by Frank Hayes
“No, I’m fine. I won’t be long, but if you want to take off I’m okay with that.”
“I’ve got no plans. I’ll wait for you. By the way, those flowers look nice. I’m sure your mom would like them.”
Marian looked down at the flowers she had taken from the car after they left the restaurant. “I was afraid they’d seem a little skimpy. Not much more than a bouquet.”
“But they’ll mean more than any other flower arrangement in there. Her flowers picked by her daughter.”
“You know, Virgil, you are developing a knack for saying just the right thing at just the right time.”
Virgil watched as Marian walked to the front door, then disappeared inside. While he waited for her return a few cars passed, then after a couple of minutes he saw Jimmy in the patrol car, probably going out for his first run of the night. Virgil stepped off the curb, then waved, but the car never slowed and Jimmy gave no indication that he even saw Virgil. Virgil stepped back on the sidewalk, shaking his head.
“What’s the matter?” Marian asked when she came up to him.
Virgil didn’t respond right away. “Probably nothing,” he finally said. “Everything okay with you?”
“I guess. It’s just . . .” She didn’t have to say anything else.
“Listen, I was going to head back to the ranch, but it’s still early. How about we walk down to the Lazy Dog, listen to some music over a beer or two?”
“Oh, I don’t know. I should get back, get ready for tomorrow.”
“C’mon. You need it. We both need it—a little diversion. We’ll go chug a few, listen to some music. If we really get lucky, maybe Florence will whack some out-of-line customer with that hockey stick of hers.”
“She’s still doing that? My God, she must be close to eighty.”
“Yep, and her aim is still pretty good. No one complains. Guess they don’t want to admit to being toasted by a senior citizen.”
Virgil and Marian walked through the door of the Lazy Dog ten minutes later. The décor was strictly saloon. One of those places that could have been found in most cow towns throughout the Southwest, fifty, sixty years earlier, but were becoming an endangered species. On the left was a bar that went on to eternity while the space to the right of it was taken up by a mixed assortment of tables and chairs. Any thought of some uniform decorating theme was given up long ago. Some of the chairs that had met their end in disturbances over the years were replaced by new ones. The rest looked like they had been there since the Flood. Along the right wall was a line of booths that seemed to have escaped most of the carnage over the years. They stretched almost all the way to the back. The place in the way back where maybe another table or booth could have filled the space was instead given over to a raised platform. This was for entertainers who could range from paid to amateurs. Most of them had lost their inhibitions after a couple of hours and more than a few drinks. Some had become convinced that they had something to offer in the vast area of the performing arts. This could encompass anything from rope tricks to rap. The Lazy Dog had evolved through the years from what in an earlier time might have been described as a bucket of blood to a place that now seemed intimidating to no one and open to all comers. The change was not lost on Marian.
“My God, I never realized there was an end to this place. Last time I was here there was a cloud of smoke so dense you couldn’t see the rear. It was weird. I kinda got the feeling that if you walked through it, you’d drop off the end of the earth.” She made her reflection as they slid into the first unoccupied booth they came to, which was about halfway down the room.
“Yeah, well, a lot of places have become gentrified since ‘no smoking’ became the eleventh commandment. You can actually breathe now.”
“You know, Virgil, I remember there was a singer I’d heard of who was called the Velvet Fog. I often wondered if he got his start here because you could never see the singer so the music and lyrics seemed to be coming out of the fog which hung in the center of the room. It was kind of cool.”
Virgil could see that coming here had been a good call. Marian was obviously enjoying the step back into her past.
“Well, Virgil, what’ll it be?”
He looked up at Florence standing next to the booth. “Maybe you thought I wouldn’t recognize you in your disguise. I look beyond the uniform.”
“Most people don’t, Florence.”
“Yeah, well, they’re the same people life passes by and they don’t even realize it.”
“A little too much philosophy for me this late in the day. All I can think of is a kick back and a cold one. How about a Coors and a slice of lime?”
