Amos stared out the window and surveyed Anchorage, fifteen hundred feet below. He turned and grinned at his friend, Shorty. “Damn! It sure does feel good to see something besides tundra down there.”
It had been a long nine weeks working in the Kuparak Oilfields. Amos and the crew were overdue for what Amos affectionately referred to as I&I. There would be plenty of both intoxication and intercourse if Amos had his way.
There was a thump and a roar of engines as the aircraft landed and taxied to the gate. The flight crew wished them well as Shorty and Amos disembarked. They were soon journeying out the Old Seward Highway, on their way to the Latitude 61 Club.
Shorty cackled with laughter. “You know how long it’s been since we destroyed a rental car?”
Amos scowled. “As a god damn matter of fact I do. We’re not gonna go through that hassle again. It took me damn near a week to straighten out the last mess we got into. You just pay attention to what’s in front of us and get me to the bar in one piece.”
They entered the dimly lit lounge and took a seat at the bar. There were only a few customers inside. It was too early for the evening crowd. Amos was glad. It would give him plenty of time to drink with no interruptions.
The bartender flashed them a smile. “Hello boys. What it’s gonna be?” She was tall and slender, with long blonde hair and a nice smile.
Amos didn’t hesitate. “Gimme a double shot of Myers and a glass of whatever you’ve got on tap.”
The blonde grinned. “You must be in from the slope.”
“You got it. I need to do some serious damage control.” Amos grinned as he took a swallow of the rum. “Yes! I can feel myself starting to heal already.”
Shorty and Amos sat drinking and talking, trying to decide how best to spend three days off. Shorty was anxious to spend some time at the Crossroads Lounge. Amos had no particular plans, other than drinking and raising hell in general. He glanced across the bar and noticed a poster advertising an upcoming pro wrestling show. The picture on the poster looked familiar. Amos motioned to the bartender. “Can I see that poster there on the counter?”
The bartender smiled. “You a wrestling fan?”
“Not really, but I think I know that gal in the picture.” Amos scanned the poster and grinned. “I’ll be damned. That’s Lady Brandy Hawke! Shorty! This’s the gal we saw down in the lower fourty-eight.”
Shorty grinned. “Lemme see that. Huh. Oh hell yes! I do remember her!”
Amos studied the photos again and pointed to the the picture next to Brandy’s. “You know who that is?”
Shorty shrugged. “Nope, can’t say I do.”
“This’s a gal that was workin’ as a boilermaker on a project I was on last year. This’s Elle! I’d know that face anywhere.” Amos smiled as he recalled the time he’d spent with her. “It’s a damn small world.”
The next evening Amos and Shorty arrived at Eddie’s Sports Bar. The parking lot was overflowing and they parked some distance away. It appeared that women’s wrestling attracted quite a crowd. After a lengthy wait at the door, they made their way inside and found seats near the ring. They ordered drinks and waited for the show to begin. A few minutes later the waitress stopped at their table. “Want another drink before the show starts?”
Just as their drinks arrived, a tall brunette dressed in leather pants, boots and a form-fitting spandex top entered the ring holding a microphone. She spoke with a hint of southern drawl as she introduced the first match of the evening. One at a time, two women ran through the crowd and leaped into the ring. The referee called the contestants to the center of the ring, gave them their prematch instructions and sent them back to their respective corners. A bell clanged and the two women sprang at each other, determined expressions on their faces as they locked arms and struggled mightily. Shorty was
fascinated. “Damn! They’re not foolin’ around.”
Amos grinned. “That’s what I was tryin’ to tell you. These gals are tougher than boiled owls.”
The raucous crowd cheered and booed as the women continued to sweat and struggle. The bout concluded as applause and cheers echoed through the building. Three more matches took place in rapid succession followed by a brief intermission and several more preliminary bouts.
Amos fidgeted, anxiously awaiting the main event. There was something about Brandy that infatuated Amos. Judging from the crowd’s reaction as she entered the arena it was obvious many shared his infatuation. She was stopped repeatedly by fans eager to have her autograph. Brandy eventually made it to the ring, climbed through the ropes and waited as her challenger made her way through the crowd.
Amos was amazed when he saw Elle. She looked even better than he remembered. She was deeply tanned and her hair was lighter. It appeared Elle had also adopted a ring name. Her jacket proclaimed her to be Sheena, The Kansas City Crusher. Amos assumed it was part of the hype necessary to a professional wrestling career.
Elle entered the ring, glowering at the champion, standing across the canvas from her. A worried expression crossed Amos’s face. He had been with Elle enough to know how powerful she was and wondered if Brandy Hawke knew what she was about to encounter.
