SILENCE → RESERVATION → SIMPLE MAN

At 0749 the next morning, Jimmy stepped out of his room in perfectly worn faded jeans he’d bought years ago at RRL in SoHo, a white linen shirt, and black Blundstone Chelsea boots. A rare black Barbour jacket hung from one hand. Vintage mirrored Cartier aviators covered his eyes.

Jimmy looked at himself in the lobby mirror.

Don’t dress pretty.

This was Jimmy not dressing pretty.

A faded dark-gray Toyota Land Cruiser pulled up.

The exterior was beat to hell.

Scratches. Dents. Wyoming written into the metal.

Dakota stopped beside him and lowered the window.

She looked at Jimmy.

Boots.

Jeans.

Linen.

Barbour.

Cartier.

Black wavy hair.

Then back at Jimmy.

She muttered something in a language he didn’t understand.

“What was that?”

“I’ll tell you when I know you better.”

She reached across and opened the passenger door.

Jimmy got in.

The interior surprised him.

Old, but almost obsessively clean.

A rifle rested in the rack behind them.

Not displayed.

Not hidden.

A tool in a place where some of the four-legged things were bigger, faster, and considerably more territorial than you were.

She handed him a coffee.

Jimmy took a sip.

Black.

He looked at her.

“How’d you know?”

“You drink bourbon straight.”

Jimmy looked at the cup, then at her.

Then at the odometer.

153,412.

It looked capable of another 150,000 out of spite.

Dakota put the Land Cruiser in gear.

Then she drove.

The radio was broken.

Neither cared.

Windows cracked. Coffee between them. Morning air moving through the cab.

The silence between them didn’t feel empty.

It felt occupied.

· · ·

Eventually the road changed.

Dakota drove more slowly here.

People knew her.

Hands went up.

Dakota’s hand went up.

Jimmy said nothing.

This wasn’t Yellowstone.

It wasn’t the Wyoming he’d been handed the keys to yesterday.

Dakota didn’t narrate it for him, and Jimmy didn’t ask her to.

This was her land.

· · ·

Dakota pulled over beside an adobe home.

“Get out and stretch your legs.”

“I just need to grab something from inside.”

Jimmy stepped out.

Dakota disappeared inside.

Over the next half hour, people came and went.

Some stopped to speak with Dakota.

An older man looked Jimmy over from a distance.

Two women spoke quietly with Dakota in their language.

Nobody rushed over to welcome him.

Jimmy stood in the morning sun and took it all in.

He had lived and worked in Bali. He understood enough about other cultures to know when he was being evaluated.

No résumé.

No introduction.

No need to interview.

Just a vibe.

Dakota moved easily among them.

She belonged to something older than the woman he had met behind the bar.

Eventually she came back to the Land Cruiser.

“Ready.”

“Yeah.”

Jimmy looked toward the people behind her.

“What the fuck was that all about?”

“You’re good.”

“What does that mean?”

“You can come.”

“I wasn’t allowed before?”

“No.”

Jimmy looked at her.

“That was the cost of admission?”

“Part of it.”

She opened her door.

“Trust me.”

“It gets harder from here.”

Jimmy smiled.

“Get in.”

· · ·

They kept driving.

Eventually the pavement ended.

The Land Cruiser continued.

The road narrowed, descending through open land and then cottonwoods.

Jimmy heard the river before he saw it.

Dakota stopped the truck.

“Here.”

They got out.

She placed a .357 revolver into a leather chest holster and strapped it on like a second skin. Then she took the fishing gear from the back.

Jimmy looked toward the trees.

“Where are we?”

Dakota started walking.

“Wyoming.”

The land opened.

River.

Grass.

Stone.

Mountains.

Sky.

No hotel.

No tourists.

No guide.

No sign explaining what Jimmy was supposed to appreciate.

Dakota walked to the bank and stopped.

Jimmy came alongside her.

“Don’t talk.”

He looked at her.

“Just take it in.”

So Jimmy did.

· · ·

A few days ago, he had driven through the Tetons and Yellowstone in a brand-new BMW.

It had been extraordinary.

This was different.

Nobody had presented this to him.

Nobody had upgraded him into it.

Nobody knew he was here.

Jimmy removed his sunglasses.

The river moved.

The fresh air crossed his face.

Then the water exploded.

A trout broke the surface and disappeared again.

Dakota had already started assembling the rods.

He closed his eyes.

All he could hear was Lynyrd Skynyrd.

“Simple Man.”

Jimmy couldn’t have explained why that song found him there.

So he didn’t try.

He breathed.

Once.

Again.

Slower.

When he opened his eyes, Dakota was watching him.

She was looking at him the way Jimmy sometimes found himself looking at other people.

As if the human soul had briefly become visible.

“What?”

Dakota looked back toward the water.

“Nothing.”

“Wasn’t nothing.”

She turned to him.

“You’re just getting started.”

Jimmy smiled.

So are you.

She handed him a rod.

“Come on.”

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