The Sunset Kid

The Kid didn't feel like doing much. It was a lazy Thursday evening: the sun was still shining, dogs were still barking. He'd only got up around noon and was nursing a cold one, surveying the world from his deck disinterestedly, with some Billie Holiday playing in the background. Feeling pretty relaxed overall.

His view was interrupted by the sight of his neighbour and sort of friend, Jesus (not that one, this one was Spanish, swarthy, thick set and bearded), ambling over to the fence and calling up to The Kid.

“Hey man, what you doing?”

The Kid looked around him at the pretty much nothing.

“Not a lot bro. Welcome to join me in that if you like.” He said.

“Nah man, let's go out, hit the town.”

“Don't really feel like it.”

“Ah come on, come on.” Jesus said in his somewhat annyoyingly wheedling tone. “You ain't been getting out enough. We can get some drinks, do some karaoke, eh? Maybe meet some girls, yeah?.” It was usually about girls with Jesus but he always felt like a wingman was essential. He didn't usually have much joy but still considered The Kid to be his good luck charm for some reason.

The Kid thought about a minute, heaved a sigh and said “All right, give me a minute.”

He went inside, fumbled in his closet and pulled out his cleanest dirty shirt. Washed his face and combed his hair, slapped on his cowboy hat, stumbled down the stairs to meet the day. And Jesus, grinning broadly.

“Hey Kid,” he said, clapping him on the shoulder and leading him to the waiting cab. “We'll have us a good night eh?”

“Sure, let's just not make it a late one.” A little churlishly as they got in and sped downtown.

They were dropped off outside a favourite eating house: joint with an Italian name, run by Indians, serving Mexican food. All very postmodern yes, but they did do a very tasty pork belly, of which The Kid and Jesus both partook.

After which, nursing a cerveza and a full belly, they sat comfortably in silence, Portuguese fado music drifting through the house speakers.

The clock struck eight, and they in turn struck an accord to stroll down to the House of Bamboo for its regular karaoke night. So they ambled; it was just down the road, so they smoked leisurely in the setting sun.

They arrived at the bar, pretty sparsely populated for the night but a few regulars. The Kid signed up for a song and grabbed a beer while waiting his turn. Jesus sureveyed the crowd over a tequila. Usual suspects, far as they could see.

The jovial MC called his name, and The Kid, being a Neil Diamond fan of old, got up and knocked out a rendition of “Solitary Man”, to scattered but enthusiastic applause. He jumped off stage, passing the mic to Jesus, who being a Tom Jones lover, went up and belted out a fairly off-key and off-colour version of “What's New Pussycat”. The Kid wandered outside for a smoke.He chatted briefly to a few regulars, then flicked his butt and went back in.

He was confronted by a rather beautiful woman on stage,with silky blonde-brunette hair, doing a rather silky version of Bobby Gentry's “Ode to Billy Joe”. Her voice was as flawless, and fitted to the tune, as the fawn coloured, tight fitting dress she wore. The Kid was suitably captivated, shall we say.

He didn't have long to applaud though, as his next number was up. As he wandered up to the stage, the woman handed him the mic with something of a smirk. Feeling somewhat energized, he launched into “I Put a Spell on You”. He'd been meaning to do a cool version but instead he went full Screamin' J Hawkins on it, whooping and gibbering and stalking the stage like a hungry wolf. His eyes were on the silky woman, who was at the bar watching him.

He emerged from his trance to resounding applause, and stalked down to the bar, where the woman, brunette with a blonde streak, and big brown laughing eyes, received two shot glasses from the bartender and passed one to him.

“Pretty spirited.” She said, smiling.

He downed his shot with an appreciative nod and set it down. “Thanks. I guess the spitit moved me.”

Her smiled broadened. She ordered two more shots which duly arrived, then looked at him and narrowed her eyes.

“I've seen you somewhere.”

The Kid sipped his shot glass, pacing himself now, and set it down. “Yeah, I've been there.”

“Where?”

“Somewhere.”

She laughed a little, a light sprinkle of sunshine on running water.

Right then, Jesus showed up clapping The Kid on the shoulder in a brotherly fashion, clearly a bit wasted already.

“Hey, so you know The Kid eh? He's a great guy, good friend of mine.”

“The Kid huh? No, we've just met.”

“Ah he's a great guy, great guy. Good friend of mine.” He leaned on The Kid's shoulder,

“Hey, can I borrow you for a minute bro?”

The Kid knew what was coming. He looked sideling at the woman, sort of winked.

