Chapter 5: A Sleazy Trapper

Chapter 5:  A Sleazy Trapper

            Rose snubbed out her cigarette and stands up and Keith follows suit. He gives her a hug and says, “Let’s get another drink.”

            Rose is still reeling as she sees Josh standing by the bar, talking to Billy. “Fucker,” she whispers under her breath and she heads to the other end of the bar.

            She doesn’t want to confront Josh anymore than she already has and she realizes Keith’s advice is sage. It’s a tricky balance in the guiding community. On one hand, you have to stick up for yourself. On the other, you never want to piss anyone off because you know that someday, and someday probably pretty soon, you are going to end up working for or with them. Loyalty is hard to come by as a new guide and once you feel like you have that loyalty with an outfitter or shop, you should probably put the work in to establish another relationship. You never know how long you will be the hot guide of the day. It’s always better to be seen as a team player than someone tough enough to stand up for themselves until you’ve been on the scene for long enough to buy yourself some street or river cred.

            In Rose’s second year on the Missouri, she has yet to build the clout needed to put other guides and especially shop owners in their place. Plus, she’s a woman and that never gets lost on her. Just the other day a few of the guides were hanging out on the porch at High Banks drinking a beer. Billy commented on Rose’s sunglasses.

            “Hey Fly, where’s the leather jacket? Did you park your bike around back?”

            Rose always wore aviator glasses. They were lighter and she just felt they fit her face better than the typical guide series glasses everyone else was sporting.

            “Fuck off,” she snapped back.

            “Oh! Fly’s got a little attitude,” needles Billy. “Why don’t you back that ass on over here for a little adjustment? Give me 15 minutes, Fly and I’m sure I can put a smile back on that cute little face.”

            “Give me 15 seconds, Billy and I’m sure you’ll be splooging all over yourself.” Rose fire’s back. “….dick.”

            Rose slowly walked next door to Izaak’s and was still hearing the chortles and laugher as the door closed behind her. Had Billy said that to a male guide and that guide fired back with a stern, “fuck you,” they would have all had a little chuckle and life would move on. But if a woman tells the offender to “fuck off,” it’s an entirely different story. Instead of her standing up for herself, she’s got an attitude problem and needs to be “put in her place.” She’s a bitch or weak or can’t handle having someone give her shit. There’s a whole new set of rules for chicks in the guide world and because there’s not a lot of precedence for it, those rules are less defined and the greys tend to be left up to interpretation by the rules makers, which always comes down to the ruling class. In this situation, the ruling class are the douche-bag bro-bras.

            Keith orders another round of shots and again, a “cheer’s” and a “prost” are declared, shot glasses clink, and then are slammed on the bar as the cinnamon whiskey burns down their throats to eventually nestle in their bellies. Rose snaps out of her own head and joins the conversation Keith and another guide are having about presentation versus fly selection.

            Luke, who towers over everyone as he’s about 6’6”, is all about the fly selection.

            “Nobody gets the perfect drift, but if you have that fly that fish eat like crack, they’re gonna eat.”

            “No way, man.” Keith cuts in. “It’s all about drift and presentation. You could put the best looking fly on the planet in front of a fish’s nose and if it’s not presented well, they ain’t eatin it.”

             “That’s such bullshit,” Luke defends. “You think that fly is just drifting along in a perfect pattern like everything else as it goes through riffles and bounces over rocks and shit? There’s no such thing as a ‘perfect drift.’ What do you think, Fly?”

            “You’re both right, you dumb-asses.” Rose says while sitting up a little hire as she realizes that someone is actually asking her for an opinion. “Are we talking dries, streamers or nymphs? Flat water? Riffles? All these things matter, right? Honestly, I’m a presentation kind of gal but I also know conditions and situations matter.”

            “Shut the hell up, Fly.” Luke says as he wraps his arm around her and gives her a noogie.

            “God damn, Luke,” Rose contests. “I spent all day on this hair and look what you did!”

