Monk made good on his word and Jake made good on his. Bones took him to the bus station, where he retrieved his bags and a briefcase full of cash, and returned him to his two-story safe house at 927 Prieur Street, where Monk and his people had cleaned and furnished the upstairs, leaving the street floor barren.

Money was counted and exchanged and Monk introduced six men (Bones was the seventh) and two women who could be counted on to carry out Jake’s plan – as long as it did not entail killing Pale Louie – on that they would have no part.

They were street people, musicians, hustlers and gophers, who got along just fine with a little help from their friend, the Monk. Consequently, they had a sense of loyalty bordering on devotion. If Monk ordered them to kill Pale Louie they would try to talk him out of it but failing that, they would give it their best shot.

Monk had too much respect for the ways of the underground to give such an order, no matter what Louie was rumored to have done. There was not enough money in New Orleans to order that hit and Louie knew it.

Monk had intimate connections with the underground of which Louie was a central figure and used them to collect three invitations to the Burgandy House underground where Ruby Daulton was being hailed as the new voice of New Orleans.

Monk provided Jake appropriate attire, a dark jazz funeral-style suit, with a fake goatee to serve as disguise, a couple of escorts in bright red gowns and a Cadillac limousine with Bones as the driver. He was required to appear at the street level entry of Burgandy House precisely at nine o’clock – three minutes later, he would not be admitted. It was Pale Louie’s way of keeping a low profile. There would never be a crowd outside his doors.

After a short lull, the rain resumed its pounding, jackhammer beat and the wind swept through the streets like a lost highway on the high plains, alternating from a whistle to a scream, foreshadowing the storm to come.

She had a name now and she was pounding the Yucatan peninsula, triggering mudslides that buried whole villages of poor people who were accustomed to disasters. With nowhere else to go and no one to welcome or assist them, they would build again until the next disaster struck. As always, it would only be a flicker on the nightly television screens of wealthy nations. Maybe the Red Cross would send aid, maybe not. Maybe that assistance would reach the people, more than likely not.

They would survive.

The boys on the corner of Reynes and Prieur, drenched and huddled against the wall of a local market, sang with the rhythm of the pounding storm, the words arriving with the wind and the pouring rain.

Rain came down like a runaway train
Listen to the pouring rain lord
Listen to the pouring rain

Jake and his escorts climbed in their limousine at precisely 8:30 and the driver measured his route, pausing at safe locations inside the Quarters, timing their arrival for an appointment with destiny.

Plaquemine preacher said a prayer today
Listen to the pouring rain lord
Listen to the pouring rain…

Jake presented his invitations to the doorman and they were immediately directed through an expansive, chandeliered greeting room, furnished in seventeenth century New Orleans with magnificent paintings, sculpture and objects of affection. They followed up a winding wrought iron staircase to an equally lavish waiting room, where they were seated and served cocktails while the eyes of Louie Marchant examined them through the magic of modern surveillance technology.

Louie insisted on personally approving every visitor to the underground, especially now that he possessed the most prized jewel of New Orleans.

Having seen nothing but the fleeting shadow of Jake Jones, he had no reason to be alarmed. They were typical of the clientele that Monk sent his way.

The doors of an antique elevator opened and the attendant bowed as he welcomed them to the underground. As they entered a cavernous concert hall, its walls lined with blue velvet curtains, its furnishings striking a contrast in carved wood and red velvet against a gray marble floor with gold and red oriental carpets, they were politely asked if they had any weapons and escorted through an x ray machine.

They were shown to a table half back from the stage and off center. The attendant bowed and refused a hundred dollar tip as old an black sax player in a jazz quartet finished a set inspired by John Coltrane and Ornette Coleman.

The dim lighting was raised a notch as Jake ordered two bottles of Cabernet and a liter of Absinthe, the elixir of poets. The waiter accepted his gratuity with a smile.

Jake examined the surroundings, noting the exquisite balcony boxes high above the floor, each with a gentleman or two in evening attire and at least two pale skinned women of rare porcelain beauty, laughing politely and bathing their guests with gentle grace.

He noted where the velvet curtains parted, clearing a path for the ventilation system to pull smoke filled air out and pump clean air in.

The stage, where the musicians were busy loading their equipment, was large and deep with elaborate theatre lighting and multiple curtains.

The crowd, seated at tables and along two bars at either side of the hall, was mostly white while the stagehands and help, except for the attending porcelain women, was almost entirely black. The hall was nearly full and hushed with whispered anticipation.

Applause started and grew to an ovation as the master of ceremonies, a striking man familiar to everyone in the underground, a man who went by his title only, emerged from off stage and approached a standing mike.

Jake recognized him at a glance.

"Ladies and gentlemen," announced the Marquis. His initial focus tipped the location of Pale Louie in his balcony perch to Jake’s right, nearer the stage, where three of his favorite porcelain beauties leaned out for a better view.

"We have arrived at that point in the evening you have all anticipated. I present for your pleasure, the wondrous, the exquisite, the incomparably passionate jewel of New Orleans: Ms Ruby Daulton!"

The curtains parted, exposing Ruby in a full red velvet gown, leaning on a stool with her head bowed and her eyes closed. The crowd swooned and some began to cry before she even raised her head.

Ruby sang.

