Ch.12002 Investigation Record – Meeting the Cowboy of New York (3)

Should I play along a bit? If I asked a real cowboy where his cattle were, he’d probably get offended and refuse the interview.

Paulina must have thought this “Cowboy” was strange too, as she moved closer behind me. Her hand reaching for the shield strapped to her wrist would be faster than him drawing a gun from his holster.

Sigh, be cautious but don’t be prejudiced. After taking another deep breath to calm myself, I considered what to say to him. What could I say to make him talk?

I should flatter him a bit… Ah, yes. If I pretend to know about cowboys, he might have something to say.

“Well, you wouldn’t see real cowboys herding cattle in New York, would you? Everything around here is just concrete blocks. How could anyone recognize someone who lives on the prairie?”

The life of cowboys I’d seen at my family home couldn’t honestly be called good. They might be called cowboys, ranch managers, or cattle drivers, but they mostly lived without homes, just following the cattle.

If the cattle didn’t move, they couldn’t move. If the cattle had problems, they had problems too—people whose lives made it hard to tell if they were servants of the ranch owner or servants of the cattle.

My father treated such cattle drivers well, but not all ranch owners could be like him. Even my father was often away on business, so the kindness the cattle drivers at our home ranch could receive was limited. Yet this man before me was claiming to be that cowboy.

The Cowboy brushed up the wide brim of his hat with his finger… a gesture typically made by older cowboys. Just looking at his face shadowed by the hat brim, he did seem quite old.

“Finally someone who understands! Yes, that’s right. Say, while we’re at it, is there some law against planting trees or having lawns in New York?”

“Um… most houses actually have gardens. Where are you staying?”

Good. This way he’ll naturally tell me more. I looked at him with sparkling eyes. Perhaps thinking I had some sort of admiration for him, the Cowboy began speaking with confidence.

“I’m staying at a motel nearby. It’s not too expensive, but… you know. For cowboys, even that much is a blessing.”

Since they typically live almost like vagrants, a New York motel might seem nice, but unless he enjoyed sleeping with bugs, I wouldn’t really recommend it. Hiding this feeling with a forced smile, I nodded.

“At least you don’t have to check if there are scorpions in your bed.”

“And no worry about rattlesnakes in my boots. That’s enough. But, may I ask you something?”

When an interview subject asks a question, it’s nothing short of luck. People reveal more when asking than when answering. For now, it would be better to change locations.

“Ah, rather than talking on the street, let’s sit down somewhere! I’ll buy you coffee.”

Waiting for my answer, he brightened his expression and nodded vigorously. Given his rather skinny frame and sunken cheeks, he probably wouldn’t refuse a warm drink.

“If a young lady is offering, I’d be grateful to accept. Oh, let me ask on the way. Why are all these reporters so desperate to find me? Is dressing differently really that unusual?”

After pondering his question briefly, I shook my head. Clothes don’t make the man.

“It’s just that you’re an unusual sight in New York. Everyone’s curious about who you are. Whether you’re a good person or a bad person. What stories you might have… whether it’s okay to approach you or not.”

I thought it was quite a neat answer, but he whistled leisurely, looked around, and then looked down at me again.

“Then why not just come and ask? I don’t think I look like a crazy gunslinger.”

“Well, people with enough money and comfort to enjoy meeting strangers might think you’re worthless based on your appearance. Ordinary people are wary of those outside their familiar boundaries. But! After reading my article, people will come talk to you! They’re all good people. They just have a lot to worry about, even in this glittering era.”

He took out a wad of chewing tobacco, put it in his mouth, and while chewing and almost spitting, he said:

“Just like cattle on a ranch. Don’t you think, partner?”

I need to include that line in my article. For people too accustomed to city life and familiar only with urban order, this cowboy’s words might be a fresh shock. Hmm, I’m glad I came to meet him.

We returned to Rebecca’s cafe, back to the table where my half-finished elven coffee still waited.

I should order myself, right? Paulina probably wouldn’t want to leave me alone with this man either. I got up and hurried to the counter where Rebecca was.

Rebecca was watching our outdoor table with excited eyes when I approached the counter and showed her my clenched fist in triumph.

