size. It was a high stakes operation that required a singular start. The hives, scattered through the canyon would help make that possible.

The vines had only a few blossoms at the moment, but this warm weather would kick them in gear. In three or four weeks, the die would be cast.

Pete checked the remaining hives and found them in good repair as well. He took pride in a well maintained hive. He admired the way bees cooperated and their division of labor was a marvel.

What had begun as a hobby and supplemental income to his disability payments had become a form of therapy for PTSD. He loved his honeybees.

Pete arrived home shortly after noon. The 'pork chop in a can' was long since consumed and his stomach rumbled. Vanessa was at work, so he headed for Ray's tavern for lunch.

He was met at the door by Walter, a Cane Corso, whose greeting was a single 'WOOF,' felt as a pressure wave as much as heard as a thunderclap. Thank goodness he was a friend. Drool from his massive chops was a hazard unto itself.

The lunch crowd was a lively bunch, Local ne'er do wells and a handful of river runners. The Bangles' ' Walk Like an Egyptian' played on the jukebox. Pete took a stool at the bar.

"Peter B Keeper," said Amy the bartender, 'What's shakin' bacon?"

"Da Nada," said Pete. "A cold Heinie to to start, please, and I'm hungry. Can I get a guacamo burger? And some fried mushrooms."

"You bet. What you been up to?"

"Goosing the bees on the melon patch," said Pete. "It's fook'n near blossom central upriver."

"One of my faves," said Amy, "How's the river?"

"Some runoff. You know, it's too thick to drink, too thin to plow. The peak is a ways off yet."

Amy served up Pete's burger with Walter paying close attention. Pete took a knife and quartered the sandwich and after taking the first bite, tossed a quarter in the direction of Walter. One pop of his chops and the morsel was history. The dog continued to eyeball the rest. "Piss off," said Pete.

Pickle, one of the river runners, took a seat next to Pete.

"Hola señor," said he.

"What's up?"

"Foster's got a float booked for next weekend. Three days down Desolation canyon." said Pickle.

"Nice," said Pete, "Who is first boat?"

"I am," said Pickle. "Want to swamp for us?"

Pete said nothing but raised his eyebrows.

"I'm buzzing the melon blossoms at the moment or I surely would," he said, "Ask again around Memorial Day."

"I understand. You don't want to leave your honey alone if you don't have to. If I had a hottie like Vanessa, I'd feel the same way."

Pete let that ride. "Thanks for the offer," he said, "Keep me in mind."

Pete payed his tab and went home. He found his friend Fred D. Funk waiting on his doorstep. Fred was a local, carpenter by trade, mid-twenties like Pete. Pete considered him to be one of his true friends.

"Funky Town," he said as they bro hugged.

"What you been doing?"

"Mildewing, What brings you around?"

"Welfare check, I haven't heard from you for a while. Really, what are you up to? Inquiring minds want to know." said Fred.

"I've got some hives up on the river. Makin' melons."

Vanessa pulled into the drive, home from a day of working for the Bureau of Land Management. She hopped out of her Bronco wearing an official BLM shirt and denims with hiking boots. A blue bandanna loosely tied around her neck complemented her trim figure. She breezed up to Pete and hugged him around his neck.

"Hello lover," she crooned, "Have a good day?"

Pete didn't reply.He blankly looked in the Bronco. There was a passenger sitting in the front seat.

"Jody! Come meet my friends," Vanessa said.

Vanessa was a bundle of energy. She was a recent graduate from the University of Utah with an MA in archaeology and range management. Her auburn hair was cut short and her clothes hugged her curves. She was indeed, a hottie. And she knew it.

"Jody, these are my friends, Pete Harper and Fred D Funk. Boys, this is Jody Watts. He's fresh from the U of U and he's going to be working with me all summer. He's working with the Fish and Wildlife Service's wild horse management program."

Vanessa's introduction of the two as friends was not lost on Pete, nor was the reluctance of Jody to look him in the eye.