What has happened down here is the winds have changed
Clouds rolled in from the north and it started to rain
Rained real hard and it rained for a real long time
Six feet of water in the streets of Evangeline…

For the first time Jake understood what was about to happen. Ruby had drilled beneath the layers of revelry and good times and jazz and centuries of culture tuned to moss and stone and secret knowledge of spirits and voodoo magic. Ruby, in her altered state, had arrived at the core, at the very heart of New Orleans. She knew without knowing that something very big was coming and her name was Katrina.

Ruby sang.

Louisiana, Louisiana
They’re trying to wash us away
They’re trying to wash us away…

He understood as well that Ruby was not in immediate danger from her captor. She was drugged or stoned and her feet were not planted on the earth but Pale Louie would not harm her. She was his prize, his most precious possession, and he would risk his own life to protect her or to stop anyone who tried to take her from him.

The river rose all day
And the river rose all night
Some people got lost in the flood
Some people got away alright…

By the time Ruby finished the song even the waiters were choking back tears, struggling to maintain decorum. In New Orleans, decorum must be maintained but they knew. They all knew. The Randy Newman song was written about the hurricane of 1927 but it might have been written in 1912, 1913, 1935, 1947, 1965, 1969 or tomorrow. Everyone knew.

Ruby composed herself, allowing her audience to regain its composure as well. She looked out across the sea of dark, barely visible faces and fixed for only a moment on Jake. A sorrow was drawn on her expression beyond anything he had seen before. She was reaching through the looking glass, swimming through the liquid green vision of an ancient brew, and trying to recall the face and the place but able to remember only the feeling. She mouthed a song title to her piano man and he began to play.

Ruby sang.

It cost me a lot
But there’s one thing that I’ve got
It’s my man…

Cold or wet
Tired, you bet
All of this I’ll soon forget
With my man…

Jake pulled himself from a trance that threatened him with paralysis and politely asked a bartender to direct him to a restroom. He walked down a blue velvet corridor and came face to face with a familiar figure.

"We meet again," said the Marquis.

Jake was startled but not surprised. He felt no fear. Whatever fears he once harbored, they were buried and transformed by his devotion and determination to his cause. The Marquis opened a curtain, revealing a stone chiseled passage that opened to the underground and led to virtually everywhere in the Quarters, extending outward like tentacles to the outer parishes.

They stepped behind the curtains before the Marquis continued.

"If you think Louie did not notice where Ruby fixed her gaze, you are a bigger fool than I am for helping you."

From a basin of honeysuckle-scented water, they washed their hands and faces, sending a shockwave through their senses. The smell of sage permeated the air while White Wolf and Tall Woman, a smile of the heart imprinted on their faces and a childlike twinkle in their eyes, handed them mugs of fresh coffee to warm their hands and blankets to dull the chill until the heat of the fire took hold.

White Wolf drew the deerskin curtains on the eastern window to let the first light of day break through like a beacon to their souls.

They sat in silence, feeling no need to offer commentary on a shared experience. Ruby alone fought back the instinct to fill the silence with words, to test the validity of her perceptions by the confirmation of fellow travelers. Old habits die kicking and screaming.

Soon the cool of morning gave way to desert heat as they fed on a mixture of ground corn and oatmeal, sweetened with honey and blended with water into a paste. They finished their coffee, folded their blankets, and followed the old man out the door and far into the desert.

White Wolf stopped, as if the spirit commanded him, looked to the sky, reached into a leather pouch at his hip, and held it aloft. He howled as werewolf would do in the full of the moon, yapped as a coyote prancing, and danced in a small circle, chanting without words until he circled four times. He released the herbal medicine in the four directions, then above, below and to the heart.

He turned to Jake, offering the medicine of the pouch.

"I have sung my starting song," he said. "Now you must sing."

Jake took the leather pouch, held it to his lips and pressed it to his heart. He opened the pouch and extracted a pinch. As the old man had done, he howled, yapped and cawed until he came to the dance. Where the old one’s dance was heavy and pounding like the wolf, Jake’s was light and fleeting like a bird, then swift like a lizard. Where White Wolf’s song had wailed and moaned, Jake’s was sharp and crisp. When he finished, he released the medicine in the seven directions and stood beside his mentor.

Ruby stood in awe and wondered if she was the butt of an Indian joke. She was a white chick, a Vegas party girl, and though she wanted to believe in the honor that was being offered, it all seemed unreal.

They seemed to share her amusement with knowing smiles but continued staring in silence, the old man holding out his offering.

"Alright," she said. "I’ve done a million things stranger."

She stepped forward, took the medicine bag and performed the ritual as Jake had done. When she reached the dance stage, she felt a spirit enfold her. She was a dancer but this was different. It was the dance of the coyote and the flight of the crow, playful, joyous and filled with yearning. She completed the ritual with an offering in the seven directions and took her place next to White Wolf, who nodded his approval.

They followed him into the ocean of sand, waves slowly rolling beneath their feet, wind whispering harmonies, hearts beating as drums, an oppressive blanket of heat washing over them, sparing them, leaving them to their journey.

With the sun still high in the sky, they constructed a shelter from found wood and brush, laid a circle of stones, and made camp. They would light a fire at sunset. Until then, they would wait. They passed the time drinking tea and exploring their surroundings. They were perched on a cliff overlooking a vast expanse of desert, etched with gullies, crevices and towering rock monuments, the markings of an earth in constant motion.

