One prime example of such a customer was a cowboy named Switchback Gil. He was new in town, but everyone knew his name, mostly because he’d loudly introduced himself to everyone in the place when he’d arrived. After moving to the bar and having a few drinks, he introduced himself all over again.
“Why the hell’s this place called Ocean anyway?” Gil grunted. “There ain’t no water in sight.”
The stout man who’d been hired on to tend the bar was in his late fifties and had lived in Ocean his entire life. Normally, he jumped at the chance to explain the town’s history to newcomers. This time, however, he shrugged and said, “Don’t rightly know.”
“Aw, come on! You gotta know! And call me Gil. Switchback Gil’s the name!”
Wincing at the stench of liquor that flowed from Gil’s mouth as he kept flapping his gums, the barkeep said, “You mentioned that already.”
“Then let’s hear the story!”
As Gil’s voice echoed throughout the restaurant, a door toward the back swung open. The woman who stepped through the doorway had long, dark hair pulled into a braid that hung to the small of her back. Her dress was simple enough, but not even a burlap sack could have kept her nicely proportioned curves from being noticed.
She carried a large book tucked under one arm and had a pencil in her hand. As she walked toward the bar, her eyes narrowed at the sight of Switchback Gil supporting himself with both hands against the edge of the polished wooden surface. “Could you two keep it down out here?” she asked in a friendly tone. “I’m trying to work through the finances.”
As soon as Gil’s eyes found her, they widened and slowly ran up and down her body. “Well, well,” he slurred. “That’s more like it. Why don’t you come over here and keep me company?”
Shaking her head before looking away from Gil, she focused her attention on the barkeep. “I think our friend Switchback Gil has had enough,” she said.
“You heard o’ me?” Gil asked.
“Everyone on this block has heard of you by now,” she replied. “You’re talking loud enough to wake the dead.”
There were a few chuckles from the diners scattered at some of the tables. It was just past eight o’clock, so most of the dinner crowd was long gone. The ones who remained were picking at their meals, savoring the special of the day.
Gil settled himself so his back was against the bar as he raised his hands. “Don’t call the law on me. I’m just enjoying my firewater.”
The woman nodded and showed Gil a genuine smile. “We’re closing in a bit, but there’s plenty of saloons on Eighth Street. They’ll be open all night long.”
“Will they have ladies as pretty as you over there?”
“Sure. Go see for yourself.” With that, she nodded to the barkeep and turned toward the back room.
The barkeep responded to her nod by shifting his hand away from the polished axe handle that was kept under the bar to discourage drunks from abusing the Tin Pan’s hospitality. When he looked away from Gil, the barkeep saw one of the regulars step up and place his hands flat upon the bar.
“I’d like a brandy,” the man said. “And a glass of wine for my wife.”
“Coming right up.”
Gil let out a low whistle and took half a step away from the bar. “This is one of them fancy places, huh? No wonder you don’t want the likes of me around.”
“Nothing like that, mister,” the barkeep said. “I mean…Gil. We’re just about to close, is all.”
“Yeah. You wouldn’t want a bad element around here. Not when you’ve already got killers like Nick Graves lurking about.”
The barkeep didn’t flinch. He simply shrugged, shook his head and said, “Don’t know who you’re talking about.”
“Sure,” Gil said. “And I’m certain that lady who just poked her nose out here a moment ago ain’t never heard of Graves, either.”
The door to the back room hadn’t fully closed, but now it swung open again. The woman stepped out with her hands placed firmly upon her hips. “What are you talking about?”
“Ain’t you Catherine Weaver?” Gil asked.
“I am.”
“From what I hear, it should be Catherine Graves by now.”
“You got my name right the first time. Do I know you?”
Gil walked straight toward Catherine, but was stopped as the axe handle slapped against his chest just hard enough to freeze him in his tracks. The barkeep held the axe handle in his extended arm, which was more than strong enough to keep steady as Gil tried a few times to push past it.
“I’m not out to harm Nick,” Gil said, “but I do need to have a word with him. I heard that you and him were married.”
“Where’d you hear that?” Catherine asked.
“From someone who goes to services every Sunday with the preacher who performed the ceremony.”
“Well, you heard wrong,” she said.
Several of the customers glanced nervously at one another. A few of the older men got up and came closer, making sure Catherine knew they weren’t about to go anywhere.
Gil tried to take a step forward, but again was pushed back by the axe handle. Only then did he look at the barkeep. “You know what’s good for you, you’ll take that stick away before it gets rammed up yer ass.”
The barkeep’s face didn’t change, but his grip around the solid piece of wood tightened.
“You want me to fetch Sheriff Stilson?” the old regular at the bar asked.
Settling into the situation, Catherine walked toward the bar. “No need for that. This is obviously just a mistake. You wanted a brandy?”
“That’s right, but—”
“You’ll have your brandy. Your wife will have her wine, and Gil and I will have a friendly chat like two civilized people.”
The barkeep looked at her and asked, “You sure about that?”