“And the lady . . . Wait, I know you. You’re . . . you’re Charlie and Velma’s girl. You look a lot like your mom, God rest her.”
“I can’t believe you recognized me after all these years.”
Next thing they both knew, Florence was sitting in the booth with them. She waved to a barman. For the next half hour they talked. At one point they were laughing so hard at one of Florence’s stories, the tears came.
“Your father and yours,” she said, pointing to Virgil. “They were a pair. I remember that story of your father and Charlie going over the pass, pulling that horse trailer, when it come loose on the downhill, then tried passing them by, because one of them had forgot to snap it on the ball of the hitch. Only thing keeping it attached was the umbilical chain. Your father looked at Charlie when that trailer come alongside. ‘What are we gonna do, Charlie?’ he says. Charlie looks at him and says, ‘Don’t rightly know. I ain’t never been in this situation before, but I know one thing, Sam. When we get to the bottom of this here grade, we better be in front.’ They was something, those two. Matter of fact, if I remember correctly, they was each on top, in the first go-round in their events at that rodeo they was going to. Charlie come in here the next day, told that story. I said to him that was amazing that you could sit that bull till you heard that buzzer after that. He looked me dead in the eye and he said, ‘Florence, that bull was nothing. Hell, I’d already had the shit scared out of me coming down that mountain.’”
By the time Florence left the booth each of them was nursing their third beer.
“That was fun,” Marian said. “Even if most of it was fiction.”
“Don’t know that I’d go there, Marian. Found out a lot about my father that I didn’t know from other people. Guess it has to do with not wanting their kids to learn from their horrible example. Maybe, since your father’s a little more vulnerable in the hospital right now, you might ask him about some of those old lies. Tell him it would be a good way to test his memory. Bet you’ll be surprised.”
She didn’t respond, but Virgil could see a kind of faraway look come into her eyes. Then the sound of a guitar infiltrated the silence, followed by the low voice of a woman who joined in, then strengthened, filling the room. They sat there in the lull of conversation, sipping their beers while they listened.
“It’s a heartache, nothing but a heartache . . .”
A song from another time. The singer’s voice took on a decidedly Kim Carnes kind of raspy, throaty sound. The room noise noticeably subsided. At the conclusion of the song there was a burst of applause.
“‘Nothing but a heartache, nothing but a heartache.’ Kind of fits the scenario,” Marian said.
“Yeah, well, if you look around this room, right now there’s probably more than one or two people having that thought.”
“You’re right, Virgil. I’m starting to wallow.”
“Wallow?”
“Feeling sorry for myself. It’s something Dad used to say whenever I’d go to the dark side over something that went wrong in my teenage life. Can’t stand people feeling sorry for themselves, wallowing in their grief, most of the time over nothing. Everybody’s got problems. Put your head down, plow through.”
“You
know, I really didn’t know your father that well except from occasional tales, but I’m liking him more and more. When he gets out of the hospital, I’d like to sit with him a stretch, get to know him better.”
“I’m sure he would like that, Virgil.”
“Hey, Sheriff, didn’t know you got out in the world.”
Virgil looked up into the smiling face of one-eyed Chet Harris.
“Shh,” Virgil said, raising his finger to his lips. “I’m undercover, trying to see if I can blend in like a regular person.”
“Well, why don’t you and the lady come on over and join us? See if the disguise works.”
Virgil looked over at Marian. She nodded slightly.
“Sure, why not, but only if you call me Virgil.”
“You got it,” Chet said.
They got out of the booth, then followed Chet back to the rear of the bar to the last table by the upraised platform. Sitting at the table were a man and a woman. The man stood up as they approached.
“Virgil, you know Karen. And this is a really good friend, Simon Levine. Simon and I, you could say, shared a foxhole once upon a time. We were both in the same unit.” Virgil extended his hand.
“Thank you for your service,” he said.