Everything from the billowy white clouds above to the lonely coyote scurrying on the desert floor below, from the face of an ancestor carved in stone to the caw of an unseen crow, seemed familiar and inviting.

As the sun crashed on the western horizon, White Wolf sat before the circle of stones and began to chant in the tongue of the ancients. Jake and Ruby joined him, finding a language they could not have learned, a language that was stored in the sand and stones.

Each in turn rose to follow a path that belonged only to one. Jake moved to the south, toward a cluster of rock formations, eyes open but his vision blurred, dream walking. The spirits guided him to his place of power, an indentation atop a round boulder, and there he sat, entering the shadow land where light and darkness meet, blending the worldly with the ethereal. He became the lizard and the desert became the kingdom of his dream.

Ruby resisted the call until a soothing warmth entered her spirit. She rose and felt herself pulled to the edge of the cliff. She fought back but the sensation of comfort flowed over and within her until she yielded and followed down a thin finger of stone extending outward over the great expanse. She was the crow flying above her desert domain. Down below she saw a coyote gliding gracefully across the land. She was the coyote, stopping to gaze at the crow above.

She was gripped by the fear of being watched, pursued, hunted, and found herself transported to the streets of a city, where the sounds of jazz and celebration permeated the moving throng of smiling, yelling, staggering people. She looked up to see a face staring down at her from behind a mask.

It was the French Quarters in New Orleans.

She turned south to see a sky filled with rage. She closed her eyes and heard the earth rumble like a thousand pounding trains. She saw earthen levees tear and break, streets filled with angry waves of water, people swept away, trapped in attics and stranded on rooftops.

The old man called them back to the fire with the cry of a wolf. They embraced him in silence and sat gazing into the dancing flames, lost in the wonder of another world.

"Great Spirit," he said, "we thank you for the guidance, and the wisdom and the powers we have received this night. We thank you for the gift of sight.

"I am the wolf, the teacher, and the sleeping bear. This night I have howled at the moon and received its mystery. I have known the beauty of being alone with my thoughts. I have learned the oneness of all beings, none lesser nor greater than myself. For this and all the things I cannot give words, I thank you."

He gave an offering of earth in the four directions and bowed his head.

"I am the lizard," said Jake, "the dreamer and the dragonfly of illusions. Tonight I have lived in the shadows and witnessed wonders beyond words. I have seen through layers of illusion to the heart of all beings. For this vision I give thanks."

He gave an offering and bowed his head.

Ruby focused on the fire, her soul open and unafraid, her mind clear, until the spirit moved her to speak.

"I am the crow and the coyote. Tonight I have run in the shadows of moonlight, hunted and tasted flesh. I have known the fear of being hunted. I have seen the circle of life and followed the path of destiny. For this I am grateful beyond words."

She gave an offering, as Jake and White Wolf had done, and bowed her head. When she raised it again, the world had changed. A strange, visible glow surrounded everything in sight. The rocks, the sand and brush, everything moved and breathed in the rhythm of life.

Though sentient memories would fade in time, nothing would ever be the same. Ruby revered it and held to it as if her future, her soul, her place in the world depended on remembering every detail and breathing it in.

Jake and White Wolf were deep in meditation, sensing the same need for complete understanding and appreciation.

Ruby remembered New Orleans and wondered, with a sharp tinge of sorrow, how long it would be before destiny summoned.

When they returned to the trailer in the early morning, they were greeted by four armed warriors. White men with greasy hair had come to the reservation and were offering money for Ruby and Jake. The warriors were here to warn them and protect them.

They ate and talked about hard times on the reservation: no jobs, no recreation, homes without heat or air conditioning, schools with books from the sixties that spoke of the genocide as manifest destiny, disease, drugs and alcohol. It was a time of war and many of their young were signing up to fight in Iraq.

"They say it’s in our blood," said a woman with mourning eyes. "They say we can prove ourselves through war. I say they send us to fight against our own people, indigenous people. I say there is no honor in the white man’s wars."

"They come back changed," said a man who might have been Jake’s brother. "They come back cold and hard and turn to the bottle."

"Or they don’t come back at all," said another.

When night fell, Ruby told Jake it was time for her to go but she understood if he wanted to stay. Jake replied that he would go with her as long as the Great Spirit moved and she welcomed him.

In the morning, White Wolf led them outside to where Cinnamon was parked next to an old Ford pickup.

"I like this vehicle," he said, placing his hand on Ruby’s Dodge. "I was wondering if you’d like to trade."

It was a done deal though it pulled at Ruby’s heart. They needed a new vehicle to get past Guido’s thugs. They needed function, not form.

"Does the radio work?" she asked.

"Like a million bucks," said White Wolf.

"Deal," said Ruby.

They shook hands and embraced.

"Take care of my son," White Wolf whispered. "There is a place in his heart only you can heal."

It would be a long time before she understood his words. They made their goodbyes, started up the old Ford, and headed east into a new day.

FADE IN:

EXT. DESERT BACKROAD – ARIEL VIEW – DAY

An old gray pickup leaves a trail of dust.

CLOSE UP of Ruby in the passenger seat, a tear rolls down her cheek.

Neil Young’s IT’S A DREAM (Prairie Wind) plays in the foreground.