            Luke looks back to Ian who’s been standing behind the bar waiting for an order. “Set ‘em up!” he yells. “Shot’s for the house!”

            “Cheers!”

            “Prost!” and a slam as a dozen or more shot glasses hit the bar. The party is in full-on NASCAR mode now as more guides filter into Izaak’s after their day on the river.

             “Hey, Rose!”

            It’s a voice that cuts through the crowd and startles her. She snaps her head around and feels her heart sink. It’s Jake Trapper.

            Jake is an imposing figure on the river. He’s even more impressive in person. He also towers over most other guides although he’s not nearly as tall as Luke. But he is large and he has a reputation of being a sort of a loose cannon. He’s not at all obese but he does have the shoulders of someone who’s been rowing most of his life and has the gut of someone who’s drank his share of craft-beers over the years as well. He’s weathered and almost always has a five o’clock shadow. He also sports the racoon tan-lines around his eyes of someone who’s always on the water. Seeing him standing there makes Rose shrink into her bar stool. She feels herself wanting to run but there’s nowhere to go.

            Remembering the interaction they had earlier on the river that day, Rose tries to get out in front of the conversation to tamp things down.

            “Hey Jake. I’m so sorry about….” She starts.

            “Shut up for a second,” Jake interrupts. “Ian, let me buy Rose a beer.”

            “You don’t have to…” Rose tries to get out.

            “Just…shut up.” Jake insists. “Listen. What I did earlier was uncalled for.”

            Rose could tell how difficult it was for Jake to apologize and in this moment and in this role, she sees the tiniest bit of vulnerability from Jake. With most other guides, Rose might exploit this but this is Jake Trapper and she knows that vulnerability could shift in a heart-beat. She also kind of finds it enduring so she lays back and decides to let it play out.

            “No, Jake. I cut you off and I’m sorry. I should have been looking behind me and I just wasn’t paying attention.” She explains.

            “Regardless,” Jake continues. “I don’t own the river. You have just as much right to those fish as anyone else and I’m sorry.”

            Rose is dumbfounded by this. She doesn’t know what to think or say. She knows not to make a big deal out of it and realizes what she says next could either build a bridge setting herself up for trips in the future or could drive a wedge between her and this ‘heavy hitter.’ She sees Keith studying her out of her peripheral.

            “Well, thanks, Jake. I certainly appreciate that.” She says. “But just so you know, I’ll do my part in the future to be more observant.”

            “Fair enough,” Jake answers as he holds up his bottle of Budweiser to clank bottles with Rose. “Fair enough.”

            Rose doesn’t know how to feel. Part of her wants to jump out of her Chacos for joy. She feels vindicated but part of her also wants to cry. She doesn’t fully understand where that feeling is coming from but it’s real. It’s been a common feeling lately, especially as she’s fighting so hard to be respected in the guide community. It’s a relief but it’s also degrading knowing she has to fight so hard.

            “Fuck it, Ian!” Rose turns to the bar. “Let’s do shots!”

            Ian sets up the next round of shots for the group of guides huddled around the bar as Rose reaches into her pocket to pull out a hundred-dollar bill, which was her tip for the day. She sets it on the bar and Ian says in a low voice, “You’re short fifteen bucks, Fly.”

            “I got it,” Keith butts in as he gives Rose a look as to say, ‘don’t worry about it.’ He puts two twenties on the bar and says, “Keep it.”

            This entire interaction goes unnoticed by the rest of the bar as Keith and Ian make sure of that. They want Rose to succeed. They want her to gain the street cred so needed to stand up to the rest of the guides and they will do anything they can to help.

This doesn’t go unnoticed by Rose as she mouths the word, “Thanks.”

            The party rolls on as it did just about every night in Craig. The guides are pros at the bar and clients are on vacation. When clients that are on vacation want to hang out and party, they think everyone is on vacation and expect the guides to participate.

            At around 2am, Ian pipes up announcing to the patrons, “Two o’clock folks! It’s time to shut‘er down. You don’t have to go home but you can’t stay here!”

