A Desert Twist

“You never told me what you did before the draft,” Johnny said. The light from the flames danced over his face. “What does it matter, whoever that was I ain’t no more”. Charlie replied, biting off a piece of jerky, and stared into the fire. His eyes were distant. Johnny leaned back on his hands, crossed his legs, and looked up at the starry sky. Around them the Nevada desert engulfed them, dry, desolate yet inviting strangely. It attracted the dreamer, the lost, and the searching to its vast expanse. “Come, cross me and fortune awaits on the other side.” It called.

They had gone off the Bloody Canyon Road, east of Star Peak of the Humboldt Range on a dirt road into the Coyote Canyon and stowed away their choppers, both riding Triumphs with gooseneck frames, narrow ape bars, and characteristic long forks.

“I was about to become a teacher,” Johnny said. “I don’t know why really, it seemed reasonable, I guess. My parents were, or well they still are but my mother has retired now. 30 years she taught, imagine that; 30 years.”

“Mmh” was the only reply that Charlie could muster. Lost in his own thoughts, his left-hand index finger running along the steel of his recently “gifted” Benelli B76 9mm. A unique piece that was newly produced that same year in 1976. His right-hand thumb fingered a 1% patch on the left side breast pocket. In his mind, there was a darkness blacker than space.

“Come now, Charlie, who were you?”

Charlie glanced at Johnny; the flames mirrored in his eyes. “A guy who died in that jungle. Just fucking died.”

“Jesus man, you need to move on.”

“We killed Johnny, and we died too, Jesus? He saw our souls and thought those ain’t lookin’ right and threw us in hell.” Johnny said nothing. A thick silence fell upon them, a thick angst that stole both hope and joy. “And they all died too, Big Ear, Bugs, Charlie Brown, Lazy, Grumpy, hell Johnny, even Junior Kid blew up two weeks in fucking rice field. Jesus, man, he was fixin’ them congress kids to join him in heaven and shoving us into ten years in hell.”

Charlie’s eyes were wide, black with a mix of stern despair. “I’m a ghost Smiley, just a fuckin’ ghost.”

Jonny sighed. “Smiley, yeah.. yeah, you are in a dark place Charlie, you should do like me. Just leave Vulture behind in that jungle as I did with Smiley, time to move on, and see life instead of death.”

Charlie stared at him as if he was unable to comprehend the words that Johnny spoke. An alien language with words and meanings that were lost to him or forgotten. Words that had drowned in a knee-deep pool of blood in a wet jungle.

“Anyway, I am down to my last twenty, what about you?”

The question threw Charlie off his dark mental stride. “Uh, yeah, me too.”

Johnny sighed as if he had an answer he didn’t want, got up, opened a saddle bag on his chopper, and pulled out a map. He sat down by the fire again and studied it for a few minutes. “There’s a small town, probably about an hour away, Lovelock, a liquor store or two there I bet.” Charlie took another bite of jerky. “And a casino I think.”

“You want to hit up a casino? Man, you are in a dark place. You would do good with a bit of Jesus in your life.”

Charlie shrugged. “Why not? In ‘n out, fast, grab all’s we can n’ ride off. I bet it got more cash for grabbin’ than a liquor store.” He took a firm grip of his gun.

The rest of the evening was spent in silence and anticipation. Johnny, whilst still questioning the idea felt an ethical, almost duty-like responsibility to support Charlie. He looked at the man, Charlie’s face was untidy, rugged, and beardy. Someone should pick his eyebrows even. They both had endorsed the now classic biker outlaw look, jeans, t-shirts, wrong leather vests with patches, red and white bandanas and black leather motorcycle boots. They didn’t look mean but they sure as hell looked like they were up to no good.

The following morning, they set off and the sun beat down mercilessly on the barren expanse as they first made their way north along the mountain range, turned west, and then down south along Route 80.

In the distance, a patrol car emerged through the asphalt mirage and as they passed made a U-turn and wailed its siren for them to stop. Charlie and Johnny pulled over to the side of the highway and exchanged wary glances. The officer stepped out clad in a crisp uniform, he adjusted his hat and approached with a cautious gait, his hand resting near his holster.

“Afternoon.. gentlemen,” the officer began. “Mind telling me what you’re doing out here?” His eyes darted between the two bikers. “Just passin’ through, Officer.” The officer’s gaze narrowed, “Texas boy huh?.. Passing through to where? This isn’t exactly a tourist route.” Charlie locked his eyes and pierced through the police officer aviators. A gust of wind swept over them. The officer slowly chewed on his gum.

Johnny finally broke the silence, “Is there a problem officer?” The patrolman’s hand tightened on his belt. “Not yet,” he replied slowly, “but I’ll be keeping an eye on you. Stay out of trouble.” The weight of his words settled in the still air. The three men remained motionless exchanging a tension thick enough to cut with a knife. The vastness of the desert around them amplified the quiet standoff. “Aint’ no problem from us officer” Charlie replied.

