When the evening shadows and the stars appear (Bo)

Standing near the back Bo watched his old friend spin his yarn. There were some eye rolls, he took one smoke break, and chuckled at parts that were only funny to him. He’d picked that accent up at the local Goodwill, and he shoulda done left it there. Politics was far from his favorite subject, and all this BS would keep the field behind them full of crops for years to come.

There were people who moved easily through crowds, of people who could still find a way to go silent. That was not Bo, and he embraced it. Clearing the crowd standing a good head over most people he established himself in the back, and waited. He’d received an invitation to visit his friend at one of these affairs, and without letting him know he’d decided to take him up on it. He’d been in the states anyway selling the rest of his land, and wrapping up all the loose ends he had. Reaching into his back pocket he pulled out a can and placed a pinch in his lip. Feeling and tasting the tabacca.

Outside the building he leaned against the building in the door He would surely leave from, intermittently spitting the juice in the ground. Almost in que as he spat, a lady walked out, recognizing her from one on the stage he would speak startling her. “Ma’am, is he gonna take all damn day?” He doubted she’d seen him from where he stood when she vacated the doorway

“That’s truer than the shit you handed out up there.” Bo would say unhitching himself from leaning on the building, “but I don’t blame you fer being less purtty than me.” He’d reach out and grab Jackson’s hand gruff and rough just for the fun of it.

“Gals you got your work cut out for you.” He would say tipping his hat to each of the women in turn. “Just thought I’d see who was leading this fine country, least on this side of it all. Some things never change though I guess, Cept that awful accent.” Bo would laugh and clap Jackson on his back rather roughly. “Sides that, sure yer heads my folks ain’t with us no more. Finishin that there estate sale and pickin up rest of my inheritance.”

He would wait and see what Jackson had to say. He was unsure on wether His old friend had heard or not. The funeral had been as low as a snakes belly the way they’d have wanted if. “Why don’t you stop being a stiff fer a minute and I’ll show you what I got”. He’d say with a wink and a gesture with his thumb at an old beat up truck sitting in the lot. It potentially had more rust in it than the nails in the fence posts. Dings littered the frame, and a spiderweb crack splintered out from the bottom passenger front window. “Can get a couple brews at this hole up the road. Ladies are more than welcome, I reckon they could use real southern hospitality, an not the lemon yer sellin.”

Bo's gruff movements were more than welcomed, and equally returned as Jackson bear hugged the man hard. It had been a while since he'd seen his old friend, and now it felt like it had been longer than even that.

At the news of the cowboy's parents passing though, the grin wiped itself off Jackson's face. "Real sorry to hear that," he responded sincerely. "Hank and Betty were good solid folk, I still remember her pies, I don't suppose she left you the recipe?' Turning to his staff, he explained "Bo's mother was a breath of fresh air after living off of Merida's pop tarts for months. I didn't see her and Hank as much as I wanted to but she always sent some little bit along with Bo to make sure we didn't starve."

When the southerner offered to go out for rinks, Jackson's face split into a grin once more. Everyone knew the politician didn't go near alcohol, and the code still worked. "Sorry, can't expose the ladies to you for too long, workplace ethics and all. Mac, could you please give Victoria a ride home on your way back? And then have my car dropped at my place? You can ask George, he'll help. I'll take Mr. Miller here up on his offer."

Once they'd made sure all the girls were safely on their way, Jackson turned to the friendly giant beside him. "So, ammo's in the trunk is my guess? Got anything good you hairy bastard?" Despite the gruff tone, it was plain to see the politician was happy to see this particular visitor.

Waving as the ladies left, just after tipping his hot he’d turn back to Jackson. “Fuckin course it is, why else I’d hike my fat ass all the way up here.” Bo would say drawing a cigar from his pocket and Lightning it. He would offer Jackson one as well. “Cubans, real damn good, got a guy who gets me um. I know it prob ain’t good fer American statesman to partake.....but what the hell I fight fer if I can’t.” He’d say laughing and pounding a fist into his chest. Jackson would know it to be a place of a large scar, he’d received during his tours of duty.

Regardless of Jackson taking the cigar, he’d lead him over to his beat up truck. Pulling the handle and dropping the tail, he’d push up on the bed cover. Inside was a small arsenal that they could take on a militia with. “I done sold most of the stuff. Kept some pictures, but I ain’t got no use fer that China and wood chairs. Shit had termites anyhow. This though, couldn’t let all this go.” He would say allowing his friend to reach in and take his pic. “I got a place fer us to venture. Just up to ya whatcher poison is.” He would allow him several moments to look through. In the back there was little chance of anyone to stumble upon them.

“Damn nearly fergot.” He’d say reaching to his hip and placing a large revolver on the bed. “Older than dirt, dragoon revolver. Paps pride and joy.” The older handgun would sit and had clearly been polished up.

