The advertising had been running on the radio for the past week. If we were half as exciting as the ads would have people believe, we would be turning them away in droves. The Bail Jumpers had set up, and were waiting in the pool room. Beth and I were wearing our matching jeans and polos - I had opted for cargo pants and Beth's polo was a size too big - on Sam's insistence. Billy paced the place like a caged animal, waiting for six. Elmore wandered around behind the bar like a lost soul. Sam was set up in the 'executive washroom', actually a tiny apartment behind the office. God help us, we were ready to go.
Sam: Got your security on the way, Elmore. Couple of ex-Rangers. Friends of mine. Elmore: You been great, Sam. Billy: Leave it to you, Dawg, t'bring in more cops. Deb: When I was a cop, I spake as a cop and moved among cops. Yea, verily, I say unto you, though I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, I will fear no evil, for there are nothing but cops in the valley. So saith the Federal Code, Chapter One, Subsection Four. Beth: Leave it to you, Bill, to bring the Bail Jumpers in as the house band. Bill: Be surprised at how cheap they work. Deb: Leave it to all you men to find fault with each other. Beth...looky there...those jeans oughta be...bronzed... Beth: HELlo! And before I wander away let me just say that Elmore doesn't do that. Bill: How come whenever he's around, you and I end up in the shithouse? Sam: Who you talkin' about, Bill? Bill thumbed at Elmore, rocking his weight back onto one leg as he waited for Sam's take on the situation. Deb: I stand corrected, Elmore, you're too sweet for that. I'm sorry! Jesus come please us, it's John Neville. Hadta look at his face. Bill: Him! The sweet and innocent angel there. Beth: Someone call me a medic! Bill: You're a medic. Beth: You're a riot. Our attention had shifted...this was heaven for women long on appreciative glances and short in attention. Sam: He's harmless, Bill. Bill muttered under his breath... Bill: Maybe not as harmless as ya think, Dawg. ...but the noise level in the Corner was going up exponentially and Sam, fortunately, didn't hear him. Deb: Stand down, sailor. You don't look good at all with green eyes... Damn! When did he get here? Elmore: Who? Deb: That awful Clay Bertrand. Elmore: Dunno when he slid in, Ma...but he done pinched my ass. I ain't goin' over there. Prob'ly wants another Mint Julep. Deb: Where? Over his nappy head, I hope. I grabbed a beer tray and wandered off towards the languidly signaling Bertrand. Call and Gus stopped me in mid-passage. Gus: Debra, darlin'...you're lookin' purty as a picture. Call: 'Scuse me, ma'am...you seen Sam Gerard in here anywheres? With my free arm I hugged Gus around the waist briefly, then stepped back to regard his companion. Deb: Gus, migosh! What're you two doin' here?! Sam's in the back, drives him nuts that he has to stay out of the way with that leg...are you and... oh, MY...is this the Captain? Gus: That's right, darlin'. I guess you never have met ol' Woodrow, here. Deb, this here is Woodrow Call, honery as an ol' billy-goat and' twice as mean. Deb: I'm pleased, Captain Call. Your reputation precedes you. Call: Only as far as Gus' voice carries, ma'am. Sam in back? Deb: Right that way. Gus: That's what the young lady said, Woodrow, y'got cotton in your ears? Sam asked us t'come on up and help out with th' security problem. Deb: You gentlemen excuse me? Reluctantly, and turning to watch the Captain's retreat, I headed for Clay Bertrand. I regarded his white curls and white suit with what had to be thinly disguised distaste.Clay slipped a twenty dollar bill out of the pocket of his crisp white suit. Clay: For the drink, yourself, and the rest you can give to that simply delightful bar-man. Deb: Simply delightful...who the hell? I turned to the bar... Deb: What bar-man are you talkin' about, Sparky? At first I only saw Beth washing glasses, then Elmore came from the back, lugging a case of beer with him, biceps bulging. Deb: I'll give him a warning, you mean! Elmore...!!! I fled back to the bar, past John Neville and Billy McCain. Deb: 'Scuse me, you two...Beth!!!! McCain: Sure, Ma...careful there... I leaped Tom Boyette's outstretched legs rather nimbly. Beth: Clear the runway, Deb's comin' in for a landing. Deb: That friggin' wussy's gonna hit on our Elmore! Beth: What?! Yes! Ohmigod! Do you know who you just jumped over?... Deb: Tom Boyette, why? Beth: I didn't notice...just checkin' out Neville's hip-huggers and Billy McCain's khakis. A person's away for a couple of days and you forget just how much there can be to see in one spot...Mercy! Deb: Dear God! Can I keep him?! I took Bertrand's refill and drank it down like koolaid. John Neville had moved away from Billy McCain and was approaching us. Beth: Jesus, Mary and Joseph! He's headed this way...never truly appreciated the boy until now... Beth constructed another Mint Julep and knocked it back like so much water. Neville: Hi, Ma...Beth. Deb: I'm tonguetied. Beth: My tongue is thinking of other things. Deb: Is my tongue even in my mouth? Bill rolled up, maintained a place behind Neville. Neville: Either of you two seen Strannix? Deb: He's around here, John...doing what he does best...lurking... Neville: Tell him I need to see him as soon as he has a minute. We nodded, slowly and numbly. Neville turned slightly and glanced over my shoulder. Neville: Bill! Five or six cowboys in here with Bronx whines. Over in the corner. I whipped around to see Bill standing in that hipshot way he had, big arms folded across his chest, giving me 'the look'. Deb: Hi, baby. There he is, John. Bill: Uh-huh. What's this shit about Bronx cowboys, Neville? Bill drew John Neville away from the bar, giving