The officer gave a curt nod and turned back to his patrol car. The bikers remained still. Their eyes followed him until the patrol car pulled away, made another U-turn, and continued in its previous path. "Let's go," Charlie muttered. The engines of the choppers roared back to life, shattering the stillness as they tore back onto the highway. The officer's suspicion trailed behind them like a shadow, but their focus was ahead—toward the neon lights of the casino and the high stakes that awaited them.

They rolled into Lovelock, the deep thundering noise of their engines and rugged faces turned the heads of law-abiding citizens. The casino was easy enough to find and they parked their choppers at the Royal Inn across the street and sat down in its outdoor seating area.

Betty Sue, a petite brunette with bright, hopeful eyes and a warm smile, approached their table. Her hair, tied in a loose ponytail, bounced lightly with each step. “Hello gentlemen,” she said, her voice sweet and clear. “Name’s Betty Sue. What can I get you? Maybe something to eat?” She lingered by Johnny, her gaze lingering a bit too long. Johnny looked up, forcing a smile.

"I don't know, Betty Sue. What do you recommend?" She twirled a strand of hair around her finger, leaning in just a bit closer. "Well, that depends. Are you looking for something strong and quick, or something that lasts a bit longer?"

Johnny chuckled. "What would you suggest for a man just passing through?" Betty Sue’s smile widened, her eyes twinkling with mischief. "Maybe something that lasts a bit longer?"

“Alright then Betty Sue, how about you give us something that lasts a bit longer?” She winked and smiled. Her smile was warm and inviting, “Two beers and keep them coming? Two plates of bacon, eggs, and two pieces of steak?”

Johnny’s gaze softened, “My kind of girl Betty Sue, you sure are my kind of girl.” Betty Sue giggled, drawn by their roughness. They came from somewhere and were probably going far away to a thrilling adventure.

From behind her, the disapproving figure of her father appeared. “Betty Sue, leave these men alone. They’re not your type, they’re not anyone’s type,” he grumbled, his eyes narrowing at Johnny. Betty Sue rolled her eyes and retreated, throwing Johnny a wink as she left. Charlie raised his eyebrows. “Eyes on the prize Johnny, no distractions.” Johnny smiled innocently.

They drank, ate, and observed the comings and goings of the patrons of the casino. Betty Sue had clearly been instructed to keep her distance from the two bikers and they were only served by her recalcitrant father. But in the background, she threw secret glances and winks at Johnny threw his winks and glances back, antagonizing Charlie's demand for restraint for lust and sinning in the process.

They waited for a moment, that moment. That life-defining moment when a man chose a path that he can’t turn back on. When he either walks the path of the righteous or forever leaves that good man behind and becomes a true outcast of society.

As the sun began to set over the horizon, a pause of movement at the casino emerged after more patrons had left the casino than had entered. “Now” Charlie stated.

They finished their beers and got up and were about to exit the bar at the Royal Inn, and just as they were about to pull up their bandanas over their faces Charlie bumped into a man that was busy orchestrating the exit of his chattering wife and three children. The man looked up at Charlie who looked back. Charlie’s eyes were black as a wild death. The man’s eyes scanned Charlie's face, his eyes pondering as if he had seen Charlie before.

“Hey, aren’t you Charles Cortlandt?”

Charlie was clearly thrown off guard, he staggered back two steps and shook his head. “I don’t.. no I don’t know who you are talking about.”

The man began to smile raised his hand up to the height of his chest and pointed at Charlie. “No no, sure you are! Charles Cortlandt! I saw you dancing on TV, oh man, that must have been what, ten, fifteen years ago?”

Johnny looked perplexed, stunned. He looked at the man, and then Charlie, and then the man. Clearly, this man was not mistaken given the level of excitement. “The Vulture.. danced?”

The man looked at Johnny, “Oh yeah, he did. The best twister there was, he won competitions you know. Twisted like no one else, magic it was. Charles Cortlandt, “The Twister” he was called. Yeah yeah, I know you, The Twister! What happened to you? Did you dance more?”

Charlie's eyes fluctuated and stirred. “I.. dude you must be thinking of someone else”

“I’m Bobby Robertsson” he pressed and shook Charlie's hand before he could withdraw it and Johnny too. “And this is my wife Brenda and those three wildlings are Bobby JR, Linda, and Paris, Brenda's mother always wanted to go to Paris but she was ill so we named her Paris..”

Bobby Robertsson continued for a minute or two, elaborating on his family before he suddenly stopped mid-sentence. “Hey, you know what?”

“No what?” Johnny replied.

“There’s actually a Twister competition at the casino, like right now!” Bobby looked at his watch. “Five thousand for first place, me and the missus are going. Kids these days don’t appreciate the power of a good twist so this might be the last twist competition ever. You should come, Charles, I bet you’d win! Anyway, best we get going. Need to get these little monsters into bed, I hope I’ll see you later Charles Cortlandt!”

Bobby scrambled together his family to the best of his ability, Paris, the youngest waved goodbye “See you later! See you later Charles!”