Fred spoke, "Actually I came looking for some help unloading some sheetrock for a remodel I'm working on, Pete. Can you spare an hour?"

"You bet," said Pete. To Jody he said, "Nice to meet you." To Vanessa he said nothing.

Fred and Pete pulled up on Fred's project and began to carry the gypsum sheets into the house he was working on. Fred noticed Pete's darkening mood.

"Hey man," he said, "You bugging?"

"Starting to," came the reply.

"When's the last time you had counsel?"

"It's been a while."

"Now may be a good time to go again. Try to stay ahead of it. You could use a road trip. I can tend to the bees if that's what's stopping you." said Fred

"Vanessa's got me guessing." said Pete. "I don't want to crowd her."said Pete.

"I get that. Jody's a Jody, doing what Jody's do best. The gods will decide. Go get your head examined. Please." said Fred.

They finished the offload and left the scene.

Pete made a call to the VA in Grand Junction and made an appointment with a counselor. She picked up on Pete's stressors and scheduled him as soon as he could get there. Pete also made a call to Teddy Morse H-D

He checked the weather forecast and seeing the next few days were said to be clear and mild, he dragged out his leathers and grabbed a couple of 1ounce gold buffalo coins from his stash.

Vanessa called him to dinner. She talked about the events of her day in the field and asked about Pete's adventures, to minimal response. Finally, she asked,"Pete, are you alright?"

"I'm a little distracted. I need to make a trip to Junction in the morning." he said.

"Want some company?"

"Nah. I'm going to get my bike serviced and ready for summer." said Pete.

The following morning found Pete up with the sun. He was dressed in a black leather jacket, denim duck pants and black leather chaps. Thick soled boots and leather gloves and he was set to jet.

He went to say good-bye to Vanessa, who was still abed. She reached up and hugged his neck and asked him to ride safe. There was concern on her face, but she said no more.

"See you tonight," he said.

Pete approached the on-ramp to I-70E. He throttled up to cruising speed and merged with traffic. He bumped it to the speed limit plus 10 mph, and let the rabbit eat the cabbage. His nose was in the wind and with the throaty roar of the twin-pipe exhaust in his ears, he felt his spirit recharge.

First stop in Grand Junction was the VA hospital. After a short wait, he was shown in to the office of Amelie Proust, resident psychiatrist.

"Good morning, Mr Harper, How have you been feeling?" She began.

"I've been uneasy for about a week. White knuckle anxiety for the last couple days," he said.

"So you feel your anxiety is worsening?"

"I would say so."

"Can you identify a trigger?" She asked.

"I'm getting the feeling that I'm adrift. I have no anchor. Like something bad is about to happen and I can't stop it. Like I'm oarless in a boat and heading for class IV rapids."

Dr, Proust studied his file. "Are you currently on any meds?"

"They make me too fuzzy around the edges. Sometimes I need to do exactly what I described. Negotiate class IV rapids. With oars at least." Pete said.

"Your file says you served in Afghanistan and saw combat at COP Kamdesh. That was very traumatic."

Pete flashed back to 2009. He was 19 years old and away from the States for the first time in his life. He and 53 of his army brethren were stationed at an outpost in the Hindu Kush mountains. Remote and isolated, the moment that had been much deliberated and feared came to pass.

In a rare pitched battle, 300 Taliban fighters tried to overrun the Post. They almost succeeded. They were outmatched in hardware but very determined and managed to get inside the wire. Only with close combat and a 9mm Beretta was Pete able to survive the day. 7 of his brothers did not. Pete received two bullet wounds, through and through and felt like a fortunate son. It took close air support and a B-1 bomber strike to finally turn the tide of the battle.

Pete witnessed the light behind eyes go out up close and personal that day. He was covered in blood, sweat and dust in a desperate scuffle with death. It changed him forever.

"How is your quality of sleep? Any night terrors, sweats? Tremors?" asked the doctor.

"Sometimes"

"Lately?"

"Yes"

"I can say without a doubt that a good night's sleep is a key to relief in your case. I'll write prescriptions for Xanax for anxiety and Ambien for sleep. I highly recommend you take them.