“Hope you’re not put off by a back hand. Lots of people get a little shaky when I extend the claw right off the bat.”
He held up his right hand, showing his prosthesis. “I think it would take a little more than that to throw Virgil off his game, Simon.”
“Oh, you a vet?” Simon asked.
“In a different kind of war,” Virgil responded. “Maybe I’ll tell you about that sometime. Right now, we just want to hear some more of that good entertainment and sit over a beer. This is Marian Thompson, a really good friend, by the way. Guess you could say we shared the same foxhole, too. Now where’s that singer?”
“What about it, Karen?” Chet asked. “You up for more?”
“Maybe, after we visit awhile.”
Marian picked up on the cue. “Was that you singing?”
“Guilty as charged,” Karen replied.
“Wait a second, you’re a nurse,” Virgil said. “Never sang to me once, the whole time I was in the hospital.”
“What can I say? I’m a woman of many talents and you weren’t a paying customer. My mother told me never give it away for nothing.”
Virgil laughed out loud. “I’ll be damned,” he said. “Your mother. There’s another person I’d like to meet.”
For the next hour or so they sat talking. Light banter going back and forth like a Ping-Pong ball. Virgil kept drinking beer with the boys long after Marian had switched to soda. He was over his limit and he knew it. Finally, after Karen’s last set of the night, the place was starting to empty. Florence came over one last time.
“You did good, Karen. See you Friday night?”
“I might have to work, Flo. I’ll find out tomorrow.”
“Well, you let me know. If not Friday, we’ll set another date. Looks like you had a good time, Virgil.”
“I did, Florence, I really did. First time in a long time.”
“You got to get out more, Virgil.”
Virgil regarded her comment with a silly smile on his face. “Florence, you’re right, but I didn’t get to see you whack anyone with that stick of yours.”
“Well, I’m trying to save my arm for special occasions. You know, Virgil, I’m on the yonder side of seventy.”
“Yeah, well, if I’m any judge, you’ll still be swinging it on the yonder side of eighty, if someone doesn’t sue you first.”
“That’ll never happen,” Karen piped up.
“How so?” Virgil asked.
“There are guys who act up just so they can say they’ve been whacked by Flo. Some of them come here from out of town. All this time I thought it was for my singing, but no, just to get whacked by Flo.”
Chet leaned over and gave Karen a hug. “It’s the singing,” he said.
Karen gave him a quick kiss.
“So I guess they’re starting to pull in the sidewalks,” Chet said.
“Yeah, about that time,” Virgil said. “Nice meeting you, Simon. Where are you off to after your visit here?”
“One place or another. Someplace I haven’t been. Maybe a place where I can pick up the pieces, start all over.”
“What about home?” Virgil asked.
“Well, home is New York. Lower Hudson River Valley. Right now, with this . . .”—he held up his prosthesis—“the competition is pretty tight for my work skills.”
“What are they?”
“Well, my original goal was law enforcement. I was an MP and sniper at different times in my career, but don’t think there’s much of a market for those skills, considering this.” He raised his artificial hand again.
“Can you fire a gun?”
“Rifle, shotgun—no problem. Revolver, I’d need to work on. Other than that, physically I’m probably in the best shape I’ve ever been in, courtesy of the rehab at the VA.” Virgil sat back in his chair, not saying anything while Simon finished the last of his beer. Simon then turned to ask Chet something. Virgil stood up from the table to join Marian.
“I really enjoyed meeting you all,” she said.
“So, Chet, did I pass the test?”
“Flying colors, Virgil. Just like a regular person.”
Simon, standing next to Chet, was obviously puzzled.
“Simon, nice meeting you. By the way, if you aren’t in a rush to put Hayward in your rearview mirror, I’d kind of like to talk to you.”
Simon had reached out to shake hands. Virgil took note of the taut muscles that drew his shirt tight across his chest.
