You're doing it wrong...

“Are you sure he’s back?”

“Yeah, I saw his camper parked in front of his house this morning.”

“So where is he? It’s getting late and a lot of us have a long way home.”

“Jackie’s Cold Day Inn” had near a full house tonight, everyone wanting to be there when Sheriff Tom came back from a wedding in Balmorhea. His friend, also a Sheriff, invited him to his only daughter’s wedding.

I happened to be there doing my usual route selling farm equipment up and down the Texas panhandle. Jackie had reserved a seat for Sheriff Tom and, surprisingly, one for me right next to it. Good thing, too. When I got there every table, chair, and barstool was occupied.

Wendy led me to my seat and brought my usual Jack on the rocks, smiling as she always did, like she’d been waiting all day just to see me and nobody else.

“Tell me something, Wendy. What’s going on? Something happen in Balmorhea?”

“Well, I guess you’ll know when he gets here. I think Jackie’d be better to tell you. I’ll tell her you’re asking.”

 

“Not much to tell yet,” Jackie said as she sat down with a fresh drink. “Tom and his Sheriff buddy, Max, go back a long time. When his daughter’s wedding came up he invited Tom and half a dozen other Sheriffs.

“Tom and his friends have been in law enforcement for a lotta years. That kind of work they get to see the worst and best in people. Lord knows how they bear it, but they do. Seems they’re on sentry duty 24/7 even when they’re home in bed. But they get together with their own kind they tell some pretty good yarns. It’s not ‘til it gets late that they talk about the really bad stuff they seen, you know, the stuff they never talk about to you and me.”

“You’re saying everybody’s waiting on Tom to tell the stories he heard at the wedding?”

“Pretty much. You know how it is in small towns; stories get repeated, get stale pretty fast. Guy like you hears a lot of ‘em. Sometimes you pass ‘em on, sometimes you don’t if you’ve heard it more’n twice on one trip. Like the one when the preacher’s wife put a note on the bulletin board.”

I remembered the story and laughed. “You mean the one where she wrote ‘One Night Stand, $20’?”

“It’s old but still funny. If you look her in the eye she still blushes. Oh! There’s Tom. Wendy, he’s here.”

Tom took his seat while Wendy weaved her way over with his drink.

He nodded thank you to both women, took a sip and scrunched his eyes.

“It’s good to be back. Six hours drive time, got in last night and I still have flat butt. What’s up, Jackie? It’s not two for one night.”

“Don’t be a jackass, Tom. We wanna hear about the wedding. You get eight Sheriffs in one place, somebody’s bound to get silly. Give it up.”

“The wedding wasn’t anything special. Max walked his girl up to the groom and the preacher, they said their I do’s and it was over. Had a few laughs. We all got drunk, of course. The other guys had their deputies drive ‘em home. They took my keys and I spent the night on a cot in Max’s jail."

He stood up, spread his arms wide and said, "I’m back, safe and sound so y’all can go home now. And thank you for waitin’ on me.”

 

Miles and miles of Texas

He took another sip and scanned the room smiling ‘til he saw Jackie glaring at him.

“Well, I’ll tell you there was about 200 people there. Sheriffs from Odessa, Hobbs, Monahans, Hiram from Wichita Falls, other guys. 

"Ole Hiram’s about to retire, gotta be 75 years old. Time to go. Just about busted a gut telling us about a rancher from Monahans and his truck and how he got it back better than when it got stolen. Seems like the guy’s truck broke down on the way to town. He couldn’t start it so he hitched a ride thinking to tow it the next day. But before he could do that somebody got it started and drove off. Well, it was an old truck anyway, hundred things not working right so in a way he counted that as a blessing. Trouble was he didn’t have enough money to buy another one.

“Three, four months go by and he still didn’t have enough money. Then Hiram, calls and tells him they’ve recovered his truck, pick it up at the impound lot.

“So he goes to get it, gets the keys but something’s not right. Now he drove that truck for 17 years and knows every rattle and groan in that thing. He remembers that the passenger window crank didn’t work, but this one did. The turn signals were reversed so if he wanted to signal left, he had to pull the lever for right, but this one worked. And so on. Everything that was wrong before was fixed. New brakes, new front tires, both windshield wipers worked. Even the dome light lit when he opened the door. He got in and right off he knew for sure it was his truck. Seventeen years of driving had formed the seat to fit his butt just right. Sat there a minute, closed his eyes. It was his truck, yes indeed.”

A little paint, she's good as new

Tom paused and looked at his empty glass. He waited until Wendy hurried over with a fresh drink.

“Bring the bottle and leave it, Sweetheart. I hear Jackie’s picking up my tab tonight.”

Jackie did the numbers in her head. “Finish this story or it’s full price, Tom.”

“Okay, Jackie, I hear ya.

“Well, he starts for home, turning on to the highway the Deputy Sheriff gives him a ticket for improper signaling on a turn. He tried to explain about the turn signals but it still got him a $25 fine. Figuring he’s not coming all the way back from Monahans to pay it he goes to the courthouse, pays the fine and starts for home again. Six miles down the 82 a State Trooper pulls him over for speeding, 70 in a 55 zone. He tried to explain about the truck getting stolen and the speedometer being off kilter but the trooper’s heard it all before and tickets him $90. So back to the courthouse he goes, pays the fine.

And this one is for telling me a story I heard before

“He finally makes it to Monahans, stops at his watering hole to tell his buddies the story and his truck gets stolen while he’s inside having some cold ones. Hasn’t been found yet.”

A voice from the back asked, “That guy that stole the truck, was his name Buckaloo? Thad Buckaloo? If it was, he’s my cousin. The Sheriff arrested him but the truck was wrecked. Had to trash it.”

“Matter a fact, that’s his name. Mr. Buckaloo gets around. His name came up a coupla times, different towns, different counties.”

Tom took a break and headed for the bathroom. Jackie topped off his glass and mine. Les grunted and tilted his glass at her. What the hell, she filled all the glasses at the table.

When Tom returned Les said he heard something about the Sheriff in Hobbs being in a bullfight.

“Was Sheriff García at the wedding? Did he really get in bullfight?”

“I’ll tell you, Les. Sheriff García’s been known to enlarge any story he tells, but the bones of the story are always true. He was at the wedding and also in a bullfight or something like it. He got his turn with Thad Buckaloo in a bull pen.

“Way he told it, a ranch wife reported a man she didn’t know was taking stuff out off the hay barn and loading it in his truck. She woulda shot ‘im but all she had was birdshot in her .22.

“García drives up and the guy takes off running into the fields towards the holding pens.  He hops some fences and winds up in a corral where the rancher’s keeping a bull.

“Hobbs is a fair sized city so the Sheriff's got six deputies do most of the leg work, meaning he’s not fit for going on any 5K runs for charity so he’s doing a slow chase as fast as his gut will let ‘im, but keeping an eye on the perp.