"I just want the memories to fade," said Pete.

"We'll work on that," Amelie said. "Can you make weekly visits?"

"I can."

"We'll get there. Don't give up. Please."

Pete left the hospital feeling better. Just the thought of there being a light at the end of the tunnel was heartening. It felt like a breath of fresh air.

His next stop was a pawn shop that bought and sold gold and silver. The price of gold bullion at the time was $1160. Pete had bought in at $300. It was a good time to sell. He sold two coins.

Next up was a stop at Teddy Morse Harley Davidson Sales and Service. Pete checked in the at the service counter and confirmed his appointment. Full service: oil change engine and transmission, filters; fuel and air intake, top end valve adjustment inspect the drive belts and replace the rear tire.

While his scooter was getting a workover, Pete checked out the new models. A saleswoman approached.

"Ready to take that Fat Boy home today?"

"It's very nice. If I was a collector, I'd say yes." said Pete.

"A quick credit check and you can climb on."she said.

"I have a Classic in service. Don't crowd me sister," Pete said good naturedly.

She had a twinkle in her eye and a wicked smile. "I'm Candy," she said.

Pete said, "I bet you are. I'm Pete Harper."

"Nice to meet you Pete Harper."

Pete said, "I kind of like your full coverage helmets. Do you have one to fit my melon?"

"Let's go see," said Candy. She gave him service with a personal touch.

"Here's a really nice one. Pilot X04; last year's model, but top safety rating. On sale. $225.

"I'll take it, and a woman's 1/2 please,"said he.

Candy brought out a Busby Ultra-Light J03 1/2.

"Size?" she asked.

"Fit yourself," said Pete.

She tried it on. "250. 225," she said.

"Rack 'em up,"

"Excellent choice, monsieur. Tres chic." said she.

"Put it on my tab."

A mechanic conferred with the service director. Pete's bike was ready.

He settled his tab and inspected the work. He straddled his ride and fired it up. Sweet melody. Pete idled out of the service bay.

Candy was waiting on the apron. Pete felt like a dick.

He killed the engine and looked into her eyes. She was quite pretty.

"I'm sorry. There's nothing I'd like more than to spend some time with you. I have a date with some bees. Another time?"

"We'll see about that. Your loss, buster." she said.

"I'll be bäck," Pete said with his best Austrian accent.

He pulled on his new helmet. It made him look like an alien invader. A predator.

Candy's smile was gone, but the twinkle remained.

Pete rode cautiously for the first 20 miles or so, listening for new noises and feeling for wobbles. Things felt and sounded solid. He gradually reached highway speeds and then rolled the power on. An hour later he was home.

Vanessa was waiting, outwardly calm. She searched his face for clues.

"How did your day go in the big city?" She asked.

"Good. Bike's ready to rip." he said.

"Want some dinner?"

"That sounds good. Let me brush the bugs out of my teeth first."

Pete looked in the bathroom mirror as he prepared to brush his teeth. A scrap of fabric almost hidden behind the toilet caught his eye. Closer inspection revealed a pair of men's boxer briefs.

The biggest problem with that: they didn't belong to him.

He spit in the sink and then left the house without another word. He took his time, riding his bicycle slowly along the river, lost in his thoughts. He checked the first hive without the benefit of his bonnet and gear, then the rest. Their numbers were increasing. Their throbbing rhythm sounded almost electric. On the edge of hypnosis, Pete barely felt the stings.

He rode back to town and stopped for a cold one at Ray's Tavern. Ever vigilant, Walter gave Pete a sniff and a sloppy lick to the hand. It was impossible not to smile when the big goober was looking for love.

Fred came up holding two frosty draughts.

He looked carefully in Peter's eyes and said, "How's the hive?"

"On the rise. They're going to need supplemental food." said Pete.

They found a vacant table and chairs and sat. Walter stayed close to Pete.

Pete said, "The Jody has landed."

Fred looked for a moment, nodded and then said, "Surprise!"