“I knew good things always happen when I come to this cafe. I really found him! Say, what kind of coffee would someone like him enjoy?”

Though the interview was my job, Rebecca pondered as if it were her own. She nodded vigorously as if someone came to mind.

“Surprisingly, he might like something with lots of sugar and milk. I’ve noticed people who do physical work often like that. Or maybe an extremely strong black coffee!”

Recommending complete opposites doesn’t help me choose… Still, Rebecca’s recommendations usually worked well. She was someone I could trust. Actually, I’ve never been one to distrust people…

“Then, following your intuition, please give me one with plenty of milk and sugar. Oh, when the article comes out well, I’ll bring a newspaper to show you that morning… would that be okay?”

Our eyes met as we smiled, and eventually we burst into laughter. Excitement was contagious.

“Of course! Oh, you can go wait. I’ll bring it over—I want to see his face too!”

Whew. How did I make another good choice? After ordering coffee, I returned to the table where only Paulina and the Cowboy were sitting. At least chewing tobacco didn’t smell as bad as cigarettes.

Despite leaving them alone briefly, it seemed there hadn’t been a single word exchanged between Paulina and the Cowboy. The strap securing her shield to her wrist was still tightly fastened.

The Cowboy didn’t seem particularly concerned about it though. I sat at the cafe table and stared at him. Though gaunt and haggard, he looked like he might have been robust once.

“Ah, what should I call you? It seems a bit odd to just call you ‘Cowboy,’ doesn’t it? I’m not just ‘reporter’—I have a name, and you must too. In that spirit, I’m Rose Leafman!”

I’m just a nobody reporter, I thought self-deprecatingly, but kept it to myself as I extended my hand. He reached out his rough, leather-like hand and grasped mine, shaking it lightly.

“You’d better just call me Cowboy, partner. Honestly, isn’t it cool? People who face the wilderness with nothing but themselves.”

For cowboys, being cool was a good thing. Amid meager wages, difficult lives, and frequent dismissal as country bumpkins, the only thing they clung to was their image as rugged western men.

Yes, I felt it would be fine to spend the day without knowing his name. It reminded me of people I’d seen at home, and it just seemed right.

“Alright, Cowboy. I’d like to hear more of your impressions about New York, partner.”

He stroked his short beard with satisfaction and then began speaking as if something had occurred to him.

“Say, doesn’t New York have wanted posters or something? I came looking for someone, but no matter where I look… well, I didn’t know where to look in the first place. Anyway, do you know where I can find wanted posters?”

Wanted posters. This story seems to be getting more interesting… While jotting down his story in my notebook, I answered:

“You’d better go to the police station. But are you tracking a wanted criminal? You don’t really look like… a bounty hunter.”

“Well, I look exactly like a cowboy, don’t I? Honestly, what kind of wanted criminals would there be these days? Robbing cash transport trains is a thing of the past—it’s the modern era now.”

So he came all this way chasing a bounty in this modern age? Now my personal curiosity was rising beyond just reporting. I’m glad I became a journalist. Curiosity was my work motivation.

“So, it’s a much simpler matter. My friend shot a ranch owner and ran away. Said he couldn’t take being treated like dirty country folk anymore. I heard he even emptied the family safe and ran off with the money.”

I couldn’t say “that can’t be true.” This tone of complaint and grumbling didn’t sound like lying.

“You know too. The era of such lawless behavior is long past. It was ending when I was born, and now it’s all shiny and modern. But there you have it. Does that make sense to you?”

It seemed I wouldn’t be writing an article about a cowboy after all. As I’d promised myself before, holding a camera didn’t free me from all responsibility.

“It… doesn’t make sense, honestly. I mean… Cowboy, as you said, this is the modern era. Terms like ‘cowboy’ and ‘pioneer spirit’ appear more in movies and novels these days.”

Rebecca approached with coffee, and he paused. Sensing we were having a serious conversation, Rebecca quietly withdrew. She was a good person.

He took a sip of the coffee loaded with milk and sugar, then set it down as if unaccustomed to it, before speaking. Apparently my choice had been wrong.

“That’s why I came back to New York from western films and novels. A criminal who doesn’t fit the times should be caught by someone who doesn’t fit the times, don’t you think? The ranch owner is dead, the cattle are all gone, so there’s no cowboy work left.”