“The bull, name’s Thunder, is a three year old in his prime. The heifers he wants are in the next pen so you can figure he’s pissed about everything. Anyway, this bull’s really smart, has a history of never being caught at roundup for branding three years running. The rancher doesn’t want a bull that’s smarter than his cowhands so he tricks him into the holding pen, planning to sell him to a rodeo franchise outa Colorado.

He seems nice...

“Thunder sees the thief and charges but doesn’t ram ‘im, just gets real close, eyeball to eyeball. When the thief goes left, so does he. Goes right, bull goes right. If he tries to climb the fence, ole Thunder blows FIRE out his snout and makes like he’s gonna charge.

“García finally gets to the pen and he’s watching the bull and the man doing this back and forth. He said it looked like the bull was behavin’ like a cuttin’ horse, ‘cept in this case it was a cuttin’ bull keeping a man from escaping. Said if the bull had thumbs he coulda hog-tied the guy, won a prize.

“The thief sees García and he’s crying buckets, screaming get me outa here, get me outa here. He’s gonna kill me. García’s no fool. He opens the gate, takes a couple of steps into the corral and shouts out. Thunder turns towards the Sheriff and can’t decide which man to attack. He chooses García, but like I said, he’s slow footed and barely makes it out before Thunder smashes into the gate.

“The thief sees his chance and goes over the fence. Thunder’s circling the corral, tossing his head around, proud, looking for whoever is screaming on the other side of the fence.

“A man running for his life’s not likely to see danger ahead. He just looks to get away. Well, so happens when the thief goes over the six-foot fence he jumps into a pile of old barbwire and fence posts the cowhands left there. No matter which way he moves something sticks or cuts ‘im. It took EMS and two deputies cuttin’ wire for 40 minutes to get him out.”

That's no way to go through life, son

A guy at the next table said, “So if the bull wins it’s a Manfight?” His buddy pulled his hat down over his ears and the others tossed ice cubes at him.

The next few minutes was a jumble of a hundred people laughing and talking about Tom’s stories; Jackie, Tom, Les, and two others at the table, plus me just making small talk about nothing. Wendy found an empty stool, brought it our table and sat behind Tom and Jackie.

She said, “Sheriff Tom, tell us about the wedding. It had to be more than ‘I do’s’.”

“It was more than that but I’m at pains to tell it so it don’t sound bad because it wasn’t but you gotta know more about Max’s wife, Tina.”

The sound of Tom’s voice made everyone go quiet, people nearby shushing those behind them.

He began. “This is the last story I’ll tell tonight. I’m tired from the last four days and I need to get some sleep in my own bed with my own pillows.

“Folks, I know a lot of you want me to tell about the wedding. If I tell it like an outsider you might misunderstand so I’m going to tell you some things nobody would know unless he was there.

“When Sheriff Max called to invite me to the wedding he said, ‘Tom, something you should know that I’m telling all the others. It’s about Tina. We been married almost 40 years, had four sons before our daughter, Kathy, was born. We’ve had a good life that we would do over again if we could. We didn’t have a church wedding; no money, hard times back then. Tina often spoke about missing her chance to be a bride with bridesmaids, minister in his best duds speaking holy words about marriage, husbands, wives, love and honor, our duties to each other.

‘We had four sons and four weddings in which Tina was mother of the groom. Weddings are a bride’s day. The mother of the groom might as well stay home for all the participation she gets.”

I saw the women nodding at this fact and some of the men, too.

“’So he said, Tom, don’t be too hard on Tina. She’s gonna be ordering everybody around like a drill sergeant but just remember she’s been planning this wedding almost from the day we got married. Yes, it’s Kathy’s day, but it’s Tina’s day, too. Go easy on her. She deserves it.’

“Max was right about Tina taking charge. He said she spent six months making sure the church, the minister, the caters, the flower shop, the bakery, the bartenders, limo guys, tux rentals, dressmakers, photographers, printers, and the Country Club hall managers all understood that everything had to happen at an exact time, exact place, and EXACTLY as she laid out. And she kept checking on them, making double sure that everything was just like they agreed, no exceptions. It got so bad as the date grew closer, a few of ‘em thought about quittin’ but didn’t because it was Sheriff Max’s daughter.

“The day of the wedding she had place names in the pews so everybody would be where she said. Max’s Sheriff buddies were in the second row, bride’s side, lined up by height. I couldn’t believe she’d gone that far. By the time the dinner parties before the wedding were over everybody was more or less used to the military orderliness Tina imposed. Sheriffs are used to takin’ and givin’ orders so at the wedding reception, just standing around in a circle, drinkin’ and talkin’, they arranged themselves by height until Hiram noticed it and they changed the order only to wind up in order again but in the opposite way.

On my signal, say "I Do"

“But for all of that, the whole thing worked perfectly. Everything happened on schedule, everybody had a grand time, and the happy couple got in the limo, off to Gulf Coast for their honeymoon. Sheriff Max is sending me pictures. I’m getting’ ‘em next week.”

Tom paused to sip his drink.

Les said, “Tom, what about the happy couple? What did they think about Mom taking over everything?”

“Well, they weren’t immune to her planning either. She picked the wedding dress, the rings, the colors for the bridesmaids, the honeymoon hotel, everything. She even wrote the words for the minister and more but Kathy and her intended are pretty smart kids so they let it ride.

“Kathy and her fiancé had lived together at university for three years before they decided to marry. Kathy didn’t even want a formal wedding but it was for Mom so they did everything she asked. And Kathy knew her Mom would go half crazy planning her wedding. Her fiancé, Kathy, and her Dad agreed to let Mom manage everything the way she wanted. Don’t question, don’t object, just do what Momma says.

“Like I said, everything went perfect. By 10 o’clock it was over and everybody went home, worn out, ready for rest.

“Sometime around midnight, Max and Tina were at home asleep when the phone rang. It was Kathy. She wanted to talk to Mom.

“She said, ‘Hi, Mom. We’re in the bridal suite. We took off our clothes. We’re on the bed. Now what do we do?”

You're doing it wrong!

The Digging Fool

Digger

Panhandle, TX

Doc Walters stood under the air conditioner vent that was blowing cool air on his head and back, putting Rollie downwind.

“Rollie, there’s no broken bones in your toes and that’s the good news. The bad news is that you have an advanced case of bromidrosis.”

“How bad is it, Doc? Can you cure it?”

“Well, it’s not contagious and it is curable by simple means. Take this list to Les’s General Store. Mix the ingredients with hot water like it says on this paper. Put your feet in the bucket of solution for one hour for the next three days. Come see me then, I’ll have another look.”