It’s a dream, it’s only a dream
and it’s fading now, fading away

It’s a dream, it’s only a dream,
just a memory without anywhere to stay.

They were rolling down Highway 160, as fast as the old Ford could take them, the desert flatlands giving way to soft hills and dales, the browns and reds of the earth to the greens and yellows of grass, trees, fields of wheat, corn and alfalfa, from the random richness of nature to the ordered marks of man.

The route would take them through Ulysses and Hickok, where they would head north through the Buffalo Game Reserve to Garden City, Kansas, home of Ruby’s grandmother and the land of childhood dreams.

Ruby had no childhood – not really. Her father left when she was a girl. Her mother was obsessed with the wrong kind of men, drugs and alcohol. Ruby survived to her teenage years when she was pronounced incorrigible and shipped off to her grandparents in Garden City. By the time she finished high school and set out on her, she lost contact with her mother, her father and everyone else with a family connection.

Since her grandfather died several years back, grandmother was the only family Ruby had and she felt a burning desire, after leaving Third Mesa, to take her in her arms, to hold her once more, to look into the mirror of time, to rekindle the dying flame of family.

"I’ve been meaning to ask you something," said Ruby.

"What’s that?"

"When I picked you up back in California, I could have sworn you were broke."

Jake laughed. "I won a bet in Vegas."

"That was you, the royal flush?"

Jake nodded.

"Why aren’t we on a plane to Aruba?"

"I only had a dollar," he explained.

"Figures," Ruby reflected. She studied him as if he was a player, to see if she could read him. "You like to gamble, Jake?"

"Like the white man says," he smiled, "Indians love to gamble…only I hate to lose."

Ruby’s mind was racing ahead. There was a riverboat casino that ran from St. Louis to New Orleans. She had seen pictures and dreamed of a cruise down the Mississippi with all the comforts, flash and excitement of Vegas.

"You’ve got to believe, baby," she said. "Believing is everything. I’ve seen a man knock down a bull, a crow fly like an eagle, and a little girl stare down a beast the size of a bear. The power of belief is everything."

Jake knew at a glance Ruby was on a roll and there was no stopping her.

"We head over to St. Louis, catch the Mississippi Queen, and head on down to New Orleans. We hit ‘em on the Queen, hit ‘em in New Orleans, head on over to Biloxi and him ‘em again. The sky’s the limit, baby, and we’re rolling nothing but sevens!"

"Whatever you say, baby," said Jake.

"No, Jake, I’m serious. You have to believe."

He gave her time to examine him like a mystified doctor until she grasped the depth of his sincerity.

"I believe in you, Ruby. I believe."

Jake and Ruby: nothing could stop them. They had the magic of destiny and the medicine of the crow. They were a force of nature, undeniable and pure. Like Bonnie and Clyde, Cisco and Poncho, Butch Cassidy and the Sundance Kid, they were bound for glory on the road of adventure and nothing could stand in their way.

"Got a wide open road and a wide open sky! Got the four winds blowing through my mind! Got moonbeams shining in my wide open eyes! Mercury’s in the house of wonder and my baby’s got a crow on his shoulder! What more can a woman ask?’

She edged over to Jake, put her arms around his shoulders, pressed her body against him and tickled his ear with her breath.

"What do you say we pull in to the next motel? Grandma can wait," she whispered.

Rounding a slow curve, Jake happily obliged, checking into cabin number nine at a Sleepy Time motel. Life was good.

They spent the sweet hours of night making love and the rest of the time playing poker over chips and beer. Ruby taught him all she knew: Tell signs, markers, who to play against and who to play with, when to play slow and when to go for the kill.

"Have you ever been in love?" she asked as he settled in the grip of her embrace.

"I’m in love with you," he replied.

"Have you ever been in love before?" she asked.

He had known love before but it burned in his heart. It was a love took root in his gut and haunted his soul. It was more than a year since her passing but not a day passed without a glance, a smile, a word, the sight of a yellow moon, or the turning of a page reminded him of her. In so many ways, Ruby reminded him. Love reminded him. Passion reminded him. The softness of her touch and the pull of her loins reminded him. Everything reminded him until he prayed to let go, to let her memory be washed away, to let her love be buried in the sea of yesterday.

"I’m in love with you now," he said and said no more.

They slept a few hours, awoke with clear minds, and covered the last stretch of asphalt to grandma’s house and the Land of Oz. Ruby was glowing. The radiance of her spirit made the bright Kansas sun pale and tepid. Destiny’s child, Alice in Wonderland, Dorothy and her ruby red slippers, the magic and wonder and beauty of believing.

On the road to Garden City, at the turnoff to grandma’s house, they were greeted by four crows on a telephone line, scattering in all directions as they passed. Jake looked at Ruby but saw that she was already gone, on a journey of memories. In her life in LA or Las Vegas, she never mentioned her family. She said she was an orphan, transferred from foster home to foster home from Chicago to Seattle. She never spoke of her childhood and no one ever pressed her.

The bond between Ruby and her grandmother was profound yet foreboding. Ruby was afraid. Afraid of what? Afraid of losing that last connection to the bloodline? Afraid of not belonging? Afraid of losing the innocence of unconditional love? Afraid of being captured by love and losing her free spirit?