“Shouldn't be long.” He said.

He accompanied Jesus to a nearby table where three women were enjoying a drink and chatting, and approached them in jovial fashion.

“Hola ladies, I am Jesus, and this is my friend The Kid. We trust you are well tonight!”

The Kid winced inwardly, and the ladies did not look outwardly impressed. Jesus continued with some small talk. The Kid did his best to talk him up but his heart wasn't in it, and he sort of knew his friend didn't stand a chance: point of fact, they looked like they'd be more interested in him. He made his excuses and made off for the gents.

On his return to the bar, he was happy to see his new friend sitting there with an amused look.

“Looked like they were more interested in you than your friend.” She said, passsing him a shot with a broad smile.

“My curse.”

“Curse of The Kid, huh?”

He took a sip. “Well my mother calls me Billy.”

“Ooohh, Billy The Kid then.” That light laugh again.

“Well, yes and no.” He said, ordering up two more.

“My old crew, I was always the babyface. So I was just The Kid. You know how these names can stick.” He drained his glass in one go this time, and set it down.

“Now I'm the last man standing. So it goes.”

She took the news with due solemnity and extended a hand.

“I'm Sandy.”

He accepted her hand. “Billy or Kid, whichever you like.”

She smiled warrmly. “I think I prefer Billy.”

“Pleased to meet you. I can ride a horse by the way.”

They regarded each other in amiable silence for amoment.

“I have a feeling” said The Kid slowly, “that we should maybe swap numbers.”

Sandy agreed with little hesitation. He gave her his, and moments later received a text – Sandy here :).

The Kid duly saved her number, just as it was looking like closing time. Little time for further small talk. And as if on cue, Jesus lurched up, fairly deep in his cups after having no luck with the ladies. Still in good spirits though, he clasped both of them by the shoulders.

“Hey lovebirds,” he said with a (he thought) knowing grin. “Where we go to now, eh?”

“Well I'm headed home.” Sandy answered.

“Same.” Said The Kid, to them both. “Cabbing it?”

“Yep. Headed East. You?”

“West.” Said The Kid.

“Of course.”

“Shall we wander down to the taxi stand?” He suggested, not wanting to say goodnight just yet..

“Let's.”

So the three of them picked up sticks and hit the late night pavement, with much laughter and merriment. Jesus had his arm on The Kid's shoulder in a kind of yay, you scored bro manner, but with enough presence of mind not to say it out loud. Sandy trailed a couple paces behind, amused at her new friends' camaraderie.

They rounded a corner to come face to face with a group of young men.

They made to move as if to let them pass, but apparently that wasn't happening. Lead guy, a grizzled looking young man who looked like he'd had a rough childhood and adolescence, leered at them.

“What you faggots looking at?” He asked, there being no right answer to that of course.

Jesus had detached himself from The Kid. “Don't take no shit bro.” He mumbled drunkenly, standing to one side.

Lead guy turned his attention to The Kid. “You giving me shit bro?”

Now The Kid had been in this scenario before, and knew there was no easy way out. He was acutely aware, with a quick glance behind, that Sandy, while backing up (phone in hand), wasn't far behind still. So there was no running, and probably no talking his way out. He knew his reflexes weren't going to be up for a fight, but he squared up and tried anyway.

“Look man, we-”

The first punch to the face sent him reeling, but didn't knock him down. The next two or three did the trick though, and laid him out with an audible crack as the back of his head connected with the sidewalk.

The next minute or so was a sort of blurry montage. He was aware of Jesus tackling their assailant with a roar, Sandy screaming as she madly called emergency, the thugs running as sirens wailed and lights flashed. Then the lights went out.

The Kid awoke in a hospital bed, gradually becoming vaguely aware that was what it was. Sun shone through the window. A face appoeared above him. It was Jesus.

“Hey amigo.” Blurry, but big smile, one black right eye and a cut above the left one. “You're with us.”

“...You okay?” The Kid asked.

“Ah, don't worry about me.” Said Jesus. “Hey, they collared that asshole. He'll be in court next week.”

The Kid didn't reallly register that information, but smiled sweetly up at him.

“Sandy...”

“She's fine. I'll let her know you're awake, she'll come see you.”

Things started getting blurry again. The Kid saw Jesus above him, which merged into the classic depiction of Jesus, was then replaced by the image of Sandy, smiling and laughing at his lame jokes. He lapsed back into sweet unconsciousness. Jesus went and spoke to the doctors, then left the building.

The sun set at 8:37 that evening. At 8:35, The Kid rode off into it.