Tim was waiting for Rollie in the waiting room. They were best friends, occasional handymen or laborers whenever they needed money. Rollie, now in his 40’s never had a steady job and that’s how he liked it, his natural inclination being to do what he wanted when he wanted. Tim was a younger version of Rollie, an orphan who had settled in Panhandle after finding life in big cities like Lubbock and Amarillo too stressful. If you needed help with anything involving manual labor you could usually find one of them where they lived in the small outbuilding behind “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn”.

If you are a certain age, the first time you meet Doc Walters he’ll remind you of the doctor in the old TV series, “Gunsmoke”, 60ish, unkempt salt and pepper hair, rimless eyeglasses low on his nose, tired eyes. Thirty years ago he had come to Panhandle to fill in temporarily for Doc Jennings who’d retired. He found that he liked it and stayed.

Doc handed Penny Rollie’s medical notes. She looked at the appointment log on computer monitor and said, “Miss Abby, it’s your turn. Just follow the doctor.”

And a dollar for the nice doctor

“How are you today, Miss Abby?” He checked her blood pressure, looked in her mouth and eyes with a little flashlight and found, as usual, nothing amiss in the 80 year old woman. She came in once a week just to sit in the waiting room and trade gossip with the other patients. She was always Doc’s last patient of the day even if she came to the office before anyone else. Doc would talk to her for a few minutes, tell her she was fit as a fiddle. She would pry a single dollar out of her reticule and press it into his hand. He would thank her, take her by the elbow and escort her to the front door, let her out, and lock it.

Penny was checking her eyebrows in the mirror of her compact, getting ready to leave. It was Friday and that meant she probably had a date. Doc wondered who her date would be tonight. She played the field as well as any girl her age, showing just enough interest to keep a guy coming back but not so much to make him think he was in the lead.

Doc made a note on Miss Abby’s chart closed the file and followed Penny out the back door.

Les and Sheriff Tom were already at their corner table at Jackie’s place when Doc came in to join them. It was a Friday night ritual for the trio.

Wendy came over and said, “Hi, Doc. What are you having today?”

“How about some chicken soup."

“We don't have that but we have a fifth of Wild Turkey. Won’t cure anything but you won’t care if you have enough of it.”

“Wild Turkey then, a double.”

Les said, “One day she’ll get tired of that joke and lay some chicken soup upside your head.”

Tom disagreed. “Nah, Wendy’ll go along with it. She’s too smart to get mad at anybody. I thought when she came out gay there’d be trouble with the young guys who were figuring they could land her before, or maybe she’d act different now her secret was out. But, nope. Didn’t happen. Wendy’s still Wendy. She’s got half them boys thinking she’s lying ‘cause there's a jealous ex-husband somewhere and the other half thinking that if she just gave them a chance, just one chance, they could ‘turn her’ normal.”

Les pulled a piece of paper from his shirt pocket and gave it to Doc. “Rollie and Tim came in this afternoon, said you told him to buy this stuff to cure his Ambidextrous? Epson salts, peppermint tea, baking soda, and talcum powder.”

“Rollie’s got bromidrosis” Doc said. “In fact everybody in Panhandle’s got it or will get it. Rollie’s got it worse than most.”

Tom scanned the bar, looking at everybody one at a time, looking for signs. “So it’s contagious?”

“No, Tom, bromidrosis is body odor. I saw Rollie in my office today. Got his toes jammed up under a boulder he and Tim were digging out at the graveyard. Played hell getting his boots off and when I did the smell was so powerful it made me forget about his normal BO, which is bad enough. I put on two pair of surgical gloves, one on top of the other, the stink was so bad. It’s like he’s been sleeping and working in his boots for years and never took ‘em off.

“Long story short, I told him to soak his feet with the stuff on the list, come back in a few days.”

Your feet and friends will thank you

Les rubbed his eyes like the thought of Rollie’s foot odor made them tear up. Tom downed his whiskey and called Wendy for another round.

He said, “Rollie and Tim, make a good pair. Only trouble ever had with ‘em been when they get too much money and drink it all at once. Give ‘em a job, they’ll do it and take what you give but one thing, you gotta be careful with Tim. I don’t remember who called him the “digging fool” first, but it’s stuck with ‘im."

Les leaned back in his chair and chuckled. “Newman”, he said.

Doc had heard about the digging fool but hadn’t bothered with knowing more until now. He leaned forward on his elbows and shot Tom a questioning look.

Tom said, “I tell you, Doc, it’s a story that tested my investigating abilities. I overheard Newman telling his part to the postmaster and I got curious, or nosy, as my wife would say. So I talked to Rollie, Newman and Tim at different times. Each of ‘em had their impressions of what happened. Les and I pondered on it for a long time, turning it over in our minds, throwing out stuff that didn’t fit ‘til we figured out what most likely happened.

“You know old man Newman's got that thousand acres of grazing land with a bunkhouse at the far end for the cowhands. Well, the day comes when the pit under the outhouse there was full up, and Newman being cheap as always, thought it cost too much to hire a backhoe to dig a new one. So he finds Rollie and Tim to dig it for him. Rollie turns him down but Tim jumps at it. He don’t care what the pay is, he wants the job. Digging is something he likes, guess because he can see the progress of his work, I don’t know what else.

“Newman shows him where he wants the hole near the old outhouse, and says he figures it will take the rest of the day and half of the next to dig it, so Tim can sleep in the bunkhouse, there’s cold beer and sandwiches in the cooler, be back tomorrow he says and leaves.

 

The Sears catalog is hanging on a nail to your left

“Tim can’t wait to get started almost pushing Newman into the truck. He paces out the dimensions and puts his shovel in the ground. Three foot down he hits caliche, or as you and me call it, goddamn caliche. Makes no difference to Tim, takes a pick axe to it and goes on.”

Tom paused to sip his whiskey, cleared his throat and continued. Les was back on his chair, legs out in front, arms crossed, nodding and smiling at the familiar story.

“Now, Doc, you know a pit for an outhouse don’t have to be too deep, six foot usually, eight foot if you got a lot of people using it. Newman’s only got two men to use it so it could be a bit shallow.

“I said Tim was a digging fool and I meant it. Les can back me up on it. You give him a digging job, he’ll work at it sunup to sundown. Anyway, Tim’s really wound up now he’s past the caliche to the hardpan. But he doesn’t stop at six foot or eight, keeps going, digging and digging down to eleven foot by sundown. Next morning he looks at the pit, goes down the ladder and starts digging some more. It’s sand now so digging’s easier and faster. About 20 foot down he hits water, not much but if he goes much deeper it’s not a pit anymore. It’s a well.

That hole won't dig itself

“Around noon, Newman drives up, he’s got Rollie with him so the three of them can lay the timbers and drag the outhouse over the new pit. Tim’s standing there, holding his shovel, looking proud like he’s a new daddy.

“He says, Mr. Newman, I got you a well just 20 foot down. Newman looks down and sees the water.

