Chapter 4

Hairy

“You fellas want to tell me where and when I am?”

<Montana... 1976 is close enough.>

“I was in Texas in 1976.”

<Well, you’re not now.>

“What am I going to do for money?”

<Fish around in that breast pocket.>

Hmm. “Lottery ticket.” I had to give that a good long think. “This ticket belongs to the guy who owns this shirt.”

<Yer an idjit.>

“Maybe so. But I’m an honest idiot.”

<Well ... honest or not, that ticket expires tomorrow. If he hasn’t noticed it by now ... he’s never gonna. What’s more ... it’s not signed. The law said, the ticket belongs to the original signer.>

A ballpoint materialized in front of my nose. Of its own accord my hand rose up took the pen and signed the damn thing ... and I couldn’t stop it.

<Now ... take it to a store that sells tickets.>

“But...”

<No buts ... go.>

So I took it to the local supermarket ... yeah ... they sell Monster Million tickets.

“Congratulations. Four balls.”

“I won?”

“Yeah ... Five hundred dollars. Hold on ... I’ll get your money.”

“I don’t have to go to Helena?”

“Payouts less than $600 can collect from any store that sells Monster Millions tickets.”

“I didn’t know that.”

The clerk counted out $500 into my hand. “One hundred, two hundred, three hundred, four hundred, five hundred. There ya go ... Five hundred dollars.”

“Can I get change?”

<Buy a ticket. 17-23-45-67–75-15 ... it’s for the third drawing.>

“Sure. 20,40,60,80, 90, 95, and five ones.”

We traded.

“Where’s your betting slips?”

“Gonna try again?”

“Voices in my head.”

She laughed and handed me a selection ticket.

I looked at the ceiling, “Now, what were those numbers again?”

<17-23-45-67–75-15 third drawing>

So ... I picked those ... gave the clerk two dollars and handed in the ticket.

When I handed her the slip, I looked at the ceiling again and said, “You’re sure?”

The clerk chuckled and ran the slip through. The ticket printed. She looked at the ceiling, “You’re sure?” and laughed. She handed me the ticket.

“You made my day,” she said.

I laughed. Out the door.

<Go to Jim’s Buy Here Pay Here.>

“Where’s that?”

<Just walk. We’ll tell you where to turn.>

Jim’s Buy Here Pay Here had a front line full of Flood cars and a back lot full of disrepute. I walked ... still under direction ... to the 1975 Mazda Cosmo. A salesman followed along.

“You don’t want one of these.”

The RX-5 had only two things going for it ... all the lights were in one piece and the crack in the windshield wasn’t in the plane of view. It was red ... okay ... three things.

Montana doesn’t salt the roads in winter ... they sand. Okay ... four things.

“Give you fifty bucks for that car.”

“It doesn’t run.”

“Fifty bucks.”

“But...”

“Forty-five.”

“What?”

“Forty. Keep arguing with me and you’ll be paying me to take it.”

“Let me talk to the boss.”

Pretty soon, a guy the size of a house stomped size 16 holes in the asphalt sales lot.

“You don’t want that car.”