“Sure, I’m sure,” Catherine replied. “If I wanted fights in my place, I would have opened a saloon. Still, I’m sure Gil won’t mind if we take this outside.”
Although he seemed a bit surprised by the sudden shift in the tone of the conversation, Gil nodded and hooked his thumbs under his belt. “That sounds just fine to me.”
Catherine led the way out the front door and Gil was quick to follow. Outside, the sky was dark blue and the stars were appearing overhead like a mess of silver dust that had been tossed into the air. Knowing she wasn’t about to lose Gil anytime soon, Catherine turned toward the corner and walked with a confident stride. “So,” she said, “what brings you to Ocean?”
It took a bit of work, but Gil managed to match Catherine’s pace so he could walk directly beside her. “I heard I could find Nick Graves here. I also heard that you’d know where to find him.”
“You’re not the first to come looking for that man. I wish I could help you.”
“Some folks thought he was dead, but that’s a hard thing to defend anymore. Graves used to be a wanted man. There were some vigilantes in Montana who spread the word about a price on his head from here all the way to the Mississippi. Hell, I even heard a bounty hunter from New York knew about the reward.”
“I’m no bounty hunter,” Catherine stated. “I run a restaurant. That’s the only business I’ve ever been in.”
“So you’re saying all those men who wanted to have a word with you were wrong?”
“What men? The only one that’s come around asking for me is you.”
Gil glared down at her through narrowed eyes. Even though she was several inches shorter than him, Catherine carried herself as if she was on a level field with any man. “That’s a damn lie, ma’am.”
“Excuse me?”
Jumping ahead one step, Gil got in front of Catherine so he could stop her with a stiff hand on each of her shoulders. Once he’d brought her to a halt, Gil closed the gap between himself and Catherine so he could look her in the eyes and speak in a menacing snarl. “I said that’s a damn lie and you know it.”
Before Catherine could
respond, there was a knock against the boardwalk, as if something heavy had been dropped a little further along the street. She and Gil both looked. They found the noise had been made by a single boot thumping against the boardwalk as a tall, lean figure stepped up from the street.
The figure wasn’t close enough to listen to what Catherine and Gil were saying and it didn’t make a move toward them. Instead, it stayed put and kept as still as a stone marker protruding from the hallowed ground of a cemetery.
“Why do you want to find this man so badly?” Catherine asked.
“All I want is to ask a question. I don’t have a problem with Graves and I’m not after the price on his head. Nobody even needs to know it was you who told me where to find him.”
Catherine let out a little breath and smiled up at Gil. “That’s good to know.”
“My brother works at a telegraph office not far from here and he told me about a message that was sent by someone who mentioned Graves by name and that he lived here. I got here quick, since there’s so much money involved.”
“Money?” Catherine asked. “What money?”
Gil grinned and said, “I knew that might cover some more ground with you. There’s money to be had and I stand a hell of a chance of getting to it first if I can have a word with Graves. If things go my way, you’ll get your share for steering me in the right direction.”
“How do I know you’d come back to hold up your end?”
Looking down the street, Gil spotted the lean figure still standing in the same place. The only part of the figure that moved was the coat that was flapping around the man’s legs.
When he spoke again, Gil lowered his voice and turned his head away from the figure. “I can give you an advance.”
“What sort of advance?”
“How’s a thousand dollars sound?”
Catherine’s eyes widened and she pulled in a breath. “Come back tomorrow night,” she said. “If I find out anything, I’ll let you know.”
Still studying her, Gil scowled and gnashed his teeth together. He stopped just short of speaking again when he glanced at the corner to find the dark figure walking slowly toward them. Each step thumped against the boardwalk and sent a rumble all the way up to Gil’s knees. It was difficult to make out many details, but when the man got close enough, Gil caught sight of the badge pinned to his chest.
“Fine,” Gil said. “But you’d better have something for me if I’m to waste so much time around here.”
“You’re free to leave whenever you like,” Catherine offered.
“I’ll find you tomorrow at that place of yours around the same time as now.” Glancing toward the approaching figure, he added, “Make it a few hours earlier.” With that, Gil crossed the street. As the lawman approached Catherine with quicker steps, Gil was more than happy to be on his way.
Catherine walked up to the man as Gil rounded a corner. Reaching out with both hands, she grabbed his coat, pulled him to her and planted a kiss squarely upon his lips.
“My hero,” she whispered after leaning back just enough to get the words out.
Nick’s hands went reflexively to Catherine’s hips, but his eyes darted toward the corner Gil had just turned. Even though the other man was nowhere in sight, Nick watched that spot for a few more seconds.
“Come on,” he said. “Let’s get off this street.”
THREE
Nick and Catherine walked back to the Tin Pan and stepped inside just as the barkeep was about to lock the door. She said a few words to the barkeep and then held the door open so he could leave for the night. After giving her employee a quick wave, Catherine locked the door and pulled down the shade in the front window.
Leaning against the bar, Nick reached over the top and fished out a bottle of clear liquid. He used his other hand to get a glass, poured himself a healthy dose of the liquor and took a sip. “Sometimes I think it was a mistake to stay here,” he said as the vodka worked its way through his system.