“He looks at Tim like he’s gonna kill ‘im, looks in the pit again and says, you dumb sonofabitch! This pit’s only 15 foot from the old shithouse. That water ain’t drinkable. You drink it, you get the holy shits and die. I ain’t paying for this. Matter a fact you gotta fill it in. Can’t have a horse or a steer fall in.”

Wendy came over and told the Sheriff that his dispatcher called, needed him at the office. He finished his drink in one gulp and stood up.

Doc looked disappointed. Tom said, “Sorry, Doc, I gotta go. Les can tell you the rest of it.”

Les cleared his throat once and then again. “Doc, I think I’m coming down with something maybe you can get me some chicken soup or Wild Turkey for it?” Doc grimaced but called out for Wendy.

Fresh drink in hand, Les said, “Tim and Newman got into it pretty good. Tim said he wouldn’t fill in the hole, arguing hard like it was a violation of his digger ethics or something. Just refused, didn’t care if he didn’t get paid. Call the Sheriff if you want, ain’t doing it.

“Rollie, he’s leaning against the truck watching the whole thing, staying out of it. He knows Tim ain’t a fighter and Newman’s too frail to do any harm. When they run out of words, he says he’ll fill in the hole for free if Newman pays Tim to dig another one. He’ll keep an eye on Tim, make sure he does it right. Now, where do you want the pit? Newman didn’t like it but at least filling the 20 foot hole wouldn’t cost him anything.

“Rollie made sure the new pit just six foot deep and Tim was done before sundown. They dragged the outhouse over the new hole and filled in the old pit.

“When Newman came back to see the work, he pulled some bills out his pocket, paid Tim what he owed, then maybe thinking he might need more work done in the future, paid Rollie, too.

“That’s the story. If I left something out Tom can fill you in. Right now I gotta go close up the store. Thanks for the drink, Doc. See you later.”

Doc stayed on thinking about Rollie and Tim, mostly about Tim. What made him the “digging fool”?  It couldn’t be money or gold. By all accounts, he didn’t care about those things. Maybe he found something valuable once, lost it, and something in his head got stuck – keep digging, keep digging until you find it.

He finished his drink, left a tip for Wendy and went home.

It's not polite to point

Sometime around 6 o’clock two or three days a week Les would leave his clerk in charge of the General Store and walk to “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn” for a few sips of Jack with his friend Tom. They never got stupid drunk, just got a little buzz, take the edge off the day’s work. While Les was handling customers in his store, hearing their gossip, Tom, being Sheriff, was dealing with folks outdoors doing the same. Mostly they’d trade news and retell stories they’d told before, maybe adding a detail or two to improve the telling. 

A little sip'l do ya

 Wendy, the new waitress, sashayed over bringing their drinks. As she walked away both men stared.

Len said, “She’s sure got a way about her. Flirts without being too open but still flirty. A few nights ago I was here with some friends and their wives talking over buying a new pulpit for the minister. Ben and his wife were here. Wendy does her usual ‘well, howdy boys’ routine like she does with all the men. I see Ben’s wife glaring at Wendy as she goes back to the bar. Swear to God Luann was studying her back for just the right place to drive a Buck knife between her shoulder blades. Luann’s probably not the only woman thinking that way about the girl but you can’t blame the kid for working for bigger tips can you?”

Still looking at Wendy standing at the bar, Tom said, “Lotta the young guys think she’s coming on to them specially. Coupla them are smitten but I hear she’s picky about her dates. Deputy Dudley made a play for her and failed, not her type, I guess. She says, ‘Why, Dudley, what would Flora say if she saw you and me together?’

“He and Flora been going back and forth for a while now and I don’t see her making up her mind between him and Bedford. It’s not like she’s any Helen of Troy or nothing and she’s gotta be over 25 by now. Like my grandma used ta say, it’s about time she holds her nose and picks one.

“Dudley wants to run for Sheriff when I retire. He’d make a good one. Kid’s thorough, keeps up with the new stuff in policing, once in while comes up with ideas I never thought of. Only thing is sometimes going by the book is the wrong way to solve a problem. Other night he coulda just let Rollie sleep it off in his truck and nobody’s the wiser. Instead, he arrests him and impounds the truck. I told him Rollie’s harmless. All you done is humiliate the man and cost him impound fees. He’s getting it but if he doesn’t loosen up more I might even vote for Bedford Tapscott when the time comes.”

Les looked around to see if anybody was eavesdropping. “You’d vote for Bedford Tapscott over Dudley? And what kinda name is Bedford, anyway?”

“The name comes from his great granddaddy, some kinda Civil War hero if you believe Bedford Sr. who isn’t known for giving ground to anybody. I guess that rebel blood gets passed father to son. He might make a good Sheriff. I think he’d be tough enough but I’ll have to study him some before I give up on Dudley. Can’t really tell how he would work around being a lawman sworn to uphold the laws he don’t like.”

The Sheriff finished his drink and got up to leave. “See you tomorrow, Les.” He tipped his hat at Jackie and Wendy.

Dudley sat in his car at the crossroads rubbing his knees with both hands. The small knot on his forehead hurt, too, but it wasn’t too bad. He was hoping the Sheriff wouldn’t see him ‘til he healed because he would have to explain why it hurt to walk and what about the bruise on his head? If he stayed out until the Sheriff’s shift was over he’d probably be okay by tomorrow. Just lay low, hope nobody sees him.

Flora. She was the woman he wanted at his side when he became Sheriff Dudley. Would she be Mrs. Sheriff Dudley or just Mrs. Dudley. Hell, what was he thinking? After last night it was probably be over between them, and Bedford Tapscott would have a clear field and who knows what he had in mind for Flora.

He and Flora had dated for a year and things were just warming up from chaste kissing on her doorstep to more serious stuff in his car. Not that Dudley was inexperienced with women. None of the ones he’d dated before were marriage material. They just filled his need for companionship and sex when his hormones overtook his brains.

No, Flora was exactly what his minister and his mother told him was proper wife. God fearing church goer. Innocent of mind, pure of body. So last night when she put her hand on his thigh very near his privates, he was seriously shocked. His knees jerked up and slammed into the steering wheel. A fraction of a second later as the pain fried his brain, his head came down on the steering wheel. It got worse. He couldn’t drive. Flora drove him home, helped him into his bed and left without saying a word. How do you recover from a disaster like that? He pictured Bedford hearing about it. Laughing. Making his move on Flora. It’s over. For real.

Then he thought, what if she touched Bedford the same way? Would he be as stupid as me? No, not Bedford. He’d go for a score. Flora ruined. Gone from his future.

He didn’t know Bedford wasn’t having much luck with Flora. She was 25 years old and she’d been to community college in Amarillo. There were plenty of ways to learn about the ins and outs of the world there. She’d dated guys like Bedford and knew how to keep them from getting too familiar. She liked Dudley, too. He was smart and steady if a bit uptight; the kind of uptight who stopped kids on the street, order them to pull their pants up and turn their ball caps around.