She remembered dancing in sprinklers on hot summer days, playing with imaginary playmates, opening her eyes to see her grandmother’s loving smile through the kitchen window. She remembered rag dolls, the breakfast of champions, malto meal, hot chocolate, cowboy coffee, fudge brownies and oatmeal cookies. She remember falling asleep, dreaming of boyfriends and wild adventures, safe in her grandmother’s arms.

Ruby smiled in reflection and tears suddenly streamed from her eyes. Jake pulled over and held her until the trembling subsided.

"Something has happened," she said.

Jake already knew. He saw the shadow of death surround her like a thick, dark mist. Ruby did not believe in death. She believed it was only a passage, a doorway, a transformation of the life spirit. She believed that good people would be blessed in transformation and bad people would be cursed. She knew that her grandmother would be blessed but she yearned to see her one last time, if only to say thank you and goodbye.

When they pulled up to the old farmhouse, there were cars parked in the gravel driveway, children playing quietly in the shade of a willow, faces long with grief and through the window Ruby’s long lost mother, painted in sorrow.

They walked into the shadow of mourning and Ruby’s mother gasped, taking hold of her hands, whispering, "She’s been asking for you."

She walked to the bedroom door as the world turned gray and slowed to a crawl, as if it could hold back time and the hand of god. She swallowed the bitter pill of destiny and bit down hard on her lower lip as if pain could ease sorrow.

She saw death in her grandmother’s eyes. In that moment, she was gone and Ruby saw the light. A fluttering butterfly, a soaring bird of prey, rounded its way to heaven’s gate, the smiling, radiant face of love.

"Maemah," she whispered. "I love you."

Her hand reached out to grasp Ruby’s and then she was gone. Her mission complete, her last act of love a final goodbye to her favorite child.

It was beyond Ruby’s control and beyond her comprehension. She made peace with her mother, listened to stories of affection, and heard someone say, "There’s no place like home." It was the Land of Oz and the eternal dream of belonging but she did not belong and she knew she never would.

"Where’s Jake?" she asked suddenly.

"He went for a walk about an hour ago," someone said.

Ruby found him sitting in the bed of the pickup, back to the cab.

"What are you up to, Sailor?"

Jake was in a daze, swimming in a sea of chaos, particles of random energy, molecular disarray, spirals of starlight, mind over body, body over mind, the fire of all existence like a magnet to his soul.

"I was watching the stars and it occurred to me," he replied. "Maybe Einstein didn’t discover relativity. Maybe he invented it."

Ruby laughed until she cried and wiped away the tears.

"Thanks for that, Jake."

"You have a choice," he said. "You have a home."

Ruby looked at the house of her grandparents, a house that was once filled with love and kindness, and caught the glancing eye of her mother.

"You’re right about that, Jake," she replied, "but it isn’t here."

She took the wheel, Jake followed in the passenger’s side, and they drove off into the warm, silent Kansas night.

She turned the radio on and hit the dash with her fist.

EXT. HIGHWAY – DRIVER’S VIEW – NIGHT

Neil Young’s THE PAINTER comes to the fore as the headlights shine on the dotted line.

I have my friends eternally
We left our tracks in the sound
Some of them are with me now
Some of them can’t be found

It’s a long road behind me…

Aboard the Mississippi Queen, the war did not exist, the heat was not oppressive, a storm was not brewing in the Tropic of Capricorn, and the poor were only shadows that never reached the light.

Inside the Queen, Darfur and Abu Ghraib were only words, foreign and faraway, devoid of terror and loss.

Inside the Queen, no one was destitute, diseased or dying. No one was down on their luck or desperate. No one was betrayed. No one was buried in self-pity. No one cried out in pain. No one absorbed the suffering of the common masses. No one was lost or abandoned except Ruby Daulton.

Ruby was the Queen of the royal court and the Queen was swimming in darkness, descending a spiral staircase into the black waters of the Mississippi where neither man nor beast ever returned.

Ruby would not go gently into that goodnight. She would claw, scratch, tear, bite and fight with every particle of her soulful being. No one takes Ruby down without wearing the wounds of battle.

When Ruby was a child, she was a magnet for the taunts of hungry little boys and jealous little girls until she learned to fight back. What she lacked in technique she made up for in raw passion and she never looked back.

Jake Jones walked onto the Queen decked out in a gray-blue zoot suit tailored for someone of his approximate size and stature. He was a man among boys and he was itching for a fight. He could feel Ruby’s light through miles of liquid darkness. He could feel her breath on his neck, her breasts on his chest, her motor revving, her vacuum pulling him in, her song drowning, sinking like a stone in black water.

He strode seamlessly onto the casino floor and the machines began to sing. The anarchy of sound peeled away, revealing the nature and quality of each instrument. The journey had tuned his senses, unraveling the mystery of random chance.

He stepped up to a quarter slot machine to test his theory. Three riverboat queens rolled into perfect alignment: Jackpot.

He was acutely aware of fallibility. He was not the same man he was in Vegas. Back then he had nothing to lose. Now, he had everything to lose. Knowing how desire colors the senses, he struggled to hold back his yearning. A man does not mold the world to his will but behaves in a manner that allows the things he needs to come to him. Focusing too much on the result will lead you to the door but lose the key.