“Imagine that honey, The Twister! Just out here!” was the last word they heard from them.

Jonny smiled. Charles looked at him with defiance. “Look man, I don’t..” Johnny interrupted him simply with a shake of his head. “Charles Cortlandt, ‘The Twister’, the greatest twister there was.”

He burst out laughing, smacked his leg,s and looked back up with the largest grin on his face from Nevada to Kansas. “Well look at that, the infamous ‘Vulture’ is ‘The Twister’, how good were you, really?”

Charlie shifted his weight from one leg to the other, not sure of which path to go down, and which character he would play at this moment. Who was he? Really? A ghost from the jungle or a memory of an artistic expression. “I made a couple of dollars.” He replied.

“Made a couple of dollars? From Bobby, it sounded like you made more than a couple of dollars.” 

Charlie had no words, somewhere inside a boy’s light voice echoed through the darkness. A whisper of innocence and silent words of sadness floated into his mind. He felt a wave of guilt and remorse fill him. But most of all, an overwhelming feeling of unfairness. That boy had been forced into war, forced to kill, and forced to walk through knee-deep puddles of blood, and where that boy drowned only for The Vulture to be born. His eyes became red and teary.

“Charlie, my friend,” Johnny said. “You can win five thousand dollars from twisting, or a few hundred from violence and robbery. Two different paths brother. Chose the right one.”

The air inside the remote casino crackled with anticipation as the Twist competition reached its peak. The room was filled with tidy, upstanding citizens, their polished shoes and crisp attire were a stark contrast to the rugged figure who strode onto the dance floor. Dressed in his worn leather, uncut beard, dirty biker boots, and his ravaged face, Charlie stood out like filth on a crisp white wall. Whispers and raised eyebrows followed his every step, but his eyes were fixed on the center of the room. He knew this moment was more than just a dance—it was a chance to choose the path of reclamation and find that stolen boy again.

As the first notes of Let’s Twist Again filled the air, his body came alive with a fluidity that seemed impossible for someone so hardened by life.

Come on let's twist again like we did last summer

Yeah, let's twist again like we did last year

Do you remember when things were really hummin'?

Yeah, let's twist again, twistin' time is here

And he danced.

His movements were a mesmerizing blend of precision and passion, each step with a grace that belied his rugged appearance. The crowd, watched in silent awe as he spun and twisted with an energy that transcended the boundaries of time and space. He moved as if the dance floor were his domain, a place where the past's shadows held no sway over the lost and now-found boy.

With every twist of his hips and swing of his arms, Charlie painted a story of resilience and rebirth. He looked up at the disco ball's reflective colorful lights-covered ceiling and broke out in tears that ran down his cheeks and flooded his beard. His feet tapped out a rhythm that echoed the heartbeat of a man rediscovering his lost joy. The judgmental gazes, now held their breath, captivated by the sheer artistry unfolding before them. There was no need for applause or cheers; just a collective recognition of the extraordinary that unfolded among them.

As the final notes lingered in the air, he came to a breathless halt, standing tall amidst the quiet reverence of the onlookers. At that moment, he was no longer the biker and the soldier haunted by memories of war. He was the dancer, The Twister. A boy with a dream that dared to dream. The boy that had captivated Bobby all those years ago. He was a man who had found a way to weave beauty and grace from the threads of his past. The competition was won, not through the points of the judges, but through the transformation of a phoenix rising from the ashes of a haunted ghost.

Epilogue.

Charles Cortlandt left Charlie behind on the dancefloor of the C Punch Inn & Casino. He won that competition and went on to become one of the greatest dancers in the United States of his time, reaching far beyond just the Twist. Rumba, Flamenco, Experimental Dance, and much more. He never got married but much to the detriment of his sister he overwhelmed her two children with all the love and gifts an uncle with a seemingly unlimited amount of prize money can give, spoiling them beyond her control. He retired from competitive dancing in his fifties and opened a legendary dance school.

Johnny married Betty Sue her father’s protests and they both became teachers just like his own parents were and they taught at the same high school for more than 30 years until retirement. He died peacefully in his sleep after a period of slowly evolving pancreatic cancer, leaving behind his wife and three children. Betty Sue’s father eventually succumbed and eventually, one of his grandchildren took over the inn.

Bobby continued managing his family and saw his three children grow up into healthy young adults. He and his wife retired in Boca and enjoyed a long retirement in the sun where she learned to play the piano and Bobby explored a newfound passion of constantly demanding that he and his wife should take care of at least one of their 10 grandchildren.

The patrol officer never needed to keep an eye out for the two bikers, he continued to patrol Highway 80 keeping the lawful safe and criminals and boys that were up to no good unsafe, chewing his gum.

Charlie and Johnny kept in touch and exchanged letters weekly. Charlie spent the first years writing about the war with Johnny, the only one he felt that could truly understand but eventually let it go and wrote about his dance career. They made several trips to Vietnam to visit old battlegrounds and reunited with Vietnamese veterans, burying hatchets and ghosts from the past.