“I’m not sure. Staying with Chet, but you know what they say about fish and visitors after three days. What did you want to talk about?”
“That different kind of war I mentioned. Simon, I’m the sheriff of Hayward County.”
“Oh, I didn’t know. Chet never said.”
Chet, who had been listening to their exchange, joined them and spoke up. “See, Simon, like I always said, I’d keep an eye out for you.”
They both turned and looked at Chet.
“That just might be the lamest joke I’ve heard all night,” Virgil said.
27
They could see their breath as they walked to Marian’s car.
“Hope the weather holds for the next few days,” she said. “At least until after Mom’s—”
“I think it will,” Virgil interrupted. “Sky is clear and the night has a thousand eyes.”
“That’s nice. A thousand eyes.”
“Not original with me. A line from an old Edward G. Robinson movie. Liked the image. It just stuck with me.”
“So what were you talking to Chet’s friend about when we were getting ready to leave?”
“Nothing too specific. He seemed like someone I might find some common ground with that could have the possibility of benefiting each of us. Just a gut feeling.” They had reached Marian’s car.
“Funny how that is, about gut feelings. I’ve had a couple of them lately, kind of disturbing,” Marian said.
Virgil wasn’t sure in the dim light by her car, but he thought for an instant he saw a look of sadness come into her eyes.
“Thanks for talking me into this night, Virgil. It was good medicine.”
“For me, too.”
“You going home?”
Virgil looked again at the sky. Then pulled the collar of his denim jacket up. “No, don’t think so. Heard the click.”
“Heard the click?”
“I think it was after the third beer. Knew if I went beyond that, I wouldn’t be driving home tonight. Made my choice, ’cause I was having a good time. Wouldn’t look good in the community if t
he headline read DWI for Sheriff Dalton after he runs into a tree.”
“You don’t look to me like you would have any trouble driving.”
“Looks can be deceiving. Guess I hold my liquor fairly well. I might be able to get away with it, but I know if I was to blow into a Breathalyzer, the numbers wouldn’t lie. I’ll stay in town tonight.”
He opened the car door for Marian.
“It was a good night, wasn’t it? We’ll have to do it again.”
“I won’t refuse the invitation,” she said as she got behind the wheel.
Virgil watched as Marian drove away. Then he walked the couple of blocks over to the office. He could hear Dif snoring through the closed door, but as soon as he pushed it open the snoring stopped.
“What are you doing here, Virgil?”
“Trying to catch one of my deputies sleeping on the job.”
Dif pointed to the clock. “Yeah, well, I’m on unpaid overtime. Jimmy’s late. Should have been in my own bed over an hour ago.”
“Have you heard from him?”
“Yeah. He’ll be along soon. Got a flat when he was on his way back, over on the River Road. Called in. I said I’d wait.”
“Thank you, Dif. You’re a good man. Any calls?”
“Nope, quiet as a tomb. But you haven’t told me what you are doing here.”
“Closed the Lazy Dog tonight, got a snoot full. Thought maybe I shouldn’t drive.”
“Good for you, Virgil. Got to do that once in a while. Let a little steam out of the pressure cooker.”
Dif got up, then poured a couple of cups of coffee. He placed one in front of Virgil. “Let’s sit awhile. Drink up.”
Virgil eyed Dif, then did as he was told. After a second cup, Virgil said, “Dif, you can take off now. I’ll cover any calls. Wait until Jimmy shows up.”
“Okay, Virgil, see you tomorrow. Won’t put in for the overtime.”
“Don’t know that it would make much difference if you did.”
After Dif left, Virgil went to the cell block. The symphony of snores coming from the occupants suggested an uneventful night. He counted seven—one unoccupied cell. He recognized everyone, which wasn’t much of a surprise. Most of the time his was a repeat business. The rollaway was just inside the door, so on his return from inspection, he pushed it into the office, then over to the corner between where the coffee urn was set up and the far wall. He had just opened it up when Jimmy came into the office.