He noticed the glances of those around him and realized they had already marked him for lucky. It was too soon to be noticed. He would have to be shrewd. He thought of Ruby and played it cool. Lose a little; win a lot. Lose a little more; win again.

He felt the great river rushing beneath his feet. It gave him strength and bolstered his confidence.

A woman on a poker machine three rows down and to his left gathered her tokens and walked away just as the machine began to sing. He tipped the roaming waitress and made his way to the machine in question. Five quarters hit a full house. Five more pulled four sevens. Five more drew a straight flush. Five more pulled an Ace, King, Jack, Ten of Hearts and a Queen of Spades. He did not hesitate. He discarded the black Queen and drew a ruby red Queen of Hearts: Royal Flush.

Jake Jones had been noticed.

In the corner of his eye, he saw him. At the top of the stairs on the far end of the floor, in a dark blue suit with a slick white New Orleans jazz hat, the figure of an Indian stood smiling, glaring, challenging. The Coyote was on board.

Behind the door at the top of the stairs, in a room reserved for players, propped up by two large black escorts and surrounded by red velvet, Ruby took the stage. She felt herself losing hold of the world around her, losing touch with her own senses, losing grasp of a law governed reality, losing connection with the earth.

She remembered an old song, so long ago, so far removed from here and now, when nothing seemed to matter. Nothing was important. Ruby sang:

Hush now, don’t explain…

The world turned to liquid before her eyes, slowly drifting by, light and color blending and separating in an endless parade, pulsing and falling in harmony beyond her reach. Ruby sang:

Quiet, don’t explain…

She fell to the bottom of the sea and lived in a liquid slow motion reality, motionless and still, watching the procession of life around her. Ruby sang:

Cry to hear folks chatter
And I know you cheat
Right or wrong, don’t matter
When you’re with me, sweet…

She felt no pain, no sorrow, no worries. She had no fear. Like a snail with its feelers extending outward from her shell, she was helpless and completely vulnerable. Ruby sang:

Hush now, don’t explain
You’re my joy and pain
My life’s yours love
Don’t explain

When Ruby sang, every angel in heaven and on earth wept a river of tears and the black waters of the Mississippi rolled on.

She was no longer Ruby Daulton, Queen of Hearts; she was a kept thing like a poodle and she did not care. Her masters would care for her, tell her what a pretty thing she was, stroke her, kiss and caress her. She belonged to them and she did not care.

Jake heard her voice from behind the doors at the top of the stairs and his heart stopped. He collected his bearings and his winnings before approaching the men guarding the doors.

"How much to play?" he asked.

"We’re pleased you inquired," said a man. "It requires an account of twenty thousand."

He produced his winnings in a tidy stack of black and gold chips. The man smiled, took his name and two gold chips for deposit.

Out of the darkness, out of the swirling lights and sound, out of the symphony of rumbling, roaring electrons, out of the depths of a bottomless pit where sirens sing and spirits dance on flames of desire, two words sprang forth like a beacon from a lighthouse on a jagged shore.

"Mr. Jake Jones," announced the doorman.

A man in dark, shoulder length hair, impeccably dressed in the latest Parisian suit, looked up, his olive face registering surprise, and said, "Show him in."

The Coyote stood glaring from the shadows across the room and Ruby, now seated in a velvet corner, was far gone from the world of light. Her eyes rolled back and she swooned before collapsing on a lush pillowed sofa, the hint of smile on her pale white face.

"Allow me to introduce myself," said the man in the Parisian suit. "I am the Marquis and I assure you, she is in no danger."

Jake betrayed no fear.

"You like to play games of chance?" asked the Marquis.

"There’s no such thing as chance," Jake replied.

The Marquis smiled and introduced the players. They were not the Vegas crowd, the hard-edged hustlers that taught Ruby to play. By all appearances (and in this case appearances were not deceptive), they were southern gentry. They could afford to lose and the one vice they shared above all others was pride.

The game was Texas hold-em and the limit was the house but, by gentleman’s agreement, they would allow Jake to either stake his position or yield his seat before they went for the kill. Nothing was said. No agreement was struck. It was understood.

The cards were from the Vegas Mirage, informing Jake that Guido Lazerri was connected here. The Marquis, who alone pushed the conversation forward, took note.

"You find our choice of playing cards of interest?" he asked.

Jake remained silent, preferring to focus on the players as drinks of choice were served. He chose a glass of ice tea. He could not help but wonder if the game was rigged but dismissed the notion. The Marquis was as honorable as a man in his position could afford to be.

"We share acquaintances in the Mirage," said the Marquis. "We have common interests," he added with a glance at Ruby who was now sinking in liquid darkness.

"An Italian gentleman," he went on as the first hand was dealt. "Though the term should be reserved for the gentile," he smiled. "Indeed, it was not long ago that he sat where you sit now. In fact, it seems like only yesterday."

The Marquis threw in on the third round of betting. Jake bumped on a pair and the others folded. Within a half dozen hands, he built a nice stack and the game was on. He was established as a player who knew the odds and could not be pushed around.

"The Italian had a particular attraction to the ladies," said the Marquis between hands. "It was an obvious flaw in his game. I warned him it would be his downfall but he did not understand my language."

The dealer dealt two down and bets were placed. Two threw in, leaving three along with Jake on the small blind and the Marquis. The turn laid out a queen of hearts, jack of spades and an ace of diamonds. Everyone stayed in until the Marquis doubled the pot.