“No, you always think it’s a mistake to stay here,” Catherine said as she leaned against the bar next to him. “It’s almost to the point where I think you regret marrying me.”
Nick looked into her eyes and smiled. The gesture seemed odd for features as harsh as his, but it was genuine enough. A thick beard covered his face, making his cheeks seem fuller and rounded. Cool, steely blue eyes took in the sight of her as he reached out to run a callused hand along the side of Catherine’s face. “You’re the only reason I’d even consider staying,” he said. “You know that.”
“Sure I do, but it’s still nice to hear every now and then.”
“Well, you just heard it.”
After draining the glass, Nick set it down and reached for the bottle.
“You haven’t had that much to drink in a while,” Catherine said.
“You’re the only place in town that bothers keeping any of this for me,” Nick replied as he tapped the bottle of vodka with the edge of his glass. “I’d hate to see it go to waste. Are you going to tell me about that fellow you were talking to, or do I have to wait until you warm up to the subject?”
Catherine blinked and took a step back from the bar. Crossing her arms sternly, she said, “Sheriff Stilson must be working you awfully hard for you to be so cranky.”
“He’s got me walking the same rounds as before and I can’t blame him for it. Even with what little he knows about me, it’s a miracle he deputized me at all.”
“The way you handled that bank robber who rode through here a few months ago should have been enough to convince anyone. That is…unless he came here because he knew you from your wild youth.” Although she’d been kidding when she’d said that, Catherine quickly recognized the expression on Nick’s face.
“Did he come here looking for you?” she asked.
Nick let a few seconds pass before he answered. “He won’t be coming around here again.”
“That’s because he’s buried in the cemetery.”
“As far as Stilson knows, he is.”
“What?” Catherine asked. “He isn’t?”
Nick shrugged and waved the bottle as if he was about to pour. Before he could refill his glass, Catherine reached over and took the bottle from him.
“He isn’t?” she repeated.
“I’m trying to live a quiet life here. Isn’t that why I allowed you to talk me into wearing this ridiculous thing?”
Seeing that Nick was pointing to the badge on his chest, she replied, “That ridiculous thing earns you some respect and it puts people off your trail.” She paused and shrugged before adding, “I thought it was a pretty good idea.”
“It is,” Nick said as he reached over to rub her cheek. “And it does put people off my trail, but that doesn’t mean I’m safe from anyone else who comes through here looking for me. How long do you think it’ll be before that man you were talking to finds out who I am and where I can be found most every day of the week?”
“You’re out at that cemetery or your workshop more often than that parlor you run. A squirrel can’t get within twenty yards of any of those places without you knowing about it.” She patted Nick’s hand and smiled lovingly. “Perhaps you should talk to Stilson about being a deputy in more than just title. It…probably pays better, you know.”
“I’m doing the only work I know,” Nick said. Looking away from her, he added, “Well, the only work that won’t land me in jail, anyways. Things around here have been good. I’d rather not fool with that.”
“Good for the town isn’t exactly good for an undertaker, which is your chosen profession. You can still do that job when it’s needed, but we could use a salary that doesn’t require a steady stream of people dropping over.”
“It’s been a while since the last funeral,” Nick said. “Some of the folks around here are bound to keel over sooner rather than later.” He met Catherine’s eyes and smirked. “When it rains, it pours.”
She wasn’t amused.
“All right, so maybe
I just don’t like wearing this thing.” With that, Nick took hold of the badge and tore it off his shirt. He looked down at it and then flipped it over to find shreds of cotton hanging from the pin behind the star. “What did that fellow want?”
“Who?”
Looking up at her, Nick said, “The fellow who you were talking to outside not too long ago. The one who scampered off the moment he saw me coming.”
Catherine took a deep breath and ran her finger along the top of the bar. After pausing for a while, she realized that Nick was still waiting for an answer. “He was asking about you.”
Nick straightened up as his hand immediately drifted toward the gun at his side.
Watching him go through that simple, practiced motion was almost enough to bring tears to Catherine’s eyes. Under most circumstances, she looked at him the way any wife would look at her husband. There were moments when she was exasperated and moments when she wanted to laugh at him, but all of those moments were shaded by the love that flowed so easily between them.
When Nick made that subtle reach for his gun, he became the man he’d been when they’d first crossed paths. That also drew her attention to the gnarled stubs that remained of the middle two fingers on his gun hand and the pieces of his left hand that had also been torn away. Even the parts of his hands that were intact were covered in old wounds that made them look as if they’d been cobbled together from spare parts.
The gun at his side wasn’t much different. It had begun as a Schofield revolver but had been restructured into something else. Its handle was whittled down to less than half its original size. Catherine had seen the gun enough to know the barrel was gnarled and grooved as well, as if it had been heated, twisted and then allowed to cool. Most people figured the gun was a cheap piece of garbage only used to fire a round at the occasional snake.
Those people would have been dead wrong.
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