By: Daiyu Tang
It’s not every day in my work as a reporter or as a museum host that I am privileged to deal with actual archaeology and old bones, but a few days ago the stars aligned and I was treated to many lessons at once, although possibly history was at the core of them. Or maybe it was just ‘Hathian has some interesting people’…
It may surprise you to know that a temporary editor in her final year doesn’t get paid that much and despite the odd stack of cash that seems to end up at the Observer (and is always scrupulously either returned, or if untraced divvied up between all staff) I do need to supplement my income, with both the side job at the museum and more recently, a few chances to play, as a background to this story, I should note that I am accomplished at the piano, but my second instrument, a cello, I am also not that shabby.

A few little hustles in Prohibition (ideally when Zoey is not there) and then more recently, street performing to drum up business for the museum, I’ve tried to be both useful and bring a bit of musical joy to the town.
It’s certainly taken me enough time to want to play. Past trauma sometimes masks any desire to play much of anything other than Falling in Reverse or Mono Inc.
Anyway, I was at Columtreal, playing and that is where the Cowpoke story started…
Accosted as a Street Hooker

After playing for an hour in the cold, I was not having a huge amount of luck. I met a bookish girl who seemed nice (and way out of her depth for Hathian) but other than her, it was loose change at best and no one wanted a ticket to the museum. Walking back to the museum to get change for my Observer job, I was followed by a shirtless man looking like a cross between Grandpa Hopper, Indiana Jones and Drake from Unchartered. Whether Cowpoke or danger seeking archaeologist, it was not clear. But what became clear was that he had been told that I was available ‘for a price’ and his intent (prior to his lady friend showing up) was to ‘hire me’. Oh Lord Give Me Strength.
Cowpoke: “Well c’hello to you too pilgrum, and just what do you offer for such an expensive service?”
Cold Daiyu: “What do you mean? Expensive service? This museum is like $10 to get inside, that’s not expensive!”
Cowpoke: “Well I’ve only tried the bench there, but if there’s something warmer, I could work with that…we could be in an ice rink for all I care. I’ll keep ya warm while ya bounce.”
Shocked Cellist Daiyu: “You… wait… you think I’m going to…. Going to ‘bounce’ on you… for… $10? What the fuck… I am a student at college, I work here…. And I also write for the newspaper! I am not a hooker! I play music in public! Cut-it-out… you gotta be fucking kidding!?”
Cowpoke: “Well if ya as good as you look, I’ll possibly throw in a tip m’dam… I mean that’s a damn high price..but we make do yeah? Show me what you’re working with…Ohhh… Could make ya sing, real good…”
At this point I thought Stanley, Venus or Viv or one of the other… idiots… in my office had put this guy up to this as a joke. But at least for a while, until the threat of knee to crotch made him consider his chances he thought I was for sale.
Angry Reporter Daiyu: “Are you… this is like a joke right, did Venus set you up to it, or fucking Stanley at the office? I’mma murder the shit out of them… Seriously, do I sound like a Hathian hooker, have you EVEN been to Bourbon Street? Met Max or one of them? Christ… can write you a direction tip to Rub N’Tug if you’re that desperate!”
Anyway dear reader, you get the idea. After finally debunking the myth that my cello case was a guitar, or that I had sex toys inside it or whatever was in this guy’s mind he stopped pestering me for $10 ‘hooker sex’ and instead told me he had news and stories for me (and it would have to be over a drink). I’m not stupid… he was probably trying to get the $10 (in his dreams) discounted down to $0 by buying me a drink, but since it was to be in a central location and because going back to the office to punch a co-worker was likely to get me fired, I agreed.
His girl arrived briefly, and his attitude also changed, but even after she left (I can tell when someone needs to be on a leash, and this guy needs) his temperament had changed a bit, which was good.
This is the Last Bullet Fired

We took a walk over to Lou’s and after some persuasion (mostly advising that the men in Hathian refused to dance, but expected all the women to) and by reference to calling his outfit ‘Chippendale’ (look it up), I managed to get him on the table, although swinging around the pole wasn’t achieved. Still, it was some payback to the hooker suggestion. I also let him know I’d call this article ‘Cowpoke Pole Dancer – Hathian First’, but as you can see I let the picture do the talking (and innuendo) and left the title fairer. Love me reader?
After pulling a bullet out of his jeans he started his story…
Historian Cowpoke: “This here is the last bullet that was shot, when the old city here turned to dust before the rebuild many years later… and well we didn’t have papers back then, and if so they all burned down…so some objects hold memories… It was more so every single gang in one spot, and lots of bullets and things flying…fires raging… then whoever could run from the massive smoke and fires of a huge bomb going off, lived to tell about it… imagine that as a cover..me walking through fire an smoke…I might have some old photographs somewhere…”
Observer: “Right… sounds like they all wanted to go out with a bang… I mean most gangster do in the end, they don’t have a way out or a way to stop… not many old gangster… or if they are like some of the Mafia, they are always in hiding… Photographs are good… I mean that one on the wall is old as well…. and I have the newspaper back to to 2007 in the archives… Where was this?”
Historian Cowpoke: “Can ya amost smell all that smoke… almost thought maybe you were from back then… as that kind of looks like you on the wall there before your beauty mark… go big or go home yeah?”
I had glanced at the photo on the wall in Lou’s and if my memory and research had served me, I dissuaded him from the association. That was someone greater to Hathian than I was ever going to be.
Observer: “I think that’s Bebe Pink… she was a famous gangster around here… but was taken away… as I said… So… like… I’m honoured to be touched by the last bullet, but if it was really fired… then it wouldn’t be in the cartridge would it? Are you just feeding me stories to try and get a discount or something? That’s not how the news works…”
Historian Cowpoke: “Yeah I thought maybe instead of blowing my brains out after most died, I might try to walk through the blaze…”
We kept talking, had a drink and I learned a little more about this old living record from the past that had walked back into Hathian. He never did clearly say whether he was referring to Dead End… but a knowing wink and a knowledge of people and places that even I struggle to find from the archives suggested he might know some of your history Hathian and maybe, just maybe, the shirtless Cowpoke will pester you for a blowjob and when refused (unless you’re yanno, an actual hooker) regale you with little bits and pieces of the past. Why is he in Hathian now? When asked, an enigmatic smile and a slight change in the modulation of his voice, but no concrete answer…
But dear reader, I know a little trouble when I see it. So if you see this man, do be careful. Not everyone who says ‘no’ to him may walk away like I did with a story. Some might find that the last bullet from somewhere else doesn’t preclude a new bullet in Hathian…