A
Dangerous Shine
W
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hen Shine
told people she bartended at the Buckhorn, their eyes widened. “What’s a nice girl like you,” they said,
and then their voices trailed off. “I heard somebody got shot,” they said. There
was a real bullet hole in the mirror, but it was ancient history—part of the
bar’s character, like the heads on the walls and the smell of stale beer. To
Shine, it felt safe, like sitting on a gargantuan comfy couch with all your
cousins—sunk into the softness, everyone good-naturedly elbowing everyone else.
Not only that. As the
bartender, Shine was the center of everything. She entertained the loners,
introduced people, facilitated everyone’s good time, and decided who stayed and
who went. It was the next best thing to being on TV. Maybe someday she’d walk
back through that door and everyone would whisper, “That’s Shine. She used to
work here.”
Someday. Shine
flipped a beer glass upside down and stuck it onto the brushes in the sink full
of hot soapy water. She worked it up and down, rinsed it, then put it on the
metal drain board. “Who’s the most famous person who’s come through that door?”
she asked Doc, a forever regular who walked like a ship rolling on the high
seas. Doc sat with his elbows resting on the edge of the bar, framing his draft
of Bud.
“In the old days,
this was a tent,” Doc said, “and everybody stopped here because right out there
was the railroad depot.” He lifted his right elbow toward the tracks a half a
block away. “Before they moved it on down.”
“Even you weren’t
alive for that,” One-ball Paul said. Paul stood watching the door, leaning with
his back against the bar and his thin elbows hooked over the edge. Everybody
knew he was waiting for Serita, only everybody also knew Serita was over at
Coppers Corners with Lee Mangus, the UPS guy.
“I don’t know,” Shine
said and winked at Doc. “I heard the reason Doc got his nickname was because he
doctored up at Crow Agency when Custer had his last stand.” The real reason Doc
had his nickname was because he was a medic in Vietnam.
Doc’s eyes squinted a
smile. “The most famous person to walk through that door is going to be Shine.”
“Yeah,” Paul said. “She’s
going to replace Kathy Lee as America’s top anchor, once she gets that TV
degree.”
Shine shook her head.
“I’ll be lucky to bring coffee to Geha over at KGWN in Cheyenne.”
Doc shook his head
and Paul turned around and looked at Shine. Paul said, “It’s going to be you,
Shine. You’re beautiful and smart and … and …” He blushed and glanced at Doc. Doc
was nodding his head.
“If Regis hits on
you, pressures you, you let me know,” Doc said, his face serious.
“Naw,” Nance said and
raised her head off the bar. Nance, who was married to Tommy Jon the trucker,
was drunk on Gin Rickeys. “That’s Kelly what’s-her-name. Kathy Lee hasn’t been
there for ages.”
“We’ll put your …
Seven-Up can? … up there on the Wall of Fame,” Paul said. The Wall of Fame was
empty cans and bottles—Coors Light and Mickey’s Big Mouth, McGillicuddy’s and
Jack Daniels Green Label—resting on little shelves with names on wooden plaques
underneath them. They were tributes to regulars who had died.
As they talked, Shine
watched a big man with a face like a boot walk along the sidewalk outside. He
walked with his shoulders back but with his head curled forward like he was
trying to be bigger and smaller at the same time. The door creaked as he pushed
through. He stepped in and shrugged off his coat. The big man had arm muscles
that strained the seams of his green long-sleeved t-shirt, and his waste
narrowed as it disappeared into a pair of tan Carhart overalls. His face was
broad and leathery brown with the prominent jaw that reminded Shine of a
cartoon character.
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Print and ebook versions are available for purchase at these and other online retailers.
Print and ebook versions are available for purchase at these and other online retailers.
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