"It's too damn hot for this black suit," Elwood thought, as he left the post office and walked out into the El Paso street. Even at 9 am, it must have been 100 degrees. He took his jacket off and folded it over his arm. At least the dark sunglasses were useful in the strong sun.

Elwood looked around at his surroundings. El Paso was a whole different world. He looked at the buildings, but his attention kept turning to the cars. More pick up trucks, he figured, than most places he knew. And the bumper stickers were in some sort of code. Lots of abbreviations, like AIM, BLM, BIA, and FBI. At least Elwood recognized that last one. Yes, he knew that one, too well.

Back at the Bluesmobile, Elwood opened the door and tossed his jacket onto the back seat. The car was steaming, even though he'd left the windows open.

"You're gonna miss your bus."

Elwood looked up to see a tall, dark skinned man leaning against a pick up truck parked in front of him. He stood much the same way that Elwood would, back leaned up against the Caddy. Only this stranger didn't slouch so much. And instead of a black fedora, he wore a large beige cowboy hat. But in a battle between Cowboys and Indians, it was clear that this man wasn't on John Wayne's side.

Elwood looked at him, shrugged his shoulders, and shook his head gently, as if asking "What?"

"Your bus. It's leaving in a few minutes."

"Sorry, man," Elwood responded. "You got the wrong dude."

"Don't think so."

The tall man folded his arms in front of his chest and looked around, as if barely noticing the man in a black suit. Elwood, however, couldn't help but notice him.

"You with the CIA?" the man in the cowboy hat asked.

Dressed as he was, Elwood got that quite often. Still, no matter how many times he heard it, the question always seemed ridiculous.

"Nope."

"So then, you must be MIB," the man said confidently. Elwood curled one side of his lip up, in a slightly quizzical manner.

"Hey, man. What's it with all the letters around here?"

"What letters?"

"All the letters. They're everywhere. CIA. MIB. AIM..." Elwood pointed out a bumper sticker as a van drove by.

"AIM?" the man asked, as he unfolded his arms from across his chest. He turned, showing Elwood the words printed on his white t-shirt.

"Free Leonard Peltier."

"Who the hell is that?" Elwood asked, confused.

The darker man shook his head.

"Pine Ridge?"

Elwood shook his head back.

"Anglos never listen to the news, do they?"

"I guess not."

"Read the papers?"

"Nope." Elwood agreed. "We don't even know where The African Republic of Mmbito is."

The man in the t-shirt turned to Elwood, and squinted his eyes just a little. A small smile emerged.

"Well, I'd say that it was in Africa."

"Yeaah-up."

Realizing the absurdity of the conversation, Elwood joined his new conversation partner, leaning back on the truck with him. The two stood there, looking out into the street, staring at nothing in particular.

"You're still gonna miss your bus."

"I got my own car, man." Elwood said, pointing his thumb at the Caddy.

After a moment's silence, the man in the cowboy hat finally answered an earlier question.

"American Indian Movement."

Elwood nodded slowly, thinking it over. AIM. After another moment, he simply asked "BIA?"

"Bureau of Indian Affairs... BLM? Bureau of Land Management. Might as well all be FBI. All your Bureaus are the same."

"What are you, man? Some kind of Apache Warrior?" Elwood asked, innocently.

Without turning, the man in the cowboy hat responded with his own question.

"What are you? Some kind of black guy?" The tall stranger meant it to point out the dangers of lumping everyone together. After all, to him, one American was just like any other, right?

Elwood shrugged, and offered an unexpected answer. "Well, I guess so. Sort of."

The response took his new companion off guard. Realizing this wasn't the typical Anglo, driving a big black Cadillac with Illinois license plates, he seemed to loosen up. But only just a little.

"Tewa."

Elwood wasn't sure, but he assumed that the man was telling him the name of a tribe. But it could have been his name, for all he knew. Unsure what to say in response, Elwood simply offered up the name of his own tribe.

"Blues."

"You'll want to get to the station," the man said after a moment of silent contemplation. "The bus leaves in twenty minutes."

"Why do I need a bus, man?" Elwood asked, getting a little annoyed. "I got my Caddy, right there."

The two stood silent again. Finally, Elwood broke the silence.

"Who's Leonard ...?" Elwood hesitated, then he tried to get a look at the shirt again.

"Peltier. Leonard Peltier. Your FBI says he killed one of them. On Pine Ridge."

"Oh yeah?"

"They put him in jail."

Elwood nodded. Now, getting nailed was something he knew all about. Even if he couldn't identify the specific tribes of the Southwest, he knew all about unfortunate incarcerations. And seeing as how the FBI was also after him at that very moment, he surely could relate.

"Did he do it?"

"Nope. They lied."

Elwood nodded again, thinking about something Jake once told Curtis.

"You know," he said, as dry as a piece of white toast. "It's a sin to bear false witness."

"Forked tongue," the darker man corrected. "Least that's what you Anglos think we'd say, anyway."

"Jive talk," Elwood added, maybe to prove a point.

The man in the cowboy hat looked around. He focused mainly on the windows of a few of the office buildings across the street.

"The FBI, they are everywhere, now. Wherever there's an Indian, they're watching. Think we're planning something..."

"Yeaah-up." Elwood responded, now also nervously looking around.

"Don't worry. They don't care about an Anglo, like you."

"Sure they do. At least when you punch one of them." Elwood shrugged, pushing his sunglasses further up the ridge of his nose. "Like, let's say, in a bar...in St. Louis…" he added, hypothetically speaking.