            Ian thinks it’s a pretty funny way to end the night not realizing him saying it every night has made his closing statement a little cliché and uninteresting for the locals. The new guests might think it’s funny though so Ian keeps busting it out.

            As hard as Rose tried, she’s no match for the other guides. She kept up with them drink for drink but she’s a slight 126 pounds. She doesn’t have the body mass to absorb the alcohol like the dudes in the bar do. As she stands up from her bar stool, the floor rocks out from underneath her and she plops down on her butt. She laughs as Keith and another guide help her up.

            “You’re not driving home,” Keith says.

            “I’ll be fine,” Rose contests. “My Chaco caught one of those nails sticking up out of this shit, floor.”

            “Yeah, yeah, yeah. I know. But you’re still not driving home.”

            Jake steps up and says, “Hey Rose, the Rainbow Cabin is open. I had clients bail early so you can stay there.”

            “I’m fine,” Rose continues to protest.

            “No. You’re not driving,” Jake says. “It’s a done deal.”

            The Rainbow Cabin is one of four cabins owned by a local businessman from Helena that is managed by the Missouri River Angler. It’s able to sleep 4 clients and is usually booked up solid throughout the season. Lodging as a whole in Craig is pretty much booked solid from about Mid-April through Mid-October. For this cabin to be open is a rarity and since it’s been paid for already and nobody is in there, Rose takes Jake up on the offer.

            “Ok, ok. I’ll crash at the Rainbow.”

            Jake and Keith help Rose out the door of Izaak’s, across the street and to the steps of the Rainbow Cabin.

            “You got this?” Asks Keith. “I gotta get going. Kelly just texted and she’s not happy. She’s been stuck up at the house with two lab puppies tearing each other apart.”

            “Yeah, I’ll take care of it,” Jake replies.

            Rose drapes her arms around Keith, “Thanks Keith. I’m sorry. I’m drunk.”

            “Yes, yes you are,” Keith says. “It happens to the best of us.”

            As Keith walks away, Jake pulls the key for the cabin out of his pocket and inserts it into the keyhole. The door unlocks, Jake turns the knob and the door swings open.

            “After you,” Jake says as he holds a hand out gesturing for Rose to enter.

            As Rose enters the cabin, Jake follows her in and turns on the lights. The cabin has been recently updated with new wood trim and wood floors that, although lends itself to the rustic look folks expect, the newness of it is a bit paradoxical. There’s a couch in the middle of the room, a kitchenette in the back and stairs leading up to a bed in the loft. Rose plops herself down on the couch.

            “How’s your season looking,” asks Jake.

            Rose opens one eye and squints to try to stop the room from spinning. She picks a number of Jakes out of the fog that has consumed her brain and tries to focus on the middle one.

            “What?” She asks.

            “How’s your season looking? You getting enough days?”

            “I guess.” Rose responds in a slurred stupor. “Could always do more.”

            “I could help you out with that,” Jake tells her in what appears to be a genuine tone of compassion and wanting to help.

            “Thanks, Jake. You’re sweet.”

            Rose feels herself lifting up to the sky and opens her eyes. She looks down to see the river below her as she gains altitude. It’s a beautiful green-blue with sun shimmering off riffles dumping into deep pools below. She looks to her right and sees an eagle only a few feet away, soaring along. The eagle turns to her and winks before banking off into the clouds and out of sight. Rose furrows her brow and thinks, “That’s weird.”

She feels weightless as she ascends higher and higher until the river becomes a series of thin green lines meandering through burnt grass, cutting through golden fields disappearing into forest green clumps of trees.

            At some point, what was a peaceful scene slowly starts to rotate as she feels her body slipping into a flat spin. She reaches out to try to stop the motion but she feels her body spinning faster and faster, quickly spinning out of control.  

            Rose opens her eyes and sits up, bursting out from under the sheets and comforter on the bed in the loft of the Rainbow Cabin. She’s confused. She doesn’t know where she is or how she got there. She does know one thing; she needs to find a toilet fast.