Beth and I an unparalelled opportunity to view maximum gluteal excellence. Clay Bertrand was motioning impatiently for his refill, probably because he had seen two just like what he'd asked for being pounded down by...women. Beth slowly recovered from her reverie and made another Mint Julep. John turned, giving us the award winning Neville smile. Deb: That's on file. Beth...another Mint Julep for our limp friend, please. Beth: Here ya go, Deb. A Julep for the limp wristed wimp frim the other side of town. I was about to meander back to Bertrand when Bill stopped me. Bill: C'mere, punk. Gotta job for you two. Deb: Sure...what? Beth leaned over the bar at Bill's gesture, and we put our heads close to his. Bill: Keep an eye open for cowboys with funny accents...we got about five in here now, right over there. You get a body count, come see me or Sam, okay? Beth: Elmore... Bill: Need to know, baby. He's got enough on his mind. You understand, Punk? No mouthin' off...just come for me. And if either Cosmo or Cole turn up, I wanna know five minutes ago. We both nodded, numbly. Beth got a headrocking pat on the cheek while I got a squeeze tight enough to sunder my spine. Then he was gone, moving easily through the crowd. Beth: Better get that over to Bertrand. He looks about ready to fly. I started making my way to Bertrand, tripping over Billy McCain's feet where just a few minutes before I had sailed over Tom Boyette's like a broken field runner. McCain: Watch y'self, Ma. Deb: Sure...Buddy, can I ask you a stupid question? McCain: Shoot, Ma. Deb: Where d'you get those t-shirts? McCain: Uh...the Dollar General. Deb: Hafta remember that. I dropped off Bertrand's Julep and would have made off to more congenial parts immediately but a group consisting of Brad Little, Steve Butler, the fidgety Mitch and Hank Marshall were blocking my only escape route. Clay: The service here is atrocious. Deb: And you ain't so hot yourself. You wanna be careful who you complain about the service to, Skippy...this end of the room, I am the service. Bertrand fished in his pockets, first removing another twenty and then a gold cigarette case. He removed a cigarette from it and fitted it into the holder he affected. Clay: Say, would you send a drink to that young man standing there at the bar? Whatever he's drinking? I snatched the twenty and smirked at Bertrand. Deb: Absolutely, no problem...though he's hardly the mousse-eating type. I darted away when Little and Butler stepped away from each other for a little friendly legwrestling or something. Deb: John...whatcha drinkin'? Neville: Seven and Seven, why? Deb: Need another one? Elmore...a refill for John, please. From the Rainbow Warrior over there. Neville choked and spat his drink on the bar. John: Kill me if you love me, then, Christ Almighty! Beth appeared out of noplace, watching the cleanup in the midst of hysterics. Beth: Three more urban Cowboy types... Deb: Crap, what's that, eight? Who's here to bat for our side? Beth began to count on her fingers but ran out fairly quickly. Beth: Who've I seen so far...Neville and McCain, there...Elmore, of course, and Billy...Brad Little, Hank Marshall, but he's got Carly and may need to keep an eye on her, she'd be the fool to walk out into the middle of a brawl to look for someone...Steve Butler, Mitch, Quint...Tom Boyette, across the room...no sign of Eddie, but he's probably with Foltrigg...I thought I saw Mike Roark, but he didn't have a cellphone screwed into his ear so I couldn't be sure... Coley's shooting pool with Gus and the Captain...Bully called and said he'd be up later, he was going to shower and grab a nap... I poked her arm and gestured toward the door and a figure in a dark suit. Deb: Well, hell...there's Eddie. Christ on a bicycle, what firesale does he get those suits from... Beth: Uh...Deb...I think you might wanna... I started weaving my way through the crowd toward that end of the room. Charlie Company had retreated to a corner table and were loudly demanding something or anothrt, so ostensibly that was my destination. I could stop and give Eddie Mallard a little gentle grief. I had never had the chance to thank him for everything he had done for me...that night. I was afraid a direct reference might make him uncomfortable, so I decided the thing to do was to come at it sideways. When I reached his side, I nudged him gently. Deb: Hey, Eddie...when're you gonna spring for a different suit? 'Eddie': Different suit? Deb: That puppy's nasty, Eddie...the goodwill won't even want it back... Eddie regarded his suit forlornly. 'Eddie': Deb...you really have no idea who I am, do you? Deb: 'Course I do, you're Eddie. Beth came barrelling in, grabbed my head, and murmured three emphatic words in my ear. Deb: Get outa town! No way it's... Beth nodded, grabbed my chin and made me take a closer look. Deb: Oooh, stick a fork in me, I'm done...sorry, Tommy Lee, the light's so darn bad in here... Beth nudged me hard in the small of the back. Tommy Lee was grinning in a certain 'impish' way he had that just took my breath away. When Bill grinned in an identical fashion, I most generally would head for the hills. I knew that I was forgiven the mistaken identity, but on the other hand, on the next occasion the I saw the man, I would not be allowed to forget it, either. Beth: Sam's in the back office, Tommy Lee...come on, Einstein, you need five. I'll take over out here. Beth hauled me away and tossed me into a chair just alongside the door to the poolroom. While I sat there pretending to gather my wits I saw two more guys in new boots and huge hats come through the door. They were with a third man, and that man was George Cole. TO BE CONTINUED...
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