I wanted to call my father right away and ask him to find a job for this man, but maintaining distance was important too. If a reporter gets too close to their subject… who said that was bad?

I tore out a page from the notebook I’d been using for the interview, right in front of his eyes. Not everyone needed to know this, nor was it something a reporter needed to know.

“Then, I’ll do the interview later. This is a personal mission, and I don’t want to write an article telling as many people as possible about it. Instead, after you finish your business, I’ll write an article titled ‘Cowboy from the Wild West era catches outlaw who lost his way in New York.’ How about that?”

This seemed to be the first kindness the Cowboy had encountered in New York. He removed his wide-brimmed hat, held it against his chest, and nodded slightly.

“I’d be more than grateful. Oh, afterward, could you help this man who’s behind the times adapt to this city? Honestly, coming from a place without electricity to a city like this, I can barely adjust.”

Even in Texas where my family home is, electricity… ah, right. It only reaches around our house. Cities were still unusual places. If I could help him while doing close coverage, that would be good.

“Of course, Cowboy! I’ll show you that you weren’t wrong to call me partner from the start. I’m actually quite excellent as a guide!”

Not for actual roads, though. I was someone who got lost in residential areas where all the buildings looked the same, and in downtown areas where the square blocks all seemed identical.

Paulina had already removed her shield from her wrist and placed it on the table. Come to think of it, since sitting at this table, the Cowboy had consciously avoided putting his hand near his waist.

A certain trust had been built, it seemed. The Cowboy had finished his unfamiliar coffee loaded with milk and sugar. Strange as he was, this man was a good person too.

“It’s fortunate there seem to be many good people in the city too. So, partner, can you tell me where the police station is? I need to go there myself.”

Should I give him a ride? I looked up at Paulina, who checked her watch briefly before nodding. Looks like we’d be visiting the police station twice today.

“We’ll drive you! Ah, I need to do my reporting so I can’t follow you around… But I’ll let you know if I find anything useful during my reporting, so make sure you handle this properly!”

More than anything else, the phrase “old cowboy chasing a wanted criminal” was appealing just in the words themselves. It was like a righteous protagonist in a white hat from a western film chasing a villain in a black hat.

With plenty of time before meeting my source in the evening, I headed with him to the wanted poster board outside the police station. The car that had been in the visitor parking lot was gone.

As he examined the wanted posters, he pointed to one. It showed a montage of a cowboy with a haggard face like his instead of a photo. There wouldn’t be a photo, of course.

The name was… Enrique Ramos, a common enough name. The face was skinny like the Cowboy beside me, with a graying beard… Below the montage was written the angel police officer’s opinion: “Believed to have trimmed his hair and beard to hide in New York.” Apparently he wanted to live in this glittering era, not in some corner without electricity.

I felt pity, but tried not to dwell on it as I read the next line. Robbery and murder of a family of four, plus causing significant damage to the ranch owner’s property before fleeing. Those were the charges.

Still, it was hard to suppress my sympathy. He deserved to be hanged for killing people, but did such a person not deserve even a shred of compassion?

The man who had been quietly stroking the wanted poster went into the police station and came back with another copy of the same poster. Now this cowboy who seemed to be in the wrong era would hunt down that criminal.

He would succeed. It wasn’t something I could be certain of, but I wanted to believe it. I hoped the world wasn’t so merciless that someone like him would fail.

The wanted poster contained quite useful information. Believed to have entered New York from the south, hitchhiking. Probably hiding in the slums south of New York. And, $300 would be paid to anyone who captured this wanted criminal, dead or alive. $300 seemed enough for this old cowboy to make a fresh start in New York.

Only after seeing that wanted poster did the old cowboy beside me show a smile on what seemed like his dried lips.

“Yes, he was here after all. All that babbling about New York this and Washington that wasn’t nonsense after all. If you want to be a western outlaw out of time, you should face western justice, my friend.”

I wanted to capture his expression full of hope and determination to erase a stain buried in this glittering era, but decided to keep it only in my memory.

If I captured that face in a photo, I might preserve the image but not the feeling of this moment. Better not to try.