By the following day Dudley’s knees healed up enough that he could move around without wincing except when he tried to turn left or right. The Sheriff didn’t seem to notice and didn’t even ask about the bruise on his forehead. He was parking his cruiser in front of the Sheriff’s office when Wendy, out shopping, saw him and went over to say hello.

A little dab'l do ya

“Hi, Dudley. How’d you get that bruise? It’s okay, not my business, cop stuff I’m guessing. You shouldn’t go around looking like that. You’ll be all day explaining. How about I cover it up some? A bit of foundation and powder and nobody’ll see it.” She dug the stuff from her purse, a couple of dabs she was done. Then she brushed his hair down to cover that. Dudley smiled and thanked her. She said, “Nothing to it” and left. Bedford was stepping out of his iron works shop across the street for a smoke. All he saw was Wendy leaning into the cruiser and running her fingers through Dudley’s hair, grinning, saying something, walking away.

Well now, he thought, that’s something Flora might want to hear about tonight when I take her dancing.

 

EMS, a fire engine, and Deputy Dudley’s cruiser were already there by the time Sheriff Tom arrived at “Billy’s Last Stand”.  People were standing outside gawking and talking about what they saw or heard. Tom scanned the crowd quickly, nobody bleeding or hurt. Inside was a different story. He arrested Bedford, Jim and Angel, and closed the bar.

Les was already at Jackie’s the next afternoon when Sheriff came in for his afternoon break. Wendy waved hello and brought his drink. They watched her walk away.

“Funny thing. Wendy did a perfectly innocent thing yesterday morning and caused a fight 12 hours later and 15 miles away.”

“I heard about the fight at “Billy’s”. What’s Wendy got to do with it?”

“I’ll get to that in a minute. You already know about the EMS and fire truck business so I’ll start there.

“First thing I saw when I walked in was Dudley getting a splint on his knee and Bedford sitting on the floor, both eyes swollen shut, holding his right hand tight. Looking around I see Jim and Angel side hugging. Right away I think, the usual suspects, and I was right. Billy saw the whole thing, gave me a quick rundown. So I arrested Jim, Angel, and Bedford. Flora was there, too, and I noticed the only thing she was seeing was Dudley. I told her to look after him, let me know how he’s doing.

“After I got everybody in their cells I went home figuring I’d get their stories in the morning when they’ve had some coffee for their hangovers.

“Checked on Dudley this morning. He’s hurting still but he’ll be all right. Flora took him to the Emergency Room, x-rays and stuff. Nothing broken, pain killers, he’ll see Doc later.

“So this morning Bedford’s in his cell, hand and middle finger in a cast, eyes swollen and black, reminded me of a raccoon. Jim and Angel together in the other cell, sitting on the bunk leaning into each other. Hungover but nothing more than that.

“They started talking to me all at once. I shut ‘em up. I picked Angel to tell her side first.

“She said, this guy Bedford Hopscotch, or whatever his name is, gave me the finger for no reason. Jim and me were sitting in our booth talking to friends having a good time when this guy in the booth behind me says what am I laughing at. I say, a bad joke but now I’m seeing a better one. Joking, you know?

“He turned full around and flipped me off. Naturally, I grabbed his finger and pulled it back. He yelled something and was gonna hit me with his other hand but Jim got there first, hit right left, and down he went.

“I hear this crack, like snapping a twig and then a godawful scream like I never heard before. Dudley was on his back, his legs folded up tight against his chest, and his hands covering his knees. I didn’t see what happened to him but Jim saw. Ask him.”

“Jim? What’d you see? He squinted at me like the light hurt his eyes, asked me for more coffee.

“He says, yeah, I popped him good. I say, I know that, Jim. Tell me about Dudley. Why’s he laid up this morning?

“He says, oh yeah, Dudley. He was doing his rounds, standing at the bar talking to the bartender, checking if everything was all right, I guess. When the ruckus with that guy, Bedford, startled one of the waitresses dropped a tray full of mugs and pitchers. The noise got Dudley’s attention and he whipped around to see. That’s when his knee snapped. Angel’s right about the scream. I seen a lot guys hurt bad that didn’t scream like that. Spooky.

“Some woman knelt down next to Dudley, trying to help him.”

“That would be Flora, I said”

“Ok, whatever, anyway, I figured somebody had already called 911 and that you’d be along by and by so we stayed put. EMS got there first, took care of Dudley and doofus. That’s all I know.”

“Ok, Bedford, your turn.”

“Sheriff, I’m the victim. That bitch broke my finger and her boyfriend clocked me.”

Angel sprang from the bunk and tried to grab Bedford’s hair but Jim pulled her back.

“See what I mean? She’s nuts.”

“Bedford, why did you flip her off? Simple question.”

“Okay, okay. Maybe I was wrong but I was really pissed. Flora and I were on a date having fun, dancing. I had a couple of shots and figured it was time to tell her I saw Dudley and Wendy making nice that morning.

“I look at Flora for her reaction but she’s smiling, not what I expected.

“So I say, why are you smiling? You know who I’m talking about, that slutty barmaid, Wendy.

“Flora just sits there smiling some more and I say again, why are you smiling?

“Bedford, she says, Wendy’s gay.

“What the hell, no way. Ever see how she acts around men? Gives ‘em all the I’m available look.

“Bedford, she’s gay. Her wife told me. Sure she gives all kinds of signals to you guys but she hasn’t gone out with you or Dudley or any other guy. Maybe she looks easy, but you guys are the easy ones. She’s not interested in you that way but she sure gets big tips. Jackie says she makes more in tips than her salary.

“Then Bedford points at Angel and says, I’m really steamed up then I hear her laugh and bump the backrest where I’m sitting. Well, I thought she was laughing at me ‘cause she heard me and Flora talking. I turn around, next thing I know she’s breaking my finger and her boyfriend’s putting my lights out.”

“Hands on her hips Angel points her chin at Bedford, she says, you ever lie to get something you want? Bet you have. Even Jim, light of my life, lied to me first time he come on to me. Said he was a boxer. He looked it, muscles, scars and all. Later on I asked him where he boxed. He says, at Target. I put boxes in the delivery trucks. Way I see it, Wendy’s no better or worse than anybody.

“That took care of Bedford so I say, anything else? No? Okay. I haven’t decided how to charge you. I’m gonna think on it. The dispatcher will take your written statements. Don’t go anywhere.”

Les signaled Wendy for another round. He watched her walk away. “If I was 30 years younger I’d make a run at her, too.”

“I know what you mean. She is special.

"I checked on Dudley again today. Doc says his knee’s gonna heal, something about ligaments stretched. Anyway, I’m still testing him, see if he’s got what it takes to take my job, see if he knows the difference between the law and justice. We’re sitting there, me, Dudley, and Flora. I tell them what I heard at the jail. Flora’s got this little smile. So I say to Dudley I’m not sure how to handle that bunch in my jail, what do you think?