Jake placed his hand on his down cards without looking. His eyes peered into the Marquis’ eyes, eyes that held the cold darkness of a Mississippi grave. What he saw there, in that impenetrable depth, in that layered mystery of fog and mist, had no words but it betrayed a particle of doubt.

Every poker game comes down to two players. The game is a process of discovering who those players are. Once the discovery is made it becomes a question of which will prevail. Only one can win; the other will lose. Everyone else is just holding a seat.

At this table, on this evening, as the Queen rolled down the great river, as Ruby swam in the murky depths, it came down to Jake and the Marquis. Jake was the challenger. His greatest asset was that he was unknown and unknowable to those who graced the player’s table on the Mississippi Queen. The more they watched, the less they saw. They more confident they grew, the less they understood.

Only the Marquis knew what drove him though he did not fully appreciate how far he would go to achieve his objective, to free his beloved Ruby. In time, he would understand. Jake was the kind of man he rarely encountered and invariably underestimated.

Jake called and the others politely folded. The Marquis glanced at his cards, at Jake’s remaining chips and signaled the dealer to play on.

Fourth Street was a jack of hearts. The Marquis asked for a chip count and forced Jake all in with a raise.

Fifth Street was a ten of hearts. The Marquis deferred to Jake and Jake asked for house rules on betting beyond one’s holdings.

"What would you like to bet?" asked the Marquis.

"All that I have, my life and my name, for Ruby."

The Marquis smiled. Until this moment, he had Jake pegged as a loser: the noble hero who rushes headlong into a hopeless situation, the character who always prevails in fairy tales and Hollywood movies but stands no chance against the hardcore realities of life.

Now he saw another side of Jake Jones: a gambler who made careful calculations and took his best shot. Now he understood that if he were in Jake’s shoes he might well make the same calculations and arrive at the same conclusion: This was the shot.

Narrowed down to a simple fact: He admired Jake and somewhere in the long forgotten chambers of his mind, he wanted Jake to win. By that acknowledgment alone, Jake had already won.

"Gentlemen," said the Marquis, "we are pleased to witness a rare phenomenon. Here is a man who understands we are not engaged in a game of chance. We are summoning forces beyond light, beyond darkness, beyond life and death.

"Unfortunately, Mr. Jones, I am not in a position to accept your wager. The lady is not mine to gamble. However, you may wager any monetary amount you choose. Your honor is beyond question and your credit is good."

Jake declined the offer and let the bet stand. He had no real concept of how much money was represented except that it was large.

The Marquis turned over an ace and a queen of spades. Jake revealed his destiny with Ruby Daulton: an ace and a queen of hearts for a royal flush.

"Congratulations," said the Marquis. "Will you be playing on?"

Jake shook his head and rose, not knowing where he would go or what he would do next. He heard the word "burgundy" and saw an image of Ruby swimming in darkness, eyes fluttering from side to side, as if observing a carousel, yet she remained absolutely still, her mind severed from her body, limp yet warm like jelly in a plastic bag.

He awakened in a Memphis hotel alone.

On the passenger side of the old truck, Jake was tossing, turning, moaning and groaning too much to ignore. Ruby pulled over and awakened him just outside of St. Louis.

"What is it, baby?"

A dance with the devil in the deep dark sea, something was holding him down, his arms tied behind him as he clawed and crawled toward the light of Ruby’s voice.

"Talk to me, baby."

There is an element of the human species that would sacrifice humanity and the sanctity of life for the mere joy of observing the effect. There is a part of us all that has an endless thirst, a hunger, a dark gripping need that can never be satisfied or satiated. It cowers in shadows and avoids reflections not for fear of what it does not reflect but fear of what it does.

Jake was subsumed by the black waters of the Mississippi and only Ruby could drag him out of it. She kissed his rolling eyes and lips, wiped the sweat from his brow and pulled at his loins to awaken him. His eyes flickered open and Ruby pulled him in, holding him to her beating heart.

"What’s wrong, baby?"

He could only shake his head, clearing his mind and adjusting to light. He had the sensation of drowning but it was not he, it was Ruby sinking into the black.

"Something dark," he said, knowing Ruby would never turn back.

Destiny was in charge and the Mississippi was destiny’s chosen path. The nightmare was a warning meant for him; it told him to be alert and vigilant. There was a darkness hovering over Ruby’s life and her soul was in peril.

They pulled into a Holiday Inn, booked room 909, and paid cash for the night. They would not rush to meet fate’s embrace. They would take their time and greet whatever waited with open eyes, defiant and steady.

They opened the curtains and gazed at the city skyline, clustered towers and the St. Louis arch. They drank to the glory of life on earth and made love in moonlight on the motel floor, bathing in each other’s desires, sharing sensual dreams and lusting fantasies.

When two bodies destined to ignite, come together in the moonlight, angels dance in heaven and sirens serenade. No words could reach the divine essence, the eternal flame and insoluble mystery of love and lust at a crossroads. Their senses tuned to a collective heartbeat, they drank the warmth and texture of the flesh, taste, tongue and soul.

They feasted until the strength of their bodies succumbed to a driving need for release and rebirth: Sleep pulled at them like a stone in black water.