That remark made the man in the cowboy hat lean away slightly, to get a better view of Elwood.

"What?" Elwood added, defensively. "He pissed me off, man."

"In that case, you better leave soon. They're everywhere."

"Yeaah-up."

Elwood thought about that fed he knocked out, back in St. Louis. Maybe he was safe, and they weren't really after him like he thought. Maybe he'd gotten away with it. Anyway, the chances of the feds tracking him down again, here in El Paso, were astronomically small. Still, this world was filled with unlikely coincidences. So, with an awkward smile and a hesitant wave goodbye, Elwood moved on.

"You've got to be shitting me!" Elwood said to himself, his jaw dropping open. Finally, he slowed the Caddy down to a near crawl.

The bus station was crowded. He'd seen crowds before, but not like this. There must have been two hundred of them in that parking lot. Two hundred men, all dressed just like Elwood. Even in the heat, they all wore black suits, a black hat and a pair of black sunglasses. There were several charter buses, too, waiting for their passengers to board. Elwood imagined that he'd stumbled into the biggest Blues Concert ever.

"No wonder he thought I was looking for a bus..."

Elwood pulled into the parking lot and turned off the engine. He jumped out, grabbing his jacket, and headed towards the first group of men in the crowd. Although excited, he calmly approached them. They all acknowledged each other, standing almost motionless in the heat.

Elwood looked around, and noticed no one had their instruments out. It seemed a bit odd. In fact, the longer he waited, the odder the whole situation became.

"Where you guys headed to?" Elwood finally asked.

"New Mexico," one man answered. He was tall, lean, and dark haired. He could have been Elwood's long lost twin. And with orphans like Elwood, you never can tell.

"New Mexico? For a blues concert?"

"No. For the crash."

"A car crash?" Elwood asked, puzzled. At least cars made sense in his world.

"No. The crash. The UFO." Elwood's twin looked back at him, equally puzzled.

"UFO?" Confused, he became defensive. "What are you? Putting me on?"

He scanned the crowd. There they were. Hundreds of men in black suits. He even noticed a woman or two. Finally, he noticed the signs on the charter buses.

Second Annual MIB Convention

Roswell, New Mexico

August 15-20, 1978

"MIB?" Elwood asked, scratching his head. Again with the letters.

"Men in Black," the twin responded, confused that he had to do so. "You know. The aliens, who dress like CIA agents. To steal evidence of UFOs. Take everything you've got."

Elwood thought about his Tewa friend and the letters. CIA. BIA. FBI. AIM. MIB. All the same. They get what they want, by any means.

As he looked around, he thought about how he could easily disappear in a crowd like this. It was the best camouflage he could ever imagine.

He imagined the feds moving in, flashing badges at random members of the group. He pictured them inspecting the I.D. cards of dozens of other men, but walking straight past him when the time came.

All of a sudden, Elwood heard his brother Jake's voice in his mind.

"Jeez, Elwood! You've got to be kidding me!"

"What?" Elwood thought back to his brother.

"You think that fed is still following you? Come on! He hasn't thought of you for a week! Stop being so damn paranoid."

Elwood looked around. If they had been musicians, he might have made the trip, just to be a part of a band again. Jake would understand that. Even now, spending a few days on a charter bus with these guys was oddly appealing. After all, they were also making a pilgrimage. Only they were going to see an old UFO crash site in some backwater of New Mexico.

For a moment he thought that it was no stranger than staring at the mansion of the king of rock and roll, or a hotel balcony where someone was shot.

"Tell me you're shitting me, Elwood," Jake said, again in Elwood's mind. "You are comparing Martin Luther King Jr... to a UFO filled with Martians? Curtis would kick your skinny ass clear cross town."

"No he wouldn't," Elwood said, defending his own thoughts. But Elwood was lying to himself, and he knew it.

"Yes he would..."

"Nope."

"Listen. You're not gonna get on no bus with a bunch of space ship chasing wieners! Not while your brother is rotting away in the joint! Man, I'm dying here!"

Thinking about his brother Jake, he remembered why he was there in the first place. Jake needed him.

"Elwood! You told me you'd write to me. You said you'd tell me all about that gig you got! The one in San Diego…"

"Stop bullshitting me. You ain't waiting for no postcards, Jake," Elwood thought back again. "You can barely read."

"Maybe not. But, Jesus Christ, Elwood! I need you to send me some money! I'm out of smokes! Come on! I'm dying in here!"

Maybe it was the heat getting to him, but Elwood smiled, thinking about the make believe conversation that he and his brother were having inside his head.

Jake needed him. Even if it was just for some cash to buy some cigarettes.

When he left Chicago and started his road trip across the country, Elwood told himself he wouldn't go back until he figured his life out. Standing in the bus station in El Paso, surrounded by a bunch of Men in Black, he finally did.

"Okay, Jake. Hold on. I'm coming. You'll get your letter soon."

After all, that's what his life was about. Being there for his brother Jake.

You did all sorts of crazy things for the people you love. You robbed and cheated and got into bar fights. You held up gas stations. You postponed trips to alien crash sites, even if it was the best way to hide out from the feds. You lied to your brother, and told him the band was still together. You had to lie, to give him hope while he was locked up in the slam. You had to tell him something was waiting for him when he got out.

Then you spent a month driving around the country, just to send him letters to prove you were really on the road, out on tour.

And you knew for sure that he loved you back, when you realized that your letters really did keep him going.

Well, it was either the letters, or the money you included for those cheap cigarettes.