Pete had to chuckle. "To the manor borne," he said.

The pair sat and sipped their brews and appraised the social scene.

Hare and hound. Wolf and beaver. The rhythm of the ages.

Vanessa appeared in the doorway.

"Christ on crutches," said Fred.

She spied them and made her way across the barroom floor.

"Brace for impact," said Pete.

She hauled up short of the table and looked expectantly at Fred.

"Do you mind," she asked.

Fred looked at Pete and then back at her.

"I do," he said. "Get thee gone."

Vanessa exhaled sharply in frustration. With hands on her hips she looked at Pete and said, "Can we talk?"

"We can," he replied. "Not here, and not tonight. I'm too drinky."

Walter had been farting. He looked at Pete as if waiting for a reaction.

"Goddamn, what have you been eating? Worms?" He asked.

Walter started panting and took a step forward looking for a scratch behind the ears.

Pete told her, "Tomorrow. Go home and pack. Get ready to move."

Vanessa flashed fire in her eyes as she turned and left.

Fred looked at Pete. He had tears in his eyes.

"That fucking twat." Thought Fred. "She's going to pay.

"You can crash on my couch," said Fred.

Pete woke mid-morning the next day with a thumping head.

'Ach! No more beer. Ever,' he thought.

Fred D fared much better. He was up and about the kitchen while Pete was in the crapper and when Pete entered the kitchen, coffee was served.

After a cup or two, humanity commenced once again.

"What do you think, sneaky Pete?" asked Fred.

"I'm about to shed a Vanessa, Jody unloaded his chota."

Fred laughed, then said, "I'm sorry. It's not the least bit funny. She was nice, mostly. And pretty."

"I need to go see her. I promised 'the talk'"

"Your bike's at the bar. I can drop you off."

"At my house if you would, please. I've got the wobbles still."

"Ok. Whenever you're ready."

They first went by the bar and picked up Pete's bicycle and put in the back of Fred's truck. Fred dropped Pete off in his driveway and Pete dragged his hangdog ass up the front steps.

Vanessa was waiting at the kitchen table.

Pete walked past her to look around. She hadn't packed a thing. He dug in his pocket and fished out a wad of cash and threw it on the table.in front of her.

"Here's a fresh start said Pete. Head 'em up and move 'em out.

"I'm sorry, Pete. It was a stupid mistake. I don't want to go anywhere. Can't we work past this?

"We could if I thought I could trust you. That's not likely. I was gone ONE fucking day."

That made Vanessa flinch. Pete never talked like that around her.

"You plan on working with that fuckstick all summer? You have to be shitting me!" Pete said, beginning to raise his voice.

Vanessa's eyes widened but she stayed seated. Pete stood and began to pace.

"No. No way. No fucking way!" He exclaimed. "He quits, you quit, or I quit! This is MY house!"

Vanessa was trapped, afraid to move now. She said nothing, hoping he would calm down.

"I want you OUT!"

"Pete..."

"NOW!!" he was seething. His face was blood red.

Vanessa jumped up and made a mad dash for the bathroom. She slammed the door and locked it. She huddled in the tub and began to weep. Never in her life had she seen such anger.

Pete was in a rage. His heart was pounding. He couldn't catch his breath. His eyes bulged and his hands trembled. He just wanted it to be over.

He grabbed the bottle of Xanax and swallowed a handful. Then Pete staggered out to his motorcycle and fired it up. He began to calm down, so he headed for Fred's.

Fred heard Pete arrive and met him at the door. Fred got a look at Pete's face.

"Fuck a duck," was all he could manage to say.

Fred grabbed the key from the Harley's ignition and said, "Get in my truck. Let's go for a ride."

Fred drove upriver. To a beehive. He hoped their harmony could reach Pete. Fred was right. The Xanax didn't hurt. Pete doubled over and barfed.

"My man." said Fred. "What the fuck?"

"We had it out. She wouldn't leave. I got so hot I saw red. God almighty! I thought I was going to kill her."