They awoke to the clear blue skies of a bright summer day in the city of the arch and turned their backs on the world surrounding them. The Mississippi Queen would dock at sunset but the day belonged to them.

Together they explored second hand shops, cafes and bookstores in old St. Louis, buying costumes for the Queen. By late afternoon, they settled in a workingman’s bar with pool tables, a line of video poker machines, and a long bar with backless stools.

Jake had the discomforting feeling that someone was following. He could feel their eyes hiding in shadows, masked in crowds, cautious yet piercing. He was on alert until the second Jack Daniels settled in his gut and his vision adjusted to the dim light of a workingman’s bar.

About a dozen men, playing pool, drinking beer and sharing sorrows, slumping in barstools and leaning on round wooden tables, took turns looking Ruby over, pawing her with their minds, wondering if they could be so lucky.

Only a matter of time, thought Jake.

A cowboy with a clean-cut look, worn out white plastic hat and polished boots, approached the table, pool cue in hand.

"M’am," he said, "would you like to play?"

Ruby liked to play and didn’t need to be asked twice.

"Rack ‘em up, cowboy," she replied. "I’ll break."

Crack! The sound of billiard balls in chaotic collision rang in the caverns of Jake’s brain. Ruby damn near ran the table and finished the route on her second try.

"This time, I break," said the cowboy.

He sunk two on the break and went on a run of his own. The game was on and the two of them got down to some serious pool.

A man at the bar with the markings of a Mescalero Apache – bola, turquoise and moccasins – caught Jake’s eye with a few pointed glances before wandering over to introduce himself.

"Don’t I know you?" he inquired.

Gazing through whiskey vision, Jake failed to find a glimmer of recognition and wondered what was up. This was not a town where you ran into someone from the reservations.

"Nice move!" the man smiled.

Jake laughed, remembering the three Indians who witnessed his defense of Ruby’s honor in an Arizona motorcycle bar. It seemed a million miles and a hundred years away. What were the odds?

"What brings you to St. Louis?" asked Jake.

"A job," said the man, offering his palm for a firm handshake and taking a seat across from Jake. "The name’s Wiley," he said.

"Like the coyote?"

The man nodded.

What were the odds?

A crowd gathered at the pool table where Ruby was prepared to make a behind the back bank shot. A collective cheer was followed by a groan as first the eight ball dropped and then the cue ball slid into a corner pocket.

"Shit," said Ruby to a round of laughter. Money changed hands as Ruby returned to their table, followed by the victorious cowboy.

"This is Cowboy Bob," said Ruby. "He’s alright."

"This is Wiley," introduced Jake. "From Arizona."

"No shit," said Ruby. "Small world."

Ruby gave Jake a kiss, whispering that they were going out back for a smoke. Jake nodded and the two of them slid out the back.

"Pretty woman," said Wiley.

What were the odds?

Wiley ordered a pitcher of beer and rambled on about life on the Rez, the Apache tradition and the suffering of the people under two centuries of white man rule. He offered tributes to Red Sleeves, Cochise, Geronimo, Marcos and Gomez and lamented the absence of contemporary native leaders.

Jake nodded in agreement with Wiley’s sentiments though he held out hope for many contemporary leaders, like Russell Means, Leonard Crow Dog, Leonard Peltier behind bars in a Kansas penitentiary and White Wolf. There were many great tribal leaders but few with a platform to air their grievances.

"There’s one thing I need to ask you," said Wiley, his eyes narrowing to reveal a glimpse of his duplicity. "How is it you follow a white woman?"

Jake sprang to his feet and ran to the rear exit where the light of day nearly blinded him. He waited for his vision to clear before he found what he already knew: Ruby and the cowboy were nowhere in sight. He walked back into the bar where the coyote was no longer.

It was not the first time he had felt the sting of native betrayal. He left home when a man he called a friend seduced his woman with a promise of adventure. The ghost of Marie’s madness would never stop haunting him. The sight of her still, lifeless body on the side of the road, twenty paces from his and the burning remains of an old Apache motorcycle, was burned into his mind. It clung to him like Louisiana sweat. He wanted to kill or die but he ran instead.

The bartender wore a quizzical look but said nothing. Jake ordered a whiskey and promptly hurled it against the wall where it shattered and bled. No one moved. No one said a word.

"I’ll never drink again," he said to no one but himself.

He did the only thing he could think to do. He went back to the motel and fell into a deep, deep sleep.

There was something about the cowboy’s drawl – not Texan, not western but sticky and slow like Louisiana molasses. No wonder Ruby was drawn to him. He was pulling her to her destiny in New Orleans.

Ruby was no longer a Vegas babe or a woman on the run. She was a prize, a jewel, a treasure to be claimed and bartered. The New Orleans mob was in on the hunt.

It was a classic Apache double cross. Like the scouts that tracked down Geronimo, the coyote was hired by the Vegas mob to track down an Indian brother but somewhere along the path, he found Cowboy Bob and a better deal.

Jake felt it in his bones and saw it in his dream vision: Mississippi black. Ruby was where she intended to be: On the Mississippi Queen bound for the Easy. She was there but she was no longer in her skin. She was possessed and she was losing hold of everything that made her Ruby Daulton: her freedom, her untamed spirit, her singular soul.

Jake fell like a stone in black water, deeper and deeper asleep.

You’re lost, little girl…