            She jumps out of bed and runs to a light that she can only assume is an acceptable target for what she knows is going to be projecting from her face very soon. Fortunately, Jake left the light on in the bathroom just in case something like this would happen. Rose kneels in front of the toilet and violently hurls everything up from her stomach and when she thinks she’s got it all out, her body convulses and pushes even harder trying to extract whatever could be left. And then her body convulses again and again as if it’s not even her anymore. It’s been taken over by something but not her. Tears stream down her face. Sweat beads up on her forehead. She screams in defiance of the demon that has taken over—that demon being Sinfire.

            Eventually she regains control over her body and stands up. She looks in the mirror over the vanity. She’s a mess. Tears have stained her face. Her hair is matted against her forehead. Her mouth tastes like acid. Her abs are burning from the uncontrolled convulsions.

            She runs some water and washes her face. She also notices a bottle of mouth wash and takes pull off of it to rinse the devil from her tongue, which only makes her want to hurl again but she fights it back.

            “What the fuck…” she murmurs.

            Her eyes drift down to notice what she’s wearing. She’s in a t-shirt that’s way too big and nothing else. She feels cold. She knows something is not right.

            As she makes her way out of the light of the bathroom and back into the room in the loft, she begins to make out some of the dark objects. The bed is destroyed. Her Chacos and her pants and her pull-over hoody are piled up in the corner. There’s another pile of clothes she doesn’t quite recognize.

            “You al’right?” She hears Jake’s voice coming from the mess of covers on the bed.

            “Jake!?” Rose blurts out as Jake lifts his head up from the pillows and looks back at her. “What the fuck, Jake? What the actual fuck?! What are you doing here? What am I doing here? Jesus!”

            “What?” Jake protests. “We were messing around. You were into it.”

            “Jake! You’re fucking married!” Rose declares.

            “Well,” Jake confesses, “that’s not going all that well and…”

            “What?” Rose interrupts. “Jesus Christ, Jake. I was passed out!”

            “You weren’t passed out,” Jake argues. “Passed out chicks can’t do what you were doing.”

            “Fuck, Jake. Seriously?”

            Rose doesn’t even bother with her underwear as she pulls her thin, quick-dry guide pants over her hips. She rips off the t-shirt that she now realizes, smells like Jake and it’s making her want to throw up again. She feels the tears swelling as pressure forms in the back of her eyes and burns in her sinuses. She pulls the hoody over her head and gathers up her Chacos and without taking the time to slip them on, she stumbles down the stairs and out the front door of the Rainbow Cabin.

            “Hold on,” Jake yells down the stairs.

            “Don’t worry about it, Jake.” Rose turns back to direct a whispering, yet yelling kind of response, “I won’t say anything. I’m not going to be the bitch that ruined your marriage.”

            Still drunk. Still in a daze, Rose runs across the street and into the parking lot of High Banks to find her red Jeep. It’s the only car left with the exception of shop rig used to run shuttles. She fumbles through her pockets to find her keys and opens the door and jumps in.

            “What did I do?” She thinks to herself as she starts the Jeep. “What if people find out? How could this happen?”

            She shifts into drive and steps on the gas. The Jeep still has some get-y-up as she spins the tires on the way out onto Bridge Street, which is essentially the main street in Craig. She turns left and crosses the Craig Bridge on her way to the Recreation Road. She just wants to get back to Wolf Creek. She could take the highway but she’s worried that a State Trooper could be making the rounds. The Rec Road would be safer.

            As she approaches the intersection of Bridge Street and Recreation Road, she glances down at her clock on the Jeep’s radio. It’s 6:45 am. The sun is just starting to chase the darkness from the sky.

            “Fuck,” Rose thinks. “Chase! God dangit.”

            Rose realizes that Chase has been locked inside the cottage all yesterday and all last night. She steps on the gas and peels out onto the Rec Road. She starts to cry uncontrollably as she speeds upstream along the Missouri River back to Wolf Creek.