“Mind you, he’s taking pain killers so I listen close. He says, let ‘em go, Tom. Looks to me like there’s a lot of hurt feelings, but no real crime. Jim was protecting his wife. Angel was right to take Bedford on and Bedford’s an asshole, got what he deserved.

“Right then I decided when it comes time I’m gonna tell everybody to vote him Sheriff. Bottoms up, Les”

In Vino Vertigo, or something

The party was over by midnight and nobody complained. They’d been drinking and dancing since sunset and tomorrow was church day anyway. The occasion was “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn” 20 year anniversary. Nobody was exactly sure how the idea of the celebration came about but it was early September when at last, the temperatures were cool after sunset. A little drinking, dancing, socializing sounded like a good thing before the heavy work of harvesting or rounding up the herds for market began.

Kill me now

It only took 20 years for “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn” to become an institution in Panhandle. There were other bars where you could drink and dance; cleaner places with ferns, salad bars, and live bands playing loud enough to make the deaf complain. Jackie’s was dark and sweaty. Nobody went there to preen.

The mayor and the sheriff agreed to block off part of Main St. in front of Jackie’s so that barbeque grills, tables, and tents could be set up outdoors. The Sheriff, who’s job it was to keep track of such things, estimated that 300 ~ 400 people showed up. There were two bands. Inside the bar a country band played old favorites. Outside, a fiddle band played even older bluegrass. The younger folk danced indoors, the older ones tapped their feet to the music outdoors.

By 1:00 AM, the fire in the grills had been tamped down, tents and tables folded up. It was a unanimous decision to sweep up the trash in the street the next day.

Sheriff Tom, Les, Jackie, and I sat around a corner table having a nightcap or two, winding down from the party and the frantic lead up to it.

Jackie said, “I’m so tired I can hardly raise my drink to my lips, and if I lower my head to it, I might fall in.”

Les picked her glass up and brought to her lips. “Darlin’”, he said, “Just take a sip. If there’s any left over, I’ll take care of it.”

He owns the general store and the feed store across the street. Les and Sheriff Tom are lifelong friends going back nearly 60 years. When Jackie asked him to help plan and fund the party he did both. The Mayor kicked in a few bucks. Even the new pastor, not sure if his congregation would approve or disapprove, put $10 of his own money in the pot.

Sheriff Tom leaned back in his chair, tucked his thumbs in his belt and declared that the party was an easy time. “Only had to break up a couple of disagreements. Old man Newman got het up when his handyman, Ray, said the Oakridge Boys were better than Flatt & Scruggs. I sent Ray indoors and sat with the old man ‘til he calmed down. Even Jim and Angel behaved themselves. I guess Jim remembers spending a weekend in jail while I was off fishing with the Judge.

“You got a good little bar here, Jackie. I remember when you came here in, what was it, ’94, ’96?”

“94, Tom. Just me and my pickup. Drove up to the Panther Bar and bought it. The rest is history, or something.”

The sheriff rubbed his shoulder and winced. Les said, “Still hurts some, huh?” Then looking at me he said the sheriff had been shot breaking up a robbery at the Credit Union a long time ago. He was famous; one sheriff, two robbers, a hero for the ages.

“Well”, Tom said, “you know how it is in the law enforcement business. You’re nobody ‘til somebody shoots you.

“One of the robbers said the dynamite on his chest would blow up if he let go of a switch. City slicker all the way, shiny shoes. Around these parts anybody over eight years old knows the difference between a road flare and a stick of dynamite. Anyway, the other one shot me and passed out after I coldcocked Mr. Dynamite.

“My granddaddy and my daddy were sheriffs here before me and they never even drew their guns. I’m just lucky, I guess.”

Studying Jackie now, he said, “I was thinking back to when you bought this place. Orville told me you paid him in cash, took the money out of your backpack. Nothing unusual considering, but then Les here told me everything you bought at his store you paid in cash. Most out of towners have credit cards for everything except for you. It set me to wondering so I looked for your name in public records all over the country and didn’t find anything after you ran away from home. Now here we are 20 years later and you still pay cash, no credit.  If it’s none of my business say so but I gotta ask, you got strong feelings for cash?”

She looked each of us in the eye and said, “You guys are my best friends. You’re more family than I ever had. My father was a hard man with large appetites and few graces; my mother was like a ghost. A day didn’t go by we weren’t ripping strips off each other.

“But there’s more to it than that. You remember how it was in 60’s, Tom. Girls spent their high school years figuring out which boy was gonna be her husband. If you hadn’t picked one by Senior year you took the best you could of whatever was left. By Junior year I’d blossomed a bit and a few guys sniffed around but I’d already seen the future by looking at the girls that graduated a year or two ahead of me.

“For a while gettin’ married was like extra high school. They hung around with the same people and did the same things. A couple more years on, there’s kids, layoffs at the plant, money gets tight, and the fighting and discontent begin. Six, seven more years and by then some of them start to hate each other but they stay married anyway. It wasn’t what I wanted for me. I was just turned 18 when I ran away from that and my family. Wound up in California.

“I got lucky in Seal Beach and found a job as a barback. The owner, Cap’n Jack taught me how to mix drinks and bartending. He fired me on my 21^st birthday but got me job in Las Vegas. That lasted ‘til the liquor board pulled the license. From Vegas I went east, spent a few years in Arizona, first Flagstaff, then Tucson where I learned Spanish. Those Mexican boys thought it was a hoot to hear a redheaded white woman speak their language. Sometimes they would order extra pitchers just to hear me say their names again, real sweet and slow. The Alacrán was the happiest bar I ever worked. I left after a while, going east again.

“You wanted to know about me and cash. Maybe you’ve forgotten or maybe you never saw it close up, Tom. Back in the 60’s and 70’s women couldn’t have credit cards or a checking account without their husband’s co-sign and permission.

“When I was working at Cap’n Joe’s I tried to get a credit card and a bank account so I could manage my money better. No husband? No card. I had no choice but to pay cash for everything. The unfairness of it gave me such a royal rash I made up my mind I was going to do things my way as much as I could. I rode buses, hitchhiked or walked, rented places near where I worked. Cash, cash, cash, and a money order to the IRS once a year.

“Never bought a car or truck until ’94 when I came back to Panhandle. Bought it off a guy and ripped up the title. DMV doesn’t know I own it. Have look at the license plate. It’s been expired for 22 years.”

She poured herself another shot of whiskey and smiled at me. “I don’t get tickets for it ‘cause once in while I forget to charge the Sheriff here for his drinks. Hell, one time he caught some tourist trying to steal it for his antique collection. Made that sucker put it back then ran him out of town. Other than my expired plates, I’m a model citizen.