The crowd applauded loudly as the women were introduced.
Moments later the bell sounded and the match began. The women came at each other like jungle cats pouncing on their prey. They slammed each other to the mat, punished each other with painful wrestling holds and pulled each other’s hair as they struggled to gain an advantage. Brandy seemed impervious to Elle’s relentless attacks. No matter what position she found herself trapped in, she was able to escape and seize the advantage. Extreme exertion and the heat from the ring lights left both women dripping with sweat as the match wore on. Though she lacked Elle’s muscle definition, Brandy seemed to possess an incredible amount of strength. The bout was nearing an hour in duration before Brandy was able to subdue her challenger. Her powerful legs scissored her opponent mercilessly. The expression on Brandy’s face was sheer intensity as she taunted Elle. “Say it! Say it! Give it up!”
Elle continued to struggle, but it was clear she was beaten. She waved her arm in submission and Brandy bounded to her feet, raising her arms in victory. The crowd went wild, cheering and hollering as Brandy was pronounced the winner. Shorty stared in amazement. “Man! That was somethin’ else. I’ve gotta admit, I’ve never seen anything quite like it.”
Amos grinned at his friend. “Now you see what I was talk’n about.”
Shorty and Amos were still discussing the matches later in the evening as they sat drinking at the Crossroads Bar. It was well past midnight when Amos peered through the smoky haze of the barroom and noticed Brandy and Elle sitting at a table. He nudged his friend. “Take a look over there.” Amos motioned toward the women. “Shall we invite ourselves to join them?”
Shorty grinned. “Huh. I’m all for it, but I’m followin’ you, my friend. I want you up front so I can hide behind ya.”
Elle recognized Amos immediately as he approached the table. She jumped to her feet and gave Amos a hug so tight he was sure his ribs would break. Turning to Brandy, Elle exclaimed. “This’s the guy I was telling you about!”
Amos and Shorty sat down and ordered another round of drinks. The remainder of the evening passed rapidly as they sat together, Brandy and Elle relating stories of their wrestling careers and what it was like to be in the pro wrestling business. Amos was hopelessly infatuated with Brandy. As the bartender made last call he leaned over and whispered to her. “May I buy you some breakfast?”
Brandy smiled. “I’d love that, but can we make it dinner tomorrow? I’m really beat and if I don’t get some sleep I’m gonna fall over.”
Amos was unusually quiet as he and Shorty drove to the motel. His mind was consumed mostly by thoughts of the lovely lady wrestler, but he also realized something didn’t feel right. It wasn’t just the effects of too much rum. This was different. Amos assumed it was nothing a good night’s sleep couldn’t remedy.
A short while later they arrived at the motel and Amos fell onto the bed, fully clothed. He had just enough strength to pull his boots off and was nearly asleep before his head met the pillow.
The distant
sound of a train whistle pierced his dream. Gradually the sound grew nearer and Amos realized he was standing on a boarding platform with a darkened depot behind him. A shiver of apprehension shot up his spine as he saw a sleek, black locomotive pulling seven railcars rolling down the track in front of him. The roar of the locomotive’s engine was deafening and the smell of diesel smoke hung heavy in the air.
As the train came to a stop, an elderly conductor stepped off the first railcar . “All aboard!” The conductor shouted. Amos turned to see if anyone else was standing with him. There was no one. He slowly walked toward the train, unsure what to make of his circumstances. The conductor reached out to him. “Your ticket, sir. I need your boarding ticket.”
“I don’t understand. I don’t have a ticket. I’m not even sure where I am.” Fear and confusion showed in Amos’s face.
A sad smile came to the conductor’s face. “Not a problem, sir. I believe you’ll find your ticket in your shirt pocket.”
Amos reached into his pocket and stared in amazement. In his hand was a scrap of paper. He handed it to the conductor.
“Oh my!” The conductor exclaimed. “Your booked on the VIP car. It’s the last one in line. I should have realized when I saw you had no baggage. Right this way, sir.”
Amos followed the conductor to the end of the train and boarded the rail car. As he entered he hesitated and turned to the conductor. “There must be some mistake. I never ride trains. Where is it I’m supposed to be going?”
There was a long silence as the conductor gave him a sympathetic smile. “I understand your trepidation. It’s the same for everyone. Going to your next destination can be unnerving at first, but you’ll soon discover peace and tranquility await you. After the appropriate preparations are made you’ll be moving on to your next life.”
“Next life?” Amos was galvanized with fear. “Then I’m dead. Is that what you’re saying?”
“Quite the contrary, sir. No one on the Hitchcock Railway dies.”