In addition to the arsenal of a dozen or so guns of different types, there was three fishing poles, a hatchet, several photo albums, a dog bowl, half a bag of dog food, duck calls, and floating in a protective charm was half a dozen precious moment figurines that had been Bo’s moms once displayed in a rickety China cabinet. Just as Jackson would finish looking a deep bark could be heard as a dark mass jumped from an open window in the back of the truck. The mass would launch into the wizard, as Bo yelled “Hank god damnt calm down.” The blue tick coon hound would immediately attack Jackson’s face with the most savage of tongue lashings.

“Now ya realize why they didn’t have no money. An obsession ain’t to good for the wallet.” Bo would say taking the gun from Jackson and replacing it on the bed. “Some of um are mine. Ain’t to proud to say I duplicated a few items when I was gettin the discharge. Seemed a waste not to take a souvenir for years a service.” He’d laugh at his own joke.

“We can try our hand at huntin. I ain’t got the normal supplies, but we can do it wizard style I reckon.” He’d throw up the tailbed and give a high pitch whistle and point. To which Hank ignored. Throwing a treat through a window the dog would rush to track it down. “Damn dog...”. He’d mutter under his breath as he got in. Having to duck he’d sit down heavily on the old seats and slam the door shut, the o my way to make the latch engage. The seats where heavy worn. And the inner cab was Smokey at best. Cranking the engine the truck would reluctantly start, and Bo would throw it into gear with the rust shifter.

“An by the by, ain’t no bear maulin me. I could take a bite outta him.” As he said that he’d play with the radio until he found a blue grass station near the begging of the dial. He’d mention the rest of the dealings and the contractors that had bought up the land to turn it into a warehouse or something of that sort according to him. They’d paid handsomely though. “Shit....to much paper. And the politics are more drainin than a sewer grate.” He would say scoffing and dusting the cigar out the window before replacing it and taking another deep puff. “Some gal thinks she’s harvest queen jus cause her beau is president or minister whatever they call it o’er there.” The thought of Gosh darn caused him to roll his eyes far away from her sight.

“Still get to beat up some baddies at times. Work in some drug enforcement and illicit mage goods. Fair fun but it ain’t the same.” He would say side eyeing Jackson. Fully stocked with his memories since his return he wondered how much he could say to his friend. He wanted to talk about why he’d actually left the state, but his orders were strict. Mulling it over in his mind he’d ask “so how’s your polliticin goin? Still why you want to do, surely ya could find somethin useful to do.” He’d jeer.

The road ahead got tougher and rough as they left the small town. He’d used an ancient gps to help find a place, and they’d be there soon as he drove quickly down the road, the truck creaking with every bump.

"Wizard's style's fine," Jackson agreed as they climbed into the truck that had certainly seen better days. The man wondered if the vessel transporting them now was held together only by rust or magic, probably a bit of both knowing Bo. "So long as we get something for Victoria to cook," he added almost absentmindedly. Of course in the event they did kill anything, there really was no other option in his mind.

It was only when they were nice and seated, jostling along the road to the tune of Blue Moon of Kentucky with Hank's occasional chiming in that Bo got to the real talking. The man's admittance that he still got to round of bad guys came with a sense of gruff pride to Jackson's ears and he wasn't surprised. The raven haired politician chortled at the Harvest Queen, nodding sympathetically. "Yeah, we got one of those too, but our's home grown."

Giving it a minute, he added. 'Remember Judy Bloomberg, we were dating back when I was still in college and workin' with her dad? She was the thing wrapped 'round my arm first time we met at the fundraiser?" Should Bo nod Jackson would continue. "She gone up and married a man older than her father, real big politician 'round these parts. Thing is, now he's in a coma and she's running against me to replace his seat. Really getting that poor helpless near widow vote."

The tune on the radio changed as the greenery flew by, Jackson contemplating each question carefully before answering. "I dunno man, it pays the bills," he admitted, adding a little more sincerely "And then some." There was no point pretending there wasn't any money in what Jackson did. the craploads of funding from Fox proved otherwise.

"But I guess I'm still gonna keep on keepin' on because I still believe the old Poli-Ticks can do some good. I mean, what about you? Why you gotta haul your ass all the way to England when there's a perfectly fucked up place right here for you to fix?"

“Ye boy I remember her......sorry what came after again!” Bo would say laughing as the two reminisced on Trists of the past and pains of the present. “Shit Id bet in the horse that says she done laid him in that there coma. That sympathy fer the devil hard to beat though.” He would say thinking.

He’d listen to Jackson mention his pay, and Bo gave a loud wolf whistle at it. Truth was they lived different lives, though with this latest land sell he was experiencing a touch of it anyway. “It ya say so. I don’t think the lot of you do a lick fer nobody. But ya try so hard,” He punctuate his point with a punch to Jackson’s arm, the truck swerving as he did. Pulling it back between the. Lines he’d once again side eye Jackson. His face would pull to a frown as he contemplated how much to say.

“It ain’t my firs choice that much is true....”. He would look at Jackson as he pulled off the road and threw the machine into park. Reaching to his hip he’d pull his wand from his custom holster and give it a silent wave. A golden dust would seem to exude and cover the outside of the truck the sounds of the road and wild life completely gone. “Orders are orders though, an come on. You think I’d leave the Stars and Stripes fer a lil green and some fancy accent broads. You know me better than that.”