“Been all over, Baton Rouge, Galveston, Mobile. By 1992 I was bartending in Denton when some drugstore cowboys came in; four of ‘em, new boots, creased pants, big hats, and soft hands. I heard one of them say he was originally from ‘Pampa, shitkicker capital of Texas.’

“Pampa, only 30 miles from my hometown. That’s when it came to me that ever since I left California I’d been working my way back home to Panhandle; that crappy little town I ran away from more than 20 years before.

“So two years later, there I was sitting in my pickup at the Panhandle city limits sign, 41 years old with nothing but my life savings under the seat. I drove around town looking for familiar things. The house I grew up in was still there but strangers living in it. The high school was the same except the football field had fake grass now. 

 “Going down Main St. I saw that the shops and stores had new tenants, new names, and new purposes. The Panther Bar & Grill was still there near the train station. Goooooooo, Panthers, yada, yada. So the town still lived and breathed Friday Night Football.

“I parked in front and went inside. The bartender looked me over, then past me like he was waiting for my man to come in behind me. When my man didn’t show, he said, ‘You lost, Ma’am?’ I said, no but I’m looking for a bartending job. He looked me over again and said he didn’t have any jobs but the way things were going he’d sell the place for cheap. He wasn’t kidding. I bought the place for cash, cheap.

“News about the Panther being sold didn’t take long to get around. I scrubbed off as much grime as I could and opened up. No more‘n 10 minutes later, a classmate recognized me. My Grand Opening turned into a class reunion; everybody was older and fatter but still recognizable. An old coot didn’t like me at all, said it’d be a cold day in hell before he set foot in here again. That’s how this place became “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn”.

“At first I tried to keep the place neat and tidy but a bit rough seemed to suit my regulars better. I wasn’t long before I was dropping my “g’s” like I’d never been gone. I’d just moved here so technically I was an outsider. On the other hand, I was raised here so one cancelled the other. You know, weird small town math.

“You didn’t ask for my life story but there it is. In vino, vertigo or something, I think, I forget. I’m ready for another drink, anybody else?”

She went to the bar for another bottle of Jack. Tom looked at me and Les, down at his drink, shifted around in his chair, then looked up like he'd made up his mind about something.

Jackie freshened our drinks and put the bottle down.

None of us said anything for a while then the Sheriff put his hand over Jackie’s and said, “I told you once that I didn’t know anything about your folks but the fact is, I do.

"My daddy was Sheriff around the time you left home. Your daddy said you eloped, moved to Alaska, and broke with the family.

"I didn't know your daddy that well but I got a pretty good idea about him from my daddy. No doubt the man had a hard bark on him. Everything in his world was black or white with nothing in between. It was like he enjoyed scraping on your nerves, always on the other side of anything you said or were. According to my daddy, he was the only man who could make Jehovah Witnesses say, 'Whoa, look at the time. We'd better go'

Jackie nodded, "That's him."

“What I’m gonna tell you now may not be complete or accurate in every detail but it’s all I got. He told me he ran your folks out the county back in ’82, ’83 or thereabouts following a snakebite incident that nearly killed Beau Jackson. He was just a kid at the time. Anyway, tent revivalists come around every Spring and Summer, set up their tents, take money from the locals and move on. I try to move ‘em along before they do any harm.

“Near as I can piece together, your mom and dad got the Holy Fire in their souls from this one preacher, a serpent handler he called himself. So after my daddy run him off, your daddy goes out and catches some rattlers. My daddy heard he was fixin’ to start his own revival operation here, permanent like, so he tried to warn him off. Apparently not soon enough for poor Beau who was praising and praying along with others in your daddy’s back yard one night. All the congregants were up in lather, speaking tongues, writhing on the ground just like you’d ‘spect at such a ceremony. Your daddy brought out the basket with the rattlers, reached in and pulled one of ‘em out. He’s holding it up, the thing’s twisting and turning in his hands, Beau rushes up to the snake and gets bit on the nose just like that.

“Hurts like hell, he’s screaming, the venom’s working fast. Lucky for him law requires Sheriffs have anti-venom serum in our cars. My daddy got to him just in time.

“Well, there’s no law against handling snakes or getting bit by one so legally there was nothing my daddy could do ‘cept try to run your daddy off. Turns out that wasn’t necessary. His followers abandoned him after Beau’s misfortune. His only option was to move away and try his luck someplace else.

“My daddy watched him load his truck but before he left daddy told him he’d better figure out how to milk the venom outta them snakes before turning ‘em loose on his followers again.

“Real loud he says, ‘That’s the first thing you learn at Snake Handling University, you ninny. Keeps you from dyin’ if a rattler takes a shine to your arm.’ Your daddy’s eyes went wide like he was hearing something very, very important, something he shoulda known before but didn’t. He was shaking, got real pale, ghost-like, jumped in his truck and drove off. That was the last anybody saw of him or your mom.”

I travel all over south and west Texas on my sales route and I hear the same stories repeated dozens of time. This one was new. None of us had heard it before. Once we began laughing we couldn't stop. Jackie spilled her drink, gasped for breath. Les, holding his sides, gave Tom a look, is it true? Tom nodding yes and we laughed harder at what was a brand new bar story. I could tell Les was already practicing how he was gonna tell it next.

It was about 2:30 when Rollie walked in carrying a shotgun, saw us giggling and said, "Can I have some, too? 

"You guys gettin’ ready to wrap things up? I gotta clean the bathrooms, sweep, and take out the trash before Olson comes by for it.”

“You don’t need a gun for that, Rollie. Gimme that thing. Come by my office tomorrow, you get it back.”

“But Sheriff, me and Tim are supposed to stand guard on the stuff outside. Jackie said so. There’s kegs, a reefer full of frozen pork ribs, the grills, and other stuff.”

Rollie and Tim are handymen of sorts. There isn't much they can't do, trouble is they don't want to do very much. They work when they need money and refuse steady jobs. Jackie hired them to clean up the bar after closing in exchange for some money and a beer or two while they worked. They're indifferently reliable but honest.

“Gimme the gun, Rollie. Deputy Dudley has the night shift and he’ll be close by if you need him. I’m going home.”

Shotgun in hand, he left Jackie’s and the rest of us followed, still laughing.

Jackie's Cold Day Inn

“We’re all going to hell!” was what I heard as I walked into “Jackie’s Cold Day Inn”. Opening the door to the place meant letting light in, and that never failed to temporarily blind the patrons.

“Hey, I been to hell already. Lucky me she remarried. I don’t recommend it.”

It didn’t get a laugh maybe because I’ve said it a hundred times before.

"Cold Day Inn", low maintenance, high quality

Jackie’s was near the end of Main St. in Panhandle, TX. There were a couple of other bars but it was the oldest and the favorite one, the others being less than 20 years old, operated by outsiders. It was a bit more than half full which was unusual for that time of day except today. Most of us had been to the pastor’s funeral an hour before. For this part of the world 100+ temperatures are standard from May to October and Jackie’s had the best A/C in town. The only light came from the tiny dingy windows in front. It was so dark it made everybody look acceptable.

Nearly everyone in the congregation was at the funeral except the kids. Dressed in their church clothes, the men pulled at their collars, the women dabbed their sweat with lacy handkerchiefs and the Bishop under layers of vestments suffered, too, but not enough to hurry things along. The moment of silence after the wooden casket was lowered lasted about 10 seconds after which we practically ran for shade.The men headed for Jackie’s place where it was cool and dark. The women went home to get more covered dishes for the widow.

The official word from the ME’s office was that the pastor died in his sleep at a motel two towns away. No other details were given so naturally we took to inventing possible reasons why he wasn’t at home dying on a Wednesday night and just how worn out he must have been to die while sleeping; “dead to the world” while asleep and now dead to everybody else alive. But it was too soon to joke or gossip about it now. Maybe in few days.

Things brightened up some when Jackie brought two more pitchers of beer and shots for everybody, on the house just this once.

“If you guys don’t lighten up I’m closing the bar and you can be gloomy at home”, she said.

Nobody wanted to go home. A funeral is like a day off, not quite a 4^th of July day off, but a work-free day nonetheless.

Ray looked up from his beer and said, “I remember when he arrived here in ‘96. He was all filled up with the Fire of the Gospel in ‘im trying to save everybody all day, every day. Me, I wondered what he was saving me from. I had a nice spread, a good herd of whiteface, royalties from the three little oil wells in the back forty, satellite TV, and a good wife. So far as I could figure, I sure didn’t want to leave this place for some other place I never seen.”

Jackie looked about to smack him with an empty pitcher. “Of all the good stuff you got, your wife is last, Ray? After satellite TV? Tell me when you plan to show her your list. I really wanna be there, help her clean up after she’s done with you.”

Ed downed his shot, took a gulp of beer and said, “You’all remember Bobby Jean, I mean the way she passed while playing Charades? Five other people there, including Will the EMS guy. She died before they figured out she was having a heart attack right in front of them. She’s flailing around and they kept trying to guess what she was pantomiming. A breakdancer! A dolphin leaping out of the water! Oh, shit! A heart attack! Will tried to bring her back but it didn’t work.”

Raging Bull! No!      Horny guy! No!

Looking around he said, “I don’t see Ben here so I guess I can say “pneumothorax” and get a laugh instead of a dirty look. We were working on the hay baler, me on top working the gearbox and him underneath taking bolts off the tranny. Anyways, I hear him grunting and huffing then he says god help me, I can’t breathe; hurts like hell. I’m gonna die. Got him in the truck fast as I could, ran him to the clinic. Doc has a look and tells him you’re not dying you have a pneumothorax. Ben says, what’s that. That’s a collapsed lung but for billing purposes a pneumothorax costs a lot more. Considering all the names you called me the last half hour I’m still making up my mind which way I'm going to write it up.

“Ben says, ok, ok, but what’s the cure? Doc says, nothing but bed rest coupla days; and hands him a bag of balloons and a bottle of aspirin. Tomorrow morning, he says, start blowing these up, aspirin whenever you need it. Call me if the pain gets worse.

“Well, Ben wasn’t having none of that. He’s seen doctor shows on TV. There’s pills and operations for everything. He can barely talk it hurts so bad but has just enough breath to swear at the doc some more. Doc doesn’t pay any attention, just writes something on Ben’s chart. Then he says, ‘Ok, Ben, pneumothorax it is.’”

We laughed out loud even though we’d heard the story before. It happened years ago but Ben still gets steamed about it even after a doctor from Lubbock told him that doc’s treatment was right.

The door opened, let the light in and blinded everybody. Sheriff Tom stood in the doorway like a gunslinger looking the place over. Seeing no malefactors he took a seat at our table, nodded at Jackie to bring him a mug.

“Missed the pastor’s funeral. Had to check out the Williams’ place. Somebody said there were strangers digging near the hay barn. Wish the heirs would settle things and sell the place. It’s not worth much but it’s more than all the money they found after Pop Williams died. It was some kids from Canyon State looking for Pop’s buried treasure. I told ‘em it had all been found already, $500,000 in Republic of Texas dollars from 1846. Betcha good money Pop Williams is laughing in his grave over his joke and he’s been gone now 20 years or more.”

That was a story I hadn’t heard before. It must have shown on my face.

The Sheriff lit up a Cheroot, leaned on his elbows and said, “Ain’t much to tell. When Pop died his will left everything to his three ingrate sons. That and a map showing where he’d buried half a million dollars he swore he found while digging wells on the south 40 back in the day.

“Trouble was there was no sign about which way was North on the map or any landmarks so these fools turned the map this way and that, dug up the land this way and that for months before they hit paydirt. The field looked like home for a colony of giant Prairie Dogs big as tractors. Those boys looked pretty foolish after bragging all over the county how they were going to spend the old coot’s money soon’s they found it. Twenty years on they can’t agree to sell it and I think the county’s about to seize it for taxes.”

A couple of hours after sunset we were back to normal, taking turns ganging up on whoever was a good target at the moment. Sheriff Tom put some bills on the table and left to finish his shift. For some reason the empty chair made Ray think about the pastor.

He said, “I mean what does a pastor do with his time? Give a sermon on Sunday, well that’s a couple of hours plus the time to write it out during the week. Organizing fundraisers for folks in need, getting stuff for the food bank, but what else?

“You know ranch life can be lonesome for the wives. Think on it, the men are out in the fields plowing, planting, harvesting but not by themselves or in town at the feed store, socializing. With the kids in school it gets awful quiet around the home day after day. A visiting pastor can be safe, welcome company once in while. It might explain why some kids around here have dimpled chins just like the pastor.”

Nobody wanted to think too deep on that so the talk went back to the pastor dying in Bixley.

Ed spoke up first.

“Maybe he was in Bixley banging something besides his bible. I heard Alice cut him off after that thing with the organist what’s-her-name. She moved away. Maybe to Bixley?

“If not what’s-her-name what was he doing in Bixley on a Wednesday night? Nothing there. All I can figure is a place called “Betty’s Boop”, almost naked “girls” that make a sheep look good. I was there one time saw guys putting dollar bills in the women’s bikini bottoms and getting 50 cents change. 

 

“I think Wednesday nights are two-for-one drinks at “Betty’s”, Wednesday being the slowest night. I heard they tried holding mud-wrestling contests but nobody showed up for the next one after the first one. Guess they forgot most of the guys ‘ev seen plenty of hog wallows and don’t care to see another one even if the drinks are cheap.”

True or not, everybody  laughed real hard except Jackie*.

                                                 RIP, Pastor Johnson

*Author’s note: Jackie doubled the bar tab that night. If anybody noticed they aren't saying.